Christianity – The Reprobate's Guide to Pancakes

The Life of a Thought Without (pictures)

I’m a little neurotic, but only in the most amusing ways. I’m chaos reordering chaos, dizzyingly destroying unseen boundaries only to redraw the line with dots and hyphens, hanging chads and discarded vowels. Step over. I’m an eternal optimist until you are and then I’m assured of your impending failure. I can do a wrong thing right as well as a right thing wrong but you can’t make a right on red without breaking your stride, can you? Look, you broke it. I use words that flatten your banana and inflate your ingrate. I’m the CEO of no, head mother of kill your thunder. I pocket facts for arsenal, I table feelings for the upper hand, I take the stand for the guilty man. I’ve eaten plenty of regrettable meals but never uttered a regrettable word. I’m a fool for kicking things that might be dead just to check with the hopes they are, or aren’t, which one requires less work? I like run on sentences but not the kind made by people who make them naturally. I planned to leave and never come back, then I found drugs, children, the Constitution, in that order. Here I am.

I dated a guy who was straight edge. Late 90’s, coffee shops, Daria diarrhea dispositions, combat boots and how depressing is this story? Straight edge was the precursor to my belly flop into the underground. No drugs here, no meat, no leather, no alcohol, no CHEESE! Not me, that weird pre-emo kid with the VW bug and gaping earlobes. One day he drove past a McDonald’s, smelled a filet of fish and that was it! The next week he was a meth addict. Never saw him again. That was fun, wasn’t it? He’s probably your senator now.

Only recently did I realize that everyone didn’t freebase hydrocodone in high school, have dates in the graveyard, find Iranian boyfriends on the internet that were clear across the country to bring home to dad, perform interpretive dance during the movie introduction or pay (literally & figuratively) dirty men to let you bathe them. Nope, I swear, there are people who went to school and came home. I shit you not! They did homework, chores and never once received compromising photos from their local rock DJ. Mind blowing stuff right there.

When I was twelve I could hold my own with a forty year old. I know this because I was prepared to marry an old man I met on Compuserve. Do you remember Compuserve? If you do, you are old too. Also, if you had a phone relationship with a man named Chris Cox from Iceland, you should probably see a therapist yesterday. Not me. I count it as proper preparation for things to come.

One time, which was many more than one time, I did enough ecstasy to completely deplete my natural resources of dopamine and serotonin. One day, which was more than one day, I screamed and ran out of 12th grade 20th century history class. One time which was only one time, I enrolled in college and the screaming stopped. There I learned absolutely nothing except that you don’t shower your hopeful boyfriend with bongs because he will just break them and then pawn you off on his friend with the same name. Daniel, Dan. Who can remember which one I destroyed private property with during that ice storm? The ugly one. Nice ugly Dan. They are always nice, aren’t they?

I am on or I am off. I am inserting myself in a dog pile of violent car salesmen or I am asleep. I am arguing my point or I am silently arguing it and letting you run off unawares. I am completely befuddled until the moment I master it all instantaneously. I am stockpiling pieces for sudden synergy. I demand justice, I decry your version. I laud morality bathed in reality, detest formality sheltering depravity. I see the value in a lab rat, the entry level, one’s long-suffering, yet grieve their necessity. I can’t create a character I hate or hate a thing I’ve done or do a thing I can’t justify or justify a thing another did which I wouldn’t do in like circumstance.

Once I thought I’d write a book. I put all of the people who wrecked me on to the page and learned God is the greater story teller.

This is the life of a thought without

Discovering the Forgotten Floor

He speaks through opportunity and the unlikely weaving of the unimaginable, unpredictable and unexplainable. He speaks through suffering, stumbling, sin and salvation.

I used to have an idea of God. I had an idea that He loved me, distantly, rigidly even, like the elementary school principal that I never had the occasion to meet. He was an observer. I had an idea that he existed somewhere outside of my environment, watching, waiting. He did a lot of waiting. I didn’t see evidence of His hand in my life and after a time, I gave up looking. I suppose, for me, God went missing and I didn’t bother to send out the search party. I wouldn’t have known who to look for, had I tried. I had heard of His voice, never his voice. I didn’t have a face or past experience to solidify the image of Him in my mind. He was elusive, vague, dreamlike and disinterested in me. So, this poorly formed idea disintegrated within me, dissipated and was forgotten.

In elementary school I was a very good student. I never behaved poorly enough to warrant consequences and thus, I never formally met my principal. In fact, I was terrified of doing anything wrong, disappointing even a single person. I suppose he knew my name, but I couldn’t say for sure. Maybe he saw me walk to class, knew of my parents or was familiar with seeing my face in the hallway. Had you asked me what he was like, I would likely have given you general terms associated with principals. Maybe he is kind, maybe he has a stern face. Maybe he is quiet and neatly dressed. He probably wouldn’t hurt anyone but he could be scary if you misbehaved. Such was my relationship with God. I had never had need to know Him intimately. Things change.

Suffering is an opportunity unlike any other. There is little that can match the magic that happens when a person is utterly vulnerable. Whether self-imposed or otherwise, being without any worldly solution, being impotent to change our situation, is the impetus to surrender. In the past, when I heard that word, surrender, it would make me angry. ‘Surrender’ sounded counterintuitive. If I had a problem, I had to act, not give up. Right? I am a fighter, not a quitter. I don’t give up, I win! Except that through all of my fighting, I never won, not even once. Years later I would learn that surrendering didn’t mean giving up at all.

A few months ago my daughters asked to go rollerblading. I took them out to the lot behind our house, but they weren’t very good at maintaining their balance. My youngest was about to fall and grabbed on to the wooden fence along the edge of the lot. As she fought to catch herself, splinters sliced into her little hands, fifteen or so. For the next half hour I grappled with her, trying to remove them from her hands. Each time I would bring the tweezers close, she would squeal and jerk away, tears flowing down her face. Obviously she was in anguish, but I couldn’t help her until she relaxed. She was fighting against her own self-interest. This is what we do everyday. We squirm and struggle in a weak attempt to initiate change, all the while, God is waiting for us to calm down and let him help. Surrendering is not an act of accepting defeat, but rather an act of accepting help, and in times of great suffering we are presented with an opportunity to do just that.

I never did meet my principal, but in 2011 I did meet God. That was the year I got sober and by no coincidence, the same year I realized I had absolutely destroyed everything in my life. An amazing thing happened during that time, though. Because I had nothing, I found what I had been looking for all along. It was like cleaning a messy room and finding the floor! When there were no enablers, no cheerleaders, no televisions, radios, bars, drinks, dope, cigarettes, swimming pools, beach vacations, shopping trips, home-cooked meals, manicures, jobs, hair cuts, days in the park—-there was God, waiting. He had done a lot of waiting. And I heard his voice. First, softly and then, the more I listened, the more pronounced it became until eventually it was the loudest voice in the room. And then came the dreams.

Some Christians worship a God who is distant and incommunicative, but my God speaks and he speaks in every way imaginable. He speaks in the wind and in the waves. He speaks through people, through timing, through patterns and the simplicity of a child. He speaks through opportunity and the unlikely weaving of the unimaginable, unpredictable and unexplainable. He speaks through suffering, stumbling, sin and salvation. He speaks through His word, he speaks through victory and sometimes, he speaks through dreams.

When God has given me a dream, I know. They have a vivid quality to them, closer to living than dreaming. But more than their appearance, they have staying power. When God speaks through a dream, it will remain with me forever. It will continue to reveal more and more wisdom as time goes on and always it will be corroborated by something that happens subsequently in my life. It is my favorite form of communication with Him because it is a dialogue which unfolds artistically and always in a manner which I couldn’t have anticipated or designed.

The night before last I had a dream that I was in Las Vegas. I wasn’t there to gamble or party. I was just there, visiting I suppose. I had spent exactly $60 dollars to get there and on whatever other needs I had. I don’t know why but I knew the exact amount. I also knew I was very poor. That $60 was the last of my money.

I went to the laundromat and as I was loading clothes into the dryer, I realized that none of the people at this laundromat ever cleaned the lint trap out. I thought, these people are very inattentive. This could cause a fire. I began cleaning out the trap, which was angled outside of my vision. I reached in blindly and felt something crumpled and hard. I pulled out a twenty dollar bill. I reached back in and pulled out another, and then another. Then I pulled out a ten. I reached back in to feel for more but it was empty. I had found a total of $70 and I marveled at how I came to Vegas, didn’t gamble and somehow still managed to get back all of the money I spent, and I made $10 extra — all from just doing what needed done— cleaning out the lint trap.

That was the dream in its entirety. It doesn’t seem like much does it? But that is how I know it is everything.

Yesterday I went to church and realized my money was at home in my pants pocket. All I had was a little change to put in the offering plate. At first I wasn’t going to put it in, thinking how insulting it would be to give coins. Then I remembered the widow’s offering in Mark (Mark 12:41-44) and thought of the mere seven dollars I had left at home. What made me think of that, anyway? I decided it was good to give the paltry change I had, regardless. I dropped it in and it clanged loudly. I was so embarrassed.

After church we stopped at a mom and pop store to pick up some food for lunch. When we got to the counter, my mom realized she had left her debit card at home. Normally I would have no trouble covering this, but having been out of work for months now, my thoughts went to the mere $25 I had left in my bank account. I am in that moment calculating in my head, seven at home, twenty-five in my account, that’s $32. The entirety of my wealth. I felt my stomach flip. I don’t like this feeling of helplessness. I swallowed it and told her I could cover it. Of course I could, it was only $8. I guess getting that close to the bottom of the barrel is unnerving.

When we got back to her house we ate lunch and then she gave me a $20 bill to cover the $8 I spent at the store. It wasn’t until late last night that I realized that after the $8 at the store and the change I put in the offering plate, I had profited right at $10. In fact, if I could go back and count the change I wouldn’t be a bit surprised to learn it was $10 down to the penny, just as in my dream.

We Christians live in a world of sin, like Vegas you might say. We are strangers in this place, temporary visitors. We have to live here for a time, but we don’t have to take part in the darkness to be successful, despite how the world suggests otherwise. We live by faith, we live by His word and we will always be provided for. We are cleaning out lint traps every day, some in the heart and some in head, caring for that which others disregard. We are the mess cleaners, the fire preventers, the silent observers and the grateful receivers of God’s blessings.

I wanted to share this with each of you, as it brought me great comfort in a time where I could easily be swept away with fear and doubt. Though I have not been able to provide for myself for three months, I have not gone without and will not go without, and neither will you. Wash yourself clean, be a light in a world of darkness and walk boldly in faith because there is no circumstance impossible enough, no situation dire enough that God cannot overcome to the benefit of those who love Him and are called according to His purpose.

Psalm 37:25

I have been young, and now am old; yet have I not seen the righteous forsaken, nor his seed begging bread.

Swimming Without Shores

I don’t watch movies. They bore me. I rarely watch TV. It irritates me. I can’t be scared anymore. I don’t get butterflies in my stomach or feel ignorantly hopeful about anything. I make no assumptions that my time on Earth will be OK. I’m never surprised when things go poorly. I assume the worst of strangers, the best of no one and consider all of my words will be used against me. I clean when I’m anxious, cry when I’m out of ideas and when I’m both, I sit very quietly and allow it to crush me from all sides. I pray and then pray that I will know what to pray, the perfect sequence to unlock the will of God. Friends are few and at a distance, family is inside but not beyond my guard tower. Everyone is subject to removal. They call this Fear.

I read books. They fuel me. I write stories. They cleanse me. I am amazed by the power of my own mind and the places it takes me. I am electrified by the formation of a thought I’ve never had before and giddy when it flows effortlessly like warm butter. I am always surprised when people prove me wrong. I forgive the worst of strangers, expect the best of no one but myself and consider that if I am willing to say it, I better be willing to stand by it. I sleep when I’m content, share with everyone when I’m creative and the two make a magical pairing. I forget God in the midst of my mess and kick myself for relying on my own understanding. The friends who remain love me more than I deserve, family, beyond all cause, and only because they choose. Everyone is necessary. They call this Love.

I had more ‘friends’ in addiction than I do today. Indiscriminate, I had a home in my sick heart for all. Today, I live in world, I’ve found, that very few may enter. It’s healthy, it’s lonely and it’s what I must do to survive.

There’s a kind of shock that comes when you wake up from a nightmare. When you wake up and realize that, beyond all belief, the nightmare was real, the shock settles in for good and becomes a part of your arsenal. Christ tells me to fight this fear with faith, experience tells me to respect it by instinct. The two war daily within me. I am forgiving and condemning. I am love and hate. I am surrendered, I am my own God. I am patient, I am incensed. I am given over to emotion and a controlled demolition. Every day I put my feet on the floor, fail, cry and take a step.

Tonight I saw an acquaintance in line at the grocer. I don’t know which I bowed to in that moment, Christ, fear or both in concession. He was/is in very poor condition with tremendously swollen legs and cracked soles and no, I don’t know the exact cause. Were I to give an educated guess, I would say a heart infection brought on by drug abuse. I may be off base. Either way, I turned and left without speaking to him, leaving him to walk home on his injury. I don’t feel bad and I would hope that my relationship with God is so that I would know unequivocally if I had erred. I am a brother in Christ but also a mother in Christ and thus I feel a responsibility to stay far removed from people in these situations. This is the tightrope I walk between love and safety.

I will pray for him and truthfully, there I am most powerful. I don’t know how to function well between these two places without erring. It may be impossible. I am only sure that it isn’t my job to save, only to obey. I’ll leave the saving to Christ, he’s far better at it than I.

1 John 3:1 See what kind of love the Father has given to us, that we should be called children of God; and so we are. The reason why the world does not know us is that it did not know him.