I Thought We Were Done

I’ve disappeared a little.  At least I feel that I have.  Sinking into the floor.  Sinking into my work.  Sinking into a life that I’m barely living.  So I think I’m ready to be done with this.

Next month I have an interview to get into grad school.  I’ve been listening to a lot of podcasts lately and I realized that I really love stories.  Maybe that’s why I thought I would be a writer.  I’m not a writer.  Not anymore.  But I’m going to get my masters in counseling.  I can hear stories.  I can walk through stories with someone else, because I’ve learned that it’s really hard to walk through a hard story by yourself.

I’m looking for a house to move into next month.  My lease is up and I’m so ready to be done with the roommate life.  My things keep breaking or going missing.  Kind of like my heart.

My car is in the shop again.  For the same problem as before.  Because the mechanics missed something.  I’m learning that it’s better to go for quality over price, and even though I’m poor, I’m going back to taking my car to the dealer, just like I used to.

I don’t want life to be hard anymore.  I don’t want simple things to seem impossible.  I’m completely over this pointless depression.  I thought we were done with this a long time ago.

Because We Have to Prove We’re Right

Social media causes almost as much division as it does connectedness.  Maybe it causes more the more you’re on it.  Because I have a lot of “friends” on facebook who I really get along with in person, or I did at the time in my life when I knew them, but whenever they post their views online, they do it in a manner to tear one another down.  Today I saw a post by a “friend” that pointed out a bunch of “failures” that he is blaming solely on the democratic party, and basically said that you’re stupid if you’re a democrat because of this.  With that logic we could say the same about republicans, since our republican president seems to have just as many failures and scandals as the democratic party, uses twitter as his main source of communication, and had a “whose button is bigger” contest with the leader of North Korea.  So maybe you’re stupid if you’re a republican?

Or maybe not.  I’m neither a republican nor a democrat, my opinions live somewhere in between.  Both parties have serious downfalls, and both have good parts as well.  But calling someone out because of their political affiliation is about as annoying as not liking someone because they’re gay, or making comments about women belonging on the kitchen.

I’m just wondering why people feel the need to post about their opinions in a corrosive manner.  You can have whatever opinions you want.  You can even share these opinions, because that seems to be what social media has become about.  But putting down someone else whilst sharing this opinion just because you can?  What’s the point?  Oh right, it’s to be mean.  I think people are just too mean.  And I think I’m noticing it too much.

What really gets me is that that majority of these people, at least on my feed, are outspoken Christians.  And I thought Christ told his people to go out and make disciples. I thought we were supposed to multiply, not divide.

It’s probably because we all like to believe that we’re right.  And some of us have to prove that we’re right.   Even though not everyone cares.  And the thing that we think we’re “right” about the most is an opinion, and usually, opinions aren’t inherently right or wrong.  They’re not facts.  They have sides.

And I’m probably perpetuating the crises by writing this anyway.

Rant.  Over.

About Church

One thing that I realized last week is that I’ve always gone to church because I’ve always had connection there.

I grew up going to church because my parents took me to church every Sunday.  And I went to youth group because my friends went and I liked it and I felt like I was learning things.  I felt a connection to the living God.

When I was in college I went to church because I had to be serving in church at least two times a month for my degree.  You didn’t have a choice to opt out if you were in Bible college.  But I got to know my pastors.  And I enjoyed being a volunteer, even if it wasn’t the fun jobs that I was doing.  I liked the connection.  I liked the family that I had there.

After college, I moved to Mammoth and I started re-attending the Lighthouse, and I found real family.  But I first knew about the Lighthouse because I would visit with my brother all the time growing up and when I visited during college.  I had friends there.  I felt community there.  And I connected with God there.

I’m just wondering how to get that community and connection back.  I’m wondering where it is here.  When I first moved to Florence I immediately started attending a church, but my only friends in Florence were a part of this church.   After being there for more than a year, I felt less connected than when I first moved.  My newness wore off and it kinda seemed like I wasn’t good enough to be connected.  I wasn’t good enough to be involved.  None of the original connections I had there include me anymore.  Unless they see me in public.  Then they complain that we never hang out, but I can’t remember the last time I actually got an invitation to do anything.
I got a text from the pastor saying he missed hanging out with Bobby and I.  I said he could ask us to hang out any time, but I never got a response.

I feel like church is something that I’ve had forced into my life for so long that I’m not sure what is real and what is fake.  I miss community and I miss connection, but it has to be genuine.  It cannot be forced.  I’ve visited other churches, churches with small groups, but I don’t necessarily agree with their theology.

I’ve felt a little lost lately.  I don’t like feeling lost.  So I might be breaking up with church for a while.  I can pursue my relationship with God and learn what I need, because I’m obviously not going to find what I’m craving.

Sorry I complain so much.  Sorry I’m not elite.

When Getting Out of Bed is Hard

I never learned how to reach out.  So everything seems inappropriate and everything becomes uncomfortable and needing anything seems like an obsession.  I make mistakes.  I’ve made them a thousand times, and it’s different every time, but as I become older it’s almost as if things are more and more detrimental.  It’s so much easier to turn to the things that will eventually push you over the edge than it is to run to the one thing that might make this all okay again.

I’ve been analyzing again.  But this time I have something to analyze.  Grief has stages.  Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance.  I don’t know what stage I’m in.  I know that I don’t want to talk about it.  Not with most people.  Not most of the time.  If you get to be that person, or one of those people, then I’m sorry.  But for everyone else.  I’m sick of it.  I’m sick of people saying that what I do or what I say is okay.  It’s bullshit.  This is all bullshit.
I’m not even sorry.  I’m not even sorry that I push everyone away and then feel abandoned.  Because I’ve done it my whole freaking life.  It’s what I’m best at.

I don’t even care right now.  I don’t want to care.  I want to do whatever I want.  I want to be reckless.  I used to be reckless.  But there will always be something tethering me to the earth, keeping me from being fully free like that.

I’m not an alcoholic.  I don’t really have an addictive nature.  But I wish I was.  I wish there was a reason that getting out of bed didn’t seem worth it.  A reason that was more than a state of mind.

I’m really messed up.  But only right now.  I’m really not okay, even when I am okay.  And no, I don’t want to talk about it.

Trust

Trust.  It’s something I’ve talked about a lot.  I’ve talked about moving across the country and trusting God that it’s the right decision.  I’ve talked about how scary trust is sometimes.  I’ve probably talked about trusting people.  But I was recently confronted with a realization.

A close friend tried to promise something and I said I wouldn’t hold them to that.  They asked if I trusted them.  I told them that I was fairly certain I didn’t know what trust is.

And maybe that’s true.  That I don’t know what trust is.

Trust is defined as the “belief in the reliability, truth, ability, or strength” of someone or something.  It means to “have faith or confidence.”

Such a simple definition for such a huge concept.

Trusting God is hard, but it’s also the best decision, because he already knows the outcome.  Trusting a bridge when you cross it makes sense, because you’ve crossed it before, it has been crossed a thousand times.  We trust what we know.  We trust what makes sense.  We trust what we’ve experienced before.

But trusting people?  I’m pretty sure I forgot how to do that a long time ago.  Because people are forever changing.  If I look at my own life, a year and a half ago, I had no idea that I’d be living so far from where I grew up.  I didn’t know that I’d be starting my life over.  I didn’t realize that I would suddenly become an unknown.  So anyone who trusted that I would stay in Mammoth, or in California, or at least on the western side of the country ended up having their trust broken.
People have their own agendas.  So being close to someone, trusting someone, is one of the easiest ways to be let down in the long run.  As soon as my heart calls me somewhere else, I’ll probably leave, so if anyone comes too close, I’ll let them down.  And every time I am somewhere new, or around new people, I’m an exciting person, because I don’t really fit into any regular mold.  I am constantly surprising.  However, after a while, that gets old too.

I recently told someone that it’s better to be hated than to be passively ignored and forgotten.  Not a lot of people hate me.  But a lot have gotten over me.  That’s one of the things that I can really trust.

Sure, go ahead and prove me wrong.  I mean, it’s fine.  I’m fine.  I’m pretty much just over all the false promises.  And I fully understand that no one does this on purpose.  You can’t know the future when you say something in the present.
I promise to never promise something again.  Trust me.

Blogging Everyday in July|I Can’t Remember My Agenda Anyway

I keep telling myself  to write.  Right now, pen words, there are things that need to be written.  You promised didn’t you?  You promised the world, you promised yourself.  You keep calling yourself a writer.  But right now, right now I just want to sit.  I just want to be.  Be still.

I can feel my life catching up with my writing, with all the words I have written before.  And I wonder when it will catch up again.  I have a possibly amazing opportunity waiting for me; I knocked on the door and it is opening, I’m just not sure if they will let me in.  But I keep imagining what it would be like if they let me in.  I imagine it so much that I’m not taking the time to prepare my heart to be crushed.  I don’t have the experience or the degree that they are asking for.  I don’t think I am who they are asking for.  But I want to be more than that.  Because I know I can do all that they ask and more.  I’m just afraid.  I’m always afraid.  I live in fear, I swim in fear, I breathe fear.  But trying shouldn’t be scary.  Trying could change things.  If I don’t try, that’s where the real failure is.  And if I’m not chosen, if they shut the door in my face, that’s really okay.  I’m not losing anything anyway, I just didn’t gain what I wanted.  So I’m trying to train myself to be okay with whatever outcome.  Because I’m always okay.  There is always a bigger plan.  Always a better plan.  Always something happening.  Life churns on around me.

This inner dialogue probably isn’t something anyone wants to read.  Maybe I should have skipped today.  I just can’t quite create what has been asked of me to create.  I have beginning lines of everything, and although the beginning is a hook to draw people in, if there’s no substance behind it, it falls flat.  I often feel that I am falling flat.  And I don’t want to fall flat anymore.  I don’t want to be on my face anymore.  I want to fly.  It’s time to use these wings of mine.

A Christian on Halloween

I’m currently sitting in my room watching a suspense movie, a “scary movie,” because I am in the mood. Tis the season I guess. 

And really, I just have some thoughts, so I’ll keep this short.

When I think of Halloween, I think of costumes and costume parties, and candy, and trick-or-treating. Because I’m a Christian, I think of Harvest Festivals, the alternative to Trick-or-Treating. Because of my age, I think of alcohol and scantily dressed females. And because I’m boring, I don’t usually take part in any of it. But I used to.

I remember when I was little, I dressed up as Queen Amidala from Star Wars, and went trick-or-treating in Southern California with my family. I went a few times in high school with my friends. And I dressed up a few times in college, and just went to stupid costume parties. But most of my Halloweens consisted of games at churches, Harvest Festivals that kept kids from the evils of Halloween. Seriously, I grew up in a tiny town. Halloween is not that evil here. What are we so afraid of? Why do Christians have to have an alternative for everything? Go against the flow, is that it?

So I was at this Bible study thing last week, and some people that were a bit older than I am, started going on about how we need to pray against Halloween. They said the satanists are really at it this year. I got really uncomfortable and texted my friend. As someone who knows a lot about fear, I could tell that these actions were out of fear. But fear makes us weak. It gives power to the thing we’re afraid of. 

Sure, Halloween might have had not the best origin. Maybe it used to be some evil holiday. Maybe it still is some places. But it doesn’t have to be. I went to a Christian college where we celebrated it. Although celebrated is probably the wrong word. It’s not sacred, it’s kind of like Labor Day, it gives us something to do. So let’s do it! It’s not often that people are poisoning children or sacrificing humans or summoning the antichrist on Halloween. Yes, Wiccan covens, or whatever they call themselves, observe this day as sacred, but being afraid of them changes nothing. 

My senior year of college I took a class that studied cultures. We talked about the sacred secular divide, and how it’s not necessary. God can be in everything, and anything can be sacred. It’s not, what is Christian and what isn’t, it’s, look at this cool thing, let me find God in it. There are horrible things everywhere, we don’t need to be making the fun things horrible too. 

So, on Saturday, go have fun. Someone please wear a sheet and be a ghost. Get candy. Go play games at the harvest festival. Carve a pumpkin. Drink something. And don’t be afraid. Or do. It’s up to you.

Sorry that this is so scattered. I wrote it on my phone…