just because it's hard

there is, at least, a handful of statements, of which the frequency of their saying may enable some far off future civilization to find them woven in the strangely alphabetical strands of my DNA. some sniffling scientist bent over his microscope will be astonished and fall off his stool. but inasmuch as I desire to be a teller of Truth now, I feel the same strange conviction for my DNA, and so, I have set out on the task of setting my nucleic acids straight (certainly not in the literal form, since I haven't even the faintest knowledge to grasp what dire consequences might result from un-double-helixing those bad boys). . . all that to say, that my recent circumstances have resulted in a lot of "just because it's hard doesn't mean it's bad for you"s. it's not a false statement, but it's incomplete, an incompletion which has possibly originated in some false Christian ideas of "piety," and resulted in the perpetuation of some ideas which might fight against the very Joy which is to be the mark of a True disciple of Christ. alone, it provides only for the blind acceptance of unlikeable circumstances in the name of that never-quite-defineable "good for you." but it's counterpart, that "just because it's hard doesn't mean it's good for you," provides for a critical assessment of one's current circumstances. certainly, there are those things thrust upon us over which we have no control. in my experience, those are the things which neccesitate us to remember that hard doesn't mean bad (and also tend to result in the most growth and trust). it is likely that those experiences account for the origination of the 'hard doesn't mean bad' idea, an idea which is really sufficient in those cases. but the oversight occured when that idea was transferred to those things which we do have control over, and the ammendment to the statement was never made. the result has been a trend in Christianty to ignore the things that make us tick in order to "piously" scuttle down a difficult path, with no promise of tick-worthy things, in the name of the virtue of "good for you." this isn't an argument for laziness, lavishness or selfishness, and it isn't an argument against hard work. it is just the realization that all things difficult should be the means to an end, and that all things have two ends: ultimate (all things for the Glory of God) and penultimate (the pursuit of Joy inspiring, make-you-tick work, which happens to also be. . . for the Glory of God). the view of hard work as a means to an end has been lost, and hard work has become hard work with no other prize than that it is somehow, in some unseeable way, "good for us." though even Paul, when talking about one of the hardest struggles in life, that of the Christian faith, insisted that we "run in such a way as to get the prize." and so somehow Christians have been disillusioned to believe that trusting God means diving into some thing we hate (usually a profession, a way to make money), some thing we have no inkling for, and trust that he will provide Joy while we stand and stare at a wall. but true trust is in pursuing what we love and trusting that He will provide. go the way of Joy! understand that the gospel gives us hope and frees us to understand who we are in Christ in such a way that leads us to better understand what we were made to do. all good things are God's good things, and an integral part of the pursuit of Joy and life in Christ means embarking on the journey of discovering what things make you come alive. and there will be hard things you have to do along the way, things you migh hate, but all made worth it by the end, that end which is so often lacking, for people find no value in discovering the things which God has wired them to love and pursuing those things. it is the things whose rewards mean nothing to us (though, perhaps, the world to another) which dull our soul, and are in no way "good for us." the result is passionless, unfulfilled people who are secretly wondering why they can't seem to even so much as grab the coattails of Joy, and they are staying in that place based on the belief that just because things are hard, it doesn't mean it's bad for them. and so Christians are rarely characterized by the Joy which brings Glory to God and reveals His Character to the world. but I am determined to have that Joy written in my genes, and so I start with proclaiming the Truth and continue in the way of discovering that which I have been created to do. . .and doing it.

there is this tree

when it was fall the sunroom was a dream. I bent my mattress through the door, and slept with the windows open, and sleeping with the windows open was like sleeping in a tree, and I'm either really foolish or really stubborn, or both, but either way, warnings of winter seem unreal when you're sleeping in a tree. it started to get colder, at night first, mid-september. things got broken then: a window. . .and other things. and there is this great maple tree in the backyard, it's almost all you can see out the west windows, and it grew fiery red. and then it was cold all day and red became brown and then it was gone, and I could see the roofs of all the neighbors' houses. and then the tree spent most of the winter buried under snow and icicles and I spent it buried under blankets and sheets. I thought that that tree would never be green again. but now the neighbors roofs are barely peaking through leaves and I've been sleeping with my windows open for days.

there must be imperfection

I almost don't want heaven to be perfect. I'm not sure why. perhaps I do not understand perfection, have no concept of what it really is. afterall, all any of us really know is this imperfect place. and maybe I have so throughly set myself upon the task of "looking for the good" in any situation, of having a redemptive attitude about every trial or pain, that I have almost gained a tolerance at least, and an appreciation at most, for imperfection. there is such a sense in which those deep goods in my life and heart, the most saturating joys, are a result of past pains, and perhaps even need the contrast of ungood in order to even be good. so perhaps people embittered by the world welcome situations which are perfect (or rather, seem so) but I, I look them over for their chips and cracks, and finding none, will quickly walk away. maybe even more, maybe I must suffer, at least a little, to feel fully alive. beat me up, and if you don't I will provoke you to it. perfect kindness falls so softly on me I can barely feel it, makes me feel asleep. a little imperfection makes a crack through which the kindess can get in (I do not know if you should believe a single word of this).

breath

the other day it was so cold. I climbed into my car and started singing and my breath rolled out in swirling clouds. I stopped. there is an extent to which a person is contained in their voice, in the words which fall off their lips, but its all so intangible. its just noise. but words for me are such a part of who I am, my voice, gosh, the only other time I get to see it is when its on paper. but those are just black shapes on white space, two dimensional, noiseless, almost formless. and here my voice was taking shape; part of me suspended in the moveless, icy air. and more than words it was song, words with life. I almost didn't turn the heat on the whole way there.

no shalaque for me

there are two types of people in this world: those who are messy, and those who are pretending not to be. some people are just better painters of pictures of who they want to be perceived as, but really they're just buying time. I have yet to meet a person who within a few months did not prove to be as flaw-full as me. and so I am finally at a point where I am more concerned about growing than picture painting (except for in the literal sense. I'm all for a little sketch on the side of the sunday morning bulletin) and I'm banking on the fact that just being honestly in process will be worth what I learn, and hoping that I prove to be that stone upon the beach that is easy to pass by because it seems rather rough and dull, but when polished proves a million times better than the ones you find in hoards, covered quickly in cheap shalaque, at the souvenir shop. and so I might seem childish or naive, and maybe sloppy and definitely messy, but hopefully honest, so be patient with me.

and the dam broke

I used to have to poke myself in the eye at funerals. not really, but only because I didn't care that I couldn't cry. it was almost a claim to fame for me, something I was proud of: my inability to shed a tear. once I passed the age where you cried about splinters, it almost slowed to being an annual (semi-annual if I'm generous) event. I carried my own pain around at arm's length with a limp hand, and other people's pain never went past my brain, none of it could get all the way in. and then something happened. and the dam broke. and there was no holding this pain away, because it's point of origin was the deepest parts of me. and I cried more in a month than I probably did in the entirety of my life. and who knows, maybe half the tears weren't even about that, maybe they were just leftover from old funerals and friends' heartaches. and now it seems everything can get in, and it doesn't matter how many times I swallow I still have to look out the window. but its ok, its great in fact. because I think its called compassion, and its called the ability to feel, and apparently someone had to take a hatchet to my heart to get me there, but it broke the dam, so it was worth it.