the end of the month

pre-church selfies. #kidsnotpictured

Over these past couple days I've just been overwhelmed by two things: 

(1) the ungratefulness in my heart and 

(2) all the blessings in my life for which I should be grateful. 

Here's something I've struggled with my entire life: focusing on those things that cause me angst and anxiety at the expense of all the wonderful things that are present in my life. It's ridiculous, really: why focus on the 5% in life that you'd love to change at the cost of blinding yourself to the 95% of pure awesomeness that you call your own? The truth is that though the past year did not go as I had hoped or planned, not all is a loss, and when I go to sleep at night, I see all that I have to be thankful for: amazing friendships, a spectacular family, and a wonderful woman to call my own with two girls who love me to the moon and back. Ashley has put up with so much from me, she has shown such astonishing patience, and she's always there for me, day or night, no matter what it is I need. She is the definition of a supportive woman, and every time I hear a Jamaican sing about his girl, I can't help but think of her:

when I need motivation

my one solution is my queen

'cause she stays strong.

She is always in my corner

right there when I want her.

All these other girls are tempting

but I'm empty when you're gone.

Oh I think that I've found myself a cheerleader.

She is always right there when I need her.

She walks like a model.

She grants me my wishes like a genie in a bottle.

She gives me love and affection.

Baby did I mention you're the only girl for me,

no, I don't need a next one.

Mama loves you, too, she thinks I made the right selection.

Now all that's left to do

is just for me to pop the question.

Now, in regards to the last line, that's not happening anytime soon.
(but that's not entirely out of the question)
And with a woman like Ashley, it's close to a No-Brainer.

#pooltime[z]

Don't mind the static expression on my face.

(I thought Amanda was taking pictures, not a video)

an ode from Zion

YHWH is in the right,
  for I have rebelled against his word.
See, YHWH, how distressed I am;
  my stomach churns,
  my heart is wrung within me,
  because I have been very rebellious.
I am one who has seen affliction
  under the rod of God's wrath;
  he has driven and brought me
  into darkness without any light.
The thought of my homelessness
  is wormwood and gall.
My soul continually thinks of it
  and is bowed down within me.
     (Lamentations 1.18a, 20a; 3.1-2, 19-20)

But this I call to mind,
  and therefore I have hope:
The steadfast love of YHWH never ceases;
  his mercies never come to an end;
  they are new every morning;
  great is your faithfulness.
"The Lord is my portion," says my soul,
  "therefore I will hope in him."
YHWH is good to those who wait for him,
  to the soul that seeks him.
It is good that one should wait quietly
  for the salvation of YHWH.
It is good for one to bear the yoke in youth,
  to sit in silence when the Lord has imposed it,
  to put one's mouth to the dust
  (there may yet be hope)...
For the Lord will not reject forever.
Although he causes grief, he will have
  compassion according to the abundance
  of his steadfast love,
  for he does not eagerly afflict or grieve anyone.
     (Lamentations 3.22-23a, 24-29, 31-33)

Is it not from the Most High
  that good and bad come?
Why should any who draw breath
  complain about the punishment of their sins?
Let us test and examine our ways,
  and return to YHWH.
Let us lift up our hearts as well as our hands
  to God in heaven.
I called on Your name, YHWH,
  from the depths of the pit;
you hear my plea, "Do not close your ear
  to my cry for help, but give me relief!"
You came near when I called on you;
  you said, "Do not fear!"
You have taken up my cause, YHWH,
  you have redeemed my life.
     (Lamentations 3.37-41, 55-58)

Restore us to yourself, YHWH,
  that we may be restored;
  renew our days of old--
  unless you have utterly rejected us,
  and are angry with us beyond measure.
     (Lamentations 5.21-22)

#theAfterlife

5.27.15

This time last year, the broken road of disillusionment, regret, and unanswered prayers was turning a corner. It seemed as if God had been working in my life all along to take me where He wanted me to be: Wisconsin. I had a Gold Stamp of Approval on my dreams and my heart’s longing to be a husband to the love of my life, and to be involved in ministry at her side. When the turning-of-a-corner became a Dead End, when that old road of disillusionment, regret, and unanswered prayers continued unbroken, it came as a blatant and divine “No” to my dreams.

My dream of being the husband to the love of my life?

I wasn’t good enough, so God took her away from me.

My dream of being involved in ministry?

I wasn’t good enough, so God sent Rejection my way.

The Wisconsinite’s rejection of me, coupled with the unsurprising rejections from countless churches, tore deep inside me when I hardly had the strength to keep going. “It’s just not a good fit.” When you hear those words from churches and people you love over and over, they start to eat at you, they really do. The fact that she is happily with someone else and feeling fulfilled in ministry while I beat myself senseless trying to expunge her face, our memories, and my love for her from my heart only intensifies the haunting whispers that God’s plan for my life—whatever that may be—has been annulled. 

As far as ministry goes, the invariable rejection has lifted a banner of doubt: “If this is what God desires of me, then why this? and why that?” For as long as I’ve been a Christian, I’ve felt in the marrow of my bones a calling to ministry. All my life people have confirmed this desire, affirming my vocation. I’ve even had strangers come up to me and say, “This may be weird to you, but I feel like God is telling me to tell you that He intends that you proclaim His message.” So many people have told me, upon hearing me preach or teach, “You were born for this.” I never feel more alive, more fulfilled, than when I am preaching from a pulpit or expounding on the scriptures. The certainty I felt is what led me to C.C.U. It wasn’t a matter of scientific or mathematical certainty; rather, it was more like the feeling you have when you know that you are loved. And the more I pray, the more I feel this calling fighting against the rejection and doubt. 

The events of the past year—the breaking of a five-year dream, rejection by the woman I loved, the disillusionment in being “passed over” both by her and by churches for Someone Better—has cast a shadow over my convictions. It’s been so damned difficult not to interpret these painful rejections and broken dreams as a rejection by God, a jettisoning of His plans for my life. Spiritually, I haven’t handled things well: I’ve wandered here-&-there, I’ve done things I ought not to have done, and I’ve accumulated some regrets. I’m inspired by the words of a former mentor: “You cannot live life without regrets. But in Christ, you can live your life without being ruled by your regrets.” 

I keep coming back to the story of the Prodigal Son. The younger son runs off, makes a mess of things, and He wants to return home. He knows he isn’t worthy of that—he’s done some awful things, he’s marred his family’s name, he’s brought disgrace on his household, and he’s become as unclean and impure as ratty swine—so he tells himself that maybe, just maybe, he will be shown mercy and be allowed to live on the family grounds as a household slave. The amazing (a better word would be gracious) thing is that his father meets him halfway, restores him to his rightful place, and throws a party. Here’s a portrait of God’s embracing of wayward prodigals like myself. The doubt, the regret, the shame—in spite of all this, I know that if God intends me to be in ministry, He will see it through and put me where He wants me to be. All I can do is trust Him when none of it makes sense and hope that in some way He will make something of me and something of my life. 

pics from Clifton Gorge

#RedRiverGorge

Some snapshots from yesterday's excursion:

  

*the first plunge*

Excuse the boxers as a bathing suit.

(this was rather impromptu)

#artstuff[z]

I stumbled across these on Hot Sauce Waugh's blog.

I love art that blends the Real with the Surreal.

And I really like komodo dragons and turtles, too.

[books i've been reading]

A Short History of World War II, James Stokesbury. Despite the numerous books on World War II, until now there has been no one-volume survey that was both objective and comprehensive. Previous volumes have usually been written from an exclusively British or American point of view, or have ignored the important causes and consequences of the War. A Short History of World War II is essentially a military history, but it reaches from the peace settlements of World War I to the drastically altered postwar world of the late 1940's. Lucidly written and eminently readable, it is factual and accurate enough to satisfy professional historians. A Short History of World War IIwill appeal equally to the general reader, the veteran who fought in the War, and the student interested in understanding the contemporary political world. (from Amazon)

Inferno: The World at War, Max Hastings. From one of our finest military historians, a monumental work that shows us at once the truly global reach of World War II and its deeply personal consequences. For thirty-five years, Max Hastings has researched and written about different aspects of the war. Now, for the first time, he gives us a magnificent, single-volume history of the entire conflict. Through his strikingly detailed stories of everyday people—of soldiers, sailors and airmen; British housewives and Indian peasants; SS killers and the citizens of Leningrad—Hastings provides a singularly intimate portrait of the world at war. Remarkably informed and wide-ranging, Inferno is both elegantly written and cogently argued. Above all, it is a new and essential understanding of one of the greatest and bloodiest events of the twentieth century. (from Amazon)

hiking @ the Farm

Claire (the volunteer coordinator at the Farm) didn't have much for us to do today, so I dragged Ben and Jason for a thirty-minute uphill hike to the Overlook. When we reached the top, Jason's cell phone began ringing. I told him to answer it, and he pulled it out and exclaimed "WHAT?!" It turns out he somehow snatched Claire's phone and slid it in his pocket. I passed the phone over to Ben and told him to hurry down to the main building. "Prove your 'box turtle' nickname wrong!" (I gave him that nickname because he takes forever to do anything). He didn't prove the nickname wrong, but Claire was glad to have her phone back.

"You know I'm getting engaged?" Ben asked me.

"Oh yeah?" I said. "To whom?"

"Well, there's a couple..."

"You can only choose one, Ben. This isn't Utah."

"Oh, okay. I guess I'll choose the one I like the most."

"I would say that's a good decision."

"Who chooses? Me or her?"

"Both of you guys have to agree. That's how these things work."

"Okay. My wife already has a kid."

"Wait a minute, do you mean Jacob's mom?"

(Jacob is one of Ben's friends who visits the house sometimes)

"Yup!" Ben said. "She's single and ready to mingle."

(Jacob's dad died a couple months ago)

"Does she know she's marrying you?" I asked him.

"Well, I asked Jacob, and he said it was okay."

"That's great, but you need to get her go-ahead on it, too."

"Oh. Well, I will ask her, then."

"Something tells me she isn't going to say 'Yes.'"

There was a brief pause in the conversation.

"I'm going to be a golfer like Tiger Woods," he said.

"Oh yeah?"

"I'm not going to compete against him, I'm just going to be like him."

"That sounds great, buddy."

"Can we stop and get some black paint on our way home?"

"I'm going to have to say no. 'Blackface' isn't in vogue these days."

ponderings from Swaim Park

Keep your eyes open, hold tight to your convictions, give it all you've got, be resolute, and love without stopping.

(1 Corinthians 16.13-14, The Message)

In my meditations at Swaim Park after work today, the words love without stopping kept pouncing out at me. Eugene Peterson's dynamic translation obscures one of the main thrusts of this passage: the Apostle Paul tells the Corinthians to be courageous as men. 

We're to be courageous in our obedience.

We're to be courageous in our purity.

We're to be courageous in our faith.

We're to be courageous in our hope.

And we're to be courageous in our love.

In 1 Corinthians 13, Paul gives an oft-quoted snapshot of the qualities of love (what it is and isn't). While this passage is quoted most often in weddings, the love Paul is speaking about isn't romantic love specifically but Christian love in general: it is the love God lavishes upon us, and it's the love we are to outwardly manifest to our friends, our families, our communities, our enemies. Because it's so overused (can I say that about scripture?), I usually just skim it. But Paul's command to be courageous in love turned my attention to that passage, and I replaced "love" with my name. The result is rather humbling:

Anthony never gives up. He cares more for others than for himself. He doesn't want what he doesn't have. He doesn't strut, doesn't have a swelled head, doesn't force himself on others, isn't always 'me first,' doesn't fly off the handle, doesn't keep score of the sins of others, doesn't revel when others grumble, takes pleasure in the flowering of truth, put up with anything, trusts God always, always looks for the best, never looks back, but keeps going to the end.

I say it's humbling because I fail in so many ways.

But that's the sort of person I want to be.

A man who is known for his courageous love.

It's not something I can achieve on my own.

My prayer is that God's grace will achieve it in me.

I'm encouraged that it is His intention to do precisely that.

#studio6

I came across these post-apocalyptic prints through Hot Sauce Waugh's tumbler. The space shuttle one is particularly haunting (but this is coming from the guy who thought digital re-enactments of dinosaur roars were haunting). So... check your sources. And check out these prints:

Wait, this is just a picture of the moon. It must've slipped into the upload queue.
(I have a ton of moon pics on my computer. Ya know, just looking for alien moon bases.)
I'm going to leave it, 'cause it's the moon, and we should respect it.
Please continue.

Yup. That's it. 

#anchortime[z]

a weathered photograph of a weathered diner

Jessie and I were able to hang out a little bit this morning at The Anchor, and Jessie's letting me borrow a book called Developing Intimacy with God. It's an eight-week excursion through the prayer exercises of St. Ignatius. She's talked about it a lot, and I'm really stoked to get my hands on it. 

The book comes at a good time. As I've written on here many times before, I feel like I've lost my way. I don't know the right direction, and I don't know what to do. Confusion is my companion. I don't feel like I'm in a place where I know anything for certain, and my thoughts are often torn in multiple directions. At times my mind feels like a chaotic cesspool from which there's no relief. I'm tired of being confused, I'm tired of feeling lost, I'm tired of not knowing what to do or where to go from here. I wish there were road-maps for such things. As I wrestle with those things that lie heavy on my shoulders, the one question I keep coming back to is this: What is it that God desires of me? I may not know what I want, and I certainly don't presume to know what He wants, but I'd rather be where He wants me to be than running off my own cockeyed "common sense." I crave to know what He wants: I don't want to be out-of-step, and I don't want to get lost down rabbit holes pulling me away from where He wants me to be.

I feel like a lot of the things I'm dealing with stem from me not taking time after everything with Mandy went haywire to work through the fall-out; when Ashley came along, I was comfortable in my own skin and found someone I could relate to, and someone who could relate with me. We've forged a great friendship, and I'm thankful for what we have, but I wish I had taken more time to work through my issues. I wish I would've taken more time to just let the Wisconsinite go from my heart. Instead, with my heart still turned towards her, I stepped into a relationship. That wasn't the smartest thing to do, but that's just the way things went down. And now, in introspection, I can see that I haven't let go. I haven't released. I've moved on; we both have. But I still haven't let go. I see how my not letting go affects me in so many ways. Ashley seems to be at a point where she wants "more"; I fear she feels that she somehow isn't good enough for me, since I was so sure of my love for Mandy and my desire to be with her forever, but in seven months I haven't come to the point of being able to say "I love you" (in that particular way). I feel like the relationship is coming to a point where I'm expected to offer more and give more, but I don't feel ready at all to do that. For the relationship to move to a higher level, I need to be able to let her into my heart. Right now it feels like my heart has a "No Vacancy" sign flashing in the window. I have been tenacious in my determination to move beyond these issues, but there doesn't seem to be any headway. These issues stem from my own refusal (or inability?) to let go, and they're no fault of anyone's but my own. Moving on is one thing; letting go, that's quite another.

My prayers have been focused (and this isn't surprising) on my relationship with Ashley. She's fantastic, and I want this to work. I don't know if it will, but I know that I don't want to let her down. I don't want to leave her and the kids. I want to work through my issues and come to the point where I can love her the way I loved Mandy. She deserves that so damned much, and she believes that I am God's answer to her prayers, and I don't want to let her down. I believe that if this is where God wants me to be--if it is His desire for me to be for Ashley and her daughters what her ex-husband never was--then He will heal my heart so that I can love someone other than the Wisconsinite. I don't fall in love easily, and maybe I'm expecting too much. All this to say that during my prayers, which have been escalating in intensity, there's the deepening conviction that if I am to discern God's desires and to experience His guidance, I need to be in tune with the Spirit. And the truth of the matter is that while I may pray a lot about certain things, I haven't been taking the time to really just pursue God as He is. Prayer has become a sort of "tool" to manipulate God into healing me, and thus the prime content of prayer--that of bathing in God's presence, hearing His voice, being touched and changed by Him--is sidelined in favor of a more pragmatic approach to the whole thing. 

This is why I'm excited about this book: it's all about developing intimacy with God through prayer. Prayer isn't a complicated gimmick. It's simple, really. But sometimes you can be so dumb that you just need someone to take you by the hand and show you the ropes all over again (I'm talking about myself here). A growing conviction over the past weeks and months has been my need to really seek out God's will for me in this period of my life. It's a dangerous game, of course; even I have convoluted thoughts on the subject of God's will for anyone's life. But all that abstract thinking and theological dancing needs to be set aside for the experience of God's guidance. I long for His guidance and I need His guidance. I'm encouraged by the lyrics to King & Country's Shoulders:

when confusion's my companion

and despair holds me for ransom

I will feel no fear, I know that You are near

when I'm caught deep in the valley

with chaos for my company

I'll find my comfort here, 'cause I know that You are near

You're right here, pulling me through

You carry my weakness, my sickness, my brokenness

all on Your shoulders

You are my rest, my rescue

You mend what once was shattered

and You turn my tears to laughter

Your forgiveness is my fortress

oh Your mercy is relentless

tadpoles, et. al.

The opening of the pool this week led to a massacre of tadpoles. There was really no way to avoid it. Ashley and I uncovered the pool earlier this week, and we were absolutely stunned to find hundreds and hundreds of giant tadpoles calling the pool their home. Wednesday evening I decided that since I've always wanted to be "tadpole king," I might as well get in the water and befriend them. So I chilled on the pool's underwater steps and let them swarm against me. They liked my warmth and nibbled at my skin. Because the tadpoles were in all stages of transformation into frogs, Amanda and I were able to create a "circle of life" out of the first round of tadpoles to die from the chlorine Ashley was dumping into the pool. She fished out the rest before the pool cleaners swung by on Thursday; she weighted down a whole jumbo-sized garbage bag with tadpoles, and even by Friday night the bag still writhed about. It was creepy. 

Maybe that's why Ashley's suffered some tadpole nightmares.

She feels guilty for throwing them in the trash.

     (I don't think calling her "tadpole Hitler" helped the situation)

     (she forgave me the comment; she knows I'm on a WW2 kick)

Last night she dreamt that the Mom & Dad came by the house to find her.

"They were the size of bowling balls, and they were intent to avenge their babies."

She called for me to help, and I looked at them and told her I'd take care of it.

"But find me some dissecting tools," I said, grabbing an axe and heading outside.

That is something I would say.

In other news, I look pretty good in Ashley's pink robe:

this is for my "pretty in pink" audition.
(I'm making you a pin-up, Blake!)

"worn"

i'm tired, i'm worn, my heart is heavy

from the work it takes to keep on breathing

i've made mistakes, i've let my hope fail

my soul feels crushed by the weight of this world

and i know that you can give me rest

so i cry out with all that i have left

let me see redemption win

let me know the struggle ends,

that you can mend a heart that's frail and torn.

i wanna know a song can rise

from the ashes of a broken life,

and all that's dead inside can be reborn, 'cause i'm worn

i know i need to lift my eyes up

but i'm just too weak, life won't let up

and i know that you can give me rest

so i cry out with all that i have left:

let me see redemption win

my prayers are wearing thin even before the day begins

i've lost my will to fight, so heaven come and flood my eyes

(tenth avenue north, worn)

the fossil park

This afternoon Ben, Jason and I left the Farm and headed out to Trammel Fossil Park, where we combed the good ol' Ordovician seafloor looking for remnants of the ancient seas. The fossils were scant compared to those at Caesar's Creek; the largest brachiopods had long since been snatched, but we found some pelecypods and gastropods. I was pretty stoked to find a liospira (it kinda looks like a snail, and it's fairly rare), but most of the finds were conserved to corals; a good number of hellopora could be found on every inch of ground. I have yet to find a trilobite; that's like the Gold Mine of Ordovician fossil hunting. Since Caesar's Creek has all but dried up this spring, I'm thinking about heading up there tomorrow and searching for trilobites. For those who live in the Midwest, here's a guide to Ordovician fossils that I've found helpful: 

5.14.15

#armcopark

Ashley and I took Zoey to the park yesterday, and as we walked the trails I confessed how I've felt so sad and broken, how all sorts of emotions have resurfaced in the wake of learning that the Wisconsinite is with someone else. "I'm not mad about it," I told her, "and I wish her all the happiness in the world. She deserves that." At the same time, the news isn't easy to stomach. "She told me that I was the answer to her prayers, that it was so evident how God meant for us to be together, how He had been working in both of us through the ups-and-downs of 'our story' to bring us to the point where we could love one another and be together forever. She told me she was so sure of that, so convinced of that, and I believed it, too." I told her how I hate feeling like this, how I feel weak for the way that the breakup has affected me, even up to now, almost a year after the fact. She told me, "She meant the whole world to you, and you loved her more than you loved yourself. The things you told her, shared with her, and dreamed with her, they were real, they were genuine. It seemed your prayers had been answered. She confirmed as much. To have five years of dreaming and longing and praying answered, and then to have it taken away... Anthony, it would be strange if you were able to just shrug your shoulders and move on, even a year after it happened. It could take years for you to come to the point where you're okay with what happened. And you know what? That's okay. That's normal. It doesn't mean you're broken, and it doesn't mean you're weak. It means you risked everything, you gave everything, and you had it thrown back in your face." She added, "And, no, you're not weak. Even in your weakness, your strength is so clearly visible. That you wrestle the way you do, that you bear the burden you do, and that you're still so giving, so selfless, so willing to pour your energy into me and the girls, and into your clients... Most men lack that strength. Most men, when they're feeling the way you do, they shut down and they run. But not you. You keep going, even when it's hard, even when you're confused, because you know that despite what you may feel, you have responsibilities, and you intend to follow through on them."

I'm amazed that Ashley has stuck by me. I broke up with her once, overwhelmed by all my issues and desperate to find relief. She took me back when she shouldn't have, and she's let me share my darkest secrets and struggles with her. She's offered no judgment or criticism, only a compassionate ear and an understanding heart. In the worst of my times, she always asks, "What can I do to help?" When I struggle with my affections, she doesn't turn her back on me. When I struggle in my faith, she doesn't tell me that I don't love Jesus enough for her. When I make mistakes in my leadership, she doesn't call me out on it, hold it against me, and expect me to become a wizened leader overnight. I think the reason she's able to bear this burden with me is because she's been through it, too, and on a scale much larger than mine. What happened with me and the Wisconsinite is a pale comparison to what happened between her and Jon. I honestly hope Jon dies in a sudden accident; I hope Mandy lives a happy, fulfilling, and meaningful life. I really do. She and Jon are nothing alike, but the pain Ashley and I feel, it's very similar. There are many shades to grief, but the shades are often only a hue apart.

I pray for healing morning, day, and night. Prayer has become my diet, and like many diets, it often leaves me feeling empty. Jesus tells us to badger God, and I've been badgering away, but it seems like healing isn't something I will be able to claim anytime soon. I pray that God brings me healing not just for myself but for Ashley and for the girls. I pray that God will crush my love for the Wisconsinite so that I can look forward rather than backwards. There's no future there. She's told me as much. That dream and that love will not be realized. I pray that He'll help me accept that; if there's no future there, then why not remove the pain, remove the love, and bring the healing, when so much is at stake? I need to accept that truth and do all that is necessary to truly move on. I pray that He'll enable me to love Ashley the same way I loved Mandy, that He'll create in me the same passion, the same excitement, the same joy, the same daring imagination that I had with her. Ashley and the girls, they deserve that sort of love, and if God's desire is for me to fill that place in their lives, then it's an absolute necessity that He brings me healing. The longer the prayer is unanswered, the more doubtful I become; and laced within that doubt is a numbing fear, the fear that I will hurt Ashley, that I will hurt Chloe and Zoey by one day leaving and not coming back. The very thought brings tears to my eyes. So I pray that God has mercy not only on me but on them, as well. It's high time for Him to do something.

Wake up, Lord! Why do you slumber?

Get up! Do not reject us any longer!

Why are You still hiding from us?

Why are You still ignoring our suffering and trouble?

Look, and You will see our souls

now dwell in the dust;

our bodies hug the earth.

Rise up and help us;

restore us for the sake of Your boundless love.

(Psalm 44.23-26)

#selfies

It's been a while since I posted any selfies, and I figure shaving the god-awful beard from my face is as good a time as any to post some. I liked the beard for a little while, but it was just too scraggly, and I didn't like how I kept getting hair in my mouth whenever I ate. So I decided to shave it off, and I'll tell you what: I like the feeling of "sans beard". Here are some pictures I snapped out of boredom on Ben and Jason's patio:

And this one is probably my favorite of the bunch:

"Am I turtle enough for the turtle club?"

I think Yes.

thoughts on the future

Furthering my education has been something lying heavy on my mind. To be honest, I'm still a little spiffed about C.C.U. screwing up my transcripts; nonetheless, the time is ripe to try again, and I'm hoping to start my Master's at the end of the summer. So long as C.C.U. comes through (and I will be having a nice conversation with them when I go to send my transcripts next week), everything should be Good-2-Go (as the hip kids are prone to say). By the time I'm done with the degree, I'll be certified to teach Eighth Grade Social Studies. That isn't to say that I've closed off my mind to ministry. I still want to do ministry, but having talked to lots of ministers over the last several months, there's been a concurrent theme: "Have a backup degree." They don't say it because there's a lack of trust in God; they say it because the reality is that churches are autonomous organizations, they like to kick people to the curb for no good reason, and the level of burn-out is extreme. Tony, the last Youth Minister at my home church, resigned to become a public school teacher, and though a good number of people condemned him for "stepping out of God's plan," his life, his family, and his marriage has never been better.

I told Ashley, "I still want to do ministry. I just feel so unworthy of it." This past year has seen a gauntlet of disappointments and defeats: the ending of things with Mandy, the countless church interviews that led nowhere, the constant rejection in lieu of more "experienced" or "suitable" candidates (you would think, by the way some of these churches act, that St. Paul demanded youth ministers be able to play guitar). In the midst of these disappointments and defeats, I've struggled through a whole slew of emotional and spiritual issues. I've interpreted this string of unfortunate events as nothing less than God purposefully stepping in and hurting me. It's a fucked up way to think, with roots in the legalistic culture in which I grew up, but it's a mindset that's constantly nipping at my neurons (there's a catch-phrase to hold onto!). 

I know my sins, the secrets I've told no one. 

How can God forgive those things? 

How can God not abort any good plans for me?
I am so unworthy of anything from His hand.

The story of the Prodigal Son is an encouragement. The Prodigal, having wandered from his Father's house, looks around the pig-pen that's become his lair, and he moans, "Look at what I've become! This was stupid. Now I've really screwed up. I will go back to my father in repentance, and maybe in his mercy he'll let me be a slave." But then he finds grace: he's embraced as the son he is, returned to his rightful place, and celebrations ignite the household. There's no condemnation, only the celebration of restoration. I yearn for restoration, to be who I am called to me. I'm diligently working at not being held back by my shame and regret; I have to trust that God will use all that has happened for His glory. There's been a lot of negative fall-out from everything with Mandy, and I struggle spiritually in my faith. But that doesn't mean God has no place for me. Coffee With Jesus hits it on the head:

summer softball

Summer softball has recommenced for Ben. Every Tuesday evening for the next few months will be spent on the baseball field. Ben's team is a little short-handed, and the coach said I could jump in and play ball if I liked. I'm going to ask my boss if I can (I'm responsible for Jason, too, who doesn't play, so me being on the field while Jason's in the bleachers may be frowned upon). This Tuesday we picked up our schedule and practiced "throwing the ball," and I ripped my shorts' leg right down the middle in a desperate lunge to catch one of Ben's fly balls.

I missed the catch but made a spectacle.
Teenagers from the next field over were laughing and pointing.
"They're laughing with me, Michael! They're laughing with me!"

5.9.15

Summertime: beers (or bourbon), sunflower seeds, swimming in the pool, barbecues, et. al. It may have only been the first week of May, but it felt like the first week of July. A snowball in the white house may be a telling argument, but I'm going to stick with the vast majority of scientists on this one: I blame global warming. Or hip hop. Either way, I'm beginning to get what may end up being an odd sort of tan. "It has some brown in it," Ams told me. I'm not quite convinced, but a summer spent pool-side should sort out the matter.

I've picked up all sorts of shifts at Walk of Joy. Today I started working with the Special Olympics. It's nothing spectacular, but it's a good time nonetheless. I've been strapped on cash lately, and these shifts should help. (it's not that I'm broke; it's that half my income goes to my debt) I'll have ALL my debt paid off January 1st. It's worth the struggle.

Earlier this week I found out the Wisconsinite is dating someone. I thought hearing that news would be excruciating, but it wasn't. It was more like a quick punch to the gut, the kind that doubles you over without knocking you out. There's no reason to be mad about it, and I'm not. That doesn't mean it was easy to hear. All of the things she said to me--her promises, the way she spoke of our future, how we dreamed of our future together--resurfaced, and I heard her saying those things to him, and meaning them when she said them. I wondered what made him better than me. For someone to love you fiercely, to say those kinds of things, and then to turn their back on all that... You can't help but think there was something irredeemably wrong about you, something she saw in you and decided she couldn't bear to have in her life. Ash thinks a lot of my issues stem from a lack of closure: she didn't give me any solid reason, just said it wouldn't work, and then grasped at reasons to justify the decision. This lack of closure may feed into my burning desire to know just what he had that I didn't, what made her choose him over me. To give your whole heart to someone, to love so madly and truly, to pour all your energies and time and investments into someone, to want nothing more than to love that person well and striving to put that into practice, to be loyal and faithful to one hell of a fault, and to have that person turn their back on you, on all the promises and dreams, and to have that person NOT want you, to NOT want what you're offering, and then to open her heart to someone else after casting you aside like a pair of socks that just didn't fit... Really, you'd be mad not to wonder if there was something amiss. 

Ashley tells me that Mandy was blind, that she didn't see what she had, that she was dumb to let me go. And then she tells me how wonderful I am, and lists trait after trait, but I can't believe it, because I wasn't good enough for her but another guy is. I spent five years trying to be good enough for her, but I never was. Not once. She always enough of me that she got scared away. I start thinking that Mandy was the one God wanted for me, and He gave me five years to become the sort of person I needed to be for her, but I ran out of time, and at the ninth hour He turned her heart away from me. I just wasn't good enough. And then I think that God has abandoned me, that He took His plan for my life away and passed it someone else and I'm just left to find my way out of the rubble. He's gone over to Mandy's side; His hand is on her, not on me. And overwhelmed with guilt and loss--not just loss of Wisconsinite, but the loss of a life that I dreamed about for years and years--and believing, in my mind, the bullshit that I've been writing, I can't help but feel that there's no reason to hope, to even pray for better things. I've failed the test and I've been broken, and now there's no putting me back together again. Hearing that Mandy is with someone has triggered all those sorts of feelings, those twisted belief patterns, and I can't seem to shove off the idea that I'm just too messed up to love. I see her smiling with him, a genuine smile, and I haven't smiled lack that in almost a year. Why does the person who hurts you over and over get off Scott free while you're left alone to pick up the pieces of the heart she shattered? God only knows how long it'll take for me to heal from the loss of her, from the loss of everything we dreamed together. I plead and pray for God to bring healing into my life, to mend what she has broken and to suture what she has cut, but the prayers dissipate as soon as they leave my mouth. He has shown no inclination to hear my prayer, but He seems more than willing to answer hers. It's hard not to think that God plays favorites in times like these.

Well, there it is.

It's bullshit.

But it's there nonetheless.

#myfuture

It's not uncommon for Ashley and I to watch Modern Family once the girls go to bed. My favorite character by far is Phil Dunphy, maybe because he foreshadows the sort of father and husband I might turn out to be. Clueless, hilarious, and devoted, he isn't a bad man to emulate. Ashley agrees that I may end up a lot like him, which makes sense: everyone says I could make my own sitcom. "No one ever says or does the things you say or do," Blake has told me on more than one occasion. Here are some more "snippets" from Phil Dunphy that hit uncomfortably close-to-home:

5.5.15

My prayer is that if God wants me to be with Ashley—if she is an answer to my prayers, as she believes I am to her—then He will heal my broken heart and cultivate within me a love that rivals the love I had for the Wisconsinite; that furious, unquenchable, unconditional love is the love I want to have for Ashley. With Mandy I felt alive, passionate, excited, and overwhelmed by gratitude. I wanted onto to love her better each and every day. Ashley says she needs a man like me, a REAL man who is faithful, compassionate, and caring; a man who leads with a quiet, unassuming strength; a man who doesn’t find his value in worldly things or titles; a man who is gentle, loving, and invested in her daughters. She told Brandy, “When you find a man like Anthony, you don’t let him go. When you’ve been in an awful marriage, you see what really matters in a partner. I was young and dumb and all the things I wanted in a man were the very things I shouldn’t have wanted, things the world told me were important but which weren’t at all important in a partner.” Ashley is phenomenal. She’s so insanely supportive that even Amanda said, “You do too much for him.” She makes so many sacrifices and has such a servant’s heart. She wrestles so much with her faith, with the questions of her past, is plagued by doubt, and yet Christ is seen so clearly in her. She isn’t critical but understanding. She’s patient, she’s kind, she isn’t easily angered, and she’s devoted to working through hard times. “Relationships are hard. In every relationship you’ll experience the desire to run.” The ones who don’t run, the ones who back up their words with action, those who endure the angst of sleeping nights and gnawing stress, they are rare. I’ve been in enough relationships to see that Ashley is incredibly rare. I want to believe that God’s plan is for Ashley and I to work. I want to believe she’s an answer to my prayers.

Ashley confessed to me, “When we first started talking, I wasn’t physically attracted to you. And I prayed that if God wanted us together, that He would make me attracted to you. And you know what? You’ve become, to me, the very definition of masculine sexuality.” At La Boiteaux Woods thirty weeks ago, I sat in the dried up streambed poking at crawdad skeletons and flicking Daddy Long-Legs off my legs, praying that God would have mercy on me and bring me a woman who is a Christian, who puts a priority on holy living, who believes in biblical leadership and submission, a woman who wants to raise a godly family. I prayed for a woman who wouldn’t run, for a woman who would love me for who I am, and I prayed that I would love her in the same way that I loved the Wisconsinite. Not a few days later, by a weird twist of circumstances, we were getting drinks at the Irish Pub and catching up after nine years of not seeing one another. I’d been on a handful of dates since Mandy broke up with me, but each time I just felt sick to my stomach, reliving the memories, trying to feign interest in the woman across the table, knowing she could NEVER measure up to the Wisconsinite. Not even the anger in my heart, an anger of the sort that I had never before known, could obscure my undying love for her every curve, every flaw, and every part of her being, the Good and the Bad. But when Ashley and I met up, I didn’t feel any of that. We both had a great time, and in her presence, I didn’t hurt. We kept hanging out, and three weeks later we became boyfriend and girlfriend.

The relationship isn’t easy. Relationships never are. Those who expect the “right fit” to be easy are deluded, informed by Disney and wishful thinking rather than reality. Ashley has been so incredibly patient as I wrestle through my issues. She cares only about my well-being, and she has spent countless nights awake in bed, staining her pillow with tears as she prays for my healing, for my wholeness, for me recovery in the wake of the Wisconsinite. No woman, to my knowledge, has EVER stayed up until 6 AM praying for me. That just goes to show her genuine care for me. All this to say, I have reason to believe that Ashley IS an answer to prayer. But there’s just one thing: I don’t *yet* love her the way that I loved Mandy. It would be irresponsible, even cruel, to pretend otherwise. I could say the right things, the things she wants to hear, but that wouldn’t be honest. I WANT to love her in that way, but it’s not something I can force. My heart IS broken; there’s no point in denying it. People can break under the accumulating weights of hurt, disappointment, and doubt. We are all broken in different ways, and to claim wholeness as an inalienable right is ridiculous. The fact that I don’t yet love Ashley the way I loved Mandy bothers me, and I seek answers as to WHY.

Maybe it’s because my heart is, at this point, incapable of that sort of love. Mandy will never know the extent of the pain she caused, how her words and actions, coupled together, tore into me. Maybe there are barriers that have arisen to prevent that kind of hurt from coming again. Maybe, in the desire to preserve myself from that kind of pain, I’m subconsciously sealing off my heart. “Better to not love than to love and lose.” Or maybe it’s because part of me—the irrational part—still wonders if Mandy is the one for me, regardless of all that has happened, and therefore my love for her will not wither and die, irrespective of all logic and sanity. My love for her has weathered a good number of storms; it’s stubborn, for better or worse. If that’s the case, all I can do is constantly work at putting her and what we had behind me, shoving her out of my heart the way she shoved me out of hers. I’ve n ever been successful at cutting her out of my heart, but now more than ever it’s a necessary. It’s not just my future that’s at stake; all this directly affects Ashley’s future, too. Then I wonder if the reason I can’t seem to come to that sort of love for Ashley is because Ashley isn’t an answer to prayer. Maybe I’ll never come to know that sort of love for her because we’re not meant to be together over the long haul. We’re super compatible, with the same values, desires, and beliefs in life; but compatibility is no substitute for love. I would choose love over compatibility any day. You can find someone with all the qualities you want in a mate, but if you don’t love them, it’s doomed; it isn’t about finding the person who fits your arbitrary checklist, it’s about finding someone you long to serve, protect, nurture, and cherish, regardless of any amateur “relationship checklist.” And I need to be honest: the love I had for Mandy was cultivated over years of friendship and vulnerability. I didn’t love her when we were at college. I didn’t love her when our communication was limited to emails. I didn’t love her the first time I visited her in Wisconsin. The love grew over time, born out of a deep friendship marked by vulnerability and trust. Ashley and I, we’re still in the beginning stages of getting to know one another. To expect that sort of love after six months may be foolishness. I don’t easily “fall in love,” and though I dream of being a husband and a father, my life isn’t ruled by that desire. I can’t commit to Ashley the way I committed to Mandy, but if I could, would it even be wise? I think not.

I’m an over-thinker, and maybe this is me over-thinking things. I can’t come out of a relationship with a woman I grew to love more than life itself and expect to find that sort of love so easily and without hard work. I could let my fears—the fear that I’m just too broken, that I’m incapable of loving anyone but her, that this relationship is wrong because it’s hard—dictate my actions. But I won’t. I told Ashley that I would work at working through my issues, that I’d be honest with her, and that I wouldn’t run and hide when the temptation to do exactly that feels overwhelming. I promised her that I wouldn’t be the sort to run so easily, and I intend to keep that promise, even when it hurts. If a day comes when I’m convinced that Ashley and I won’t work, I’ll take the blame and the fall. But that day won’t come overnight, and I’ll fight against it, because when you commit to someone, that’s what you do. 

the first of the month

Last month I finished only two books, but no worries: I'm well on my way to accomplishing my New Year's goal of reading at least fifty books this year. Having read 25 in the first four months of the year, I think I can rest easy a little bit. Reading only fiction for a while wore me out; I need to learn something, or I start feeling restless. In addition to N.T. Wright's Jesus and the Victory of God, I've been reading through several histories of World War Two. I'm reading them in tandem with one another, so I haven't been finishing them as fast as usual (though I've read 200 pages in the last two days alone!). In the spirit of the upcoming Star Wars VII, coupled with my blitzkrieging through books on the Second World War (see what I did there?), here are a few beautiful prints from Impale Design:

Since this post has nothing whatsoever to do with the new month and everything to do with reading, here are a few "struggles only book nerds will understand" that I relate to awfully well:

Deciding which book to read next.

(seriously, though: the struggle is something between a headache and a nightmare)

Running out of space for your books.

(there's a reason I turned Amanda's old bunk-bed into a book-shelf)

Being interrupted while reading.

(bless Chloe's soul, but she has no understanding of social cues:

a book in my hands means I'm busy)

Being asked what your favorite book is as if you could pick one.

(I don't have favorites. Some books are just better than others.)

Finding out that someone you like "doesn't read".

(Ashley's dyslexia gives her an out, or we'd have an issue)

Deciding what book to bring on vacation.

(my vacation packing is always scarce on underwear and heavy on literature)

Moving.

(I collect cardboard boxes to make it less of a headache when the time comes)

Running out of money from buying so many books.

(Jessie helped me overcome my addiction years ago, but the urge to buy remains)