the lehman house [4]

Memorial Day. The afternoon was spent in New Carlisle with Dad's side of the family: tacos, ice cream, pie; volleyball, playing with the dogs and searching for snakes. Ams and I got back to the house, and I went to Isaac's apartment for a party with beer and hookah. Lots of good people: Isaac, Amos, a guy named Blake who seems really cool, Andy Waugh, Jobst. I gave Jobst a ride home and saw Julie B. and Jessica C. walking around on campus. Ams and I hung out for a bit, and then Sarah got home with her cousin Rachel at her side, and all of us went back to Isaac's apartment. I had two shots of whiskey and a beer. Amos and I talked for a while. That Blake guy's kinda weird, but I like him. Ams took my car home around 1 AM, and Sarah, Rachel and I walked home drunk and content. 

Tuesday. I woke at 9:30 with no hangover, no headache, nothing. Dylan came down from Centerville: he graduated from Lee University with his bachelor's and is living at home for the moment. We went to Skyline Chili, Barnes & Noble, and saw a movie at the AMC in Newport: "Night at the Museum 2." We grabbed dinner at Johnny Rockets. We ran by the Party Source and got several whiskeys and beer. We got drunk at the house with Sarah, and both Monica and Jessie came by.

Wednesday. Dylan & I went to The Anchor for lunch, then travelled to Florence and visited kennelled dogs at Jack's Aquarium & Pets. Back home we watched Step-Brother before he returned home. Monica came by and we hugged because I won't be seeing her for a long time. I spent the day running errands and cleaning and watched Quarantine come evening. Its premise was similar to Dwellers of the Night, though the disease was patterned after rabies rather than malaria. Ams' friend Will came over and we took some shots together. Ams thinks I hate him. I don't, but I know he'd be a HORRIBLE boyfriend for her. She knows this, too. Sarah got back from Keith's around 10:00, complaining about him. I had to reign my tongue: no sympathy for people who complain about their circumstances while doing absolutely nothing to resolve the circumstance when it's in their control.

Thursday. I began my summer job this morning: running the kitchen for Creative Dining Services at Camp Whip-Poor-Will. A Girl Scout camp. Aunt Julie went there when she was a little girl. We were scheduled till 5:00 but done by 2:00. Back home I hung out with Sarah for a while: we curled up in her bed and faced the mirror and talked for two hours. She went up to Wilmington and I fixed chicken, rice, and veggies for dinner. I went to the Hilltop to use the internet, chatted it up with Brette C. and Amanda R. A huge storm rolled through, sirens going off everywhere.

Friday. The second day of work, and we were up north until 3:00. We got lunch at a piazza place. I met the girl counselors. One is really cute, and most are lesbians. Ariel, the camp director, is going to Massachusetts this year to get married. Back home I naped till 6:00. Bethany was supposed to come over, but that fell through. Jessie worked all night and Sarah was in Wilmington, so I putzed around until Ams came home. We watched a movie with Christina Richie in it. She looks EXACTLY like Courtney. It was hard to watch so I left. There are days when I miss her. Her voice. Her laughter. Her large eyes. The way she would hold me and whisper in my ear. 

Saturday. At 9:30 I made the hour-long-drive to Camp up Interstate 71, but the kitchen was being used so I only worked for twenty minutes. I went to Dayton, and Mom & I went to Target and Sam's Club and grabbed lunch at Subway. At 3:30 I went to Tri-Health and met Sarah's friend Catherine. Sarah and I went to her aunt's mansion in Wilmington. We fed the horses, looked after her dementia-ridden grandpa, and watched TV. I scratched her head, she scratched mine. A massive thunderstorm rolled through, spawning tornadoes. We stood on the front porch and smoked cigarettes and watched the lightning and heard the thunder and the dogs cowered by our legs. Oh: Lizzie B. and Andrew R. got married today!

Sunday. Sarah and I were up by 9:00 to head back to Cincinnati. We'd both fallen asleep in the same room, but my snoring pushed her downstairs. She went to Tri-Health and I headed back to the house. I napped till 3:00, then watched "Gilmore Girls" with Ams. I cleaned my room and lounged around. Jessie came over, and we went to Kroger to do some grocery shopping.

last post for may 2009

One of my zombie books—36 Hours—was chosen by my self-publishing company to be available through Amazon.com. It’s pretty exciting, but at the same time, I wish it were not so. 36 Hours was my first real novel, my first writing regarding zombies, and the characters were as thin as cardboard and the plot too thick with incredulities.

 

I’m going to Wilmington this afternoon. One of my roommates, Sarah, is house-sitting at a mansion in the countryside, and they have horses and cats and dogs and a golf-cart and a huge television and gaming systems galore. It should be pretty exciting. Sarah and I have not gotten to spend much time together, because we are both working a lot and at the house at different times of the day. Since I have work off tomorrow, I am taking the opportunity to relax in the countryside with one of my best friends.

 

Mom says that she can tell I’ve lost weight. That’s exciting.

 

I was talking to Mandy today, and I said, “I bathe in regret.” She told me, “You can’t stop focusing about the ‘what could have beens’ and start focusing on the present. You need to stop sounding like a Hallmark card.” I really liked how she said it. The Hallmark note was a good point. Ultimately, she’s right. I focus so much on the past and what-could-have-been that I miss out on the present joys and excitements. Sure, I feel as if my life is a waste, due largely to the fact that all of my goals I set five years ago have not only failed to come to fruition but have even been thwarted again and again by circumstance, but the future is never certain and even cyclical history can branch out of the norm from time-to-time. 

zombie movies

I rented two zombie movies from Blockbuster: “Quarantine” and “Diary of the Dead.” “Quarantine” was fantastic. The acting was great, the plot quick-moving (though a slow start), and it was eerily similar to a prologue I contemplated writing for Dwellers of the Night back in the day (though this movie’s infection was based upon rabies whereas the culprit in my novel is a mutated strain of malaria). “Diary of the Dead” was pathetic, a waste of time, and I say that with great pain in my heart. Romero was the one who cultivated the zombie phenomenon (though true kudos go to Richard Matheson with his short story I Am Legend, which actually inspired Romero into the world of zombies), and so I expected more from the film. The dialogue was ridiculous, the acting horrible. Sarah shouted, “I could act better than them!” And she probably could.

 

Zombies. Zombies. ZOMBIES! Why do I love them so much?

I have a good idea for a zombie novel.

It would only be around one hundred fifty pages.

I’ll probably never write it.

the lehman house [3]

My housemate Sarah

Monday. Monica, Amanda and I ate lunch at the Chinese buffet in Western Hills. When Sarah got back from work, we went to Blockbuster and rented two movies: Taken and Wet, Hot, American Summer. We watched both of them. Jobst needed a ride home so I gave him one.

Tuesday. I returned the movies to Blockbuster and rented two new ones: one about aliens, another about werewolves & vampires. I cleaned my room, unpacked more boxes. Sarah and I went to the Florence Mall. I got a video games, the movie Munich, some beer, and Bacardi 151. We spent the evening drinking, smoking, and playing guitar. I was drunk. 

Wednesday. I woke at 6:00, puked my guts out, and slept until 11:30. Sarah missed work because of a pounding migraine. We watched Munich and lounged around. Jess Lynn is coming into town, and we're going to hang out for a bit tomorrow. Sarah, Ams and I went to Kroger to grab groceries. I went to Dayton to grab my birth certificate--Dining Services needs a copy for a temporary summer gig--and when I got home, Will was over.

Thursday. I woke at 9:00, beat Half-Life 2, and went to school so they could copy my certificate. Jess Lynn cancelled on hanging out. I went to Blockbuster and rented the Blade trilogy. Sarah returned from work and Jessie came over, then James came over. We watched Requiem for a Dream. Such a depressing movie. It made me want to cut myself. Jessie and I watched "Zoolander" and talked for a long time. Things between her and Justin are weird again.

Friday. Monica texted me: "Let's go on a date!" Not a REAL date, a date commemorating her rejection of me freshman year over three years ago. We went to Skyline Chili on Warsaw. It was a good time. Back home, Ams and Will were over watching the original Blade. I spent the day doing absolutely nothing, and it sucked: no one to hang out with, people either gone home for the summer or too busy. My mind dovetailed to Courtney. I hate thinking about her. She's getting married in a few months. It's been two years, and I still think about her, think about our love and the tragedy it became. A young boy, so happy and so in love, daring to believe his dreams were coming true, forced to come to grips with reality: What you want, you can't have; what you have, you can't keep; and that which you love will, eventually, be taken from you. The boy is raped by misfortune, cheated on and backstabbed, pinned down by the weight of what he lost as he watches all he ever wanted given to another and on a silver platter. He will forever be the boy who lost her; he will always be the one left weeping, wailing, bleeding. FUCK. That's depressing. Jessie and I ended up hanging out pretty late. I went to her apartment with Bloc and we fixed stir-fry with her roommate and then talked in her room for a while. She asked how my day went. "I reminesced on when I was in love, happy, and skinny. Now I'm not in love, not happy, and definitely not skinny." She offered a sympathetic hug. When I got back to my place, a fight had broken out on Grand Avenue and four cop cars were involved.

Saturday.  Last night I dreamt that Mandy K. was in town and we were at my place cuddling. I woke up sad. How strange: I hurt over the loss of Courtney and dream about Mandy K. The mind's a weird, fucked up thing. I went to Dayton and wrote my sermon on Sin while sipping a caramel macchiato from Starbucks. I talked to Mandy K. for a bit: she's feeling weak and lonely in Chicago. 

Sunday. The sermon went really well. My last time preaching at NHCC. Kyle was there, so we got to hang out and catch up. I grabbed lunch at Mom & Dad's and returned to Cincinnati. Justin D., the landlord, came by to install some air conditioning units, thank God. Ams and I watched The Departed. Sarah was supposed to come home at 5:00; then 8:00; then 11:00. Then she called to say she was staying with Keith. I was short with her on the phone. I'm tired of hearing her complain about Keith 24/7 while simultaneously doing NOTHING about it except digging a deeper hole. She's a great, wonderful girl, deserving of a better life, a better man, but she can't move forward because she's holding herself back.

ahhh, zombies!

I enjoy zombie dreams very much. In the early summer months, I am always stricken with insomnia. Most people try to count sheep to fall asleep, but I pretend that there are zombies outside the house trying to get inside, and I fall asleep quite peacefully. During my sermon today, I told the congregation, “I’m a freak—I love dreaming about zombies.” Last night I had a series of interconnected zombie dreams, though the dreams were focused not on the initial outbreak but the months following the mass extermination of zombies and rebuilding. On the outside it looked normal, but within the dream, there was an entire history of a zombie pseudo-apocalypse. Since I finished Dwellers of the Night, I am itching to start writing again. Perhaps fate will bring me back to the zombie genre, but who can tell? In the words of Michael Scott, “Who knows how words are formed.”

i wish i had something exciting to write home about...

This week has flown by. I’m unable to update everyday, because we don’t have internet at Charlene (“Charlene” is the name of our house, so christened by the former tenants). I’m at my parents’ house in Dayton, and they have wireless, so the opportunity to post again has presented itself. Tomorrow I am preaching for the last time at Northern Hills Christian Church, and the sermon is about the indwelling power of Sin in the unbeliever and how Christ dismantles it in the believer via redemption found in the cross. I have felt iffy about every sermon I’ve preached at this church (except for the first), but I’m feeling really good about this one. The subject of sin is one not often covered in churches, and it is often (in my humble opinion) misunderstood. Also, this sermon could be somewhat controversial, and seeing as I like to be controversial, I am unashamedly excited.

 

Life in Charlene has been good. I didn’t work at all this week (my job doesn’t start until Thursday), so I’ve spent my days hanging out with good friends (Jessie, Sarah, Monica, etc.) and watching movies (too many to count; I rented numerous movies from Blockbuster during a period of four days). Not working has its downsides, though; the main one is boredom. At times boredom has consumed me. On top of this, it is blazingly hot outside (July-August temperatures), and Charlene turns into a heat-trap. In all honesty (and forgive the graphic details), I have been sleeping naked and without covers in order to keep somewhat cool. Mom bought me a stand-up fan today, though, so I should be in good shape. I’m going to put it right beside my bed.

 

Sarah has been pressing me to get into a work-out routine with her so we both can get in shape. Her persistence—so demanding!—has forced me to succumb. We are starting our work-outs and diets this week. I’m going to die for the first couple weeks. It’ll be hard keeping up with her, because she’s in such better shape than I am. She wanted to make it a contest to see who could lose weight the fastest, but I declined, because it’s unfair: women lose weight slower than men, so I would have the advantage. I’m hoping to lose thirty pounds this summer. That’s only ten pounds per month; that should be pretty easy, and that would put me at 160 pounds.

the lehman house [2]

Monday. I went to the Hilltop to hammer out my Romans final and Mandy K. kept me company. I ate a wrap for lunch, and Bethany came over for a bit. My Gospel of Mark exam went well. Sarah got back from work and we made quesadillas for dinner. I went to the Hilltop to hang out with Klink and Jessie. I played two games of ping-pong with Ashley McJilton. Isaac's spending the week at the house to get homework done. We drank bourbon and smoked cigarettes and talked about sacrifice.

Tuesday. I went to the Hilltop and knocked out ten papers for Genesis 1-11. I'm a MACHINE. I went to Barnes & Noble at Newport on the Levee and bought "The Office: Season Four." Ams and I watched a few episodes, and then I went to Kroger before heading to school to finish up more schoolwork. I spent the evening watching TV and Jessie came over.

Wednesday. I worked till 1:00 and then cleaned out Room 137 in Restoration. Check-out date is tomorrow. I ate lunch and worked on Biblical Protology, a book I need to read and analyze by tomorrow. I cleaned my room, did dishes, and then Jessie and I started studying for our Geology exam tomorrow. Kevin, Bethany, and Zack came over. I went to the Hilltop, and Julie B. and I went up into the chapel and talked for a long time. 

Last Day of Senior Year (I). I went to school and studied Geology with Sarah G. The final SUCKED. Dyke and I talked for a while in his office; he said I should date Jessie. Haha. She's like a sister to me. Mykaela was at the house when I got back. I napped for a bit, moved more stuff from 137. The check-out date was pushed back till tomorrow. Monica was at the Hilltop, so I went to hang out with her. 

Friday. I finished cleaning out Room 137 and then worked 1-5:30, a grueling shift of cleaning. I joined Deshay and we moved some of her stuff into our garage storage. I went to Wal-Mart to get clothes for tomorrow's catering shift. Sa-Rah, Mandy K., Deshay and Rebecca R. came over to watch "Happy Feet." Gambill came by to give Deshay his old camera. He's head-over-heels for the Venezuelan, and it's killing him. Kinda like me and Mandy K. 

Saturday. I worked 9-3:30 catering with Katie, Sarah G., Betsy, and Julie B. My legs were killing me afterwards. We worked the graduation. I missed Mandy K. walking with her associates. I didn't mind missing the rest of it, though. Sorta depressing: "This was supposed to be MY graduation!" I went to Dayton and worked on my sermon for tomorrow. Julie thanked me for hearing her out the other night: "You really are wonderful."

Sunday. My sermon went really well. "The Christian Hope." Kyle wasn't there; he's up north with his sick grandpa. I ate lunch with Dad and returned to Cincinnati. I played XBox for four hours before Monica decided to swing by. Lots of laughter and good times: she's in town until the 31st. Mandy K. stopped by before heading back to Chicago. We hugged, and she thanked me for "everything." I was REALLY sad when it hit me: she's gone. That chapter of my life ends. Another begins. 

why so vulnerable?

The sermon went really well this morning. I had written a great sermon, but as the service progressed, I felt God telling me to scratch part of my sermon and instead just talk about my suffering and bipolar disorder. I’m not comfortable with sharing my story, and I was unsure of how it would go. But I decided to get up there and just talk, so I did, for twenty minutes. Several people were turned off, a lot of people didn’t like it (it’s a miracle they asked me to come back next week!). But at the same time, I had several people come up and let me know how it affected them. One man in particular was on the verge of tears as he told me his daughter, who was sitting in the sanctuary due to Kyle not being in town, had been diagnosed with depression and was really struggling, and that he hopes it was something she could relate to. That’s ultimately what I want when I preach: to encourage, convict, and strengthen through the word of God and the Spirit speaking through me. Sometimes it means being vulnerable, open, and honest even when I do not want to be (I generally keep things to myself; I enjoy sitting with friends and hearing their struggles and sympathizing with and encouraging them, but when it comes to me, I’m often at a loss for words). I have been open and honest about my struggles with depression as a Christian, and there are primarily three reasons why.

 

First, I do it because it is a part of my life story. It has molded me into the person I am today, for better or worse. When the depression began, my faith was rattled. I nearly became a skeptic and abandoned Christianity altogether. But God used the suffering to draw me closer to Him and to be given a new perspective on God’s love, mercy, compassion, and care. In telling my story, I am, in a sense, advancing His kingdom. In an era where many preachers proclaim health and wealth and happiness in the gospel, it is good to be honest with the reality of suffering in our world, the reality of the way the world works—a world filled with tragedy and setbacks and disappointments and misfortunes—and to be honest about how Christians are children of God, how God favors and loves them, and how they suffer.

 

Second, I do it because there are many Christians who are closet sufferers. There are Christians who wear a smile and say everything is okay but are dying inside. They are members of God’s covenant, children of God, and they are suffering. Satan will invade us with feelings of loneliness and isolation, but I strive to break through that and to show Christians who suffer from depression that they are not alone and that depression is in no way, shape, or form a degradation of their faith or character. I have spoken often about my suffering—bearing my soul—and nearly every time someone tells me that they suffer from the same thing and have felt alone, and that it is encouraging for them to know that they are still God’s children, that God still loves them, that God still cares for them.

 

Third, I do it because there is a negative stigma against mental disorders that is rampant amongst many circles of Christendom. Those with mental disorders are often looked down upon as sub-Christians, Christians who are saved but only by a hair. Two years ago, I overheard two people talking in the coffee shop where I work, and they were discussing depression and Christianity. One of them said, “Christians cannot be depressed, because there is joy in Christ.” Another fellow a few years ago told me that I was not a Christian for the same reason—there is joy in Christ. A Christian who doesn’t have joy, according to him, is not a Christian at all—that person has deceived him/herself. Many Christians also believe, thanks to our ridiculous tendency to super-spiritualize everything, that depression always has a spiritual problem at its roots: generally, either unrepentant sin or demonic influence/possession. One man told me, “The cure to depression in a Christian is repentance or exorcism.” These perspectives on mental disorders and depression within the sphere of Christendom are flat-out ignorant and wrong, and in sharing my suffering and how God has worked through it, I am shattering these notions and erecting a biblical understanding of depression: we live in a fallen world, we often suffer from depression; mental disorders are a result of the curse upon the planet; mental disorders are sicknesses just like cancer and diabetes and have no bearing upon one’s standing before God. These are just three reasons that I am willing to be open and honest about my struggles. 

shoot for the moon and land amongst the stars

This last week has been incredibly busy, hence the absence of posts. I took several finals, wrote about forty pages worth of term papers, worked multiple shifts at the Hilltop, and missed the graduation of many friends due to having to work a catering event. I have had about ten hours of free time this entire week (minus sleeping hours, of course), but the business is almost over. Tomorrow I am preaching again at the church in Dayton, and I’ve spent the evening throwing together a sermon: “The Hope of the Glory of God.” I actually used an old dorm devotional as the template and expounded on some material and used excerpts of an old sermon to piece it together. It sutured up pretty well. I’m excited about the opportunity to preach again, and I am praying that God will bless it, encouraging and convicting and strengthening His people.

 

Today was Graduation 2009. I was supposed to graduate, but I have two classes I still need to take. I was really bummed out and feeling inferior until I realized that ¾ of the people who started when I did are going to be graduating in December alongside me. I didn’t have much time to think today, being busy with working and throwing together the sermon, but it all hit home when Mandy came by the house one last time to say goodbye. I was very composed, but my heart was breaking. I really will miss her. I realize that over the last two weeks I’ve kinda distanced myself from her and been closed-off around her, and I’ve likewise realized that I do this when I am pushing away the inevitable. But the dam I had constructed broke and the emotions poured forth. I really will miss her; she is a great friend. I also got sad thinking about how I was supposed to be graduating, how I wanted to be involved full-time in a ministry right now and married or at least engaged. But life doesn’t work out the way we want it to sometimes (eh, most of the time); it’s a lesson that must be learned.

 

A good friend and I talked for a bit last night. Both of us have been depressed lately and for the same reasons. We’re not where we want to be in life, we are underachieving, we’ve abandoned our dreams due to the rigorous nature of life. I remember when I was a dream-filled boy, and I want those dreams to come back. One of them is slowly returning, but I am hesitant to fully embrace it; perhaps because I don’t want to be met with failure as I have been with my more recent dreams. They say that if you shoot for the moon and miss, you’ll land amongst the stars; that’s the biggest load of shit I’ve ever heard. If you miss the moon, you end up in a dark and silent and airless vacuum with just your thoughts and over-the-shoulder glances at the dwindling moon which you missed. And the stars? You can see them, but they’re too far away to touch. I think that phrase should remain as it is but be reinvented into what it means.

snapshot: Romans Final

the lehman house: the first week

She's so damned beautiful. Even when she covers her face.

Monday. Class at 8:00, back to the house for toast and eggs, and then back to campus to work 9:45-1:00 with Nate & Caleb. Caleb & Bethany have a "thing" going on. I went back to the house and had rice and chicken for lunch. I had class from 3:20 to 6:00 (Gospel of Mark) and then headed home for the evening. Bethany and Melissa C. came over to do homework, Sarah and I went to Kroger for ice cream, and Ams' friend Charles came by. Things with Mandy K. have been... different. We've barely talked since Thursday. I don't like it.

Tuesday. Mandy doesn't like me, she's moving away in two weeks, maybe I'm just pushing her away to ease the hurt. I woke around 10:30 and ran off to Geology. I chatted with Jobst  and Mandy K. came over to do homework. It was good. She likes the house. We're gonna watch "Happy Feet" before she leaves. I fixed a hamburger for dinner and went to the Hilltop to visit Sarah G. (not the housemate). I returned home and Ams, Justin, Jessie and I did homework and watched "Sin City."

Wednesday. I woke at 7:30, had a cigarette and coffee, and went to Genesis 1-11. I had lunch at home and then worked until 1:00 with, yet again, Nate & Caleb. I napped back home until 5:30 when Sarah returned from spending the night at Keith's. We cleaned the kitchen and then she went up to Wilmington to watch her grandpa through the weekend. Bethany & Caleb came over, and we played XBox: Ghost Recon. Jobst swung by. Everyone left by 8:00, and I went by the Hilltop to visit Jessie & Sarah G. When I got back, Mykaela was watching a movie with Ams, and I got to meet her mom.

Thursday. I spent the morning and afternoon in the library working on my Genesis 1-11 term papers. Mandy K. came and did homework with me. Dad came by the house after Geology, sawed down the bed in Sarah's room. When Dad left I went to the Hilltop to visit Isaac and Jessie, and Kevin came over later. I went out onto the back deck to smoke. At the house next to us, a young couple was holding hands and surveying their new house in joy. I watched and I smoked and I thought. Had I not been a lesser man, had I been a man of God, then Courtney and I would be doing the same thing at this house. I am a sad creature filled with regret, all sorts of regret. REGRET: it's the staple of my existence.

Friday. Jessie and I went to The Anchor when we were done with classes. She played five songs on the jukebox. She came over and we watched an episode of The Office and then I went to Newport to buy some bourbon. Aunt Teri, Grandma, and Jesse came by to drop off some sofas. I went to the Hilltop to visit Jessie, ran to Kroger for steak dinner, and Jessie came over after work, around midnight. We went to Isaac's apartment for a bit, and she tried hookah for the first time. We sat and talked for two hours before bed. 

Saturday. Jessie fell asleep in my bed last night and was gone when I woke up. Some Jehovah's Witnesses stopped by. I watched TV till about 5:00 and then went home. I went to Starbucks and worked on my sermon for tomorrow. 

Sunday. I preached on Sacrifice at Kyle's church. It went really well. Back in Cincinnati, I spent the day hanging out with Sarah and her mom (back from Wilmington). We watched "War of the Worlds" and then I went to work. When I got back, Sarah and I had steak for dinner and watched "The Office." 

intermission

Amidst all these nerve-wracking contemplations, I am working on a sermon for Sunday. I am preaching again at my friend Kyle’s church (the congregation invited me back). I feel as if I am a cheap choice, for I do not have it altogether. How can I preach a sermon when going through such spiritual turmoil? Yet I know that God is strong in my weakness, and that it is His pleasure to use me this Sunday. So I am working on the sermon, a sermon about what it means to love others. This is a big topic for me. It’s easy to say, “Let’s love others, just love other people, God wants us to love our fellow man,” and even to tattoo hearts on our arms and wear shirts with hearts on them and to memorize all the verses in the Bible about loving other people. But how often do we actually think about what it means to love another person? I have been thinking about this a lot lately, and I think that to love someone in the biblical sense is to offer yourself as a sacrifice for that person, and I will support this conviction with scripture. If we want to know how well we are loving other people, the question ought to be, “How much am I sacrificing for other people?” I believe, therein, lies the answer. At the same time, it is strange: if I pick up my friend and drive them to work every day, but am not losing anything in the process—if I truly enjoy it—then is it biblical love? If there is no sacrifice—for without loss there is no sacrifice—then is it love? Sure, it may mean that we enjoy their company and find fellowship with them, but without sacrifice… I don’t know, just questions that are raging through my mind.

clouded eyes and murky heart

I do love God. I don’t want anyone to think that I don’t. I was talking with my friend Mandy, who read my last blog post, and I confessed, “I have such a difficult time trusting God. I used to trust God with my whole being, but then I went through great loss and great pain, and it really shook and rattled my trust in God, as well as my perception of Him. For a time I grew cold towards God, untrusting due to the conviction that to trust God is to be disappointed and hurt, and I began to perceive God as a sort of cosmic sadist. I hated God—no, not God, but the ‘God’ I had created in my own mind. My skewed perception of God has been chipped away and replaced with something more majestic and awing and powerful than before, but the hesitancy to trust Him still remains, and it is something I fight every day.” That is part of our conversation, embellished a bit.

 

I told Mandy, “I’m like the Apostle Peter—I often deny God with my choices.” It is sad but true. The gospel narratives show disciples who were stupid and foolish and disobedient; they are testaments to the nature of man. I am stupid quite often. Foolishness runs through my arteries like sap in the veins of a tree. My disobedience is set vibrantly against my feeble and often failing in submission to God’s ways. I don’t want to be stupid, or foolish, or disobedient. I want my life to be radically changed, radically altered. I want, once again, to pursue obedience as if it were gold, to find joy in the higher wisdoms of God, to be foolish in the eyes of the world rather than in the eyes of God. I want to be the man of Psalm 1, who is obedient and prosperous in joy and peace. But this feels so far off. It feels nearly untouchable.

 

I want to trust God again. I want my life to again be characterized by His love, grace, and mercy. I want to find the higher joy, the higher comfort, the higher peace. I want to have contentment with my lot, not all this regret which I swim in day-after-day. I feel as if I am at a crossroads: I can either continue in my regret, continue in my stress, continue in my sorrow and sadness; or I can stand, and I can strive into the realm of peace and joy and contentment. But this crossroads is draped in a heavy blanket of fog, and I am not sure which way is which, nor where to direct my steps when I choose a path to walk. I know which direction I want to go, but I don’t know how to get there—and, honestly, I don’t even know how to lift my legs. My eyes are clouded, and my heart is murky.  

a mere murmur, a tremor

I must make this quick, as Amanda is getting ready to pull the lasagna out of the oven back home at this very moment. I am sitting in the coffee shop, and I wrote an entire blog post, but it somehow didn’t save to the USB drive I had saved it to back home. Curse electronics. So I will reserve that post for another time (maybe tomorrow?) and tell you a story. Today I was standing out on our back porch, admiring the sun setting over the rolling hills visible through the cleft in the trees, and on the deck attached to our neighbor’s house, an engaged couple surveyed their new house. I stood and I watched them, very nonchalantly, and I felt a great twinge of regret—ever so subtle, merely a murmur—tremble through me. I looked back towards the hills and felt the deck beneath my feet, and I thought to myself, “Were I more of a man back in my youth, then things would be different. I would be holding her here, now, and we would be looking at these hills together, beginning our new lives.” I went back inside. I didn’t want to have those thoughts anymore. Regret.

it is dark and cold and raining outside

I stood on the back porch this morning, clutching a mug of steaming coffee and looking out over the rolling hills, visible between a split in the trees. I sipped my coffee and I felt the world around me, and my thoughts turned inwards, and when I went to work, the train of thought continued. I stood making drinks, and I served drinks to one of my ex-girlfriends, Julie. She is getting married soon. She smiled at me and I smiled back. Pleasantries. She sent me through hell. It wasn’t her fault though. The emotional cycles of a creature like me stem from inward rather than outward influences. I watched her go and sit with her fiancé, and I continued making drinks, and I looked at my life, all that has passed over the last four years, from my freshman year of college to—now—my senior.

 

When I was a freshman, I had such high hopes and dreams. I was going to plant a church that engaged postmodern culture, and I was going to find a wife and get married and have kids and serve God both vocationally and within the family structure (quite a beautiful ministry, despite how it is viewed as inferior even within some Christian circles). I believed with my whole heart that this would come to pass, and by the time I graduated, I would be stronger, wiser, and engaged or even married. Confidence in this surged through my veins.

 

That confidence was ill-placed.

 

My relationship with God is strained, and this strain is due entirely to my own actions. I am not as devoted to God as I used to be. I don’t love Him—nor other people—as much as I used to. I am plagued with countless addictions, addictions I indulge in order to escape the emptiness in my heart. I have fallen in love—twice—and that love has crashed to the rocks and been beaten and marred by the waves of misfortune and inopportunity. I have watched the girls I love run into the arms of other men and then marry them. I have seen girls I’ve dated have babies. My dream feels so farther away, and sometimes I wonder if this is best—perhaps there was a time when I would be a good husband and a good father, but sometimes I doubt that those times continue. I am a selfish, greedy, and indifferent creature, consumed by my own flesh.

 

I had been a boy with such dreams and ambitions… and such hope. The dreams, the ambitions—they were nothing but smoke. Emptiness. Nothingness. I tasted them for moments, and then they were gone, and I had the enormous pleasure of watching my dreams given to others on silver platters. The shattering of my dreams scarred my heart, and I became cold and calloused, and I became more selfish and self-centered. I became such a pitiable creature. And, honestly, I still am. This is something I do not wear on my sleeve—until now—but I know there is no reason to hide it. I am a broken creature, and anything positive you think about me is probably an illusion. I put on a good show, but I am no different than the heathen who chases after the wind and reaches for the stars. I knew what I wanted to be like at this time in my life, but I am not that a person. I am a shell of the person I once was, a shadow of what I had, at one time, been. These last four years have scarred me, but I want the scars to be healed, the passion rekindled, the devotion to return. I am tired of this, I am tired of who I am.