1 november

Six years ago today a tragic accident changed my life forever. For me, November 1, 2002 is a day that will live on in infamy. While the overwhelming sadness of the tragedy is, for the most part, over… thinking about the situation is still sobering and thought provoking.

Today was the most beautiful autumn day, the kind you can’t help but be happy about… on top of which I have had the most incredible time with two of my good friends… but for the whole day in the background of my mind everything wasn’t all bright, clear skies and leaves turned orange and red.  

I have been thinking a lot about all that has been given to me and all that has been sacrificed for me. I tend to think only and always about the negative things that have happened in my life, feeling sorry for myself which gives me an excuse to be angry or mad or… whatever.

But today I realized how much has been sacrificed for me… even to the point of someone giving his life for me… to inspire me to live a life of passion and to make a difference and to think of others besides myself… others who haven’t been given as much as I have.

Jesus said that to whom much is given much is required… I have been given so much… and I have given in return very little.

Jesus, teach me to live a life of passion… teach me what is truly important… let me not be comfortable in my complacency. Thank you so much for Stephen… and all who have sacrificed for me and given to me. And thank you mostly for your sacrifice… you are wonderful, my beautiful friend.

 

Welcome to the fall out

Welcome to resistance

The tension is here, the tension is here

Between who you are and who you could be

Between how it is and how it should be

I dare you to move, I dare you to move

I dare you to lift yourself up off the floor

I dare you to move, I dare you to move

Like today never happened, today never happened before

I haven’t listened to this song in forever… but it came on the radio today… call it a coincidence… but the day I started getting past my bitterness and allowed myself to learn from Steve’s death was the day this song started holding meaning for me…

far far away…

When I was a senior in High School me and some kids from MorningStar went to Stonecrest to do prophetic ministry. The group I was with went into Borders and decided to talk to a man who was relaxed, sitting in a chair reading. I made the mistake of introducing ourselves as “Christians” who believe that God still speaks to us… it didn’t matter what I said after I said the word Christian, that was enough to fill his eyes with pain, cause him to stand up and say he was late for a meeting. I don’t think he was late for a meeting the look in his eyes told a different story… they told of pain he had gone through from other “Christians.”

Too often I hear ministers and pastors, evangelists and prophets preaching fire and brimstone from the hands of a wrath filled god.  Sometimes I wonder if we are even serving the same God. Is the God of Jacob that I wrestle with and try to love and do whatever I can for, my God who is gracious and compassionate, is He also the God of those who preach a message of fear and shame?

I don’t know, but what I do know is that since that experience I have stopped introducing myself as a Christian. I am embarrassed to do so. Not at all because I am ashamed of the God I serve, but because I am ashamed to associate myself with the kind of person who preaches fire and brimstone and fills the unbelieving with pain. Is that wrong? I don’t know, in a way I feel horrible saying that I am ashamed of my siblings. But honestly someone who can evoke so much pain into another is not someone I really want to associate myself with.

While I don’t like to associate myself with judgmental Christians, I think I am one myself, but in a different way. I believe in Gods grace for other people, but not for me.  I have these two parts inside me, I think maybe the Bible would call it the old nature and the new nature, and they fight over my belief system. One side says I am a daughter of God, totally accepted, loved, forgiven, and complete. The other side says that I cannot be close to God unless I am completely and totally perfect, it says that God does not accept me, that I am not worthy to be his daughter. Sometimes I see God as my dad but sometimes I see Him as my judge.  

Over the summer I fought over the idea of grace verses judgment. At one point in my confusion I sent an email to a friend that said:

I love the idea of God—a God who is ever loving and accepting, but I am not sure if I buy it. He sort of seems to hold a double standard. I need to know where the lines of grace and judgment meet. How far does grace extend—how long? There must be a point where grace stops or there would be no need for Jesus to be a Judge

While Jesus died so that I can be close to him, I mock his grace and say I’m not good enough. I don’t deserve Him. When I screw up or when I think that I just don’t make the cut I put myself on a time out, ostracizing myself from God. Maybe I am the one who holds a double standard, its okay for the fallen, the poor, and the needy to approach the throne boldly, God wants to be close to them, but not me. In truth, God doesn’t reject me, I reject myself. And the more I reject myself the more I continue to hurt.

 No longer do I call you servants, for a servant does not know what his master is doing; but I have called you friends, for all things that I heard from My Father I have made known to you.

Park Bench Dwellers, You and I

There has never really been a moment when you weren’t on my mind. Still the spaces that divide us, the differences, the time—its all about timing isn’t it? But the seconds when we’re together and all the stars line up to give us the most beautiful view—these seconds are worth the waiting, the pain, the doubt, and the hope for something brighter further on up the road. Yes the seconds we’re together, when nothing else matters, when we’re sitting on a park bench and the cool breeze caresses with a gentle kiss. Cause we’re park bench dwellers, you and I, no matter the season or time, day or night you’ll find me sitting, just waiting, chasing the memories. The place we will always go back to. And maybe we will meet again, in some park, on some bench, and life will get out of our way, and you can take me home, to my first real home with a bench of our own where we can stargaze, and moon gaze.

Codeine Induced Dreams*

My senior year in High School I discovered I had an egg sized cyst growing ever bigger in my jaw. My oral surgeon had to put me under remove the cyst and fill the gaping hole with cow bone. As an added bonus he also removed all four wisdom teeth at the same time. Last Thursday I had a second surgery on my jaw because the cyst had grown back. This time they took my bottom right, furthest back molar to ensure the removal of every part of the sack of growing death.  As a result I was out of it on narcotics for a couple of days. Drug educed sleep can lead to bazaar dreams. Here’s a good example:

“He walked away from the prison after two days thinking there was something ironic about it being the 15^th of March, but glad that somehow someone had discovered his innocence in the matter. The strangeness of the whole ordeal didn’t sit well with him but he pushed these feelings aside, eager to return to his family.

His return home would mean exhaustive questioning from his wife as to his absence for the past 13 days. It was not uncommon for him to leave for work and not come back for days, sometimes weeks with no notice. No matter how often such disappearances occurred his wife always questioned him in detail upon his return, detail he couldn’t give her. He dreaded these cross examinations, and at the same time eagerly waited for them, it meant she cared. Still unsure of the story he would give her this time he drove the hour and a half to his secluded home on the mountain in complete silence. A good agent was able to compartmentalize his life. This was a time for quite, a time for solitude, a time for rest.

The house on the top of the mountain was concealed. Partially chiseled into the rock, only those looking for it could see it. The driveway took him directly into the mountain, through an inch deep water fall, past the front door and into a garage the size of a small parking deck. He parked his black sports car, commanded it to turn off and open the door, left his brief case, wallet, and jacket and nearly jogged inside. Opening the door was like opening a refrigerator, something was not right. The boys were at the bar eating dinner, while their mother, cute as can be in her apron, was hovering about, moderating the meal. The situation stank of normalcy, disregarding the fact that wife completely ignored husband.

The boys hadn’t noticed their father who stood by the door watching them. The five year old dropped his fork and got off the stool to pick it up. When he stood up he exclaimed “Daddy!” This call grabbed the attention of the clumsy three year old who tried to scamper off his stool to follow his big brother who was already half way to his father. Before either of them had reached their destination they herd a not too unfamiliar sound. It was their mother, telling them in her sternest tone that it was quite time for them to wash up and get ready for bed. They could do nothing but obey.

Husband looked at wife and begged for an explanation as to her coldness. Examiner and defendant had traded places and the defendant was exercising her right to remain silent. The prosecution continued for 20 minutes. Wife continued to completely ignore husband. Suddenly and very randomly the strong agent who had survived unthinkable amounts of torture grabbed his heart and almost broke down with a shriek of “I have to go!” At this the wife protested. Her silence broke but her strange, cold manner didn’t. The man insisted that he had to go. He didn’t know why but something, call it instinct, told him he had to get out of that house immediately. In a flash he called his boys who ran to him in their pajamas. He picked them both up in one swift motion and carried them out the back door. He called ahead of them for the car to open the door and turn on, tossed the boys in the back seat and drove off.

About seven minutes down the road he heard a faint explosion and looking in his rear view mirror saw that the mountain top had exploded. He was thankful that the boys were already sound asleep.”