The Road Less Traveled

     I've been thinking allot lately about my life. I've been pondering my future, trying to figure out what I want to do, what I should do, what I should want to do, and what I can do.
     Some of you are probably thinking, "Why weren't you thinking about all that when you were 18?" I was. And I still haven't reached a solid conclusion. But the more I think, ponder and dream, the more I realise one thing- I don't want an easy life.

I know that sounds crazy. I know many of you are going, "This kid is an idiot." But I'm still a kid at heart. I still dream of conquering the unconquerable. I still have a cynically idealistic view of the world. There's this song called, "Hero" by Steve Taylor (yeah, not the Skillet one. Nor the song "Yo-ho Heroes" that he wrote for the Newsboys' Veggietales song.) Here's the song, though it is impossible to find a lyric video for it. I have include the lyrics here below the video.

When the house fell asleep there was always a light
and it fell from the page to the eyes of an American boy
in a storybook land I could dream what I read
when it went to my head I'd see
I want to be a hero

chorus:
Hero
it's a nice-boy notion that the real world's gonna destroy
you know
it's a Marvel comicbook Saturday matinee fairytale, boy

Growing older you'll find that illusions are brought
and the idol you thought you'd be

was just another zero
I want to be a hero

Heroes died when the squealers bought 'em off
died when the dealers got 'em off
welcome to the "in-it-for-the-money-as-an-idol" show
when they ain't as big as life
when they ditch their second wife
where's the boy to go?
gotta be a hero

it's a nice-boy notion that the real world's gonna destroy
you know
it's a Marvel comicbook Saturday matinee fairytale, boy

When the house fell asleep
from a Book I was led to a light that I never knew
I want to be your hero

and He spoke to my heart from the moment I prayed
here's a pattern I made for you
I want to be your hero

I wanna be your hero.

I wanna be your hero.

But that first verse is really the cry of my heart. I'm still that little kid dreaming of being a hero. I wanna engage in a fight. I wanna live life on the edge. I wanna be the underdog. I wanna come from behind. I want a hard, good life full of pitfalls and mountain tops. I want to work hard. I want to barely make it.

Honestly that's the kind of life I want. I want a "Marvel-comicbook-Saturday-matinee fairytale." I want seasons where I may not know for sure where my next meal is from.

Now many of you are probably getting really worried for me. So let me try to explain how I came to this conclusion.

Upon graduating high school, I was trying to figure out what college to go to, what to major in, what degree to get, etc... So I though maybe welding. I thought if I got my associate degree in welding and then my associate in Machine trades I would be set for my future. Not such a bad plan. But one thing happened after another and I discovered that I didn't really want that. So I hem hawed around for a bit, and after a while I decided to go to college to try to get a job as an optometrist. I took to semesters of college and hated it. I absolutely hated it. It was pointless to me. The classes were not so instructional as they were brain washing. Every class I took was an attempt to skew my world view towards a Godless left wing agenda. Every day it felt very much like this music video from Red "Feed the Machine." Here is what the band said about the song's meaning:

"We took a metaphorical stance with the song. In the song, "The Machine" is the world. It's more metaphoric, but the video is more literal. We actually use a machine and you see people being fed into it. More or less, the song is a metaphor for what the world is—how we feed those ideals and all of the bad things and how they just keep happening because we continue to fuel the fire. The video was basically people being fed into the machine and coming out shallow and hollow on the other end. They're all mindless drones to be assigned their job in the world."

Read more at http://www.artistdirect.com/entertainment-news/article/red-talk-feed-the-machine-music-video-premiere-on-artistdirect-com/8973922#4fIJZLBMCOTjJQoZ.99

Lie!

Turn around, they might be watching
And you never disappoint them
Hide your innocence before they see right through
You mustn't disappoint them

You need the danger just to feel your heart beat
You need to die just to find your identity
You need a knife just to know that you can bleed
You need the pain now just to feel anything

We fall in line, we live the lie
(Give up give up and feed the machine)
It grows inside, nowhere to hide
(Give up give up and feed the machine
Give up give up and feed the machine)

They pull you faster the cadence is calling
And you never fall behind
So choose a face you're only calling out
You mustn't fall behind

You need another death just to have a life to save
You need a master just so you can beg
You need a light just because you're so afraid
Now bow and learn to be a good slave

We fall in line, we live the lie
(Give up give up and feed the machine)
It grows inside, nowhere to hide
(Give up give up and feed the machine
Give up give up and feed the machine)

Sleep
Go back to sleep
Go back to sleep

Wake up!
Wake up!
Wake up!
Wake, up!

We fall in line, we live the lie
(Give up give up and feed the machine)
It grows inside, nowhere to hide
(Wake up wake up and kill the machine)

Wake up wake up and kill the machine
(Wake up wake up and kill the machine)

So yeah. That's kinda how I feel about this "American Ideal" of "gotocollegegetawhitecollarjobearnlostsamoneysoyoucanbecomfortableandwellfedandhaveahappylifeandlotsofcooltoys"

But that's not the life I want. That's not my ideal. I wanna change lives. I wanna make a difference. I wanna be a "rockstar" but not for the sake of being a star. I wanna touch people with my music. I want them to hear my songs and find hope to keep living for one more day. I want them to hear my name and go, "There is someone who knows what I'm going through." I want them to get to know Jesus by getting to know me. I want to live like Jesus did. I want to be on the road unsure of my next destination, not knowing where I will be sleeping next.

I don't want a high paying job. I hate money. I hate the machine. And I want to break with all the stupid little hoops they make me jump through. I wanna walk a hard road. I wanna be a hero. I wanna be a lion uncaged. I wanna run rampant in the world. And if I find myself destitute on the streets, what the heck. I can minister to people there to. I will consider myself blessed.

Now, there's nothing wrong with the life of high society. But, I mean, I look at those around me that have comfortable lives with a comfortable income, and like, man, it's boring. What a boring life to live. If you like boring, that's great. But it's not for me. I don't want to have it all figured out. I wanna figure stuff out as I go. I wanna learn how to fly the plane as it's stalled out and diving towards land.

As most of you know, I had a rough week a couple weeks ago. I crashed my car. I went to the hospital. I lost my job. All in the space of two days. Not fun. And for a bit there, I was complaining and frustrated at God. But then it hit me- this is exactly what I want. God blessed me with the opportunity to work with Nathan Mallay doing construction. And I absolutely love it. I love working hard and getting dusty and sweaty. I love seeing things grow beneath my hands. I love sawing and nailing and cutting and building. It's awesome. It's hard work. It's good work. It's unpredictable and incredible.

And when I move from that to something else, I'll be happy too. All I want is to make enough money to continue making music. And sometimes to not, because what would life be without low spots.

There's another issue that is posed by this life style though- an unpredictable life is not a good life for a family. I want a family. But I'm loving life so much now that I don't need a family. All I need is Jesus. And if God wants me to have a family in the future, He'll help me with what I need.

Honestly, I'm not interested in any girl unless she wants to live a reckless life with me. I'm thinking those are few and far between.

But right now I feel on the cusp of a mountaintop. I am in debt, working for myself, still living at home and half crippled, and loving every minute of it. Because this is the fight I've been looking for all my life. This is the testing ground to find out what I'm made of. Life hits me hard, and now's my chance to come back swinging.

Thoughts on Heroes and Jacob's Fight With God

     Often when I read of the biblical heroes, I see myself. Because, if we look at them honestly, they really weren't heroes. David committed adultery and then murdered the woman's husband to cover it up. Jacob lied, cheated, and stole his way to wealth. Moses was a murderer. Paul hunted down Christians prior to his conversion. Peter denied the Christ, and then later on in life shunned the gentiles until Paul rebuked him for it. James and John were impulsive hotheads. Elijah ran and hid in a cave. Job did nothing but complain against God. Solomon was all kinds of messed up. Samson was one very impressive, impulsive, violent mess.

In fact, if we look honestly at almost any biblical character, we can see that they all had blatant flaws. All of them screwed it up big time. No one is really a hero. We have certain men and women we look up to, we respect because of something they did or refused to do. Some of my personal heroes include Eric Liddell, Jackie Robinson, Abraham Lincoln, William Wilberforce, and Lacey Sturm. But even these had their flaws.

You cannot find a human being truly worthy of the title hero. Only Christ can fulfill that role. But I still cling to the lives and actions of these people, not because they are people that I consider so much better than myself, but rather because they are so much like myself. They stumbled and fell, they failed and broke. And in the end, by God's grace, they prevailed. It all comes back to God. If there is any human being worthy of our respect, it is only because God has worked in their lives. We can learn from their stories. We can draw encouragement from their failures and triumphs.

I was reading today in Genesis 32, of Jacob wrestling with God. Everything in that passage reminds me of myself. Jacob fights unrelentingly with God. He will not let go. He won't relent. He won't give in. Even when God cheats. I feel God often has to cheat to get our attention. He dislocates Jacob's hip. He puts Jacob in excruciating pain. And still Jacob won't let go. God literally has to beg him to let go, and then caters to Jacob's demands. Jacob holds on, demanding that God bless him.
    
Of course, God is God. And He could've worked any sort of miracle to give Himself the upper hand. He could probably have teleported, or rendered Jacob immobile. He could have done any number of things. But instead He met man on his own ground. And on man's terms, man prevailed. That fact bothers me a little. And yet, God still refuses to break away from the intimacy of a good brawl with His beloved. To work a miracle and give Himself the upper hand, I imagine God would have become distant again to Jacob. Instead God chose to stay where He was, on His back in the dirt, with man pinning Him down. He allows Jacob to win. And then asks Jacob to let Him go. He then caters to Jacob's demand of blessing.

In my own life, I feel I am fighting with God. Now, I'm not going to try to stretch this metaphor too far. If I tried, it would lose all the power and meaning. But I know I am wrestling with God. And in some sense I refuse to let go. I will not give in. Honestly, I don't think I know how to give in. And I feel like God is disjointing me.

It's like the Breaking Benjamin song Hopeless, when he says, "I cannot hold on- I will not let go." That's me.

For those of you unfamiliar with the song, here is a lyric video from YouTube. If you don't like metal music, I suggest you just look up the lyrics.

Unlike Jacob, though, my fight has not reached a conclusion. I'm still impossibly holding on. Fighting for I know not what. Begging God to bless me.

I don't know where to go or what to do. I don't know why I'm fighting or what I'm holding on to. I don't even know how to stop fighting.

And more and more I realize I don't understand this God I'm madly in love with and yet hopelessly at war with.

So here I lie, broken and disjointed, refusing to let go, demanding God bless me.

No Compromise- Ever.

So, I've been giving a lot of thought to this upcoming election. Many, many Christians are telling me to vote for Trump. "Vote for the Trump," they say, "Because if we are not unified around the Republican party, then the Democrats will win." Sounds logical right? In fact, just before the Republican Convention I was worried. I was on the verge of deciding to back Trump, and cast my vote in his favour, "for the good of the party." But then I heard Ted Cruz's speech. and it brought it all back into focus.

We are CHRISTIANS. We are not Republicans. We are not even conservatives. We are followers of Christ. This world, this nation, it is not ours. And we do not belong to it. We have a higher calling. We are made of greater stuff than this. We have been placed on this earth to shine a light. And not just any light, but THE Light. How does rallying around a figure head like Donald Trump proclaim Jesus? Trump is violent, bigoted, egotistical, self centered, immoral, headstrong, self important, And the list goes on. Following a man like him, supporting a man like Trump, is supporting every thing that the message of Christ rejects.

So what if the Democrats win? So what if Republicans don't hold the oval office? So what if this nation further turns its back on God? It's already done that. The die is already cast. This nation has made it's choice. We as followers of Christ, as heirs to a better kingdom, are not here to follow along, no matter how begrudgingly, in it's footsteps. We are here to speak the truth. We are here to take a stand. We are here to represent Jesus to the world. We are here to show the world what a true Christian does. We are the only glimmer of God that they know.

And it doesn't matter if we are the minority. It doesn't matter if our votes are seemingly wasted. We are God's people. And we have been given this right to vote not to use like pearl before swine. Everything we do. Every action. Every word spoken- it must all always point to Him.

Believers- We are the remnant. We are aliens in this land. We are messengers to the world. We are not of this world. We are His! Listen to me please.

Is it better to vote for a man made party with false, self-centered, godless men as our leaders? Or is it better to vote as our God-given conscience prompts us to? We are at war. We are outnumbered, out manned, outgunned. But I for one will never surrender. I will never back down. I will never give in. I don't care if all my rights are stripped from me. I don't care if I am persecuted for my faith. I will count it all joy. For I know when I am reviled an persecuted for Jesus's sake, I am counted blessed. And to find honor in God's eyes is all I care about.

Who will stand with me? Who will be the rebels with me? Will you become a cog in the machine? Will you become just another brain-dead Christian following Trump around on his Republican leash? Or will you take a stand for Christ, no matter how futile it may feel.

Join the rebellion. Be an outcast. Be a renegade. Never give in. Never back down.

We are Christ's. We are the remnant. And we must never stop fighting. We must never compromise our values. We must never drag His name through the mud. We are held to a higher standard than this.

A Few Thoughts On Life And One Big One On Death

It's been a while. I'm just trying to get my thoughts down, so pardon me if it isn't eloquent or doesn't flow very well. My last blog post was pretty dark. I haven't gotten around to writing lately. I've been pouring all myself into my music and work. No time for much else.

But here I am now at one in the morning, finding time to write...

There have been a few things on my mind. This post will cover two of them, and I'll leave the rest for future material. So, without further ado here goes.

The other day I was listening to 101.7 FM RadioU. They usually have some pretty good music, but at this particular time FF5 came on the radio, so I immediately switched to 99.7 FLR. Just as an idea of how much I hate FF5, the song that was playing on FLR was "This Is The Stuff," by Francesca Battistelli... And I let it play. Anyways, after "miss-Franky-bubble-fluff" got done spewing her rainbow-y nonsense all over the airwaves, the next song to come on was actually a pretty good one by Sidewalk Prophets called "Keep Making Me." I remember back in junior year of highschool, I would sing along to this song with all my heart. I really meant every word. In case you are unfamiliar with this song, here is the youtube link to a lyric video:

If you are reading this and haven't listened to the song, go back and watch the darn vid already.

(About three minutes go by while I wait for you to listen to the song...)

VERY GOOD!

Anyway, I used to sing that song with conviction and passion. But listen closely to what he asks for:

Brokenness. Loneliness. Emptiness.

I don't know about anyone else, but those are not things you want. I honestly think that he does not know what he asking for. I know I didn't. Because now I know the desperate pain of brokenness. I know what it is like to be shattered beyond hope. I know the desperate ache of loneliness. I know the hollow agony of emptiness. These things when truly experienced, are the very depths of pain. It is an excruciating, desperate, physical agony. It quite literally is Hell.

So next time you ask God to break you, beware. He may take you further than you ever dreamed possible. He may shatter you to a place where you will never in this life be completely whole again. He may pierce you so deep, the pain never subsides, never recedes.

I'm not saying that God is bad or wrong in any of this. God does exactly what is good for us. Exactly what we need. But the brokenness I know, the emptiness I feel, the loneliness I live... I would never wish this on anyone. I would say avoid it at all costs. Be careful what you ask for.

The second thing is something I was just thinking about today. I've been struggling with what to do with my life. I want music. I don't know how to get there. But honestly, I only want five or six things in my life: Comfort, Hope, Peace, Joy, Purpose, Love.

Now, having taken a walk on the dark side, like I say above, I have been changed in a way that I can never go back. I don't believe I will every truly be happy again in this life. I don't think I will find ultimate peace and joy in this life. Maybe I never will find love. Maybe the only comfort I will receive is that of my own tears. I don't know where to draw my sense of purpose from. (yeah, don't say "God." That's kinda a no brainer, and you're not thinking deeply if you give a cop out answer like that.)

So I came up with this little sage saying while I was pondering these things at work today (The stamping line is a pretty boring job.)

I find comfort in the fact that one day I will die.
I find hope in the knowledge that on that day I will finally begin to live.
I find peace knowing Jesus has walked this road before me, and is walking it again with me.
I find joy in that fact, and also in the expectation of eternity with Him.

I'm still working on Purpose. And I'm not really sure how to fit love into that.

But the realization that my greatest hope and comfort comes from the surety of death is both disturbing, and exhilarating. Because on the surface I'm beginning to sound pretty gothic. Very Halloween. But it is true. Because everything STARTS after death. I get to meet my Lord when I die, and honestly that is all I've ever wanted anyway. My hope does not come from this life. There is nothing in this earth that I value. Not even my own life. But I live my life with purpose, knowing that He has placed me here for a reason. I'm completely clueless as to what that reason is, other than the general calling on all Christians. But I hold fast to God's promises. He is faithful. And I cling to the hope of His word. One day I will meet Him. One day He will wipe every tear away. And I won't need an answer to my questions, because He is all the answer I will ever need. And in that I rest. Even when the agony of alone tears me to shreds. Even when the silence of God breaks my heart. Even when all I want to do is die, I can still have hope, and peace, and comfort, and purpose, and joy. And I still have a reason to sing. God is Love. God is Good. God is God. And one day I will die. And then I will truly live.

A Letter Written In Agony To A Christian America Who Couldn't Care Less

Before you read any further, there is a short list of people who I would like to exclude from this letter. The following list are those who have listened to the best of their ability. These are those who have given advice without trying to fix me- listened without condemning:

My Dad

Dan Sidelecki

Ron And Kerri Miller

David Ross

Mike Wilson

Allie Prewett

I ache. I bleed. I break. And no one cares. No one hears. No one understands.

I scream my pain and agony to the world. I sing it out with all I am. I write it in prose. I publish it in my poems under “Unknown”. I tell you in long discussions over dinner. But you don’t hear me. You don’t understand me. You don’t care.

I desperately beg you to hear. If anyone is out there who understands my desperate loneliness, they don’t let me know. Few listen. Even fewer care. No one understands.

Those who do care try to fix me. They try to tell me what’s wrong with me and they try to tell me how to get fixed. Well, you can’t fix me, so stop trying.

I defile everything that I touch. Every relationship I have turns sour. Every love I pursue leads me nowhere. Every Friendship fades away. Every group, society, or community I join ends up driving me away. Or maybe I drive them. I don’t know. I don’t care anymore.

I just want to die. But I can’t die. I just wish I could end it all. I have no reason left to live except the knowledge that taking my own life will only make things worse. That only while I’m physically alive here on earth do things have any chance of ever getting any better. Every day I wish some accident would kill me so I don’t have to suffer anymore, and yet still be granted sanctuary with Christ. Because then I would get to see Him. Then He could hold me. Then He would make all things right. My very life is the only remnant of faith in God I still have. I try to find hope. But it all fades away. I fight desperately every day against despair. But it’s pointless. Life has no meaning. No joy. No peace. I am but a rat trapped in an endless maze. And I just want to give up and die.

I am bleeding out. I show you my wounds. I scream in agony. But you don’t care.

Christian America, you have driven me from you. I came to you bleeding, and you twisted the knife. I came to you seeking sustenance and you fed me poison. I came seeking an embrace, and you punched in the gut. I came seeking a home and you drove me from your presence. So I am done with churches and congregations. I’m done with pastors and denominations.

I am ostracized because the music I love is too hard, too violent, to painful. I am told the songs I write are too sad. I am scolded for being filled with pain. I am told to write “happy” “worship” songs. I am told to smile while I worship, and yet the only way I can worship is with my tears. I am told that my utter inadequacy to find God is my fault and that I need to “Fulfill my side of the bargain” for God to show up, when I am completely incapable of that very thing. I need God to do it for me, because I am desperately wicked. I am told I am being disrespectful of God and man because I wear a hat while serving the mothers on Mother’s Day. And when I object, I am told I am ignorant and foolish.

And everything in me want’s to scream “FUCKING DAMN YOU!!!!!” But that’s not what a good Christian would do. I would just be shunned all the more. But I don’t care anymore. I just don’t fucking care. You have filled my mouth with bile, and my heart you have filled with poison. You have made me bleed beyond what I thought possible. I came seeking refuge. I found a prison.

So now I will go seek God on my own. I am leaving the corporate church behind. Until you can love me without condemnation- until you can hold me with twisting the dagger- until you can accept me without demanding I change who I am- until you can welcome me without driving me away- until you can hear me without talking me down- until you see my wounds without trying to slap on your stupid little band-aids- until you understand… You will find me with the lost. For they don’t judge me. They don’t drive me away. They understand the agony. They understand the pain. And though we are worlds apart in our worldviews, at least they are willing to listen. They are willing to accept. They are willing to embrace me. So now I commune with the lost. I worship with the Godless.

Because they listen. They understand. They love.

You do not.

Finding New Life In The Scriptures

So, recently I posted on Facebook a paragraph or so about how to find interest the Bible. Here's what I posted:

You want a tragic romance? You want a story of love? You want a book that will break your heart? That will fill you up til you overflow? Forget Romeo and Juliet. That crap is child's play. Instead, read your Bible. The Bible is not some dusty history book or some fanciful fairy tale. Its not a collection of wise sayings or outdated social recommendations. The Bible is an epic love story of a loving God and his wayward lover. This is a story that will shatter you to pieces when you come to understand it. This is a story that will blow your mind. Because it's not over. God is romancing you. He is pursuing you. He is chasing after your heart, seeking an intimate committed romance with you. And you will never be satisfied, you will never quench your unending thirst, til you stop your futile running and drink deep of Him.

To be honest, though, I'd never actually tried reading the scriptures in that context. So after posting that paragraph, I wondered, "Does it really work? Could that mindset breathe new life into the Bible?"

I was kinda skeptical. You see, I've been trained very well in theology, the Bible, in sound Christian doctrine. So I'd come to a place where the Bible had become common place to me. To avoid redundancy, perhaps another excerpt from "The Darkness Diary" can best explain:

      March 25, 2016
...I've been listening to Xenocide by Orson Scott Card. It's a great thinking book. It really makes one ponder the philosophical questions that life brings. But I'm tired of thinking. I am exhilarated, because I can engage on an intellectual level with Card's logic and philosophy (even though I may not agree with it), but I need more than the intellectual. I need feeling. And not this feeling of loss, shadows, and pain. I want joy and peace and hope and life. I've been craving this for so long, and yet the one source I know to hold all the answers- the Bible- I shy away from. I'm not entirely sure why. I'm guessing that it may be because I feel like I know it all already. I know all the basic premises, dogma, doctrine, and theology of the Christian Faith. And no thought, fact, scripture, or proverb from the Bible is new to me. Again, I need to be engaged beyond the intellectual. 

 I need a the feeling and experience to make the intellectual knowledge practical. I need it to be experientialy relevant.

So I decided to test my idea. I picked up my Bible and decided to start at the Beginning. I wanted to read the story straight through from beginning to beginning and find out if this new viewpoint of the scriptures could change how I viewed them. (OK, that sounded really redundant, but I hope it made sense.)

And, to some degree at least, it has helped. They Bible is no longer dry to me. All my problems aren't fixed, I haven't met God in a new way, I don't have the satisfaction I am craving. My sadness and pain is still just as present and in no way is it diminished. My depression still kicks in all the time. My agonizing hungry has only increased in intensity. But the Bible now intrigues me, and the Scriptures have new life. I'm learning from them again. And that's more than I can say has happened in a long time.

Butterflies

"Butterflies."

Butterflies dancing on sunbeams-
Beautiful, glorious, resplendent.
But only to be seen and not to hold-
For with the crushing of those fragile wings,
So, too, my heart.

Not to say that I haven't tried.
Poured out all myself to keep them perfect.
But perhaps even my love is too strong-
A bruising, ravaging force, wild and untamed,
Spelling despair for these fragile hopes.

Destined to follow, but never to hold-
Admire, yet never feel-
Love, yet never be so.

For my love is too full of pain-
My heart is too dark for true beauty.
The only dreams fulfilled are nightmares,
And the only art is etched in flesh and painted with blood.

So dancing wings flit away,
For I will not approach and risk them harm.
And they will not answer my silent, desperate call.
They alight in other men's hands,
And rest in other men's hearts,
Never knowing I have loved them first and best.

An excerpt from the "Darkness Diary."

     Today I am going to share a journal entry. But be forewarned, it is not going to be pleasant reading, and you're not going to feel encouraged after reading it. The journal entry itself, makes sense in it's own context to me, because I'm the one who wrote it. But for those of you who haven't managed to get inside my head and emotions, perhaps a little explanation is necessary.
   
     Michael Card has a set of lectures that he gave on lament as a form of worship. I would highly recommend listening to them. You can get both parts of this lecture by following THIS LINK. But in this lecture, Michael Card tells how, as a young man growing up during the "Jesus Movement" he would be in church and as he says, "The service opens and before anybody reads a verse or we have prayer or anything, the worship starts, and everybody's up and they go someplace I was just never able to go. I always felt like a second class citizen. What is it that's missing in me that all my friends seem to have possession of?" That is a description of me exactly. Perfectly. And I'm on the worship team at church. I lead that worship that I don't understand. I see my friends and mentors down in the congregation, faces lifted, hands raised, singing for all they're worth. And I think, "What's wrong with me?" I don't understand it. I don't get it.

Card goes on to explain how lament can be a form of worship. And I think he's absolutely right. But I've also formed another belief, or, should I say, hope. I think, or hope, that all of us- or at least the majority of us- deep down feel the same way Michael Card does. I wonder if maybe we all feel this sort of separation or loneliness. I'm willing to bet that 70% of most church congregations are faking their way through the worship, or at least trying to ride some emotional high. And they look around at their friends who, unbeknownst to them, are struggling with the same feelings. And they think, "Well, they all seem happy, and I don't want to be the only one not happy. I don't want to be the odd man out. I don't want to be weird." And so they fake it, and those friends look at them and think the same thing. So, while a small percentage of the congregation may really be engrossed in worship, most of us just fake it. Or we force ourselves to an emotional state where we can at least feel like we are engrossed in worship. I personally have done both.

So then, this idea meets another idea. Maybe, if one of us dropped the facade, then others could drop theirs. And maybe, just maybe, we could learn from each-other's pain, and come together and offer our grief to God in worship of Him. Maybe, if we were really honest about what we are struggling through, than maybe, we can find answers. And at the very least, we will know that we aren't alone.

But it's a scary prospect. Because, what if you really are alone in the way you feel? No one will understand you? And to let your personal, internal turmoil be known is a dangerous thing. Because people will see you differently. People may think less of you.

But I'm willing to bet that I'm not alone. I'm willing to bet that their are people out there, at least in my generation, who feel exactly like I do in this journal entry I'm about to share. And I'm willing to bet that if I open my heart, there will be others who won't be so afraid to open theirs. Maybe, by showing our scars, we can find healing for them. So here goes.

Saturday, May 14, 2016

     There is a man in our church who seems like such a happy person. In fact, most of the people in church seem to be happy. And I don't understand them at all.

     The little things they laugh over, I don't understand. I don't understand this happiness that they have. I think their jokes are lame and pathetic; their reasons for smiling- pitiful. Their overabundance or joy I subconsciously consider ignorant, boring, naive. 

     And I imagine they find me the same way. They probably think I'm a dull, sorrowful person- a grump, a rain cloud. They probably see me as sullen and brooding. And I'd be the first to admit that I probably am. My laughter feels forced. My polite smiles at their silly jokes must seem plastic. My aloof attitude must seem snobbish. Where they have an overabundance of joy, I have an overabundance of sorrow. Where they are brimming over with happiness, I am bleeding out pain. Where they smile, I'm sullen. When they laugh, I weep. And only when they are hurting can I every understand and move in closer.

    I don't understand them and, in turn, feel misunderstood. They worship God together with lifted hands, upturned faces, and joyous hearts. I worship God alone- with head bowed, wrapped in a tight ball, tears staining my face. I've only every felt close to God in the midst of my agony.

I don't know how to be happy. I don't know how to really laugh. I don't know how to really smile. I don't know if I've ever truly known the joy of the Lord. And am therefore nearly devoid of strength.

The last time I remember feeling at peace was as a toddler, curled up on my Daddy's chest as he napped on the couch. I would try to match my breathing rhythm to his. But my lungs were so small that it was like holding my breath while I waited for him to exhale. Then, just when I couldn't squeeze one last bit of air out of my lungs, he would finally inhale, and it would all start over again- a little boy trying to be just like his daddy. I remember feeling his heartbeat- sure, strong, everlasting. An infinite source of power and strength as it seemed to me. I remember the smell of his Original Oldspice deodorant. It was the smell of safety and home.
     And I knew as long as I stayed wrapped in his arms, nothing could ever harm me.

That was a long time ago. The last time I ever truly felt safe. The last time I ever felt at peace. Now I sit with my back to the wall; I sleep buried under layers of blankets, hidden in the pitch dark. And even then, I know my sense of safety to be an illusion.
     I'm not talking about safety from physical forces- I've a pretty high regard for my self-defense capabilities. I'm talking about a spiritual safety, a spiritual peace. And it's not there. As in, nonexistent.

     And so I wander aimlessly, burdened with sorrow, weighed down by guilt, clinging to the hope that God has set me free, yet so far from feeling His heartbeat, measuring His breath against my own, smelling Him near. I cry out and hear silence. I weep and hear only my own echo. I strain to see but find only shadows. And bit by bit, the desperation of despair claws away at me.

     I just want to know and be known by God. And yet He's never felt more distant than now.

Sometimes at night, agonized rage takes control. I scream silently at the night sky, begging God to come near, begging Him to ravish my heart, begging Him to free me from this never ending maze. I beg Him to hold me. The only answer is the sound of my brother's fan and occasionally the rain from the cloudy sky. I eventual exhaust myself with my violent seizure-like thrashings, unable to cry, and fade to my only escape- sleep. And for a few hours I dream fantasy stories where everything can be explained or needs no explanation, and pain is nothing more than a myth. But in the morning I wake, and the agony fills me again.

So, I don't understand happy people. But maybe now they can understand me.

Below is a link to a demo version of the song "The Desperate."
The Desperate

Hypocrisy, Petty Legalism, and a Christianity Devoid of Christ.

     Today I was in church, a place I dearly love and full of people that I love to be with. To me, church is a place to refuel for the week ahead, to commune with other Christians and worship together.

Quick side note: Something you should know about me- I wear a plain brown baseball cap everywhere I go. It's as much a part of me as my belt. I take it off only for bed, while praying, and while leading worship as part of the worship team at church. And sometimes at meals.

    So today, like any other Sunday, I got up on stage to play with the worship team. And just like every other Sunday I left my hat sitting in my pew. After the last song, I went back to my pew, set my hat on my head, and sat back to listen to what the pastor had to share. He gave a good sermon on mothers and family. It is mother's day today.
     Half way through the sermon, I got a text from the youth pastor asking me if I could help pass out flowers to all the moms after the sermon. I readily agreed. So after the sermon, me and my brother and sister stepped up to the front to pass out the flowers to all the mothers. I had forgotten something though- I was still wearing my hat.
     One of the women of the church stepped up to me and ordered me to take it off, calling me disrespectful for wearing a hat in church.
     To be honest, I was rather dumbfounded, and was still standing there speechless while she continued to command me to remove my hat. My brother came to my rescue while I was still struggling for words, saying, "God isn't bothered by it." She turned around and walked off, angry I assume at both of us.
   
     Another quick side note about me: Unless you can give me a good reason, I won't follow a direct order.  In fact, if you try to command or order me to do something, I will emphatically, blatantly, and purposefully refuse. You have to convince me that what you want done is the right thing to do. Or, you have to have my trust and respect. If you have proven to me that I can trust what you say, I will probably to what you want without asking questions, because I trust you. This woman had neither a good explanation, nor had she earned that level of respect from me.

So I left my hat on.

Service over, I went on to mingle with my fellow Christians, seeking meaningful conversation. I was approached by an older man, someone dear to my heart. A man I care deeply for and for whom I have a high level of respect. He asked me very kindly to not wear my hat in church, stating that that's not the way he was raised. I again replied that God does not feel slighted by my wearing a hat.

Then a few minutes later the husband of the first woman passed me and angrily hollered at me, "A hat in church, dude! REALLY!" I again answered with, "God is not slighted by it, so why should you be?"

But at this point, it wasn't worth hanging around. I was angry and hurt that all they could see was a world through a Pharisaical lens. I left.

What have we become? Where is the love of Christ in all this? God doesn't care two bits about whether I wear a hat or not. For God looks at the heart. Only man looks at the outward appearance. In response to the older man, I have a question: Because you were raised in a certain way with a certain set of rules of etiquette, you are now asking me, who was not raised with the same rules of etiquette to conform to your preconceived, outdated notions of how people should behave? Simply because you were raised to behave a certain way does not give you the right to demand that others conform to your way of thinking.

And to the lady and her husband: What is it that shows disrespect about my hat? Should I take of my shirt too? Where does your idea of respect and disrespect come from? I know Corinthians 11:4-

     "Every man who prays or prophesies with his head covered dishonors his head."

That's why I don't wear my hat when I'm praying. I honestly don't understand this verse at all. But God is one of those who has earned my respect to such a high degree that if He tells me something, I can trust it without explanation. Because I know I can trust that He has an explanation, regardless of whether I can understand it or not. I don't need Him to convince me. He has proven that He can be trusted. So I uncover my head in prayer. But I do not understand if this verse is even talking about our actual physical head, or our spiritual head, or what. I simply don't get it. And from looking at all the different variety of ideas about head coverings that have arisen from this section of the Bible, I'm firmly convinced that no one else understands it fully either.

     There seems to be this idea that the church is a holy place. But the church is no more holy the bar downtown. There are no more holy places. For it is the people of God that are holy now. We are the church. Not the building. The building is a building. Nothing more.

This petty legalism is a Christianity with no Christ in it. Christ never addressed the etiquette of those he communed with. He never called someone disrespectful for covering or uncovering their head. It was not the mission of Christ to address such issues. And it should not be ours. The church is a church of Pharisaical Christians. All pretty and dolled up on the outside, but when the mouth is opened all we see is rot and decay. This is not a community I want to be a part of. I'm tired of the do's and don't's of the church. I want nothing to do with it. I want nothing more than Jesus Christ.

I am madly in love with Jesus Christ- And thoroughly disgusted with Christians.