a sketch

Vocation. The thing about vocation is that you just know what you're supposed to do, who you're supposed to be and to become. The more I pray, the more I search, the more the word of God comes to me: "Prepare the Way." That is what God wants me to do: preach the gospel. Announce the king and, as his herald and emissary, call people to loyalty to the king. And while I know this, there's this fear: I'm timid. I'm not bold. I'm shy in many ways, often fearful of confrontation. I've led a disappointing life, one marked quite poignantly by failure. I work a minimum-wage job, I am often overwhelmed emotionally, I can be, at times, unstable. And yet here's God, inviting me--no, summoning me--to be a bold and fearless herald of his kingdom, to announce an unsettling proclamation, to call out false gods and pseudo-gods wherever they may be. But I'm timid, and I'm shy, I look like I'm twelve, and I often wonder if I've gotten this wrong--at least, I try to convince myself this isn't what God wants me to do, for a variety of reasons (fear being one of them)--but god is always there, reminding me: "You're mine, and I've chosen you to be a light in the darkness, a guide to the blind, a teacher of fools." But I feel swamped in darkness, blind as an eye-gouged Zedekiah, a fool in thought and praxis.

Calling. I vividly remember when God called me to this task. I was in prayer and worship alone when I heard what I can only describe as a semi-audible voice: "Prepare the Way." My heart stopped and the world slowed and I knew and still know: God had spoken to me. It was this which led me to C.C.U. I was determined to advance God's kingdom. I studied and I prayed and I led Bible studies and preached sermons and served as a leader in my church. People spoke often of how God would use me, how God spoke to them through me, encouraging and convicting and enlightening them. I was filled with an insurmountable passion, a fire in my gut, and like Jeremiah I cried out, "There is in my heart a burning fire in my bones, and I am weary with holding it in, and I cannot!" I fell in love with God and with Jesus and felt joy and peace and knew this is what God wanted me to do, that he was leading me to C.C.U. where I could receive training in the advance of his kingdom.

Disintegration. Depression overcame me my sophomore year of college, and I embraced in my weakness and despair all those classic escapism techniques: sex, drugs, and alcohol. I became a bitter and calloused person, void of any hope and life, a shell of what I had once been. I allowed the sin in my life to infect me to the bones, and I became, in a sense, dehumanized. I reached a cataclysmic low and, in a sense, repented. I stopped the performance of the sins but retained the corrupted heart. In February of this year, after months and months of refusing God's heed to fully and finally repent (in truth, while I stopped worshiping the false gods of sex and pleasure, I didn't turn to God but turned to worshiping the false gods of pride and fortune), God dealt me a deeply-wounding blow. It was a blow of wounding to bring about healing. He hurt me so that he could restore me. The very night all this happened, God spoke to me again: I wept, asking him, "Why would you let this happen to me if you love me?" and he replied, "I didn't let this happen to you. I made it happen to you because I love you." Having ignored all of God's pleadings with me to repent, God's declarations meant to bring me to my knees, he did what I refused to do on my own: he brought me to my knees, and not so that I could stay there, curling into a fetal position and whimpering about my life. Rather, he brought me to my knees so that he could lift me up again.

Repentance. I fled to a sanctuary and really began probing--in thought and prayer and study--what had happened. Eventually, after nearly two months of wrestling both with God and the intensifying pain of what happened in February, I knelt before God and repented. I turned from my false gods to him. And in a week, the pain of February vanished, completely gone, not even an inkling returning to visit me since then. It wasn't as if the pain faded, or even decreased into a mere trickle to try up. It just went away. One night I was in great pain over what happened, and the next day I went to bed and realized: I don't feel anything. It wasn't a fluke, it was an answer to prayer. The blow had been struck, I had been wounded, and when I repented, the healing began--the first step being the divine eradication of the emotional hell ensuing following the events in February.

Healing. The process of healing, a process that continues even now, is no pleasant thing. Just as a wound itches and burns as it heals, so it is--often, and for me--with spiritual healing. There's purging, inflammation, bruising. Scars form and peel off and the wound is opened again. But healing goes on, a healing down by the Spirit. My spiritual healing has involved much self-analyses and confessions, the splintering of pride and the shattering of dreams. It's involved the exposure of my corrupted heart, of the false gods I have worshiped and crucifying them in my mind even as they whisper in my heart. It's a brutal healing, to say the least; but it's a good healing. I am being developed into a stronger and better person, and not by my own doing, but by the power of the Spirit. I am experiencing peace and joy again.

Re:thinking. Amidst all of this, I have been rethinking everything: myself, my life, my world, and my God. Living for years in a state of ruined produced all sorts of flawed thinking and erroneous perceptions. The errors in my meta-narrative have been and are being exposed in the light of the gospel, and piece-by-piece, wing-by-wing, they are being dismantled. Rebuilding is taking place. The way I perceive God, the world, myself, and life itself is being built into a new shape. 

Arabia. And so I find myself being healed, rethinking everything, bathing in prayer and scripture, seeking at least a flimsy coherent framework for my thoughts and praxis. At the center of all this lies the wrestling with vocation, and in that is the wrestling with a certain promise of God delivered to me in December of 2006. This is my Arabia: I know, in my heart and mind, that which God has called me to; and I am seeking out how it will work out, what it will look like en-fleshed. I perceive this to be a critical part of my life. On the outside, it seems run-of-the-mill. Working full-time at Starbucks, paying my bills, going to bed early every night, juggling car troubles. But on the inside, there is a stormy sea with the promise of calm skies on the other side of restoration. 

Restoration. God wounded me so that he could heal me. And he heals me so that he can exalt me, lift me up, restore me. I believe that had I remained committed to God years ago, my life would look drastically different. God won't change the past, but he can remake the future. My vocation hasn't changed: "Prepare the Way." The promise of God is not null and void. Now, what restoration will look like the other side of Arabia, only God knows, and I'll simply have to find out. For now I am left with the call--"Announce the king and call his subjects to loyalty!"--and I am confident the Spirit will show me the way.

pumpkin spice, sushi, and repentance

At work I experimented with making some espresso cocktails, and I really found a winner: short pumpkin spice latte with one pack raw sugar, whipped cream with caramel drizzle and topped with cinnamon dolce and pumpkin spice sprinkles. It's pretty amazing. I'll probably be drinking one every day after work. In other news, I've decided to stop trying to "lose weight." Instead I'm just going to try and "bulk up." Yesterday I did 50 extended push-ups and my chest is killing me today. Today's workout involves 100 arm curls. I'm most concerned about my abs, chest, and arms; though because of the pudge that will never go away (even underweight I had pudge on my tummy), my abs aren't a big concern--you'd never be able to see them. Amanda was in town last night and she came by work this morning and she smoked a cigarette with me on my last ten-minute break, and she said she's going to the Cincinnati Halloween party dressed up like me, and I'm going to go as a turtle--as long as I don't work that evening. We'll see if I can work it out.

Dewenter will be here in a little bit. We're going to grill some chicken and I'm going to bake some potatoes. It'll be amazing. Tomorrow I am joining Carly and Jessica C. from work and we're going to grab some sushi from some sushi restaurant in Kettering(?). I love sushi and can't wait, and Carly and Jessica are really cool, so that's a plus, too.

I finished Chapter IX of "Re:framing Repentance." It's all about faith and how to understand (a) what it is and (b) why it's what God desires/demands of us. It's one of the longest chapters in the second third of the book--it's about twenty pages--but it's well-worth the space. I've defined faith in Jesus Christ as loyalty to Jesus Christ. This fits in with what "loving God" is all about--devotion/commitment/loyalty to him--and it also flows perfectly with repentance, which--as I define it--is the decision to turn from self-loyalty to loyalty to God/Jesus. Most other readings regarding the relationship between Faith and Repentance are pretty jagged; that is, it becomes a technical rock concert where it's hard to ascertain how the two fit together. This understanding of repentance and faith--and how they interconnect--is, I think, true to the biblical writings and the major themes of the New Testament. So much regarding Christianity, the Christian life, and the eschatological future and how it is tied in with faith & repentance is freed from the ambiguity inherent in understandings of faith/repentance which harp upon certain aspects, superimposing these aspects above all the rest, without seeking to synthesize the aspects within a broader paradigm. Bah I'm getting tired of writing about it all. I'm excited about the next chapter, though: "The Consequences of Repentance." Here's a picture I took while suffering the aftershocks of Chipotle after work:

the dayton days [36]

just plugging away

Monday. I finished N.T. Wright's "Justification" while sipping espresso on the back porch. Sarah came up to visit me for a while: Skyline Chili and chatting on the front porch while watching cold September rains. She told me Keith got in a bar fight and broke his hand and had a bottle smashed over his head. She left, and Dylan & Tyler came over. We went to the Mall for a bit and spent the evening playing Wii and hanging out on the front porch despite the cold.

Tuesday. It's strange: though I knew this day would come, as it did with Julie and Courtney, I refused to believe it. Amidst the situation, with all the emotions, there seemed to be no light, only darkness. And then glimmers of light began to appear, and then ribbons, and the darkness melted away. I laughed, I sang, I danced for joy. I enjoyed life once again. Dan Dyke told me a long time ago, "It's surprising what we can 'get over.'" His words brought me hope; and now his words have come true: I am completely over Sarah.

Wednesday. I was in a contemplative mood all day, spent most of the night just driving around, smoking cigarettes and drinking an iced decaf soy caramel macchiato. I miss all those drives in Cincinnati. My most frequent was the OH-50 turnaround, but sometimes I'd go down and drive around the stadiums where drug deals went down once 3 AM hit. Sometimes I'd go across the Brent-Spence and drive into Ludlow, KY and sit on the bleachers in the old baseball field and across the river and up the rise perched the lookout at Mount Echo. Other times I'd just get lost on purpose in the hills of northern Kentucky. I miss those drives. I miss, too, the drive into Eden Park and out Mount Adams and I'd always slow down by the Gazebo to see if the wailing ghost would show but she never did. I miss getting coffee at the Mariemont Starbucks and I miss the old stone church with the overgrown graveyard and I miss the Mount Adams overlook and my eggs and coffee at The Anchor, but mostly I miss my friends.

Thursday. A wedding party came through work today. It was happy but sad for me. Courtney got married this time last year. I've never loved anyone like her despite "meeting" several girls. I could've loved Mandy K. that way, and Sarah, but neither would have any of it. Carly saw the hurt in my eyes, patted me on the back. "Don't worry, Pal. You'll find someone."

Friday. I picked up Chipotle for lunch. The manager knew me from work, comes in all the time. "You look like a natural there, you really do!" he said. Apparently my forte is found behind an espresso machine. Jessica C., Asenath, and J.J. all commented on how skinny I look. Aunt Teri & Grandma came up; Great Aunt Ethel is in the hospital for some brain issues. Dylan & Tyler both came over and we smoked our pipes on the back porch. Tyler got a pipe today, and I gave one of my extras to Dylan. I'm keeping the Salvinelli. 

Saturday. Sarah & Keith are "back together." Last night he grabbed her phone and made several calls to guys in her address book, telling them he was going to kill them and put them in body-bags. One of them was her mom's friend, and he told Cindy about it and said Sarah was sobbing in the background. Cindy freaked out because she knows a girl who was dating a guy like Keith, and she ended up getting killed. Cindy called me, falling apart: "What's WRONG with her, Anthony?!" she wailed. It's tragic: Sarah may end up being the one in the body-bag. Ams went off on Sarah for what happened: "You're ruining your relationships with everyone who cares about you, your mom is sobbing because of what you're doing, and you won't change! You just keep fucking yourself over and over!" Ams wants me to move back down to Cincinnati at the end of her lease. "I need you here," she said. "We all miss you."

Sunday. I think my problem is self-confidence. I AM attractive. I AM cute. I need to stop "living in the past" and come to terms with reality. I'm a great, wonderful, attractive guy. Far better than most! And humble, too. I talked to Ams about my insecurities. "You look great, Anth. You're not a stick, but you'll never be: you're short and stocky. And that's not a bad thing! You look fit and healthy, absolutely NOT overweight. So be confident." I don't know why I'm so hard on myself for my pudge when I borderline salivate over it on women.

pipe club re:mixed

Yesterday Tyler bought a pipe and some pipe tobacco, and he and Dylan came over when I got off work. I gave Dylan my old pipe and broke out the Savinelli I received as a graduation gift from my good friend Matt Jobst. I tried the Irish Cream tobacco. We sat on the front porch in the blistering cold and smoked our pipes and laughed till we cried. Here is a picture of the three of us with our respective pipes (though you can't see Tyler's, on the right).

Aunt Teri & Grandma are in town. My great aunt Ethel has been in and out of the hospital, so they're staying here for a few days and traveling up to Springfield to see her each afternoon and evening. I have the day off (and tomorrow I start up another 5-day work week) and need to run some errands. I'm going to finish my PDP at work and then finish revising Chapter IX in "Re:framing Repentance," and after that who knows? I may be getting sushi with some friends from work but that's up in the air now. I need to get the tire on my car fixed, but I'll probably wait till my next day off to do that. The spare is holding up just fine (knock on wood). I'm enjoying this cold weather but wish there would've been that "transition" between the 90s and the 50s. It's like we just plunged straight into the first echoes of winter.

a cold sunday

Yesterday I had Chipotle for lunch. The manager at Chipotle comes into work all the time, and he said, "You look like you really belong there. You fit in." Ha. Last night I spent six hours writing Chapter IX--"Repentance & Faith"--in my book. It's a really good chapter (albeit long), and I hope to finish revising it my tomorrow afternoon. Right now the book is over 150 pages long. This morning I went to work and had a Pumpkin Spice Latte, and then I grabbed some sushi and a spring roll from D.L.M. I'm going to go work out, eat a delicious lunch, and then work a short shift--2-7:00. My PDP is tonight. Kenya Blend, I think? And then maybe I'll hang out with Dylan and Tyler. Here's a picture I took during my first ten-minute break at work yesterday:

re:framing repentance, part II

I'm close to halfway done with my book on repentance. The latest chapter, "Repentance & Loving God," is essentially an old essay I wrote several months ago re:worked around the theme of repentance. In it I show how "loving God" can be equated with being devoted to God. At the end of the chapter, I expound upon how I have defined repentance in the book and how I currently perceive it. Here's my "definition" of repentance in the religious sense:

1. Repentance is the decision of the heart/mind (i.e. the will) to "turn from idols" (devotion to those things, including our own selves, which are not God) and to "turn to God" (to put our devotion upon God and, consequently, his kingdom).
2. "Devotion to God" can be called the Christian--or even, dare we say it, all humanity's--vocation. Lying within the primal fault of mankind in the Garden of Eden, and stretching out in a variety of ways throughout human history, is the antithesis to devotion to God: devotion to idols, the least of which is not our own selves. The greatest commandment--"Love God"--is fleshed-out in the New Testament as being synonymous with being devoted to God.
3. Devotion to God (or loving God) means to be loyal to God, committed to God, to have sworn allegiance to God (who was revealed supremely through Messiah Jesus). This is the heart of what God desires of people and what, at the same time, he demands of them: their loyalty, allegiance, commitment, devotion; yes, their love.
4. Repentance--the decision to turn from self-love/devotion to loving God/being devoted to him--is the opposite of what has taken place throughout a person's life. Real turning of the heart/mind/will is involved. It isn't about feeling guilty, feeling sorry, or apologizing. It's about making a rock-solid decision to turn one's back on the previous manner of living and embracing a new manner of living; it is going from living to please the self, to serve the self, to worship the self to living to please God, to serve God, to worship God as Creator rather than worshiping the creation.
5. Obedience is not the same thing as repentance, just as it is not the same thing as loving God/being devoted to him. Repentance is the decision to devote oneself to God. Devotion to God, when genuine, shows itself in obedience. Thus, it can be said, obedience lies within the realm of "the fruit of repentance." 

You may have noticed that I didn't mention faith once. The next chapter is all about faith and about how faith isn't "at odds" with repentance (as some have said), nor that faith precedes repentance; but that, rather, as the ancient Jews would say, repentance precedes faith. "Repentance is the first half of faith," it has been said; and understanding faith--what it is, what it is not--is integral to understanding how it fits perfectly, hand-in-glove, with repentance. Faith, repentance, loving God--in the next chapter I'm bringing it all together and then, in a final blow, defining repentance with all those themes coursing through it. It should be exciting.

nostalgia

A year ago to the day I was living in the Lehman House, in the heart of Cincinnati. A year ago today I found myself overcome with a deep sense of unsettledness, and I left the house and drove through the Kentucky highlands and found myself at the baseball fields in Ludlow right by the river. I sat in the dugout and it was night-time and quiet and cold, and I prayed, "This is where Courtney and I confessed that in one another, we found our dreams coming true. Her dream came true. Mine didn't." And then: "Please bring me a wife soon. A woman I can love and be loved by. And please bring Sarah a wonderful husband. And if at all possible, please make me that husband be me. I want to give her everything she wants. I pray she'll accept it." That's word-for-word my heart-wrenched prayer. I know because it's written in my journal on this very day in 2009. A year later I find myself praying the same prayer, in a sense; Sarah isn't a part of it, but the prayer remains: "Please bring me a wife." It's a selfish prayer, really, but let's be honest: most of our prayers are selfish. That doesn't mean God doesn't care. And I know that marriage, no matter how badly I want it, isn't a guarantee in this life. I don't believe that God sets aside people whom we're going to marry and then makes it happen. I think it's much more complicated--and serious--than that. But nevertheless, if my perspectives be wrong (and, in a sense, I hope they are), then perhaps my prayer will find fruit.

I miss those drives I used to take. Tonight I went for a drive down the winding back roads. Empty roads with fog hanging over everything. A beautiful mist. Man, I really do miss those Cincinnati drives. My most frequent was the OH-50 turnaround, but sometimes I would go downtown and drive around the stadiums where drug deals went down once 3:00 AM hit. Sometimes I would go across the Brent-Spence to Ludlow, Kentucky and sit on the bleachers in the old baseball field and across the river and up the rise was the Lookout at Mount Echo where many painful memories have been forged. And other times I would just get lost--on purpose--in the hills of northern Kentucky, sometimes arriving at abandoned graveyards where I would park and lay out amongst the overgrown tombstones and just look at the sky where the city's smog didn't block out the stars. I miss the drive through Eden Park, around the fountain and out through the ritzy district of Mount Adams; when going through the park, I would always slow down by the gazebo to see if the wailing ghost would appear (she never did). I miss how the drives would often result in me sitting on the patio at the Mariemont Starbucks, or when I'd find myself sipping coffee at The Anchor Grill in Covington. I miss my eggs and coffee at The Anchor, I really do. I can never make it as good even with a French press and constant practice flipping eggs. 

Most of all I miss my life back then. It was a simpler life. Things were black-and-white. I would wake up, go to school, work twenty hours a week. The rest of my time would be spent hanging out with my friends, too many friends to count. I miss how we would sit around the dining room table and laugh until our sides were splitting, and I miss how we would congregate on either the back or front porch and drink beers (or wine for the more ritzy girls). I miss how the nights were cold and I would crawl into bed with the heater blowing and just curl up in my blankets and be sang to sleep by sirens and city traffic. I miss all of these things, and more. Were those days any better than these? No, not at all. In fact, these days are far better. Emotionally, I'm healthier; physically, I'm WAY healthier. But I do feel lonely a lot. Dylan, Tyler, and Dewenter are wonderful friends but I don't see them as much as I would like. Everyone's so busy. There are many nights that I just sit on the front porch and watch the moon rising above the trees and I wonder if my life will always be this way. And I know that there will come a day when I'll look back on these days and wish for them again, but they'll be gone, and I'll romanticize them, turning them into something they weren't; it's the same thing I've done with Cincinnati. Those years in Cincinnati were (a) the best years of my life and (b) the worst years of my life. But the human mind is a strange thing, and except for traumatic events, generally we only remember the "good times" of the "old days". And maybe that's why we miss them so much--we don't miss those days as they are but those days as they have become in our minds.