Status Throes

“Dawn”

It seems a curious part of the human condition to occasionally need to sit outside of a locked door weeping, even when one has the key in their hand. Because not every door is a pleasure to open, even if we know that what is on the other side might be good for us-- the fact that what is on the other side is different can be enough to have us tarrying far too long before turning the knob. 

And sometimes there are doors that look familiar enough that we assume that what is on the other side will be just as frightening as the last door. 

But I think that... while change may be frightening, what we're really feeling is a fear of pain: pain of loss, loss of grounding, a new sort of devil that might even be weaker than the last one but is too unfamiliar for us to be comfortable confronting it and risking some of our dignity, or illusions of control.

But dawn brings surprising shapes to the things we could only half see in the dark. And I think that that's where the core of Christianity embodies the Hero's Journey, where pain is transformed by purpose, so that much can be endured. And that's the "secret", I think... that life is full of pain and trial, but it is only through God that this inevitability is transformed into gifts from the kingdom-- growth, transformation, glory. 

 

As I walk forward into my next chapter I find myself frightened by memories of how difficult it was at the beginning of my last one. How alone I felt, and how many nights wondering if I would ever see dawn again. In those times I clung to the knowledge that all things must pass, and that dawn always comes, simply as a matter of truth in my soul, despite what my senses could not perceive in those moments. It was faith that brought me forward, not sight. 

But as I reflect on these things, their heaviness seems distant, when I consider that so much of my struggle was caused by my feelings of insecurity over the unknown before me, versus the familiarity of what I was forced to leave behind. 

But I have safety now. I was carried-- even when I was kicking, even when I was crying. I feel it, I know it. Because the one, perhaps most important, golden lesson one can learn from losing what they fear most to lose, is that you do keep living. Even when you don't want to. Even when you don't know how to. Life keeps moving, days and nights keep coming, and eventually you realise two things: 1) That there are innumerable things in our lives that are blessings, that we too often take for granted, and 2) That only God is in control, but these are better hands than our own. When we are stripped of the illusion that we have anything more than consciousness and free will at our disposal, we can build our home on this solid bedrock, without fear of anything else that may come our way. 

This is treasure, indeed. 

 

“O Teachers, are my lessons done?”

"God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,

the courage to do the things I can,

and the wisdom to know the difference."

 

There are trials on this pilgrim’s path that come in threes. It's not an unprecedented number, certainly-- it's the number of dynamism. But it is not to say that my trials are complete, either. Each trial strips away illusion, and leaves one lighter, if wearier... But in the end God gives us rest, and the muscles that were torn ripen into wisdom, courage, and truth, though they are hard won, indeed. How heavy they were, at first, but necessary to carry so that they may someday mark the corners of the place one might soundly build upon.

The first lesson: Things I cannot change. To see when chains are chosen, and none may make the decision to break them, but the individual. 

The second lesson: Courage. The raw resolve toward the ideal that pushes us to take our first steps into the fires that stand between us and liberty. 

The third lesson: That having earned insight into the smelted truth of suffering, one may speak such truth with gentleness, to put down what was not ours to carry. 

Thus, as one's new hour dawns, the pilgrim walks out of the fire reforged, and free to walk unbound. If pain is the only way to learn, then I wish it on everyone. Not arbitrarily, but because life is already full of pain, but it is not full of lessons by default. 

Ah, what a glory it would be to find and walk with someone who had followed onto this other side, too. 

 

“Valleys and Watersheds”

Up until recently I'd felt as though I have been passing over a sort of watershed. In the past, transitionary periods have felt a lot like passing bottlenecks or reaching a new elevation-- "Wow, this is the highest I've ever been!"

Sometimes these thresholds have felt like crawling through a small tunnel, only to fall into a room with an overwhelming amount of new doors. However, I have found that I have never succumbed to those feelings, so much as it makes a good metaphor. 

Today I feel like I am stepping across a different kind of threshold, which I have already mentioned is more like a watershed. A beginning of, say, a valley between the top of one mountain and the foot of another even bigger one, but with a bit of a pause, and normalcy in between. It's rather pleasant. 

I have been reminded that during this upcoming period I must remember to enjoy myself. It can sometimes be easy to get caught up in one's work and lose sight of the fact that one might be in the most comfortable place they have ever been. This is the case for me, all things considered, and I would be doing a disservice to my blessings and efforts if I did not try to sit with such a feeling at least once in a while, as I wander. 

Nothing is certain, but this does not frighten me anymore. I am open to surprise. I am open to joy. And selfishly, I hope to find it again. 

I had a dream two nights ago where I was sitting on a mountain top, having decided to camp there and look out over the view from over a windy campfire, at dusk. Someone came up the mountain to chat, and invited me to come down for a celebration, of sorts. It seemed to me to be Christmas... a kind that somehow lives deep in my memory but had been polished by time and fantasy. Suddenly I was surrounded by people with whom I felt safety and belonging. There was singing, and laughing, and food, and enough space for me to sit down and take it all in from the sidelines. I was visited by a man I knew to be my brother, who came up and chat with me as if that day was the most normal thing in the world. A man I knew to be my father came in, with gifts, as we talked, and children came running up to follow him into the main room to see what had come for them. I suddenly felt a twinge somewhere in my soul. I tried to find a camera, and held it up at various points in the room to take a picture -- of the group, of the winter sun shining and setting outside the window, and then my brother asked, "What are you doing?"

I said, "What if this is the happiest we will ever be?" to which he simply nodded, in understanding. 

 

“Dewy Grass”

In Lewis' Great Divorce, he describes the main character finding that the grass in God's Kingdom is so real, and solid, that it actually hurts his feet to walk on it. The blades of grass feel like knives, because of how unprepared our souls are to live in God’s reality. But as the characters accept grace and move toward transformation, they become more solid, too, so that what was painful or impossible begins to become easier. 

This valley is like that, too. 

I'm already invigorated, but fatigued; and both carried, and heavy. Sorrowful, yet always rejoicing.  

Some years ago, really "living" started by feeling like I was spinning plates, and now it feels like I'm juggling with different objects, and occasionally with my foot. And realistically, I'm getting better at it... that's the kind of fun part. 

Days feel like weeks, weeks feel like months, because my mind never stops, and it never has to. I can just keep running, and running, until I fall asleep under a tree, like a child after swimming on a summer afternoon. 

 

“Second Lesson, Remembered”

I've expressed before that while the question of the purpose behind my existence has often been at the forefront of my mind, and there may have been times that I wished that the pain I was in would end, I have thankfully never had to be talked off a ledge. That said, while I am not at all qualified to do so, I have done so for others. And the thing that I have told them, that has occasionally been my own reason to keep one foot before the other, is this: That if you feel like you want your life to be over, then you are ready to start a new one. And though sometimes things can feel really bleak, in meeting our final end, we will give up the experience of ever knowing how things might have transpired if we decided to give life one more chance; maybe in a completely different way than before. Oftentimes the reason we are distraught or torn, or broken, is because of the pain of the gap between how we feel things should be, and how they are, and there is still value in that. Take time to think. Take time to regroup, and tally, and rest, but don't give up.

In honesty I think the success rate is due less to the profundity, and more with the fact that people who would be close enough to come to me with such an issue likely have something in common with me that makes this sort of reasoning make sense to them. Someone who calls you on the phone asking for your help in this regard, often simply wants a reason to keep going. If they didn't, they just wouldn't call. 

I think we can see a little bit of "minor suicide" in people when we have stories like "I was the CEO of Blah and I sold everything and started my new life in X," I think it is what we see calling in mid-life crises and I think that my own generation and younger, who have almost seemed to start with existential questions rather than any real structure, good or bad, can question this at any point of their lives. But we can see it in anyone. Anyone trying to choose between luxury or comfort, and meaning. Emptiness and fullness... But then, we can also see people who are too afraid to die, and too afraid to live, and just wait with a private resignation for eventual physical death. Dearest reader, do not be one of those; we are loved too much for that. Eat and sleep according to your own needs, and when you are sated, get up in the morning for a new day, to drink deeply of life we are freely offered; knowing that God is with you wherever you go, even and especially in our trials, with a love for which only one has ever been worthy.

... This is all my thoughts, and I don't know how to reconcile them with scripture, because they are less a prayer and more of an ejaculation. 

But here is my "second lesson" that I momentarily forgot last week, in conjunction with my unformed thought from yesterday...

There are some choices we make in life that divide the road so sharply that only God Himself can walk with us through the ache of what might have been on the opposite path. Whatever we do, let it be for the glory of God. Let it have meaning. Let it stretch us toward love, and make us better people. No path guarantees success except the one that is made in this manner, but rarely does one ever make it to the end without detours that clarify the importance of this concept. 

Regardless of where we are in life, or what decisions we make or have made, each day, let us take tally of what God has given us, and to entrust the rest to His hands, as we do all that is in our power to follow Him through what subsequently comes our way. The real question is always this: Who are we and what are we doing in God, in our communities, and our own inner worlds? 

And finally, my last thought -- if this can happen to you and I, then can it happen to the world? 

 

“Keys and Threads”

What is it that you are searching for? Toward what are you reaching? If there was some key I knew I could provide, I would; but even keys must be turned by hand. Keep reaching, though, and I have faith that you will find your answer. Do not despair. 

The difficult thing about life seems to be that there is precious little one can truly hold onto, and when we find it, it's not guaranteed to be solid for very long. Sometimes it feels like climbing a mountain that is crumbling as you go, or hopping from sinking-log to sinking-log through a long, muddy swamp. But that doesn't mean that whatever we can hold onto in the moment isn't being sent to us in that moment, for that very purpose. 

Indeed... The only solid thing seems to be that, beyond all this, there is something more, and the more we reach for truth and the ideal, even a thread of truth in our hands is stronger than chains of lies. Follow the glint of light in the dark. A crack in the stone wall. It is only through fire that the dross melts away, so that truth becomes clear. And there is pain and sorrow in this, but it is nothing compared to that of continued illusion, or the joy of finally seeing things as they are. There is no treasure more valuable than knowing one is finally planted and allowed to grow, on cleared ground.

I've found in my own travails that knowing someone was with me, even in spirit, has been my strength. There is a profound power in knowing one is not alone... and I am certain that you are not, either. But even if one was, ultimately it is the inner compass of what we know to be right, that will give us the faith to walk over the glass bridge between pain and glory. Have faith to keep walking toward it. Over it. This is the thing that above all else will let you sleep at night, or not. In the end, it is all between us and a kind, just God. Nothing anyone else can say, think, do, or not do, can take that away or change that, and the closer we become, the more threads are thrown our way. 

 

“Kallað heim; Never Answered”

I'm preaching this coming Sunday and I'll be exploring "Jeremiah buys some land." The idea of a guy sitting in chains inside of a palace courtyard, charged with convicting the city and predicting war, while said war rages outside, but he is told to go buy some land in his hometown which is also an adjacent warzone, is strangely delightful. This idea of having faith in God's plans and promises, even in the face of what might seem absurd to human eyes, is definitely my kind of story. 

I can't really describe it to the congregation, but once upon a time, I'd had kind of a similar situation. Mind you, my imprisonment at the time was inside of myself and the controlling nature of another, but I was in chains nonetheless. And at the time, Iceland was actually bankrupt because its government had collapsed. The property I was looking at was about 65k, CAD, with several acres on a hill overlooking a beautiful lake, a log home with three bedrooms and an old root cellar outside came with it, to boot. 65k. Well in my price-range even as I worked as a nightshift barista. The only drawback is that I would have had to learn the language quickly enough to pass a proficiency test, since non-Icelandic citizens were not allowed to purchase property, but the citizenship process at the time was $35 plus the language test. It seems pretty insane to think about that in today's world. But what's even more insane is that a comparable property nowadays would easily go for a solid million. Could I have known that at the time? No, of course not. Could I have accidentally poured my heart and soul into a strange venture that could have left me stranded from friends and family? Sure. But the part the rubs me is not the fact that I didn't make the fortuitous purchase, or that I possibly narrowly avoided the unknown-- it is the fact that I made the decision based on having felt too small, too vulnerable, and otherwise too afraid to assert my desire in any meaningful way, that stopped me from even trying. And it's not about how much that investment could have appreciated, but the fact that the opportunity is now barred from me forever. 

Do I care about moving to Iceland now? No. Do I care that I am financially at the mercy of God? Also no. Truly. But how many times in our lives can we excuse ourselves for turning away from what we feel called or inspired to do, simply because we have little faith that we can do it? How many times can we fear failure before it becomes a self-fulfilling prophesy? At what point does the unspoiled potential become less a comfort, than a burden, as it gets put behind us?

And finally, if we are called, but we turn away from God's call, what is it that we possibly use to validate this choice, by saying we were afraid we would lack?

 

“As I wander”

Nowadays I don't wonder whether the things I gave to God to be carried are safe in His hands... That does not cross my mind, and it comforts me. My own experience being held in this manner did not always feel that way, though. In fact, it might have been the rockiest part of my life, due to the upheaval, but in a way that brought me closer to light, rather than the slow chipping of myself that once pulled me progressively farther away. In the end, it was the weaknesses that I was trying so hard to hide that God was able to transform, and I needed to be cracked to see that. Oh, we Winter Seeds. 

But I still wonder... My thoughts turn to them, I pray, and do my best in my own world to be what I was meant to be, even as there are so many things outside of my control. My own challenge remains finding respite from my wondering, even as the future remains enshrouded except for little more than a few steps ahead at a time. But I think He does this on purpose, because if we did know, then (likely more than) half the time we wouldn't do what we needed to do. In retrospect, there are many things in my life that I would not have chosen, had I fully known or understood, but if I hadn't... Well, all I know now, is that as one life ended and another began, all things worked together to His purposes in ways I could not have imagined. And I think that that's what brings me comfort, for my own sake and those of others... That there is so much we can continue to fail to understand, but we can trust it is still all part of good plans. This openness I give. 

 

“Just One Word”

"Like the singing bird, and the croaking toad, I've got a name,

And I carry with me, and I sing it loud...

If it gets me nowhere, I'll go there proud."

                                                                                        - Jim Croce, "I've got a name"

 

People who know me, most likely know that I have an obsession with names. Not labels, but names. Something that reflects the nature of one's being, whether ascribed, preferably earned, and... potent when lost or remembered. 

I have regained most of my strength this morning, and my feist from last week has returned to me. One that is not about perceived injustice in my own life, but what I have recently seen in others. I don't know what to do about it, or what I can possibly say here to encapsulate it... but I don't feel like I am wrong to try. You see, if we can get back to names; one's personhood, one's value as a human being with a voice, and thoughts, and feelings that are all gifts from God... why is it that we can fool ourselves into thinking that we are less than what is already miraculous? That we are not important? I don't mean humility under God, but crawling when he gave us the ability and call to stand tall in His light.

My thoughts turn... Val Jean, Toby, Rilian. What are our natures? Why is it so painful when they are suppressed? I ask that only because this time, the answer is obvious. 

God changes the names of those He calls, to better reflect their true natures that He sees, and loves fully. He calls us by name, and we are His. And yet, there are those in this world who would have us forget even our human ones. I used to live like that-- for duty, for approval, for peace. I let nearly every part of myself be suffocated that didn't fit the mold of people who were unpleasable, and shrunk back any time anything seemed to slip out of line. I told myself that their displeasure was somehow my fault. I told myself that if I just tried harder, was somehow better, or if I just cut more off, then they would be happy. Then, I told myself, I would finally be loved. But dearest reader... You know as much as I do that it is the brightest fires that attract those who would tame them, to draw upon strength that they do not have, where it benefits them, and snuff what they must to sate their own insecurities. There are some people who are ready to die for what they believe in, and others who are happy to let others die. Love cannot be gained by erasure, because this is not love at all. I thank God that, on the other side, all these things will fall away, except the light. Of course, our flames are eternal, but we need to be careful with our oil.

I know that this entry may come out of nowhere but as I speak to myself still here, in the silence... if you’re someone who is still down there, deep in the silent places, I want you to know I see you. God sees you. Even if you think you are alone. Even if you’ve been told to forget, or to fear the warmth of true light... We were all made for the sun. Do you dream of it, too? Do you know your name? Do you remember your name? Do you treat it like the treasure that it is?

 

“Space to Grow”

Happy Sunday, dearest reader. Will you go to church today, I wonder? Do you attend at all? Unfortunately it seems that over half of Christians don't nowadays, and yet, I don't blame them, I blame the institution that was supposed to bring us together, but so often pulls us apart with its dysfunction. I thought I had been somewhat unique in learning about the faith through podcasts, but apparently this is a growing trend, as well. This bodes well, I think, that more people are giving themselves intellectual permission to believe, and are seeking understanding, but it also makes me wonder if it will not be long before the church begins yet another sort of reform, as the old falls away under its own hand. And what will come up next? I am both exhilarated and frightened by the prospect. 

Last night I had a dream that I was walking through a vast complex, with no walls, scarce stairs, and many disjointed platforms at various heights, apparently sustained by magic. I was trying to follow someone who was showing me around, but phased from one platform to the other, so that it was beginning to be disorienting. However, the longer I followed, the more I realised that they were simply walking in a straight line, and it was only my perception as I stood still that they were making such leaps. As I walked behind them, trying to keep up, it seemed to me that my own movement somehow wove the planforms behind me together, so that the path seemed more manageable the longer I walked on it. It seemed implied that it was important for me to become intimate with the landscape, because someday it would be in my charge. This was almost daunting, but I trusted that if and when that would be the case, that I would not be left unguided until I was able. 

During this time on my walk, I came upon a spot I was supposed to live. It was a small plot of disembodied land floating on par with the third or fourth floor, as if someone had lifted a small property out of the ground with an enormous shovel. There was a woman who lived there who had grown very old, and was known for having increasingly strange ideas as she clawed for control during her decline. She was accustomed to having every control of the little domain, and yet cracks in it were everywhere, only because of her own past neglect, until it was too late. I could see from afar that there were parts of her property where plants were growing abundantly over what she had once tried to bury, and in truth, I thought it amusing. 

In the house, as I arrived, she was not there, but a family was. It was unclear to me whether she had died, or whether they were arranging things behind her back while she was out. There was a child there, who was immediately very comfortable with me, though I could not say what our relationship was. It was something innate, I suppose. She enjoyed being squished and tickled, and eventually brought me up a picture book, that we read together as she sat on my lap. I was happy for a few moments, until she had to go, and I was left in the house and I realised I still had some sort of work to do. My mind seemed to widen out, then, into the waking world. Though I was still asleep, I said, "I'm worried about--" and a voice said, "Don't." I said, "I'm mad about--" and the voice said, "But is there anything you can do about it?" and then I said, "I'm sad." and it said, "then sit with it... then get up."