Turn and Face the Strain

I was originally going to post the lyrics to David Bowie's "Changes", but I figured I'd just include a line from the song in the title here.

Yes. Changes. Lots of 'em. In full swing.

Here I sit at my new job which I started on Monday, in a totally different environment. Three weeks ago, I moved to Beaverton. Two and-a-half ago, I became Orthodox. Last Friday was my last day at FM. We had Holy Week, with its two services a day (at least) and then Pascha, all of which were amazing. I was continually around people I adore. And so my heart and my mind were swimming, packed to the brim and beyond with changes and moves and adjustments so profound (and out of such deep blessing) that it'll probably take a few years to fully look back and take stock of it all. Oh, that and we're still dealing with heavy stuff in counseling. Therefore, I must admit that toward the end of Holy Week, leading up to Pascha, I felt like my heart was packed in concrete. Which alarmed a guy who has been used to being led around by his emotions. And only now is the wall starting to get breached again.

Of course, when you open yourself to feeling things and interacting with your environment on an emotional level, the nice thing is that all the happiness and peace and joy are more accessible and more poignant. The liabilities come on the other side of the coin where all that pain and depression that either got shoved out of the way or avoided altogether is allowed in, too. And though going through all of that is necessary, it's very tough.

Both Meika and Karl said, "You've won the battle; welcome to the war" after I got baptized into Orthodoxy. And I'm beginning to see what they mean. I'm getting nailed left and right with a lot of thoughts and feelings that are alarming, out-of-the-blue, and oppressive. I've experienced that on some level before Orthodoxy, but it's much more powerful and incessant now. And cutting thsoe things off has never been terribly easy for the hyperanalyst-at-the-core that I am. But now, it often feels like a blitz, especially as I'm standing in Liturgy or praying on my own, and when I'm feeling blue or insecure, two things that have increased in frequency again. Ugh.

And this whole issue of asceticism, or 'spiritual exercise' (a beautiful definition) ...well I WAS excited about and commited to it in the forms of prayer, vigilance, resistance to distraction food issues, and other aspects so that I may be better focus and submitted to our Lord - so that I might be receptive to His change and healing. And to grow in my capacity to love Him and actually exercise it. But ask me how it's going in practice two weeks out from Pascha and watch these blue-greens roll above sighing lips. Things are hard.

I've been blessed richly by a life that seems to be working out very well recently. I've come into the One Holy Catholic and Apostolic Church and all its beauty, richness, and fulness, too. I have a family here. The place where I live is very nice, and so is my room mate. And this new job, though not exactly fun, actually challenges me. And it pays well. And I'm with people I really like and love here.

I've certainly been no stranger to struggle in my life. It's been a rough one, to be honest. So what gives? Why are things harder now?

I have to remember that Father Chrismated my eyes, nose, ears, mouth, hands, feet, chest, and back for a reason. They're being blessed to bear up under the weight of the cross I'm supposed to be taking up daily...in every decision...to follow our loving Lord. And the sensual difficulty, the submission, humility, centeredness, focus, watchfulness, and purity of love that it takes to do that for my God who loves mankind is very difficult. It's not that I didn't understand that before I became Orthodox. But I had very little practical knowledge of what it would take, much less respect for the process or the support to endure it well.

So though things are going well situationally, opportunities are great, and I am truly priveleged and blessed - though so much has changed - the fact that it's a bit straining is, well, to be expected, I suppose. The gravity of just the situational changes themselves would be, divorced from the counseling, social matters, and the Spiritual realm in general that encompasses it all. But they aren't divorced from each other. Not one bit.

Pray that I may continue to turn and face the strain...to turn and face our compassionate Lord in it.

Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me.

Jude

A Whole New Book

I wrote in a blog I posted on myspace in late August about how a chapter of my life was coming to a close, and a new one was beginning. It was great because at that time, it coincided with the new Liturgical year in the Orthodox Church (beginning September 1), for which, at that time, I was an enthusiastic inquirer. Looking back, I'd say that it was a book that was finished and not just a chapter.

Tonight, I sit (for one of the last times) behind my room mate's computer, typing out a weblog. And I stand on the edge of a week ahead that looks to be full of nothing but huge shake-ups, major change. I pray that the outward things aren't all that change.

On Thursday, I plan on moving to a new place, a place I've often been scared to go for more reasons than one. Beaverton is the picture that pops up in my mind when someone says "suburbia" to me. And I never liked the suburbs much. I don't know...something about botox-injected white people driving their blocky SUVs, cell phones wedged between jaw, ear, and shoulder, and Starbucks occupying every cupholder makes me want to cry out for more than the anticipated cultural wasteland that lay just outside the 'big city'.

I'm an eastsider...always have been. There, the streets are many, they're usually in grid form, and the avenues are consistently numbered in ascending order according to how far east of the Willamette you are. In some parts, even the named streets ascend north, alphabetically. Here in Northeast Portland, I can be car-less and it doesn't matter much. The MAX runs just blocks away from my front door. There is a bus that travels up Halsey, up Glisan, up Burnside, up Stark/Washington, up 60th, up 82nd, and up 102nd...all of which are in walking distance and all of which are "frequent service" lines running every fifteen minutes or less. The college I went to for 2.5 years isn't far away and neither are many of the very close friends I've made there, some of whom I now go to church with, too.

I've always been an east-sider. From a very young age, my mom, dad, brother, and I lived in a house on Alberta Street here in Portland. We moved to Troutdale (back when it was still somewhat rural) later. And then I lived with dad and grandma in a house in the Grant Park area of Northeast Portland for about 13 years. I'm used to the place. I learned to drive here. It's comfy.

But when I cross the Willamette River and head further west into the town of the beavers, suddenly the roads do these weird bendy things, there are fields every five feet (most in the process of being developed), and the street signs turn a strange dialect of Korean or something...I can't make head or tail of them. Is Farmington north of TV Highway? Or do they intersect? Hall? Canyon? What's the deal with these "Ferry" roads? We have 158th, 170th, and 185th, but what are Cedar Hills and Murray in relation? And why isn't the bus here? I've been waiting 25 minutes. I actually have to cut through FIELDS to get to the MAX stop.

Strange place indeed. But it's not so much the transportation issues that are causing a little anxiety. Much more is changing than that. It's funny, as a friend of mine put it, that I'm moving west to face east. I've decided to move closer to my church, my spiritual family, and my close friends from there...close to the very people and places that our Lord has used to pull me out of the pit of near spiritual death, despairing depression, intense loneliness and a crushing sense of personal worthlessness. Thanks be to God!

Which is a perfect segue into the next big "this week changes everything" event. Just like the last page of the last book of my life was scrawled out in coincidence with the new Orthodox Liturgical year, this move is coming in the same week I'm getting Baptized into the One Holy Catholic and Apostolic Church. (Coincidence? I doubt it) I am becoming Orthodox. In the process of a week and change, I will be getting Baptized, being Chrismated and Tonsured, and receiving the Holy Gifts and Unction. My name in the Church will be Jude. Then...on the 23rd...Pascha! Wow. My battered soul needs it. I need Him through it. And I need this family He's given me in this church.

I might even be getting a new job, though I'll still have to commute to the old one and to counseling. This is almost dizzying. Heck, even the church is in a new building.

And I am scared to death. For once in my life, I'm making decisions about where I will live and under what terms...what I want to do and so forth, not through emegency necessity or having been blown where the wind might take me. I'm deciding between viable options now. And I pray that our Lord will supply me the humility and wisdom I need so severely that should come with those responsibilities. It's just a harrowing thing...growing up...finding your own place. And what's more, it's very different from what I've known before. Which is why I feel like I've dragged my feet a little, especially when it comes to making the move.

Months ago, my counselor told me something very profound. If I recall correctly, it's a quote from C.S. Lewis, but I don't know from where in his somewhat vast array of works it comes. He says, "Some people choose a known hell over an unknown heaven"...or something of the sort. This has motivated me.

It's all changing. Right along with my insides. And I've got a million things to do before this week is over so that this week will be over successfully. I have to get a resume out. I have to pack. I must tie up some loose ends with my housing in Northeast. I need a haircut before Baptism. I need to find a car I can use periodically for the next couple of weeks to get to work. I just picked up my Baptismal garments. I have to find some slim precipice of time out of Father's impossibly busy schedule to have my last confession as a Catechumen before I get Baptized. I have to go to work (a lot). I want to make as many Holy Week services as I can, too. I need a little help.

So a new book is being written. The introduction and preface have been the last seven months in the making. Chapter One is beginning. And time will not wait for me.

Please pray that, despite the furious amount of things on the list I have to do, that I won't miss out on our Lord. That the eyes of my heart (nous) will be opened to Him and that I'll be prepared deeply and as properly as a sinner like I can be for all of this.

And please pray for Cory, Tiffany, and Andrew Morgan.


And thank you.

Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me, a sinner

Unforgettable Two Years On

This is a photo of my grandmother on the beach. The date it was taken was around 1919 or 1920. It's the most stirring picture I've ever seen of her, and it's the way I'd like to remember her. Just look at her.

My grandmother, born Mary Jane Archibald, died two years ago on Monday, the 27th at age 87. She was born on January 4, 1917 in Portland, Oregon. Her father died just months after she was born, and her mother, from what I've heard, passed her around from relative to relative, in and out of boarding schools (but was never actually with her for long) and so on all growing up. As a child, she would tell me little stories about being mischievous when it came to the nuns that ran her school, or with her friends, or with her stepfather whenever he'd make a sassy comment to her.

My grandmother learned well the art of humor and would always give you a run for your money if you tried to prank her, tease her, or top her cleverness in any way. She could embarrass you in public, make you laugh out loud when face-to-face, or throw in that random "Debbie Downer" comment whenever there was a lull in conversation. I admit that sometimes, it got tiresome to hear the same jokes over and over, or be watching a weird commercial with a fat guy dancing or a little kid in a diaper falling on his backside and wince in anticipation of that lively cackle of hers emanating from her grey recliner just 3 feet away.

My grandmother suffered from depression all through her life and it was evident in some of the comments she'd make, the way she'd never want to eat alone, how she'd stay in bed all day some days, and the way she'd, out of nowehere, ask if you were mad at her or if you were on her side. I just don't think that she ever recovered from not having a home for longer than a few months growing up. Sometimes she'd be mean and hurtful, contentious and combative, needy and judgmental.

But none of that matters now. I miss the times I'd come into her room when she was in bed for much of the day and just listen to her stories. Or how she'd have me recount the details of my life. I remember her being the only person besides my sisters in my immediate family to offer a hug without my needing to initiate it first. When I was young, I would go to kiss her hello or goodbye or I love you and I remember how she'd turn her head at the last possible second so I'd end up kissing her lower jaw or her chin or her cheekbone instead of where I'd intended it to go. And how she taught me to respond to her old sayings like, "You wouldn't kid me, mister?" with "I would if I could, lady, I would if I could!"

I remember the times on Saturday or Sunday afternoon where she'd get all dressed up and Dad would take grandma, Kyle, and me on a "ride" through the Columbia River Gorge, or to Seaside or Cannon Beach. And those Saturday movie trips that my brother and I would go on with her, and how every now and then, she'd pull her seafoam Ford Tempo into oncoming traffic, or the 'exit only' part of a fast-food drive-thru or something of the like. Or watching her look up from the checkbook we'd just balanced, smiling that her handwriting had come back skillfully (and that her steps were quicker) after months of recovering from quadruple bypass surgery.

And I miss her terribly. I still can't believe she's gone.

I could go easily go on and on about her. But two years on from her death, the grief has turned to remembrance, to smiles and smirks, and warm feelings at those little situations in life that remind me of her (like Nich's last play, "The Trip to Bountiful").

And through all the faults she had, all the difficulties in our relationship, all the other issues going on in life, she was still the woman that really raised me, loved me, and showed interest in my life, though she couldn't be terribly involved outside the house. She was the mom my mother wouldn't be.

Her favorite song was "Unforgettable" by Nat "King" Cole, and I can still hear her singing it to me as I sit here and type. And that brings me to my point. She was sung that song by my grandfather (if I recall correctly) in some of their more tender moments as a reminder that she truly was special. And I just thought it would be right to communicate a little of that to you today.

Peace,

Rhett

The Chasm Between Romance and Healthy Reality

More and more, I find myself becoming frustrated and angered with my culture and surroundings. I think I'm becoming more sensitive to those areas, those places, those messages in our society and world that get us to believe lies. Things like, "you deserve a break", "too much is never enough", "you only go around once in this life, so live it up!", and especially "Hey, you're lonely! You have hormones and sex organs! You deserve to be in relationship! Pay no mind to your issues, go after anyone with whom there's a spark, even if it's a different person every week." And probably more incidious, "Find someone to be your everything and you'll never be disappointed. It will be happily ever after. It's yours. Just find the right person that makes you happy."

If it isn't already obvious, this blog's about those last two items. I wrote them as I did because there are so many messages out there when it comes to romance and relationships that are so messed up, and just solidify the fatal pride and self-entitlement we carry in us into relationships.

I used to be someone who was emotionally drawn in to things like romantic comedies and love stories. But not anymore. I'm actually very sick of them. It's not because I don't value gentility and tenderness. It's because oftentimes, they're so full of those lies.

Enrique Iglesias sings a song that comes over our PA system at my store that says, in a voice that falls somewhere between nervous breakdown and constipation:

"Would you dance,/If I asked you to dance?/Would you run,/And never look back?/Would you cry,/If you saw me crying?/And would you save my soul, tonight?"

-He wants this girl to dance with him. That's okay, I guess. He wants her to cry when he cries. Well, it takes lots of time and depth and trust and emotional availability to get to that point. And then he wants her to save his soul tonight? WHAT? What does that mean? But whatever it means, he wants it done tonight. On his terms. And we're just through the first stanza.

"Now would you die,/For the one you love?/Hold me in your arms, tonight/I can be your hero, baby/I can kiss away the pain/I will stand by you forever/You can take my breath away."

-Wow. Who's the hero here? He wants her to save his soul, but HE'S the hero. He'll take her pain away. He'll stand by her forever. And she'll take his breath away. That's expecting an awful lot. I'm a little confused about who the hero here actually is.

"Would you swear,/That you’ll always be mine?/Or would you lie?/Would you run and hide?/Am I in too deep?/Have I lost my mind?/I don’t care.../You’re here, tonight."

-And here, it doesn't matter if she's faithful forever. All that matters is that she's there RIGHT THEN. Why doesn't he just slip her some GBH and forego all the formalities if that's the attitude?

The song goes on from here with the same basic wording. And, granted, it might be a sappier example of what is playing out there over the radio waves and resonating with our hearts and feelings.

But I've got to wonder...is this LOVE that he's portraying? Is it not selfish and needy and instant? Do you see any acknowledgement of reality? It's just such enmeshed emotionally dependent piffle. Is THIS ROMANCE? I see and hear lyrics like these all the time, though, on the radio, in TV shows, and in movies.

I honestly don't know. I've been through enough counseling, and a few relationships in my own life, to understand that the expectations I've had on relationships in the past have been unrealistic and selfish...that I have asked people in my life to fill emotional holes and needs that they are not equipped to...that no one is equipped to.

I am no stranger to the media deluge that Brad Pitt and Jennifer Anniston's relationship has become. And from what I've heard, the terms of their relationship was that they would be together as long as they made each other happy. As long as they felt in love.

Is that really a commitment? Is that really love? Or is that using someone else as a drug? And it's obvious that operating that way is getting them really far in life. Future bodes well. My question is, why is it such a media event? Why does so much of the public care? Is it not because of vicarious living? Is it not because we buy into love and romance as it's portrayed in our society and even through this motley couple? Is it not because we view love as an emotion that can be fallen into and out of almost as randomly as the path a leaf takes on the wind? Is it not because our feelings so easily become our gods?

No wonder we don't trust our Lord when He says He loves us. Our frame of reference is screwed up.

Michelle Branch, as young as she is, sings a song with the lyrics, "If you want to, I can save you. I can take you away from here." Again, what does that mean? What responsibility is being taken. Overembellished? Certainly.

How about Vanessa Carlton? Because you know she'd walk a thousand miles if she could just see you tonight.

I know a man and woman who love each other, but they live 45 minutes away from each other. And even though both have reliable transportation, they don't see each other every day. And, from what I can see, their relationship is growing, and they're learning to love each other more purely.

I have seen so many "life changing" movies that are seen as honest and edgy and so forth that keep wearing out that same old hackneyed idea...when you're crying, when you're feeling bad, when you're lonely, he'll be storming across the foggy field, shirt flapping in the cold wind to come and tell you all the things you'd hoped, or de-planing and pulling you out of your lonely phone booth and apologizing, or she'll be risking life and limb in traffic to get to the airport before you do so she'll catch you before you finally leave for good.

Love on our terms. It isn't really love. Sure, it's romantic. But it's selfish. It's also worship. But it's not a worship of the other person (which isn't realistic, fair, or justifiable, either). It's worship of the self.

I believe wholeheartedly in relationship-type love, though. It just seems to be something expressed so impurely and selfishly . And I'm tired of being told that I should aspire to that model. And I see, though very dimly, the model our God puts forth...one of self denial and sacrifice. One that isn't earned. A love that commits and doesn't fail. A love that's willing to endure the hard and unpleasant things...the friction, the disappointment, the disagreement, and the fallenness and brokenness of the people involved.

However, romance is another matter entirely. I don't know what to think about it. Is it just that we've tainted that, too? Or is it redeemable? Can it be healthy and balanced when a focus and centrality on our Lord is the goal? Can a singular type of love really be had toward one person that doesn't detract from a focus on and deeper love for our Lord? If so, how? I don't want to throw the baby out with the bathwater here, but the truth is, we're people who have our ugly sides. No one doesn't. We have our pride, our agendas, and our baggage. I've got lots. None of it's easy to overcome. But it's all worth fighting. I'm just a little closed, a little confused, very guarded and sensitive to the concept in general. And I don't want that hope to die in me if it doesn't have to.

My heart can't help but be warmed at that scene in Fiddler on the Roof where Tevye and Golde are talking about letting their second daughter marry a poor revolutionary because she loves him. And then they break into glorious song, with Tevye asking Golde, after twenty-five years of being in an arranged marriage where they didn't know each other beforehand - a marriage full of harsh conditions, if she loves him. The song is wonderfully silly as she calls him a fool, blames the whole exercise on indigestion, talks about cooking his meals and fighting with him. Yet Tevye asks again, "do you love me?", and she says, "but I'm your wife" and Tevye persists again. And she can't help but conclude the following:

Golde: Do I love him?/For twenty-five years I've lived with him
Fought him, starved with him/Twenty-five years my bed is his/If that's not love, what is?

Tevye: Then you love me?

Golde: I suppose I do

Tevye: And I suppose I love you too

Both: It doesn't change a thing/But even so/After twenty-five years/It's nice to know


If I'm to live as unto the Lord, a romantic relationship isn't exempt. And since, in Orthodoxy, both marriage and monasticism are to be entered into unto the salvation of those involved, since children will result, the stakes are so high. The responsibilities are incredible, but wonderful. It really is sacred and serious. It's not about getting your companion in the midst of loneliness. It's not about getting addicted to your own brain chemicals through some physical act. It's not about getting what we want, unless it's Christ we really want. It's about reflecting Christ in learning how to love like He loves. And if that's not at least the motive, it seems to me that we enter into relationships in futility.

And while Tevye and Golde's model, though maybe not fully ideal, has lots of healthiness to it, I guess the point I'm trying to make is that there is a giant chasm between romantic love in our culture and healthy reality. I don't want to settle. It's just that there aren't a lot of good examples out there. My former Christian experiences didn't give me much more than a list of "don'ts" and "it's bad, don't do its", while my family certainly lived out the what-not-to-do aspect to a pretty full extent. And I feel that within my Orthodox community, I'm finally getting a healthy direction to go with where my own focus should be, not just a path to avoid. Of course, I've got to be obedient and submissive and choose Him every day, in every moment. That's a toughie.

I just want to be prepared to bridge that chasm for someone when that someone's ready to do the same. And I don't want to settle for something else masking as love. And I don't want to settle with a self that's resistant to growth, change, submission, and humility. Lord have mercy. I need it.

Any ideas? Theories? Suggestions? Thoughts?

The Lilies of the Field

This last weekend, I didn't know what to do with myself.

For the first time in my life, I visited a monastery, and a convent at that. St. John the Forerunner Orthodox monastery in Goldendale, WA, to be exact. I didn't know what to expect as we drove across I-84 in the waning sunlight and my friends and I chatted about life. It was also my first road trip with my Orthie friends, and that was wonderful and exciting in its own right.

I remember the moment Meika pulled the car into the parking lot because the choir on the CD we were playing sang about estranging ourselves to the world and focusing our hearts on our Lord. I thought those were fitting lyrics to arrive at a monastery.

Anyhow, we piled out of the car and immediately met one of the nuns that lives there. I forget her name. What struck me instantly, however, was her manner. She wasn't much older than I was, I surmised, and she was fully bedecked in an all-black habit, with only her face and hands exposed, and she wore glasses. But she wore something far more interesting than these things. She wore many things actually.

She wore the grace, mercy, and humility of our Lord in her face, her mannerisms, her kind and delicate voice. I found myself fascinated with her as she showed everyone their sleeping quarters for the night and told us about dinner being ready. But not ever having been in a situation like that, I kept quiet and simply observed, partly in fear of crossing some sort of line of etiquette (unnecessary fear, I would later learn), and partly out of simple fascination and the desire to not miss one iota of what was before me.

At dinner, I saw more nuns, and most of them, again, weren't too much older than I. And they all seemed to go about their lives and duties in a similar manner as the first one. I caught myself a few times trying to get a good look at each of their faces and wondered about each of their lives, though I admit that my focus should have been elsewhere.

But I also discovered something else inside me. I discovered that my general fear and guarded feelings ever present in my heart and mind that seem to spring up whenever I'm around a woman...any and every woman, to varying degrees...were ebbing away. Somehow, I felt safe there. I felt like I was being cared for. I could feel the purity, humility, self-sacfrice and devotion of those around me, and I could feel it healing and purifying me, too. What a strange and glorious thing!

I couldn't quite put my finger on what I was experiencing in that moment, but since then, I think I've come to understand a little of what was going on. First, I'll let you know that in an Orthodox monastery, there are no mirrors that one may look upon his or her own appearance. None in the sleeping quarters, none in the bathrooms, none on any walls or pillars. Second, the culture of the monastery was one of determined focus and prayer. These women have commited their lives to our Lord and are doing it unceasingly despite, I assume, ragged struggles to get them to do otherwise. But they're giving up their lives and illusionary freedoms for His sake, for their own sake, for the sake of their sisters in that place, and for the sake of the Church and the world for which they are continuously interceding. And they're finding true freedom.

And wonder of wonders, I found that I was beginning to tune my heart and focus to our Father far more readily (but not without struggle, myself) as well.

I am a man who giggles at irony and tries to find it everywhere. And spiritual ironies tend to fill me with awe and wonder, as our Lord proves that His ways and His wisdom tend to seem ridiculous and befuddling to those who are knowledgeable and wise in their own eyes (among whom I can be numbered). His wisdom also seems to make the wisdom of the wise-by-our-standards seem awfully incomplete, prideful, and inane. He can sure frustrate (albeit lovingly) us in all our pomp. Anyhow, in like manner, I've been dumbstruck so often in my short Orthodox experience at some of the hymns that are sung at each feast and how ironic and beautiful everything is rendered when we examine the gravity and purposeful nature of even the finer nuts and bolts of the things our Lord has done to interact with us and draw us close to Him. Anyhow, I found an irony there at the monastery, with those nuns, that is worth sharing.

The women I saw there do not adorn their bodies with anything glorious. They possess nothing that is designed to get anyone's attention, but instead are dressed in all black, loose-fitting clothing that works, practically. Rather, they adorn their hearts and souls in love and prayer, in grace and devotion to our Father. And from what I observed, our Father has, in turn, made these women beautiful to behold, at least in my eyes. Possibly the most beautiful women I've ever seen. But it's not because they apply anything physical to themselves. It's inward, and therefore it can't help but end up eventually, naturally, organically, spiritually outward.

They care enough about the hearts of one another and those visiting to guard what they wear, where they look, and what they say. They take care of us, they help us to focus on our Lord, by minimizing their outward appearances, so they won't be distracting. Because we need our Lord and we need so desperately to fix our eyes on him in a world in which there is a competition for every square inch of where one may look, to divert one's attention to whatever may be put there. And when these women speak, their words are so wise, so convicting, but also among the most encouraging and empowering I have ever heard.

They do not adorn themselves outwardly, but inwardly. They adorn our Lord. And He adorns them, as well. But the beauty He gives cannot be replicated by any chemical compound, any stitch of clothing, or any educated speech. He takes care of them so well. Not unlike the lilies of the field.

They also relinquish that "sacred cow" of freedom of individuality so present in our society (and within me) and live in community. But what they get in return is a freedom from anxiety over appearance, and hearts that are more supported by one another and closer to the Lord before whom all the ferocious lions of the anxieties and cares of this world are transformed into submissive, quiet kittens.

Who's living in freedom now?

Maybe I should be more willing to cast such things aside that I may be closer to and realize how much I'm taken care of by the one who loves and cares beyond compare. Might be worth it.

Kamikaze

I've been found out. But I didn't even know I needed to be. This week in counseling, it occurred to me that I've been stuck for about 2 months in a pattern and period of avoidance and escape. But I didn't even realize that I've been doing it. My former blog called, "Prefacing My Future Condition" explained that I was on my way back down into the mire of all the pain and unhealthiness within me, because there's still significant stuff there that needs to change absolutely..stuff I need to work through.. The Lord is leading me there.

Too bad I haven't been following. The little things that I've been doing to occupy my time, my heart, my eyes, my mind have all been little ways to numb myself. And in truth, over the past month and change, I've felt very numb. I feel I must apologize here because of my lack of emotional or relational availability. If I've been callous or insensitive, please forgive me.

I'm very scared of the pain I'll encounter...pain I'll have to go through, not numb. I'm scared because I don't know what's in the dark chasm I'm about to jump into. But I will run no longer.

So here's a song (I'm not done with you yet, Five Iron Frenzy) that came immediately to mind and heart on Thursday, right after therapy. Thanks, Lord.

"Kamikaze"

I'm going in (1 2 3 and go)
Like a kamikaze (Like Geronimo)
A leap of faith (And I finally feel alive)
3 2 1 I'm going in

I don't know if it's just me
But it seems that things aren't changing
Every day is pretty much the same
With a little rearranging
If I do nothing I can't fail
No blistered hands, no broken nails
Killing time, I'm paralyzed
With bitter dreams and hollow eyes
I've been waiting for a revelation
For a moment of clarity
Conflicts and convolutions
Ricochet inside of me

There comes a time for throwing caution to the wind
I feel the pulse again

I'm going in (1 2 3 and go)
Like a kamikaze (Like Geronimo)
A leap of faith (And I finally feel alive)
3 2 1 I'm going in (1 2 3 say when)
Like a flaming arrow (Soaring in the wind)
A leap of faith (And I finally feel alive)
3 2 1 I'm going in

I am so slow to commit
I have wasted years on fences
Is it really true the shoes don't fit
Is it only my defenses?
What if I don't measure up
Don't listen well, don't smile enough?
Alone and unknown up to now
Need to change direction somehow
I've been open to persuasion
Wanting someone to take the lead
It's a little disconcerting
Signing up for eternity

There comes a time for throwing caution to the wind
And so my life begins

I'm going in (1 2 3 and go)
Like a kamikaze (Like Geronimo)
A leap of faith (And I finally feel alive)
3 2 1 I'm going in (1 2 3 say when)
Like a flaming arrow (Soaring in the wind)
A leap of faith (And I finally feel alive)
3 2 1 I'm going in

More to follow soon, comrades. Thanks for your indulgence...your patience, friendship, and love. Thanks be to God for supplying all I need and knowing better than I what that really is.

Lord have mercy on us and save us.

Peace,

Rhett

Many Dehumanizing Returns

Tonight was the third and final night of sitting at a desk at work processing returns for our customers. My third shift was a closing shift, while my first two were openers, so this experience was a little different.

As the hours wore on, the number of people waiting in line slackened so much that, for the better part of an hour or two, we had no one to serve. And from 3:00 until 10, everyone seemed to be pretty patient, understanding, and honest. However, once 10:00 hit, it all changed. Suddenly, person after scrungy person with acres of anthrax under their fingernails, booze on their breath, and thick clouds of just-smoked controlled substances and drug B-O hanging about them came in, with big-ticket item after big-ticket item. None had receipts. All balked when we asked for ID. For some of them, it was plainly obvious that they had just lifted something from our shelves and brought it up to return it. But we couldn't do anything about it. We let them have their refunds and in-store credits, some with more hassle than others.

And with each passing perpetrator, my heart sank deeper into anger, bitterness, and distrust. I don't like it when I feel that way about someone. Especially someone as downtrodden as those who feel they need drugs and who steal, lie, and cheat to get them. I actually think I got angrier at our store management and our policies for cutting our legs out from under us and overriding everyone who was suspicious just so they wouldn't make a scene.

When faced with so many broken people who were so defensive, impatient, and unkind...those who were so obviously robbing us blind, I couldn't help from feeling dehumanized myself.

My shift ended with one person returning a $400 vacuum cleaner, someone else who returned a $150 food bag sealer (who had tried at another store, which called beforehand and told us to refuse him), and another who brought in a $70 set of cookware, all of which was so ridiculously suspect, it was sad, all of whom got out with their refunds.

I left the store in a burst of frustration and walked home. And as I trudged the damp path home, I wondered at how their sin was affecting me. But then, of course, all this conviction hits me because I haven't been sinless, either. Not today. Not this hour. Maybe not even this minute. So I felt like a bit of a hypocrite.

All I want to say is that more and more I'm realizing that there are no victimless crimes. There is no such thing as missing the mark and it not hurting anyone.

I think that those schools of thought are so dangerous, yet seem so innocently prevalent in our individualistic Western, American society. We're all islands to ourselves. We're all free. We should all break away, says Kelly Clarkson. We don't have the responsibility of anyone else, until some huge disaster hits and it becomes trendy. And then we complain about a lack of community and family. I'm digressing...

Anyhow, I am amazed at how well Satan has cornered us with our sin. We hop right into it by justifying that "this is my body" or "this is my choice" or "this is Christian freedom" or "Doing this is going out of my way", and that whatever sin of commission or omission we are party to is somehow justified by the fact that it only affects me, the individual. It's not hurting anybody. Oh, but our enemy isn't done there. Somehow, he manages to pigeonhole us there, within ourselves. We get ashamed. We feel hollow and empty and estranged. But we isolate ourselves further when we feel that natural guilt and shame and become afraid of letting anyone else know about it. For fear of rejection or whatever. But none of it is allowing us to break our eyes away from ourselves and realize the fruits our actions are bearing out on those around us. And in isolation, we continue to sin because we're all we see, feel, or know about. And it becomes easier to justify because it's just affecting me again. How aggravating.

And we (I) look at this fallen world and scoff at how sinful, fallen, and degraded it is. But we (I) rarely realize how responsible we are for all that.

I'm glad that our Lord rescues us from this, if we just look up. I'm glad that pattern gets old. And I'm glad that He provides us freedom from that cycle through making the sacraments of confession and the Eucharist patterns in our lives. I'm glad that He does provide freedom from those passions to those who really desire it enough to press into Him and be changed by Him. Too few do.

And as good as what I'm conveying sounds, I'm not above that deadly cycle. I wasn't today. So I shouldn't be judging my customers today. For I am no better.

And so I need our Lord's forgiveness. Badly. I need yours, too. I'm truly sorry for how my sin affects you. Please forgive me.

Lord, have mercy on us and save us.

Peace,

Rhett