A Darkness Demands Light

**Disclaimer: This piece was written pre-deconstruction of religious beliefs and faith system. Many of these beliefs inform the sentiments of the writing and are not in alignment with my values. As this is a part of my journey and an extensive blog over years, I have chosen not to remove a majority of my posts written on faith. Please as a reader, take this into consideration and take what works for you, leave what does not. I also apologize for any harm my words from this past perspective may cause to any readers.**

The thing about darkness is that it demands light.

Let me elaborate. This year has sucked - I'm trying to get more concise when including that in every post. I recently realized something about my year of struggling, wading through these months of pain: I'm still here, and that means something. Aside from the teen years being, well the teen years and chock full of angst for legitimate reasons as well as at the fault of immaturity, this has been the hardest year of my life. There have certainly been good things, too, but I struggled to enjoy them as much as I should, as I process through having loved and lost being a part of my history now. Then! I lost my first truly professional (in the sense of what I studied to do) job before even hitting the two-year mark - in the midst of house-shopping. So much for concise...

Understand, this year I've felt on edge of losing my faith, stuck, alone, depressed, and downright broken. A few months ago, I realized it was the actual, tangible grace of God that I'm alive. #Realtalk. It feels a little melodramatic to say that now that I'm less and less fragile every day, but I believe it's true. Then last week, something else occurred to me, a silver-lining: I've survived; I am resilient. And that gives me hope; it helps me know this isn't it.

Furthermore, I haven't exactly had it rough in a while. All that has been good and great and gloriously splendid in my life over the years makes a time like this feel heavier. I think we can all agree, things have just felt heavy lately. For starters, our president elect is frightening. There was some kind of shooting in Ohio that I don't even have the energy to look into right now. I just read the news about a friend from church's (a husband and dad of two kids) diagnosis with an aggressive cancer...

And it got me thinking, this Jesus thing just has to be real. I look around at people, and when I have that thought in the forefront of my mind, I see us all in desperate need of Him. He has to be real. All this heavy darkness demands a great light. Not only is it impossible to be a darkness without a respective light, but how much more sweet will it be when it indeed shines!

So it is, through welling tears, my weary heart mutters, Come, O Light of the World...

Thankfulness

This is my favorite time of year. I love it from the first snow, to the Wednesday night hockey game before Thanksgiving, to the Day of Food and my family going around [being positive for a change] saying what we're thankful for, Christmas time, Christmas eve church and Christmas hymns! It's the best.

This year however has been the worst. The downright worst. This year, I was dreading the 'sharing time' with my family, not having much I feel thankful for with my life in disarray. This year, my thankful list is rather short. I used to write these long posts, brimming with compliments to friends who probably didn't read it anyway.

Joy.

This has been a year where I feel like my joy has been stolen and for me that's like a car without fuel. It's taken me a while to build up any, for a sense of normalcy in my existence.

So what I'm thankful for are the people who actually prayed, when I asked or when I didn't. For the people who didn't dissappear, and the few that sat with me in my pain without trying to minimize it or claim they know it, or douse it with platitudes. This year, I'm thankful for things like a roof over it head, food on the table, and being alive. And the shrivel of hope that next year will be better.

The Lesson of Loving and Losing

Life is full of challenges, curve balls thrown at us every day or every other day, who knows. Losing a job. Losing a loved one. Car breakdowns. Family tensions, family breakdowns. Lessons around every unsuspected corner.

I've done the job thing before. I've done the car thing, too - in several variations. I've done the family thing with every member of my family. I am introspective to a fault, so I usually try to learn from the things that come at me in life. Well, some lessons take longer than others...

There's a lesson I've been learning and yet struggling to understand for what feels like my whole life; in grade school, middle school, high school, college, and now, even in adulthood. I've always had somebody in my life who I'm close with and feel a deep sense of attachment to, like they're "my person", as Grey's Anatomy would have me say. But as time goes on, that person slowly detaches from me. I feel it and start to question if I need them too much, and why they don't feel the same way. I've always wanted someone in my corner, steadfast, and have rarely felt like I've had it long enough or for very long at all. 

A married friend of mine put it really well when she was talking about how different and difficult it is to be single when others are coupled off: She noted how she has her husband to be utterly devoted to her, and of course she in turn is with him, in everything in life. Us single people don't have that. Maybe that's a part of why Paul says in the bible it's better to not marry, if you can manage (my paraphrase) - no wholly devoted distraction.

I always wanted to have a ride or die best friend. The older I got, the less I've held to that desire. I realized people come and they go, their priorities change. Maybe their tolerances change, I don't know. I became bitter, and then I became comfortable for the first time.

Then came The Relationship. Not only did I have someone in nearly every square inch of my life so to speak, but I felt needed, too. It wasn't just me. Then it wasn't even me...then it was what am I nuts? It was me too. Then it was just me. That place I hate to be in, I was in all over again and the deepest I've ever been. I thought I knew myself better than to end up there, especially with a romantic relationship. I thought I had a good enough read on people, I thought that maybe some more commitment was hiding around the corner - not a rejection. Not a dragging on. A year ago today was a sort of mile-marker in our relationship, for me anyway. I look back with fondness laced with confusion, seeing where we were and wondering how it got this far.

Throughout the last several months, I have seesawed as to what to do with this heavy love in me that had no home, no object. It has been a huge facet of my pain. Recently, as I sat with a friend who had a microscale-version of this experience and witnessed her heavy, saddened heart, I spoke words I needed myself: Love given matters just as much as love received and love reciprocated. As painful as it has been to love someone who is willfully not in my life, I believe it completely still matters. There is some great importance to loving when you expect nothing in return, and also great pain. We all experience rejection a time or two in our life, but I can say with certainty a general rejection holds far less weight than the very depth of love.

It teaches you about the value of loving. A painful way to learn, to be sure, important nonetheless. I can't say for certain because I'm not there [yet?], but I think the next time I have that kind of love I'll cherish it all the more. Until then, maybe I'll spend that love on those around me whom I'm not dating. Maybe all that heartache simply deepened the well from which I draw.

Fear of Being Known

Every once in a while I'll read back in my blog to see if there are trends I've been writing about recently or ones I haven't touched on in a while. Just today I noticed the presence of something threaded throughout my writing over time, a thing I've been toiling with lately. 

A goal I set out with in my writing is to engage what I consider to be a personal strength: vulnerability. As I've spent my entire life learning and yet striving to reject, vulnerability isn't just scary to engage in for yourself but it scares others to see you engage in it. So I have pushed back against the shame I've often received for my openness, because, as Brene Brown would agree, there is power sharing in my story. Even knowing and believing that to be utterly true, I struggle against shame and judgment for being willing to be open and raw with my story. 

That's the pattern I noticed throughout a handful of posts I read through, and oddly I'd been pondering the last couple days after receiving criticism yet again: I tend to feel pressure to apologize for my openness, as if it's something to be ashamed of. That simply isn't true. 

The truth is more likely that others feel a sense of fear and shame at their own stories; an inability to share openly themselves. I also realized that often the critics are the ones who allow few people to get close to them, are often unwilling to admit when they're wrong or they've messed up, and spend more time critiquing the lives of others than truly engaging in relationship with them. The irony is I find that expressing the sometimes gritty, ugly, or messy reality of my life levels the playing field and opens others up to trust me. And yes, there's a risk that vulnerability will only provide relief without reciprocation of trustworthiness - which again, ironically, is what critics are afraid of and yet perpetuate in doing just that! 

So, what have I been learning as I toil and wrestle through the shaming for being open and vulnerable and messy in a public space (which as a writer is an acceptable, even expected practice)? I do not have to internalize someone else's fear of vulnerability, or judgment of mine, as truth. Because the truth is I desire to be known; I don't fear it. My hope - and experience - is that being comfortable or brave in sharing honestly about my life will give others the courage to feel at home in their skin, if not to follow suit. Maybe if more of us would pursue honest tellings of our experiences, we could be more whole people; unafraid to be human and messy.

I've often said you can learn a lot about me from reading my blog. If you read this blog often or from time to time, thank you for taking in my stories and taking time to know me a little better.

Compassion is Key

I finally put my finger on something the day before the election: So much of whether I can respect someone rides on whether or not I see compassion as evident in their lives and values. And saying, "Well, of course I have compassion for [X], but..." doesn't count. 

I notice this especially being surrounded by so many Christians. I've struggled to articulate why this election and frankly our society in general is so disheartening, but it's because on every level I have seen a grave lack of compassion. That is honestly my biggest concern across party lines and up and down the age spectrum.

This past sunday, the speaker at my church (our new youth pastor) talked about when Jesus said we'd abide in his love if we keep his commands. The pastor noted that the greatest commands are to love the Lord and love your neighbor. I've been thinking, we have an incredibly cheapened idea of what it means to "love [our] neighbor". We have mouths constantly salivating at the chance to bite at someone with so-called truth. We are ever ready to self serve and preserve.

Anyway, the passage continues on with Jesus saying that we are to love each other as He has loved us. What's interesting and striking, and one of my favorite yet most challenging verses, is the verse that follows: "Greater love has no one than this: that one should lay one's life down for their friend." Beautiful...and convicting. Because isn't the point of my life that it's mine? And isn't it that I only get one chance to live it, so everything better look Pinterest perfect? And I certainly shouldn't have to work any harder or give anything up for someone else. I certainly shouldn't have to be gracious, or put someone else's needs before my own... But that's exactly what we're called to - nay, commanded to do. Sure, I think we're incapable of truly laying our lives down for a friend. But that's what Christ did in His death, out of love and we're called to emulate Him. As 1 John 3:16 tells us, "This is how we know what love is: Jesus Christ laid down his life for us. And we ought to lay down our lives for our brothers and sisters." That is what Christ said is the second greatest command: love others [we share space and municipality and life with].

This week, love has been a challenge. But I think we need to continue to look at the example of Christ's life, because that love is transformative and leaves a wake of good. Jesus didn't love easy; going to the cross wasn't just for those that are easy to love and it wasn't an easy act. Mercy isn't just for those that were unfairly treated, but those who deserved what came down on Christ in their stead.

After the results came in, I was talking with two friends into the wee hours as we were in shock and awe. One painted a beautiful picture of how if Jesus will meet us in our iniquities with mercy, he will show the same to our enemies. In that we have hope, knowing that that mercy, his kindness leads us to repentance. No Facebook post will do what He will. So show up in love, live with compassion on the forefront.

And what does the Lord require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God.
Micah 6:8

Struggling Through and Handling Pain

I feel like I don't even need to write the preface anymore, if you read this blog you already know, it's been a rough year, and spiritually a long confusing drought.

I've been frustrated and baffled to find how little help anyone actually has to offer when you're neck deep in pain and hopelessness. I'll readily admit, there are people who have had a worse year, or season, but for my life, this one has been a hard year. I'm one not usually averse to being open and vulnerable, but I have slowly found myself resistant to sharing with just anyone how this really feels.

The conversation will start with some apparent offensive honesty that I just don't feel that excited about God right now, or I'm wondering where He is, or that I just don't feel very loved by him right now. All too often this has been met with a but the glass is half-full yet sort of platitude. I started to justify the lack of feeling like anyone could meet me in this funk with sincerity by thinking, maybe I'm looking for answers in the wrong place. And maybe I am, but nonetheless it drew my attention to the fact that Christianity can leave a giant, gaping plot hole in the narrative of another. It is just plain useless to slap a happy-go-lucky "but God loves you" on someone when they feel trapped, alone, or abandoned.

We don't know what to do with pain. Plain and simple.

Pain and brokenness are difficult and gritty, and so many of us Christians don't know what to do when faced head on with the reality of another's pain. We want to cover it up with a disengaged sampling of possibilities, without acknowledging that the felt pain is legitimate. Dangerous words, believe me I know having grown up in a conservative home where the phrase "validating someone's feelings" was practically profanity.

I've never felt so overlooked as this year going through pain. I've never felt what it's like to struggle to believe what I did whole-heartedly before, and then be told I should have more quiet time. I've never had so many conversations about feeling frustrated and disoriented without an offer of prayer extended to me.

The other night, as I lay in my bed, crying, feeling utterly paralyzed at the amount of things I don't feel great or even good about in my life, I had one sad silver lining. For years now I've known the thing I want to pursue next in my life is practicing therapy. As I laid there and thought about how many unknowingly-lame responses I'd received to my pain, I thought that at the very least knowing dark times will make me better suited to sit with people in their pain; to acknowledge the very real weight of it in their lives.

Because the thing I've needed most is someone not to quickly silence me with their hope, but to hear the struggle I'm in and stand with me.

With some things more than others, it is an immense struggle to hope when you've been waiting a long while already. It's not helpful to be told there's another man out there for me, or that the lifting of my weird faith fog is just around the corner. It helps others feel better but I'm left with no hope and feeling as though the burden is too much for others to bear.

Now, it's true in part that I cannot seek for others to heal me, but in my frustration of loneliness, I realized I'm probably guilty of this very thing myself. And so as I take the challenge on myself to be aware of my responses to others' stories, I raise the challenge to whomever may read this. We must take care and be wise with our use of the hope we have. We must take care to bear with one another in burdens. We must take care to make time for the pain of the stories we ask to hear.