As I finally begin writing this post, a joke keeps coming to mind. One which is best rendered in person, but must be told here nonetheless.
A rather large grizzly bear walks into the bar. He sits on a stool and rests his arms on the old wood. He looks at the bartender.
"I'd like a . . . . . . . . .cold drink."
"Sure," the bartender replies, "but why the big pause?"
I'm sitting here wondering if I could really feel less like writing this post. And I'm fairly certain the answer is no. Which seems to be a common theme with posts that come after long breaks, this one coming after 8 days. Speaking of which, I'd like to see a long pause in my writing here that wasn't caused or connected to . . . ickyness.
I suppose I should go ahead and warn that this post will be far from coherent, which might be why it is generally framed with more formal and structured writing than I typically try to use. I'm hoping that ties it together. On the upside I believe this will be a short post, so that's a plus.
Skipping over the typically cursory examination of why I'm writing again (because I've said it all before) I'm tempted to move on to why I skipped even though . . . well . . . I've said it all before. Which, interestingly enough, is the reason I took the break. I suppose it started with something else. Something more mundane, or more interesting depending on how you look at it. But really that's why nothing happened. There was nothing to write.
Things happened, of course. Feelings shifted. Revelations were had. Possible signs were experienced. Frustrations occurred. But in the end, none of it produced anything new. Nothing was worth writing. Worth asking people to read.
Nowhere is this more evident, more upsetting, and less productive the with the issue of Heather. I could here voice my dissatisfaction about how after nearly 6 months, its still something which bears such relevance as to appear in every post. I'm still praying with disconcerting regularity for such feelings and memories to abate, still with no reprieve. At times I've actually been moved or just desperate enough to pray in the opposite direction, a fact reflected in my prayer journal perhaps a half dozen times. The first time I did it I chastised myself rather strongly. I was even left wondering why I'd reacted so strongly, and why I continued to push in such a direction. And I think it comes down to moving on. Just squaring myself with that reality and sticking with it no matter what. I believe it has to come, surely as my next breath of air, and seemingly with the same circumstances of relief from the need.
So we'll skip over the one decent quiet time I actually had in the last 8 days and its concomitant passages, mostly doing so because I don't trust anything anymore. So then today I was thinking about healing and moving on and all that crap. And I got a hopeful spark of something. Perhaps all these feelings are just because they were never properly dealt with. Maybe I stowed them to quickly, didn't let them . . . . Predictably, I committed myself to just feeling the feelings and doing nothing about them. More predictably, that doesn't really work either.
I read this devotional tonight, about living in the now and the storm and God standing there to rescue and all that crap. And regrettably, it did nothing to make me feel better. Quite the opposite. This just isn't right. Not that it matters. Not that anything is going to change.
All of this is really just evidence of two things. The first, and perhaps ultimately most important, is that when everything is possible, nothing is real. So there are all these feelings, all these routes, all these potential signs. And because they are all there simultaneously, the end up meaning nothing. Nothing is real and nothing can be acted on, because nothing can be discerned. Which is most troubling since that's typically a spiritual gift of mine.
The other is something I'd like to write more on, but in its shortest, is duplicity, which is of course directly related to the first. I cannot surmount the constant wavering of thought lines. Determination not to date, followed by overwhelming desire to do so, followed by panic stricken reluctence to follow up, followed by lightly bitter complaining over the lack of suitable possibilities, followed by the return to desire . . . well lets just stop there.
Indeed, I wish I could put all such discussion behind me. How much I'd like to not talk about Heather, or dating, or more accurately the associated nothingness. And there I go repeating myself.
As a minor upside I do have something else to talk about.
I'm not close with God right now. In terms of discipline I'm still keeping things going, mostly. Its just . . . there's no intimacy. Its like He's at arms length. Really it feels like that's where everything is. It feels like having turned my heart off. Like nothing connects. Which brings us back to duplicity (i.e. realize have to go through the pain to get over her, vs. the shutting it out because I want her and further shutting it out because I don't want to want her because I want to get over her. Are we confused yet? I thought I said this was unrelated).
But back to feeling like God's not close and discipline. Still been praying, reading the Bible, reading/doing devotionals. All of it feeling empty and devoid. Seemingly pointless. Realistically leading nowhere, because there is no direction, and no . . . comfort, provision? I don't know. So this past week for three nights in a row I felt restless, two of them after rather fun filled and late outings. The last two nights of the stretch I had nearly identical dreams. I realized the significance when I woke up in the middle of the night after the second one.
In both dreams I found myself in a setting that I cannot recall, but was surely similar enough to be the same in the dreams. Due to circumstances I understood at the time, for some reason there was turmoil. I was placed in a situation both times where I had to fight. But instead of being confident, I was terrified. I knew I couldn't win the altercations, and worse, I didn't. So each time after quite a long set of circumstances, I escaped outside. In both dreams I turned my head to see a woman. Somewhat young, with a face I couldn't see, but her hair was short and dark. The first night she was a lone and the second night she carried a baby. Both dreams ended with a car trying to run me over.
Holy crap this post is depressing. And its redundant, both in subjects and specific content. I'm ready for all this to be by the wayside. I want to start a recurring post series called "lessons from:". Of course I still haven't written any of my other academic dream children. And they just keep stacking up.
You should really go do something other than read this post. Seriously.
Babar the Elephant
Warning: this post contains a fair amount of history, but if you read, it should be well worth it. If you don't want to read it all, skip down to the bullet points at the bottom.
Is everyone familiar with the rather popular children's character Babar the Elephant? If not I suggest you take a look at this commercial because Babar is the subject of this post. Babar is a fairly old cartoon, first appearing in book form in 1931 and spanning many years and many different forms of media including television series and movies. A new book was published as recently as 2008, and a new visual production is slated for 2010, though its not clear if it will be a movie or a series. Babar has been translated into many different languages, and has remained popular since his introduction.
I was rather surprised then to come to the realization that Babar the Elephant was, and to some extent remains to this day, a propaganda vehicle for promoting puppet colonialism.
Allow me to explain.
Earlier this evening I was watching a movie on television that I'd previously seen when it was in theaters. The movie is called The Last King of Scotland and is based on Giles Foden's novel of the same name. The story is semi-historical fiction, using the actions of the fictional Scottish physician Nicholas Garrigan (loosely based on English doctor Bob Astles) as a way to explore the very real dictatorship of Idi Amin Dada. Amin initiated a military coup in 1971, establishing himself as the ruler of Uganda after deposing Milton Obote. Amin was a harsh dictator who committed a range of nefarious deeds. As the movie portrays, he shared many traits with African dictators (and even modern bureaucrats). Such traits include favoring lies, even obvious ones, over any truth they think outsiders, and particularly non-Africans might look down on. Similarly common is personal hyberbole including a multitude of ridiculous titles (like Amin's "Conqueror of the British Empire") and insane assertions like the inability to be killed, which at some level the men actually believe.
So I'm laying there watching this great movie, and watching the Garrigan character first get enraptured by Amin's charm, only to quickly realize his darker side. During a commercial I start flipping through channels and happen upon an episode of Babar. And the wheels started turning.
I'd already found it funny that Amin was overweight, since that is relatively uncommon in Africa. And then I see elephants which only come in two variates, African and Asian. I assume them as African (due to the large ears), and associate them with the overweight Amin. Then I notice Babar is wearing the crown, and it all starts to make sense. Here we have an elephant wearing a crown, and appearing delightful, charming, and intelligent. Kingship is a decidedly non-Asian concept, further convincing me I was dealing with an African elephant, and one perhaps far more sinister than his demeanor intoned.
See, Amin was helped in to place by the British, its a long story as to how, but trust me, it was pretty clear. And something about that, something about the African dictator taking power with backing by the former colonial power of that country, and being at least superficially charming just made it click. I was now very suspicious of Babar the elephant. I suddenly assumed him to be a similar colonial plant. But I wanted to do some checking first.
I got online and did some quick digging. Turns out Babar debuted, as earlier stated, in 1931 as a children's book character. My first big kick here was that the author was a Frenchman named Jean du Brunhoff. Most of you should recognize that France was a serious colonial power, beginning to take holdings as early as the 17th century, though with failed attempts starting as early as 1555, and continuing rule as far as into the 1970s. Their colonial turnovers even set up the Vietnam conflict. And not only was Brunhoff French, but he'd also served in the French military in World War I.
This held particular significance. Though holding together mostly until serious troubles during World War II, the period after World War I saw the introduction of widespread anti-colonial thinking. This thinking developed not only in the colonies, but in Great Britian and France as well. And during this time Brunhoff marries a woman named Cecile, and they have some babies. And as they grow up, Cecile starts telling the younger son these stories about this elephant, which Jean later published as the world's introduction of Babar.
But I hear the grumblings. Right now all I have is a presumably African elephant king created by the citizen of a colonial power. Okay, let's kick it up and take a closer look at the story of Babar.
Babar is happily plodding along through the jungle one day when his mother is killed by a hunter. Seeing this from a distance, Babar flees the jungle to an unnamed big city. Here Babar is meets an old lady who buys him clothes and sends him to school. Babar later returns to the elephant realm where a council of elephants approach him, asking him to be king. They point out he has been educated in France, not previously mentioned, and that this education and introduction to civilization make him an ideal choice for the new king. Babar marries his cousin Celeste and founds the city of Celestville. Notice the French ending there. He then introduces many cultural and structural reforms with western, and particularly French influence, like wearing clothes. Convinced yet?
A young African elephant heads to a civilized place to be educated, and returns to be installed as king and introduce reforms to "civilize" country. Well it sure sounds like post-colonial puppetism. As the colonial powers lost their grip, they made attempts to maintain some vestige of control. Most often this involved choosing the new "independent" government. Sometimes behind the scenes, sometimes openly, but always with someone friendly to the former rulers and usually someone educated there. Need another little push, there is a Babar story arc where an assassin tries to kill him. Sound incongruous with his image, and the fact that its a children's story?
Still not convinced? Go back and watch the video. Notice the elephant who asks Babar to be king. Wearing a clearly early 20th century Western style suit and glasses, and a hat. Go ahead and say it.
So by this point it was pretty clear to me what Babar really was, and perhaps still is. He began as an attempt to teach children, and potentially their parents, that the local populations of France's colonial holdings desired, were thankful for, and certainly needed the benefits of French civilization.
Being pseudo-intellectual wannabe, I was ultimately consumed with the question of whether Babar was based on a real colony or person. Low and behold, not only did I make a potential connection, it helps strengthen the case for Babar's real purpose.
I'm now fairly sure that the elephant kingdom represented in Brunhoff's Babar stories was based on the area that has become the modern Republic of Cameroon, and that Babar himself represents Charles Atangana.
Cameroun was a part of French Equatorial Africa, a large federation of colonies in middle Africa France grabbed during the late 19th century African colonial scramble. Due to some interesting circumstances, France ended up ceding part of Cameroun to Germany who then took protectorate possession of the entire holding. Atangana was growing up in the territory at this time and due to his relationships with foreign priests and dignitaries, recieved a combo French-German education in Cameroun's fairly modernized capital. After World War I, Atangana fled to France because of his association with the ousted Germans. Shortly thereafter, the League of Nations redfined Cameroun's status. It did not re-enter the FEA and was instead set up as a protectorate of France. Under such a system France provided Cameroun's military and police, but a local political system ran all domestic matters.
After some initial distrust, France selected Atangana as the paramount chief of Cameroun. This essentially made him the countrys ruler. See Cameroun had essentially two different ethnic groups, all with different cheifs, and one had to be selected to head the government. Atangana used his position to espouse loyalty to the French and introduced a plethora of reforms aimed at westernizing Cameroun.
Sound fairly similar to Babar right? Including Babar's monkey advisor (representing the chief of the other "ethnic" group), and the fact that the old lady comes to live in the land as an honored guest.
So let's surmise:
- Babar was a young elephant who fled the jungle (a symbol of either Africa or Asia), and was subsequently educated in a civilized big city (representing Europe, and France in particular) with the aid of an old lady (representing "more advanced" Westerners).
- Barbar is later convinced to return to his home country (the conolonial holding). Upon returning he is asked to be the new king by the elephant council (the provincial government), clearly influenced by an elephant far more Westernized than Babar himself (the colonial power truly running the puppet elephant council).
- Babar agrees and assumes control, weiding clearly autocratic power, with a virtually limitless reach.
- Babar pushes his learnings of civilization on the other elephants, including clothes and houses, all in vaguely French style.
- Despite his good nature, and universally wise decision making, Babar has opposition elements, including a potential assassin.
- Babar works with other ethnic groups and invites the old lady to be a resident of the country.
And there you have it. Babar the elephant, the beloved children's cartoon character started out as propaganda piece to advocate colonialism through the establishment of indigenous puppet governments.
I wonder what else like this is lurking out there.
"Cut this noise and cut through me"
Well . . . what can I say?
If any of you are interested in meeting attractive young ladies, you should probably piggy back with me down to Kairos on Tuesday nights. Apparently I'm some sort of magnet, whose properties are ill-devised and ultimately self destructive. Tonight I ended up sitting next to two attractive ethnic girls, let's go with latino. Got chatting there and with the striking blonde sitting behind me. Its like clockwork. Just as not asking them out was.
On the way home I stopped at Fido to grab a London Fog, my second of the day, and do some work. After I annoyed some pretentious 20-somethings bemoaning the ills of consumerism, by pulling out both cell phones and alternating texting on them, I sat at the window bar next to two very attractive blondes chatting. (btw, I do not have an affinity for blondes. I actually prefer brunettes. Its just that I seem to encounter blondes). Anywho, as I'm sitting there I actually over hear the one girl consoling the other about how eventually she'll meet a worthwhile guy. Girl being consoled bemoans her situation and talks about how badly she wants to date. And they mentioned the Bible and the necessary associated blah blah. And I did nothing.
Now to defend myself in the first case let me say this. Today I was called, or told I could be, intimidating 5 times. The last was by the attractive young lady I ended up sitting next to at Kairos. That was nearly the first thing she said to me. "Hey, I'd have said hi before, but I was intimidated." Well at least your honesty is fairly uncommon.
Closely related is the fact that I've cussed more tonight than I think ever previously since coming to Christ. None of it externally, all of it in my head, but nonetheless. The reasons . . . well . . . lets back up some.
After last night I was pretty much guaranteed to hit the gym this morning. So I did. It was surprisingly crowded so I got my first chance to do some multiple opponent work in quite a while. I still hold a pretty absurd record, but today it was tougher than it should have been. My conclusions is that I'm grossly out of shape, and have lost a considerable amount of the muscle mass I used to have. So there's one task on the to-do list. I call it, "get in shape, to take on 8".
The late morning was composed of some light reading, a delicious nap, and making fun of my dog. I met Jenn at Starbucks for a meeting at 1. We talked a little about 912 Park, and then spent nearly an hour and a half just kicking around theology and ministry operationals. And I love conversations like that. So not too long before Jenn splits a girl I met Sunday night at the cookout named Elizabeth shows up. Jenn has to run and pick up her kids and Elizabeth is waiting on someone else, so I stay and we chat it up for a while. The summary is that I spent 4 hrs and 15 minutes sitting at Starbucks chattin today, and loved it. I was almost late getting to Kairos.
My conversation with Jenn about work was fairly productive, but it leaves me with some tough things to do and feeling a little uncertain. There's been a little turmoil lately and there's a considerable amount of stress. But I trust God, so its just nuts and bolts type stuff, nothing ultimately taxing.
So then I get to Kairos and have my run-ins with the surrounding bachlorettes. Worship kicks off and was astounding, almost. See, the mechanics were there. And even inside I could feel the pull. But it was like I wasn't fully let go. Wasn't fully invested in it. Even as I felt the beauty of heartfelt communion, I knew I could have so much more. And I wanted it. It was just . . . as though there was this barrier of which I was only vaguely aware.
Mike's message was as spot-on as they get. And despite the warnings of mature content, I was amazed by the extent to which that was absent. Not in a bad way at all, simply that he so adeptly focused on the true focus, the nature of the relationship and the reality of how sex both effects and is effected by it. So much so that I'm can't remember hearing the word sex in the second half of the sermon.
Unfortunately the nature of the discussion lent itself to talking about oneness and marriage all that . . . pleasant stuff. So as Mike is droaning on about meeting Jeanie (his wife) and knowing she was the one, and saying all these things about the what goes along with the relationship of God's intended one. And the whole time . . . I can just feel it. This thing I don't want to say even now. This thing that I won't even call saying it admiting it because I don't want to lend it legitimacy. I want to hedge my bets for when it turns out wrong. But everyone knows what it is. From the similarity of the seeming impossibility of Mike and Jeanie meeting, to the identifications of their feelings, and so on and so on. Whenever I've heard those things before it was always with longing. And now . . . now its been 5 months and I feel like I have to say I've been there. I feel like I know how it felt before, I feel like . . . like nothing I can even explain.
Then we enter a prayer time, and Mike leads through some different thoughts he wants people to focus on. And the whole time I just can't shake this idea. Every time I try to push back and focus on God all I think about is her. And how I felt with her. And all these things Mike talked about. And I try to imagine them with someone else.
At the end the worship leader (Michael Boggs of FFH) played these two songs and then invited people to keep the hall quiet and sacred for prayer and journaling, something that happens not every time, but with regularity at Kairos. As happens every night, there are also staff and lay ministers at the front of the hall to talk and pray with people about their response to the message. I've never really felt even an inkling to go up there and talk, but tonight it was like I couldn't help myself.
I grabbed this older (63) guy named Ray and gave him as breif a run down as I could. Was engaged. Ended. Dealing with the feelings. So close to thinking God is saying its not over. Well he asks me some questions, some very good, very cursory questions about how things happened and how long this and that. Then he launches into this few minute pep-speach on the supremecy of God's purpose and working in our lives.
"No, you don't under stand," I say. "Its just . . ."
"You wish it hadn't happened?" he says.
"No, that's not it. I'm thankful, I wouldn't change what has passed. I can give you a full list of all the good that has come from it." Which I proceeded to do. "I just have this nagging feeling that God doesn't want me to give up yet. That there is still a fight."
"How long ago did you break up?"
"Five months."
I stared for a few seconds while this man of God, active staff minister of a thriving church, former missionary in Brazil for 27 years just looked at me speechless.
He went on to tell me a few more things, like how he didn't think he was necessarily the best person to talk to about all this, and it seemed like I'd done and was doing everything right. And then something potentially unbelievable happened. He told me that he often liked to use prayers of Paul to pray for people.
And then he recited Ephesians 3:16-19 for me as a prayer.
As if that wasn't enough he started talking to me about the virtues of a good wife. He said, "yeah, you could go get a wife anywhere. Just go pick on up, ya know. But what you're really looking for here, is a helpmate. A life giver. Do you know the Hebrew word, ezar?"
Why yes, Ray, I believe I'm familiar with the word.
Ray asked me how I felt about her. I paused and thought, always wanting to be honest. And responded.
"Ray, I've been on dates since we split. I've tried picturing myself with other girls. In the abstract, with girls I know or see or am around. I look at qualities and even just looks and all these things. No one even comes close. I can't imagine being with someone else."
And that, my friends, is a rotten answer.
Ultimately, talking to Ray was not some great big help. He didn't have a whole lot to say that helped me, and in the end it was kind of frusterating. In his defense, however, I don't think Ray is used to dealing with people where I am. One of the clases he leads at the church is on the basics of the Christian life. Like . . . what is prayer. So I think I was a little beyond what he's used to dealing with. On the upside he was an extremely nice guy, and he prayed for me, and bought me a book at the bookstore. While it doesn't having anything even remotely to do with what I talked to him about, it was still very nice of him and I'm excited about reading it.
So on the way home I was undoubtedly wrestling with everything. Trying to arrange thoughts and frame them against my knowledge of God and His history of voice to me. I've realized a few things. Jenn told me earlier that I need to get over my pride because theirs essentially zero risk, including spiritually in just doing something like writing her a letter or an email. It still almost universally true that I can't find a single disagreeable thing about her. Even her faults are symptoms of good things about her. Ultimatley my only complaint is there at that one time she answered "no" in the essential question. Creating a dissonance between what she'd said and lived by, and what she chose. But that's not much to go on.
Of course neither is doing anything about it.
And by the time I got home my urge to go elsewhere, to date someone else, was stronger than I care to admit.
Here at the end of this post, I can say with all humility I think in literary terms this is a good post. One of the best. But in the end it is hugely frusterating. I cannot overstate how much I wish I wasn't writing about this. How I wish you all came here and didn't get the same things over and over again. How I wish I could write about other things I want to. How much more important those other things are.
And even as I say it I'm left with that little nagging question.
Are they really?
Kyrie
This is simply intolerable.
These feelings are overwhelming, and my own thoughts and the prayers I offer make no difference.
The title for this post is a song by a band I just discovered called Mammuth. Its the last song on their CD The Cardiac Defect, which is a great CD/band/song name for a Christian group. Kyrie is the vocative case form of the Greek word kurios, which means Lord. For those unaware, the vocative case denotes address or invocation. It is used when speaking to someone, such as, "Lord, if its you, tell me to come." In that sentence, Lord, is in the vocative case.
This ties in to the word's use as a proper noun and its relevance here. Kyrie is used as the abbreviated reference to a Christian prayer written anonymously sometime around 1000 AD, and is commonly used in some Lutheran churches, and more widely in (stylistically) orthodox churches such as the Roman Catholic Church, a variety of eastern Orthdox churches, and lots of the old east African denominations. The full name of the prayer is kyrie, eleison. Which is anglicanized Greek meaning, "Lord, have mercy".
And that's what Mammuth's song is about. And that's how I feel.
I need mercy.
In the end it may not be a sign that convinces me to fight, but rather the desperation of needing these feelings to disappear. These feelings that travel in the opposite direction. But even as I voice that thought I don't totally trust it. I just keep remembering what Jonathan said. That it took him 2 years to get over his fiancee and date again.
But I simply can't take this crap. Two years? However you shake it that just sounds like a horrendous amount of time to feel this way. I'd comfort myself by saying I'm sure it'll get better, but it already did, and now its back. And its not getting better. I understand process and refinement and all that, but this is simply absurd. It so makes me wonder.
It makes me desperate to date again. It makes me wish to step outside myself and ask someone out tomorrow night at Kairos. To call people I know and see if they'll set me up with someone they know. It makes me want to call Amber and explain why I acted so funny. It . . . it makes me want to do ANYTHING to get this awful taste out of my mouth. To escape these feelings. To let go. To "move on". Even as I know that doing those things would be unfair, and ultimately unfruitful, even if "moving on" is where this is all supposed to lead.
I hate this post. I hate feeling this way. I hate having to talk about it and the way it all sounds.
So I'm left with the awful cry of a personalized lyric from the titular song:
"For this [I] come to You, and beg for mercy."
How far? How long? How much?
Unless you're unbelievably dense it is presumable you've noticed the application of a new template to the blog. I'm not entirely sold on it, but I think its an improvement. Obviously there are some small programming issues, like the partially hidden nav links above the body area. And I'd also like control over the "post info" elements that are currently stuck in that grey box underneath the post titles. Alas, the world is imperfect.
So what's been going on since Thursday? More importantly, does it really matter? I really feel like I'm about to spend an inordinate amount of time rehashing things I've said before. The end result is loss of time for me to be doing other things, like reading, writing, or sleeping, in addition to loosing the interest of you, the readership.
Friday was quite an interesting day. Was mildly productive for work, though some of it was merely working to find out there was a lot more to do, to the point that I'm now wondering which concern will give way. I know its hard to talk deep and ambiguous, but you'll have to trust me.
Friday night was quite the curious state. I was without arrangements, not a terribly unusual situation these days. But this was different. I was feeling incredibly restless. Which, while having other potential causes, is commonly a way for God to get your attention for an incoming message.
My prayer journal for the day probably didn't start until 8 or 9 pm.
"What do You want from me?"
Break as I go do other things.
"I don't want to hear You. I don't want to open my Bible.
I mean, ultimately I do . . . but . . . .
Am I afraid? Maybe. If so, of what?
I think of hearing You and dismissing it as me, and so thinking I don't hear You and drawing further away."
"I miss her. I miss everything about her."
"Fine, I'm here. Do what You want. Just please draw near. Don't make this for nothing."
That was followed by my first private worship time in I'm not sure how long. And it was wonderful. Listening to some quiet worship music. Turning the words over in my head. Trying to focus in on Christ. I was pretty well against an unaided listening session, even though I figured that's where it had to go, so I grabbed my Bible.
I prayed for God to speak to me and opened my Bible. 2 Chronicles 29, "Hezekiah purifies the temple". Now I supposed I should be far more impressed or awed by the consistent reoccurence of Hezekiah in my listening expeditions, but those feelings are definitely mitigated by the fact I have no idea what it means.
But I was distracted and I knew it. I pleaded with God in my pj to take Heather off of my heart, specifically mentioning the pain it was causing me.
Despite my not having been convinced by anything that's gone on recently, it has made me aware enough to not let certain questions leave my mind. So I asked God if I should fight for Heather.
I opened my Bible and was faced with Luke 19:11-26, "the parable of the ten minas". And that is undoubtedly a very curious happenstance.
For those of you who are unaware, that passage played a large part in Heather and I originally getting together. I had met Heather in a very unusual way, appearing as the most or least random happenings imaginable, depending on the viewpoint. Not long thereafter I went to Lake Champion to work on Young Life Summer Staff for a month. While there I had a conversation about meeting Heather described brefily in this post. The gist of it was a very wise and Godly person telling me they couldn't imagine why I'd met her if I wasn't supposed to pursue her. Well I went and prayed about it that night. And again the next day. And when I went to do my quiet time I prayed about whether I should pursue Heather, and then I opened my Bible, and it was the parable of the ten minas. And given the nature of the parable itself, in combination with the proximity of a similar word from Beth Ann, it seemed a pretty clear sign. And now it appears again.
Still, recent times have made me quite the doubting Thomas, or just as closely Peter on the water. So I again asked God if He wanted me to fight for her. When I opened my Bible it was at Habakkuk, chapter 2. I looked down and the first verse I saw was verse 2.
"The LORD's Answer
2 Then the LORD replied: "Write down the revelation and make it plain on tablets so that a herald [b] may run with it. 3 For the revelation awaits an appointed time; it speaks of the end and will not prove false. Though it linger, wait for it; it [c] will certainly come and will not delay."
Now I don't know what you would think, but when I ask God a question and then open my Bible to a passage that starts with "Then the Lord replied" y interest is fairly well piqued. Still I am unconvinced, helped in part by the overall criptic nature of the response passage.
So I pray twice, more, asking God twice more if I should fight. The responses are Mark 4:35-41 where Jesus calms the storm, and Ephesians 3:16-19, which is Heather's favorite scripture passage, and one we discussed at length while in our letter writing stage.
Mildly frusterated I lay down and put on some Hammock to do a stretch of pure listening. I find myself hearing things that I'm sure most of you can fairly easily guess. So I dismiss them and try to clear my head to actually hear Him. With the end result being more of the same, and eventually nothing. My response was this:
"Lord, I've laid here for 30 minutes, at Your bidding, and all I've heard was of her. I lover her Lord, I cannot helpt it any more than I can keep the sun from rising. But there is nothing I can do. Please, Lord, intervene.
Lord, I wasnt someone else. I want to want someone else. I want to be okay being with someone else, and not dissapointed. If I am wrong, catch me, change me. But don't let nothing happen. Save me, somehow. Bring me someone, bring her back, give me peace in singlehood.
But do something, for I simply can't take this."
So my reaction to everything should be fairly predictable by this point. I called an ex from high school to see what she was doing and if she wanted to get together soon. I made one prayer journal entry the next day asking God to take Heather off my heart. I continually find myself being so angry that I can't take less of an interest in that part of my life. Just wanting it to fade and dissappear. More so just wanting memories of and feelings for her to be removed.
So far today I have one entry in my prayer journal, to that same effect.
"Please, Lord, take her off my heart."
This is unsatisfactory.
On the upside, the cookout tonight was a blast, though perhaps the best part was sitting around with just a few folks after it was officially over and talking way late into the night. But that should be no surprise. I love people, I love Jesus, I love real and deep conversations that involve good laughter, or sometimes not. And I love it when those things mix.
I'd like to think that this Tuesday will bring some sort of clarity but I already know its about sex, because Mike prefaced it last time saying it would be a mature night.
I'm not sure what God wants. But either way, I'm not sure of how to achieve it. I've tried every mental comfort I can to move one. Telling myself whatever I can think of as to how I'm better off. But I don't believe any of it. And if I'm being told to fight, I wouldn't even know where to begin.
I'm not sure if I really truly want someone else, or I just want to avoid doing something there. Or if I do that to legitimize what I think I'm hearing.
And I wish I could give all this crap up.
I'd love to sit down and actually write one of the academic posts I've been sitting on for only God knows how long. The unattractiveness of the gospel. The nature of slavery and freedom in relation to righteousness. Last week's Cake, last weeks' Kairos.
But this stuff consumes me, in part because I actually saw a picture of her tonight. Blurry, from a distance, and thought my heart my rip itself apart. Felt the heat of anger and loss.
Oh how I wish I could leave all this behind.
Lord, I am a willing servant. Lord, tear me apart. Lord, save me, but make me beautiful first.
With each passing wave we'll change
well . . . I've procrastinated as much as I could. I've spent a good two hours not writing this. But now its time. I have a lot to say, s0me just disparate snippets. Some . . . . And see now my thoughts are all fragmented and I can barely remember everything. I'll be struggling to pull this all together. I don't even have any music playing because it was distracting me. That's how bad it is.
Where does to start?
Apparently I've picked up a rather bad habit. Or perhaps its a blessing I haven't recognized yet. Regardless, in the past two weeks I've been put in excellent positions to ask out very attractive young ladies 5 times, and done absolutely nothing about it. It actually happened twice yesterday. I was initially unhappy about going to Kairos by myself, and spent last week wondering who I could take with me, but then I realized that the last two weeks, when I've gone by myself, I've ended up right next to attractive women.
As I left the church last night I actually found myself wondering if God had gotten in the torture business and was testing this method out on me. Here after a good month and a half hiatus, feelings and memories of Heather return, nearly five months after the engagement ended. The feelings do not abate despite prayers for their removal. And after dealing with those for nearly a month, I start meeting lots of attractive girls, after a hiatus from that as well. Delightful.
On the upside, I've begun developing repellent phrases, the answer to pick up lines and come-ons. Observe:
"Hi" Says bubbly blonde in the trendy dress.
"Hello" Responds presently sour main character in polo and jeans.
"I'm _______"
"I'm Zach"
"Are you a regular?" I nod. "How do you like the Summer of Love series?"
"Its okay, kind of tough to get into because I'm a polygamist."
:: Begin period of awkward staring. Followed by nervous laughter on blonde's part. ::
:: Sip tea and keep straigt face, never breaking eye contact ::
And that, dear readers, is how you end a conversation with a young Christian woman.
I should be shot.
So here I am, seemingly still in love with my ex-fiancee I haven't talked to in half a year, wishing desperately that I could let go of that, wondering if God still wants me to fight for her, as He undoubtedly did at one point, wishing I could all thoughts of dating in general, yet desperately wanting that kind of contact, whether through general desire, or misplaced readings of God-based desire for her, coming into semi-frequent contact with attractive young ladies in situations that facilitate asking out, while simultaneously not finding them good enough and wondering when I'll come into contact with attractive young women in situations that facilitate asking out. All while God seems silent on this area. You could say I operate on the principle of duplicity in thought. At least in regards to this.
As long as we're talking about never being satisfied, everyone will remember how I was previously complaining about this job situation. Or at least voicing my uneasiness. Well last night I was praying about whether or not God wanted me to do this, and sure enough, "ask, seek, knock."
See on my way over to church tonight I was thinking about how excited I'd been initially, and how it kind of seemed ordered by God at the time. Which led me back to the issue of obedience in the absence of passion, and so forth. Then tonight at church Stephen led our study on doubt. Particularly doubt of one's own abilities in regards to calling. We used the story of Moses calling at the bruning bush, and his silly response.
Then, as if I needed more encouragement, I went with some people to hang out at Starbucks, and ended up talking about 912 Park almost the whole time. My friend Luke is extremely interested in helping out, which is really my first jump on volunteer, somebody I didn't have to bug to do it. And then these two other guys started talking to me about it, and eventually there were 6 people, standing out in the parking lot kicking stuff around. And I'll admit it, it got me excited. So there. We'll see what happens. There's a lot to be done and lots of questions. But what can I do other than trust?
So what else? Struggling with discontent, wondering why, seeing connections I don't like there. Still having some academic posts I'd like to throw down. So on.
I'm sure I had more to say when this all started, but then I delayed for two hours and I feel like I'm leaving this post unfinished. There are thoughts still swimming around upstairs but I can't grasp them enough to put them out here. So much the luckier you are I suppose.
I am back amongst the wind and the waves.
The real problem is perhaps that I've not been as near to Jesus lately as I've been in the past. And that has to change.
"Well . . . here I am."
Props to anyone who knows where the title comes from. Its a brilliant moment that I hope I do not regret using here and not elsewhere.
