How to make a liar

I haven't posted in a while.  I tried but couldn't.  I've been through one of the worst dark periods I've had ever.  I don't want to go into it, but it's been rough.  I'm doing better now.

I don't know what the purpose of it is, but it has revealed my weakness, my baseness, my violence, and my selfishness.  Maybe that is the purpose.  I just know it is not fun and not pretty.  It's also not made up and I can't help it.  If you've never been there, you won't understand and that's ok.  Don't seek it.

I have said it before, but it is clearer to me than ever that whatever is good in me is not from me.  I know you'll deny that and think it's just the darkness talking, and that's fine.  I hope you never see that side of me.

But I'm trying to keep seeing it.  I don't want to live in it, but I don't want to forget it either.  I tend toward hubris and self-confidence without it.  Even the humility you think you know in me is a form of self-pride.  I'm not kidding.

People lead the question all the time.  Christians are the worst about it.  What do you think will happen if you constantly keep telling people how to be?  Anyone with half a brain will quickly learn how to pretend at it.  Put on the actions and even self-deceive that they have achieved it.  I've done it.  I habitually do it.  And you reward the better liars.

I have a ready bunch of scripts to throw up in any given situation.  I watch carefully.  I have fakes backstopping fakes and will say whatever works to get the reaction I need.

And what I really need is a safe place to let those things slowly fall off.  People who are not impressed by it.  People who want me to thoroughly be good rather than merely seem good.  You condemn yourselves in me!  And I condemn myself!

Understand me, I am not saying this from a place of despair.  Quite the opposite.  When I was despairing, I hid from you because then I can't keep up the masks, can't keep the demons in their chains.  But right now I'm in that hazy space between the nightmare and the bright day and soon I'll be fully dressed and presentable again.God forbid!

I need a savior.  I am fully reminded that if there is any hope for me it is in Jesus.  Not knowledge about him, but in the real living him.  I am not claiming to know grand mystical things.  If I did, I doubt them now.  He didn't even show up in some nonmiraculous way to rescue me.  But I don't care.  My heart leaps when I think about him, when I read about him.  I understand the meaning of hoping in him.  I didn't choose this.  If I did it was rigged.  I am not in control.  So if he doesn't have me, if I do not eventually arrive in a place of peace and perfection and learn that he was there when I couldn't see it or know it, then I would rather rush headlong into the void now.  It isn't about this world.  It isn't about the surface things you spend so much time talking about as if we could just decide to be something else.  Even if you can, I CAN'T!  I don't know how.  It doesn't work.  Whether that's brain chemistry, spiritual sense, slavery, karma, grace, whatever you want to call it.  What I can do is lie about it though!

You'd rather me be presentable, disfigure my feelings into acceptable packages, even though you THINK you want me to let it out.  Which is the most insidious part!  Your words say one thing and your actions say another in the same breath.  Your words are a trap.  A demon maw yawns behind your fair and hopeful words, you whitewashed tombs!  Damn you satans in a hollow christ's image!  I've never yet found anyone who really meant it when they say it's safe to let it out and let it go.  Maybe one or two people come closer than others.  But if I have ever let the depth of it peak out, people take pains...no give pains to shut it in again.

So keep teaching behaviors.  Keep focusing on outwards before inwards.  Keep modeling the plastic masks.  Keep grinding out budding faith with your two faces.  Keep making liars.  I don't want to be one anymore.

Poured

"Christians devour each other."  This is a quote I once read in an article by a Christian who was quoting his athiest friend who was observing why he isn't a Christian.  It's very true.

I feel poured out.  Stretched at every point.  People want things and they want more and more and more.  Like my cup is draining faster than filling.  And then some people ask for things they don't really want you to give them.

I do public work.  So what I do isn't just inconsequential money-making tasks.  It's things that enable most of you do your inconsequential money-making tasks, and I do them at a level that is involved in the decisions and planning.  So it is not boasting to say that what I do affects all of you who live in the same area and has lasting impacts into the future.  It's just so invisible to your daily lives that you don't even know it's going on.  But I digress.

My point is that even in this, a coworker was saying today, "It's as if they ask us to make something better because they have to, but they really just want to keep doing the same old thing, so they make it something super difficult to actually accomplish with little resources, and when we figure out a way to do it anyway, they say, 'oh s***!, we never thought they'd actually do it!' So they have to make it artificially difficult."

So I get it from all sides.  And in the place I should find rest and comfort, I find people saying, "well if your joy isn't complete you just have to..."  It's all on my effort.  Even if that effort is simply believing something, or thinking something, or seeing something differently.  I don't know if these people are well-meaning candy-eyed types who have never really known darkness, or if they're just clones spitting whatever script they can access from a motivational poster, or if they are just as screwed up and think they need to mask it by saying the 'right' thing.

Well, I'm stepping out and saying that for some of us, it isn't that easy.  If I were to hound you about running and tell you that you just need to run faster.  You just need stronger muscles, a better heart, more endurance!  You'd look at me and say, "easy for you to say."  Well why is it any different with a mental or emotional condition.  I can't help it!  I know all the stuff you're saying.  I just can't make it any different!  Don't you think I've tried?  I promise you I'm not one of those people who just want to play the victim.  and even if I was, maybe I couldn't help that either!

Why are you so quick to explain and categorize and answer?  You obviously don't get it, or you're a liar.  Either way, you make it abundantly clear that I can't reveal this part of me to you.  So you rob from me a place to find rest.  You force a tired soul out into the night again because there's obviously no room in your inn for the likes of me.

Even still, for your sake, I hope God doesn't lay my blood on your hands because I don't think you know what you do.  And I've been to hell, just went back for a visit actually.  Trust me, you don't want to go.

Cages

A couple of things are rolling around in my head.  One has to do with joy.  What is it?  I've read the definition, but it seems inadequate.  Maybe I've just not experienced it.  I know peace (which is an inner quiet).  I know happiness (which is dependent on circumstances).  But I can't say I've ever known an abiding gladness...Perhaps I have, there was a time I think I had it.  Things weren't perfect, but I just seemed to be glad, positive, most of the time.

Though, it seems this had much to do with the circumstances, which would pull it into the realm of happiness, right?  I distinctly remember frustrations and difficulties then, so I know this isn't a rosy memory (though I don't have those anyway).  Truly, I tend to see always the bad, so to remember a time of happiness that was longer than fleeting is something.

Just recently, I have felt a deep need for joy.  I even almost felt it yesterday, but it escaped me before I could fully feel it.  It was like a shadow of it, or a snatch of music heard indistinctly.  And then it was gone.

This transitions nicely into the other thing in my head...I'd wondered how they would relate.  I have blogged previously about my naturally darker nature.  I have to accept it.  I have tried to change it, ignore it, etc.  But it is part of me, and this is not necessarily a defect.

So what stands in my way?  I think it has to do with cages, fetters.  I despise them.  I hate being tied down or restricted.  Not all restrictions; some are necessary, I know that.  But the unnecessary tangles of life, those I hate.  Mortgages, bills, tenuous family obligations.  These are drudgery and torture.  Give me one day when I am stuck at home with nothing to do and unable to leave because of something like, my son is out playing and too young to leave alone...and I'm prowling the floors like a tiger, looking for anything to occupy the restlessness.  Read, watch pointless TV; this only goes so far.  Sleep; that too only covers so much.  This is why I make so many things with my hands...anything to occupy my mind when I can't go and do. 

My wife seems to like those times.  Relaxing, she calls it.  It's torture.  I want to rip the walls down.  Sometimes I'll go outside, but I'm surrounded by acres and acres of more little cages with small caged streets and bigger caged streets and fences, all hemming me into this world of cushy padded nothing.

Granted, it is good to be safe and secure.  This is a blessing I would not withhold from anyone.  I think what is missing in it is meaning.  Real depth.  Challenge.  I am so in love with adventure stories, books, movies.  I want to be swept away on some quest or mission.  I want every moment to feel vibrant and real.  Then when I return home, I'll want to be here.  To rest and enjoy the peace.  But eventually to go back out into the world again.

I do not pretend to have missed my calling.  I am what I should be, or on the journey toward it.  But at times like these, especially around holidays when I am sitting around endlessly, it gets to me.  I want my family to join me.  But they are not that type.  I can't make my wife into what she is not.  My son will join some, but is also content to sit and putter.

I work my life to be as free as possible, but everywhere, people throw fetters on.  We're not good citizens if we aren't chained down a hundred ways.  And so I sit, and prowl, and make something, and prowl.  I may even get fed up and disappear for a short time, but the chains of responsibility will pull me back again.

I will step out on the road and wish for something to happen that breaks the chains.

Actually...I think I've just hit something else.  My anxiety from being around other people comes precisely because I am so looking for this kind of life.  I feel like the Ranger sitting cloaked in the corner, ever watchful, ever ready to strike, to move, to go.  But outside is nothing but padded walls and fat docile pets.  With expectation of something more and no where to direct it, everywhere becomes a source of irritation, anxiety.  It's like the tiger who attacks the one who feeds it, or an innocent bystander.  I just want out of the cage.

anxious

I finally finished the bathroom and have taken some time to breathe. What a weight off that was.

But then, today something happened that reminds me that we are never more than one quick turn from ruin. I was eating lunch an chatting with a coworker when I swallowed and the food lodged in my throat. I know the feeling well. A few years ago I ended up in the emergency room because a pill lodged so thoroughly that nothing would remove it. Finally it was surgically removed and my esophagus was dilated. I discovered that I have a stomach condition that burns my esophagus with stomach acid and scars it. Combined with a naturally narrow throat, this creates restrictions where food can easily lodge. I'm supposed to take medicine to stop the acid, but found the medicine and the anxiety associated with having to take medicine all the time were causing more discomfort than the acid problem, so my doctor advised that I stop taking it so frequently...which turned into rarely.

But today in one split moment, I was right back in that distress. I tried to drink, but the water wouldn't pass or move the food, so I ran to the bathroom and began retching and swallowing until it finally dislodged. It's a horrible feeling. I would almost rather block my wind and pass out quickly. So I am reminded now of those days following the surgery where everything I ate was a source of anxiety. Where I felt incomplete, broken. Where my previous delusionment of strength and self-sufficiency was shattered. I feel it must be a bit of what chronically ill people feel.

It even led to a bit of hypochondria where I was so afraid of what other major health issue I might be ignoring that every ailment had me hyper-examining myself and even going to the doctor to ensure I was ok.

But now it's back to the diet to reduce acid, back to the medicine. I'm trying hard to keep peace about it. To "be anxious for nothing..." But it's not easy for me. I am naturally bent that way.

The strange thing is that I am not in the least afraid of dying. In fact it makes many people uncomfortable to hear how much I am truly not afraid of it. For me it would be a blessing, an end to this life of anxiety and depression and fear and evil. I know that I will fall into rest in my Father's arms. I can't wait to step out of this flesh and gaze at the real world. How appropriate then that to break whatever pride or perversion is in me, I am given this cross of decidedly undeadly burden. I must face this anxious fear, this dread of medical pain and systematic torture. I could face a knife or bullet with ease, but to face probing, medical, prodding and pricking is terrifying to me.

This is yet another instance where I must decrease and let Christ increase in me. I am in myself less than a cripple because my cross is internal with little external sign. My struggles have no substance, no matter, therefore they are "insubstantial" and "don't matter". You see how even language degrades me? No one teases a visibly handicapped person, but when it is not visible, all manner of jokes are permissible. To be inwardly stricken is to be flawed by choice to most people. Why can't I just be normal. I hate the word. It has no real meaning. It is truly insubstantial. It is an abstract statistical term.

Therefore I want to wear my invisible crosses outwardly. I am willing to take scorn and disrespect, though it scares me and I crave approval. I know that my identity is not this flesh which tries to dominate in weaker moments. I know that I cannot change what I cannot change. I know that I am too weak even to change much of what I can change. Therefore I plead Christ. I am bound to him because he is the only source of hope I have found to be credible. If it is up to me, then I am already doomed. No "you're ok, I'm ok" claptrap will resolve this. No PMA. No universalism. Call me Christian and let my strength and identity be Christ.