Names, Dates, Mates, and Babies

I used to go to a prophetic church and participate in prophetic ministry.  I honestly miss being surrounded by a prophetic community.  But prophecy can hurt people way more than it can help people, especially if you’re giving an unwarranted word to someone you don’t know, who doesn’t want it, and you’re wrong.

I had a friend visiting this last weekend and she really wanted to go to a church so we decided to visit one I haven’t been to before, since I don’t have a church here.  This experience made me want to find a church even less than I did before.
My friend wanted to talk to a man who had shared a dream when service was over, so we waited.  After she spoke to him, he decided that he needed to give me a word, and without asking started hugging me and praying for him.  I was uncomfortable the entire time.  And he thought it was appropriate to tell me that I’m going to find a great husband soon.  I wish I had said something, but I didn’t, and I am literally so mad.  Because I have already found my partner.  I have already found the person that I want to love for the rest of my life.

One thing that they taught us when I was doing the supernatural school of ministry and learning prophetic ministry is to not give names, dates, mates, or babies.  Especially if you have no rapport yet.  There are people that I would trust to give me these kinds of word.  But not a stranger.  Not a man that made me so uncomfortable that I just shut down.

It’s prophecy 101.  Learn it.

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Mental

Something lives inside her
Eating her alive
In her heart
In her mind
In her soul
Bringing her low
Beneath the soil
Burying her in regret
Telling her she has done everything wrong
When she has done nothing wrong
But living
And loving
And giving herself away

Unwelcome

Have you ever entered a room and felt completely unwelcome there?  Like you didn’t belong at all?  Because I have a thousand times.  I feel that way at parties.  But I feel that way the most in the company of Christians.  I hadn’t felt that way in a long time, and I had almost forgotten the feeling, so I guess it was time to remind myself.  Why do I even try, sometimes?

It makes me feel like I’m not good enough.  Because I’m not part of the elite.  I have differing opinions.  And it makes me want to run away completely.

After my mom died, I stopped getting invited to things.  It felt like no one wanted me around.  I never knew if my original group of friends was doing anything.  But if I invite some of them to do anything, the ones who weren’t invited get upset.  And the odds of anyone showing up are slim, at best.  They ask me to have more great ideas, but only so they can take them as their own.  But I’m not playing the blame game here.
Because, if I get invited, there’s a 75% chance I won’t go.  Partly because I might be working.  Or maybe I’ll already have plans.  Or maybe I’m just not interested.  But whenever I am interested, I feel like I don’t belong anyway.  It just makes it all very draining.

I used to do a lot.  I used to plan things and attend things and have a lot of fun.  But then I moved the south.  And I’ve started making my life smaller and smaller, till almost no one fits in it anymore.  So maybe it’s my fault that I’m not good enough.

My 90s party was better anyway.

Blogging Everyday in July|Through Unreal Eyes

She took me out of the car today, finally.  The heat in this new place is unreal, I felt like she was trying to bake me by making me live in there.

She put me on this red couch as if I was part of the decor, then left me there.  After she went outside, I got to take in my new surroundings.  The couch was red, the carpet brown, the space around me empty.
I’d been living in that car since February, in a place where there was snow.  I remember her getting into the car and hugging me as she cried; that was how we met.  She never did give me a name though.
A few weeks ago she found me and hugged me again, then carried me out to her friends, who christened me Tito.  It was nice to finally know who I was.

Finally I heard her return.  She rushed into the kitchen and started cooking, then rushed around the house, trying to grab as many personal belongings a she could, as if to hide her very presence in this place.  But I got to stay, as if I belonged.  Thankful that she’s not embarrassed to be seen with me.
It wasn’t long before there was a knock at the door and more and more people started to arrive.  They talked about tacos and music and someone picked me up.  My new friend with the blonde hair!  I think they call him Bobby.  I think he loves me the most.   He named me.  He calls me Tito the Potito.  It’s a name as cute as I am.  They like to pass me around to hug me, because apparently my hugs are some kind of magic.
The set me down and made plates.  Everyone had tacos except me, momentarily forgotten.

Eventually they had their fill and the music started.  Fun music, everyone together.  I was passed around like a joint that no one was smoking.  I was overwhelmed, needing to hide myself.
I tucked myself away, into a ball, when someone yelled “Hot potito!”  Suddenly I was flying through the air.  They tossed me back and forth until they grew bored of this new game.  I was happy to be included, but terrified that I was about to die.  I wonder if this is how they treat all their new friends.

The music was good, the laughter loud, joy emanating from the room we all sat in.  I could sense a real community, a new family forming.  I wanted this to be my home.  I think maybe it is now.

My friend, Jasper, got to be a part of the party too.  The blonde one, Bobby, kept trying to make Jasper dance.  Jasper’s not good at talking about his anxiety and was sure he was going to pass out the whole night.  But he held it together.  Even after they messed with his sweater.  He knows  it’s not made for him, but he’s had it too long to care.
Jasper is my family, the way all these strangers are the girl’s family now.  I hope she feels home here too.

Blogging Everyday in July|Bad things, Good People, and Whatever’s In Between

There is a such a common question that is asked.  It’s asked to trip up those who have faith into doubting what they believe.  It’s asked genuinely, really wanting to understand if God really is as good as we say he is.  It’s asked out of curiosity.  It’s asked, just to see what kind of answer I can come up with.  But I’m okay with not having all of the answers.

Why do bad things happen to good people?

I believe that God is perfect.  He created the world to be perfect.  But we failed, thus the world was corrupted.  However, God continues to love us anyway.  Because his love is perfect where we fall short.
Some people like to think that God orchestrates everything that happens in this world, but that’s not the case.  I mean, yes he could do that, but he gave us free will.  So, as humans, we have choices to make, choices to do evil, and choices to do good.  Hating someone because they’re a different gender or race?  That’s a choice.  Loving someone, even though they’re different, or might not love you back?  That’s also a choice.  And for those of us who had the misfortune to be born after the original sin in the garden, sometimes making the right choice doesn’t make sense.  Because we were born into sin.  So vision gets skewed sometimes.
But choice doesn’t answer the question as to why some people get cancer, or are born with a mental “defect” that makes life harder, or why people develop dysphoria, or even why I’m bipolar.  Am I not a good person?  I’m not answering that.  But it’s because this world is corrupt.  This world has sin in it.  And sin isn’t just an action anymore, it’s in the world.
God did not create the world originally to contain sickness and hurt and anger.  Those all came after sin.  And even if someone tries to live their whole life never sinning, they still live in sin.  Because sin is in the world.  It’s in the air we breathe.  It’s not something we can just escape.  We can’t fix a corrupt world overnight.  I’m not even sure if we can fix it at all.
And if we ask why God doesn’t step in and destroy all of the things that are not of him, I think it’s because he loves us still.  He loves us regardless of if we love him.  It’s not as easy as, “those who don’t accept Christ are going to hell.”  It’s complicated and unexplainable, God’s love.  His desire never was, is, or will be to destroy us.  Even when he told Moses on the mountain that he wanted to kill all the Israelites and start again, he didn’t destroy them, and he never ceased to love them.  Even when he sent the flood to make the world new, he broke his own heart and promised never to do it again.
But all of these answers aren’t really answers.  No answer I can ever give will ever be good enough.  And I’m okay with that.  I’m okay with the mystery of God’s goodness.  I’m okay with simply knowing that we don’t know what he’s doing, because we are inside of time, where he lives outside of it.  We don’t know what awful thing he’s going to use for some amazing goodness in our future.  And we also don’t know what awful thing he hated to allow, but did because of the corrupt nature of the world, and the rampant free will that he didn’t interfere with.

I’m bipolar.  And I accepted my crazy a long time ago.  I used to believe that God created me this way, and that somehow it was going to be used someday, and I spent so many hours angry at him for it.  But maybe he didn’t create me this way.  Maybe I just am this way because of the corruptness of this earth.  But that doesn’t mean it won’t be used someday.
I both do and do not try to hide my crazy.  I can get really excited and feel so much love for my friends and want to do so many fun things.  But that excitement will get used up.  I’ll hit the mountaintop and drop off a cliff.  I woke up yesterday knowing I shouldn’t see people.  But I chose to drive to Nashville for the first time with them instead.  If it had been smooth, with a plan, and a city tour guide like I had in Michael Glenn, or Jackson, or even Jamie with his San Francisco list, or Aaron with his Portland list, and maybe a whole day, then my landing at the bottom of my depression might have been smoother.  My city exploring might have been something worth doing.  But instead, instead the chaos inside my head matched the chaos outside.  Instead I didn’t know what I was doing.  Instead, it was as if I had never been to a city before and things like paying for parking had to be mansplained to me.  Instead, I saw no river or beauty, I saw the ugliness that comes with all downtowns.  It was loud and hot and too much.  Why I ever thought that kind of adventure on a bad day would have been a good idea is beyond me.  Because I can’t explain my broken soul to those around me.  I’m unhelpable.  I’m broken.  But I’ve accepted it.  It’s just embarrassing when I’m spilling out onto the floor and the only thing that can be done is to mop me up.
Life is chaos.  Life is chaos.  Life is chaos.  And I could go on screaming at God to take me from it, because I’m not going to do it on my own.  Or I could find a way to take this chaos and make it art.  Find the beauty in the ugly.  Be Tyra Banks for a moment.  That’s not something I know how to do at the bottom of the cliff, but I will find my moment at the top again, and I will be living amongst the beauty again.
And none of this is to say that I had zero fun in Nashville, because I did have fun.  I love my friends here, they care about me.  It wasn’t there fault that I can’t handle my own existence sometimes.  That will never be anyone else’s fault.  That’s not what I want to be taken from this.  I am flawed.  We are all flawed.  Welcome to honesty hour.