Blogging After Midnight

The reason I'm up so late is because I just watched "Bridesmaids" with some friends a short while ago. Before that we watched "Unknown" (so much better than "Taken," for whatever that's worth). Before that I watched "It's Kind of a Funny Story" on my own. Today was a stay at home and watch movies day because I had/have a cold and it's a good excuse.

To be brief: it's been almost three months and I still get sad about it. Still feel pangs of missing her and what we had. Even while others have passed in and out of the radar in the intervening months.

What's the deal? When will it stop catching me off guard? Breaking up was the right call, but there was so much good stuff that was lost as a result.

I've played in so many of my friends' weddings during my five years here in Nashville. Most of them I knew separately before they became a couple. I've been experiencing bits of peace lately about not ever getting married. I've felt that peace before, but not so much since I moved here. But's in sporadic, in waves.

There's plenty else going on in my life these days, but I'm hardly ever here anymore, so I guess that's all for now. Peace.

Box

People talk about putting God in a box (or letting him out of the box or whatever), so I'll tell you about one of mine.

I don't know if this would qualify as "artistic sensibilities," since I'm not exactly making a whole ton of art, but my disposition when I look at the world and try to put words to it is to focus on the brokenness. To see Jesus' redemption and God's truth, certainly, but to understand the lens of the fallenness of the world. Or something vaguely pretentious like that.

The downside (and I'm not sure I'm exactly reaping much of an upside) is that I fixate on my failures and fail to see God's redemptive work in the midst of the mess. For a very concrete example, there are a few people whom I see fairly regularly, since we share the same church community. These are people that I am no longer really friends with, almost entirely due to my foolish mistakes (at least, that's what I tell myself). We're not enemies, thankfully--we've worked out our conflicts and issues, at least to some kind of resolution. But we're not friends anymore, either, for sake of appropriate boundaries and continuing in community in some different way. We're acquaintances, or something, I don't even know what. And with a couple of these people, I deeply lament the loss and wish that we were friends the way we were before. The way things were before. I really screwed it up.

I don't see the redemption that God is working in those relationships. To be honest, I'm not really looking for it. It's tempting to say that I'd rather have a time machine more than redemption, but I don't know how to get past the whole thing about how even if I knew then what I knew now, I would still feel the scars, right? I could stop certain actions from taking place, but the damage inside would have already been felt (by my hypothetical time-traveling self--bear with me here).

What the heck am I talking about? I think I'm saying that I wish I didn't need Jesus quite so much. That I wish I could micro-manage my sinfulness and prevent it from bearing fruit in the first place so that I wouldn't screw it all up. Whatever "it" happens to be at the time. That's not the true Gospel, of course.

But in this case, I'm stuck. Stuck in the loss and the screw-up. Every time I see these people, that's what I think about, what I remember. I don't see God's redemptive hand. I do see how he delivered us from the conflict and the hurt, and I am grateful for that. But I don't feel like this new state of things is better than the old. As if I knew better than God, as if I could see with his omniscience.

So I fixate on the brokenness and blind myself to his good work. I don't know how to repent of that. And I know that there are always parts of me that don't want to. Because I've built it up over time into an idol ("my precious"), into my functional identity--the pain, the memories, the heartbreak, the longing. I'm stubborn, that's for sure.

I know from past experience that God can deliver me from the depths. But this doesn't feel so much like depths as much as mucky shallows that I tolerate. And in the meantime, I make my mud pies, because at least it's familiar ground, right?

I wish I were different. Is that a starting place? I wish so many things were different. Am I just holding on here until the ultimate restoration of all things? How am I to live in the meantime? I'm pretty sure that it's not supposed to be like my heart is now. How does that change? How will God break me in these particular struggles of pride and identity? When will I sing again, "I once was lost, but now am found, was blind, but now I see"?

I think engaging with his Word has something to do with it--letting it engage me. And I do believe that the destination is real. But the journey feels like a mystery. Or just too hard, too much for my fear and my laziness to contend with (lies, yes, but I give them power).

Am I still Eustace the Dragon? I guess he didn't just become a boy again--the same selfish, self-centered, mean-spirited, small-minded, small-hearted boy again. His heart changed and he was transformed. So I guess I don't really want to just go back to the way it was before. I guess I want to be whatever it is that God is making me through this. I just have no idea what that will look like, or how and when.

That said, Jesus assures me that his work will be completed, and that he loves me in the meantime, in the here and now, just as I am, a sinful man.

So stop fighting his love, you stubborn fool, and let it be enough for you.

(that's me talking to me, by the way--I certainly wouldn't call you a "stubborn fool")

(at least, not here)

In Memoriam

A year ago today one of my dear friends lost her brother in a car accident. A group of friends from church gathered at another friend's place to remember her brother, encourage and pray with her, share fellowship and worship God together, and just love her as best we could. Another friend baked some of her brother's favorite pies (Key Lime & Apple), and there was some wonderful time off hanging out and being in community and communion with each other.

I had only known her a couple weeks when the accident happened, and I didn't know her brother at all. They announced the news at church the Sunday after it happened--it was Super Bowl Sunday--and somehow I just wept and wept and wept when I heard, grieving deeply with her and for her and for her family. I had been reflecting on my father's death around that time, and so perhaps my heart was prepared to enter into another's mourning--weeping when others weep, as Paul says in Romans.

My father passed away nine years ago next Saturday. I suppose I don't think about it too much. It would be nice if he could see where I'm at and what I'm up to these days, there are a lot of milestones and things where his presence has been missing. But I do remember him fondly, that he loved me well, as best he could.

I try to hold onto the reality of heaven and the sure hope it presents, all possible because of Jesus' life and death and resurrection. Sometimes that hope and that reality are clear and beautiful in my sight. Most of the time I guess I get bogged down in the day-to-day, and I don't suppose that I'm "eagerly awaiting a Savior from there" (Phil.3:20) as much as slogging through and getting by--a mix of enjoying and lamenting life.

Against this backdrop of semi-complacency, I feel like God has been at times quietly and at times rather noisily breaking into my life these last few months. I hope so. I need my sight refocused, I need a new enthusiasm for dwelling on His Word, for actually desiring His Will, for praying and praying and praying some more. He is a good and right and true and just and faithful God. I need the power of his love and affection to rightly claim my heart--oh, that I would finally worship the only One worthy of worship.

The last couple days have had some fasting and praying and confusion and trials and rich blessings. Some excellent, fruitful time of talking things out with some friends, having wisdom and light spoken into my life and my uncertainties. God is faithful in so many ways, and I thank Him for the community of friends that I find myself in the midst of here in Nashville.

Thy Kingdom come.

--------------------------------------------------

Lastly, please pray for my dear friends, Tom & Megan Langsdorf. They were stuck in N'Djamena along with Megan's dad when the fighting broke out near and in the capital. We're awaiting updates on their blog. The waiting and my anxiety are showing me some more wrinkles about what it means to have faith.

Thy Will be done.