#lookingback

I was reading through old journal entries and found one from a conversation I had with Mandy weeks after our break-up. She told me that the only reason we didn't work out is because she had too many issues, too many fears, that the pressure was too great. Apparently she's worked through all those issues and fears, and I'm left carrying the weight of all that she did to me. It's just becoming too great to bear; each passing day finds me more wearied, more stretched-thin, closer to the breaking point. I fear a mental breakdown is in the works; I wouldn't be surprised if I just collapsed from heart failure. Perhaps it would be a blessing; to put it simply, I'm just done with life. I'm ready for it to be over. There's no reason--absolutely NO reason--to suspect anything will get better. Westerners like to be optimistic, and it's treated as a virtue; but really it's just a cover-up for naivety. Optimism may make you happier, but it doesn't exactly run in tandem with reality. Reality is that when you open your heart to love, you open yourself to be wounded, sometimes irrevocably so. I'm almost certain that I won't recover from what she did to me; the darkness, the shadows, the coldness in my heart doesn't abate nor relent. 

It's been exactly a year since my five-year friendship and pursuit of the Wisconsinite reached a Dead-End. I poured my heart and soul into her, holding nothing back. The last year has been so difficult; the hurt, pain, and anger I've felt has been indescribable. Even now the pain lingers; her face, her words, her laughter, it all haunts me. She's still there in my dreams, and throughout the day suffocating memories, debilitating memories, assault me. A sound, a name, a scent, a familiar face: these are all triggers. There are times I wonder if I have a mild case of PTSD--lots of the symptoms are regular occurrences. The effort to make sense of everything, to decipher why this happened, and to rebuild in the wake of it all, is so damned exhausting. Each passing month finds me more wearied, more stretched-thin. This feeling of brokenness, of being disassembled and not yet put together again, is Old News, but not in the way you want. My heart feels like a cold stone wrapped in wet tissue paper. I keep telling myself, "Give it more time," but time keeps passing, and things don't get any better.

It isn't just depressing; it's scary as hell.
What if I never recover from this?
What if what happened a year ago was the Last Straw?

God knows I've spent the last ten years living a delicate balance between just Holding On and Hoping. The disappointments stack atop one another; what if the weight just got too great, and I've collapsed, crippled in Heart and Mind? It's something that happens; this isn't just the stuff of movies and novels.

She's moved on.
She's found someone, and she's happy with him.
I'm just a memory, the guy who wasn't a "right fit."
Everything we believed in and dreamed together,
    all of that is just rubble on the bottom of the Sea of Memory.

The fact that she's allowed to just move on and be happy while I continue to be burdened (to put it lightly) by the pain she's caused only adds to the hurt and the helplessness. Hopeless. That's really how I feel. I have wept and screamed in my desperate prayers for healing, but he hasn't budged. I ask myself why he favors her over me. The only thing that makes sense is that I'm just not good enough to warrant his attention. She's his Prized Daughter and I'm the Black Sheep. I wasn't good enough for her, so he took her away from me; I wasn't good enough for ministry, so he worked behind the scenes to thwart all my efforts; and now I'm just not good enough to be healed, so I'm just left broken and cast off. And in such a situation, what hope do I have? I know these thoughts run contrary to the gospel, but they won't stop running through my head. They're seeded deep into my mind. I thought Mandy was the answer to my prayers; I believed her when she said, "Can't you see it, Anthony Jordan? Can't you see how He's been preparing us for our life together? How He's been working in our lives to bring us to this point?" Those words haunt me. Up to the day she decided she didn't want me in her life, she told me she loved me, that she could see God at work behind the scenes, that I was the one meant for her, the answer to her prayers. It was too good to be true, and there's your first clue. How far did I fall that God abandoned His plans for us?

She told me, quite adamantly, that her decision had nothing to do with me not being good enough. But consider the source: this is the same person who consistently found laundry lists of reasons I wasn't good enough. Every time she broke my trust, she had reasons, areas where I just didn't live up to her lofty requirements. After she told me that her decision had nothing to do with me not being good enough, she gave me reasons why I wasn't good enough. Arbitrary reasons, of course, as if she drew them at random out of a top-hat. The one that struck me the most was her telling me, "You just didn't lead us very well." She had nothing to substantiate that claim; she couldn't give me any concrete reasons as to how I failed to lead us well. And it came as a real surprise, since she'd always praised my leadership. She had a tendency to find deficiencies in my faith: "You don't go to church multiple times a week" or "You don't love Jesus enough," and things like that. Her criticisms struck at my biggest struggle (growing up legalistic can be a bitch), and they hit me like well-aimed arrows landing in the chinks of my armor. Those criticisms, one-by-one, reinforced the haunting fear that I have not been and never will be good enough. I worked eighty hours a week to move up there, sacrificing my time, my money, my energies, and my social life; she just wondered why I wasn't finding time for an extra church event or two a week. I constantly prayed for her and for us, I put her spiritual well-being at the top of my concerns, I read book after book to learn how to love her and lead her well, and I guarded our purity; we weren't perfect, and my leadership wasn't perfect, but I'm thankful we didn't even fool around. "Everyone leads with a limp," she told me, but that doesn't make any limps excusable. I wasn't good enough. God gave me so many chances to get it right, and I just never did. He cast me aside and has given her someone who isn't such a screw-up. 

Fast-forward to a year later, and her criticisms remain engraved into my psyche. The lack of healing, the conviction that I'm the Black Sheep who will never get anything right and who will forever be "passed over" and out of God's favor, these are wearing at my faith, making it frayed and torn. I fear that what I considered to be God's Answered Prayer will become the catalyst to a dead or absent faith. A God who doesn't care is just a hop-scotch-and-jump away from being no god at all. I don't foresee my faith coming to quits, as I'm still very much a believer (some would say that's my biggest weakness), but I've seen it happen again and again. No one is immune. 

A year ago as I lie on the sofa at John and Brandy's feeling sick to my stomach and sick to my heart, I told myself, "In a year, everything will be okay." Hence another disappointment. Things are far from okay. I wish I could go back to January of last year and delete her text message the moment she sent it; I would spare myself so much pain, and I imagine I would be a much happier man than I am now. But you can't change the past, and you can't change the future; what happens happens, and we've just got to deal with it. Some people get lucky; most people don't. That's just how it goes. Maybe I'm naive to expect any sort of healing; maybe this is just the beginning of yet another long chapter of disappointment and pain. There have been so many of them, year-after-year, so it's not a leap to imagine that history repeats itself (it tends to be a rule).

I do know that I haven't given up hope.
I'm still fighting, I'm still praying.
I'm still daring to believe that things will get better.
Maybe this time next year things will be looking up? 

6.16.15

a cold wind blows, i am shivering

my body aches as my heart is breaking

why is life making me so hollow?

why is happiness casting me in the shadows?

hold on, don't turn and walk away

save me

and i cried these words, but nobody came

i'm all alone, running scared

losing my way in the dark

i tried to get up, to stand on a prayer

but i keep crashing down hard

this is my side of the story

only my side of the story

nobody cares, nobody's there,

no one will hear my side of the story

emptiness, it's all around me

i tried to catch my breath, i'm barely surviving

and i can't go on, and i come undone,

and there's nothing left in me

this is my side of the story

only my burden to bear

nobody cares, nobody's there, no one will hear

my side of the story

6.14.15

At many points in my life, and not least now, I haven't "felt" God. Because emotions are such a huge part of life, when we don't feel the emotions we think we should feel, we're puzzled, asking ourselves, "What's wrong?" Does a lack of expected emotions mean that my faith is ill or that Christianity is a delusion? God has made us emotional creatures, and I'm encouraged by those Psalms of David that express a certain reality quite clearly: even the Saints of Old suffered moments of not "feeling" the presence of God. David, Elijah, Jeremiah: these were choice folk of God who knew very well the pains and puzzlement of not feeling God's presence. I'm encouraged, too, by "modern" saints, such as William Cooper. Cooper was a singer and songwriter who composed dozens of infamous hymns, and he worked alongside John Newton, who composed Amazing Grace. Cooper suffered from bouts of depression his entire life, and he wrote, "Where is the joy that once I knew when first I saw the Lord? Where is the soul's refreshing view of Jesus and his word? What peaceful hours I once enjoyed, how sweet their memory still. But they have left an aching void this world can never fill." Cooper's words resonate with my own pendular swings of emotion.

A lot of the worries that a lack of expected emotion causes may stem from wrong ideas or assumptions about what we should feel. We live in a very emotive culture (Apple's recent release of a whole new slew of emoticons reflects this fact), and this emotive-focused atmosphere has infiltrated the psychology of the western church. So many of us believe that once we make the lifelong commitment to God, we have nothing to expect but unfettered joy, peace, and bliss. This is a critical and tragic error. It's erroneous, because (as I said above) it doesn't fit the experience of the Saints of Old, regardless of what covenant you ascribe to. A "personality map" of the Apostle Paul indicates that he experienced his own swings of emotion no less than King David or William Cooper. While feelings are a vital part of our being, they are not the litmus test of faith. Feelings of joy can lapse or weaken during our lives. Moods arise from our physical chamber; unless we train our emotions, they can take us captive and lead us by the nose. If we don't steel ourselves, we're at their whims. Much of our distress as Christians comes not because of sin but because we are ignorant of our physiological workings; at the same time, for Christians, if we're living a disobedient life, nothing will stop those feelings until we live an obedient life. Those who aren't Christians, of course, don't experience this to the degree that Christians do. I don't think this has anything to do with the psychological makeup of the religious, as some skeptics claim; rather, I believe the presence of the Holy Spirit is a reality in the life of the Christian, and since one of the Spirit's operations is to convict us of sin, it makes sense that the Spirit will use emotions (as well as other things) in pursuit of that goal. This isn't to say, of course, that an obedient life inexorably leads to a life of unbroken joy, bliss, and pie-in-the-sky religious euphoria.

My emotions have been all over the place lately. Surges of emotion hit us every day: hurt, pain, sorrow, anger, heartache... There's always some struggle we face in the Waking Hours (and we often face them in the Sleeping Hours, as well). I've been taking the advice of a mentor and have been trying to prepare my heart each day by immersing myself in God, in scripture, in prayer. Early will I seek Thee, the psalmist writes; taking time at the dawn of each new day to bathe in scripture gives God the opportunity to condition our hearts to better face the day. This is a critical way to bring emotions in line, and it has nothing to do with psycho-babble therapy. I've found that I'm stronger than I was a year ago, but that doesn't mean the surges of emotion don't continually strike. I'll be honest in saying that the past year has been nothing but an onslaught of negative emotions, and these haven't abated; but by God's grace I've been getting better at handling them and not being ruled by them. I definitely have a lot of growing and learning to do, and a lot of changing to do while I'm at it, but the small steps forward are definitely encouraging. 

bathrooms in 3D

the reformation (II)

yes, I'm holding an ax

Ashley's taken my advice and has said "no" to fad diets like Atkins, the Warrior Diet, and others. She's embraced what I've advocated all along: a simple lifestyle change of eating right and exercising. The goal isn't weight loss so much as it is just being healthy, and we've been doing great in eating meals of fruits, vegetables, and lean meats. 

We've also been diligent in running together; we have a running schedule in place throughout the summer and into the fall. We run together three times a week, gradually increasing our times and distance to build endurance. We're going to run a 5K together this fall, hopefully a half-marathon by the spring, and a full marathon by next fall. And, no, Iron Mans aren't in the picture (yet!). It's been a struggle learning how to support one another in healthy living, but I'm encouraged at how well we've been doing over the past several weeks. 

I've lost five pounds since April.

I hope to be down to 130# by this autumn.

(I haven't been at that weight since early 2012)

I'm not sure if that's realistic, but it's good to have goals.

from Lake Isabella

Lisa asked me to work her morning and afternoon shift with Ben, so I took him fishing at Lake Isabella. He was kinda spiffed not to have caught anything, though he did manage to tangle the lines on both fishing poles. My luck ran a little better: I caught two fish, but they were just babies, one crappie and a bluegill. The fish at Lake Isabella are smart, and they stole the wax-worm bait after nearly every cast. Our fishing excursion wound down when a murder of crows swooped down on our bait and started gobbling up all the wax-worms. Ben ran screaming at them, and they cried out and took flight but left hardly anything for us to fish with. We "packed it in" (his phrase) and headed back to the house in Blue Ash to clean up and eat lunch.

Ben's about to depart for program, and I'm heading over to Ashley's.

It's in the nineties today, and the pool is waiting for me.

After we swim, it's... *drumroll*... Taco Night!

And then I have a work meeting that I'm NOT looking forward to.

(read the upcoming 82nd week to learn why)

cabin fever (part deux)

In a previous post I captured what I'd love to have as a "man cave." Ashley's big into cabins, too, and she found some amazing, over-the-top cabins online. If I ever become Rich & Famous (an aspiration to which I don't aspire; wealth and fame have never been motivations of mine), I'll invest in a cabin with some of the decor below. Strangely enough, Brandy has said multiple times that she has premonitions of me becoming rich and famous. I call bullshit on that, but if I could get a cabin like this out of it, it'd be worth it.

the family room!

bathroom #1

this is where I watch The Walking Dead
(and play Birds of Steel)

the Grand Staircase

if I had a sink like this, I would ALWAYS wash my hands
after using the bathroom (regardless of whether or not
I peed on my hands)

this would be Chloe's bedroom

I would add a few more bleached animal skulls on the walls...

the master bedroom

this is the shower. imagine bathing in there!

the master bedroom. I wake up at dawn anyways, so sunlight won't be a factor.

the living room

this is where Ashley will cook me dinner

a quaint little guest bedroom (for Amanda)

this bathtub beats the HELL out of what I have in the Hobbit Hole