When the baristas arrive to work at five in the morning, they find me pacing back and forth in the dark parking light, chain smoking and talking to Renee- the only other person up at such an ungodly hour.
Not even coffee-slingers have the ability to speak that early. They grunt at me and I follow them in.
Say what we will about Starbucks- over priced lattes and big business and blah blah blah. This place has been the setting of Moments and Memories in the past few years.
The last time I was here, writing before the sun came up- I was on the high of a spiritual revelation. A high that I hoped would change me forever, but probably just changed me for that day: Animal eyes:Angel eyes
This morning I am here on the low of human revelation: community is very, very hard.
We all have these grand thoughts of ‘community’. Like everything, the stories we grow up with impact and form the words ‘friends’ and ‘love’. When I was in high school I had a community of other freaks and geeks, weirdo’s like me that could help me feel not so…weird. And then I became a ‘christian’ – and it was way too weird for them. I wasn't 'like them' anymore. And I learned the lesson that your friends must be close versions of you- same interests and vices and temperaments...that way everyone could sail smoothly on the same path, follow the crowd...perfection meant rarely arguing, rarely confronting things...
It’s a shame- these perfect shiny ideas we have. The toy friends make the real ones a failure- thanks a lot Plato. He told us that everything here was just a poor reflection of something better.
I realize how shitty that idea is. Socrates (who is accredited to teaching this) and Plato (who wrote it down) are way more than this one idea- but the effects of Christians seeing this B.C concept of heaven-like place and teaching it in our churches may have left us with some poor thoughts on this present world. And our cultural stories latch onto this- the tales we are told as children, the expectations spun in in romantic comedies and porns- there is something better, someone perfect.
Irresponsible storytelling.
No one is perfect- it’s actually not even a mathematical possibility- yet we still expect, expect, expect it.
I have incredible friends. Real life and blood people. They are not shiny toys. They are not ads for beer commercials. And many of them are not 'like me' and I am not 'like them'. I am friends with Doers and Thinkers; Republicans (admittedly, only a few) and Anarchists and Apathetics; the Tired and Bitter; the religious Elite and the religious Minority- Lawyers, Counselors, Teachers, Pastors, Students and the problem I see is this: we all use the same words in conversation- in knowing and being known- and though the verbal utterance of one is the same as the verbal utterance of another- we have RADICALLY different definitions to what those words/utterances mean. In fact, some of us, if you asked our definition of 'love', would spit out a bible verse. But I don't First-Corinthians-Thirteen a band, a new pair of shoes, a person I barely know, a country, a time....
Ever count how many times you hear people say they 'love' a thing?
Instead of saying 'OMG, I love tribal print', I may challenge myself to say "OMG, I will lay down my life for the betterment of tribal print."
"I would lay down my life for the betterment of those chips I had at that one place."
"I would lay down my life for the betterment of the new Usher song."
"I would lay down my life for the betterment of soccer!" (Now, my boyfriend Gui, truly might be able to say this one honestly....)
I would lay down my life for the betterment of {what was the last thing you claimed to 'love'}?
I guess I see that my true definition of love is more like a strong emotional or mental affection/attraction. I am mentally attracted to the essence of tribal print, emotionally attached to certain people, attracted to books and art and places and one bachelor contestant over the other.
Or perhaps the most painful moments- when someone says they love me and I realize they do not- or rather, it looks nothing like what I had hoped, expected, been told 'love' was.
I have hurt people with this lie- perhaps unknowing, but the end results were the same- I have told people I loved them and thought agape meant being a door mat in one season, a savior in another, a grace-dealer, a money-lender. To some I thought love was giving my skin or my time or my tears. But most of the time my 'love' had to do with the short term, selfish fear of being left, and not the long term betterment of the other.
Christ has a conversation with Peter- he asks him several times, "Do you love(agape) me?" Peter keeps responding "I love (phileo=brotherly affection) you."
If love is agape...then this morning I realized, while sipping on my over-priced coffee, that I love...
very
few
people.
I don't know that I love YHWH (God)- and though this conclusion disturbs me, I would suppose that YHWH knows this. I am fascinated by YHWH, attracted, dismayed, confused...and I have more often used the word 'love' than the previous ones.
Later on Peter writes, 'Though you have not seen him, you love(agape) him."
I guess if Peter can learn then so can I.
What do you mean- what do you REALLY mean- what do your actions show- what did stories in your past define for you- the meaning of you telling a friend or lover, 'i love you'.
And this is why when we tell people that 'God is Love' it is potentially the worst thing we can say.
Because it may mean:
"Distant Father is Letting You Do Whatever" or "Controlling Man is Holding You To A Standard of Perfection" or "Floating Deity is Wanting You To Be Happy No Matter What' or 'Angry Judge is On Your Side'.
God is love.
YHWH is agape.
I-am-there-with-you is -in-awe-of-you/will-lay-down-all-for-your-betterment.
I say ‘I love you’- and sometimes mean ‘I will buy you things’ you.’ My friend repeats ‘I love you, too’ and it means: “I will spend time with you, too.”
No wonder friendships and lovers and churches and communities get so painful. We are walking around shouting the same word at each other.
And in our cultural stories, our earliest references on how to socialize and reason- if there are problems- we see how to fight, how to create drama and hurl words and things.
Good Lord, how I wish whoever wrote our fairy tales would have included a talk on boundaries and personal space between Snow White and the Dwarves. Maybe Cinderella could have asked her step mother if she had been abused as a child. Sleeping Beauty could have a soliloquy about how kisses from a 'prince' are just as apt to kill a woman as to save her.
Throw your definitions out. Become like a child. Learn a new language. I think this is what Yeshua (the name- the verbal utterance people spoke at the Christ) spent a lot of time talking about. He wanted to replace the definitions that we already had for 'Messiah' 'power' 'love'.
Who knew that LOVE would mean dying on a peice of wood instead of leading an army? Not the disciples, thats for damn sure.
I want to LOVEAGAPE my friends and community.
At the fear of sounding superhippieshit- I have had to remind myself that my friends (and I) are beautiful and broken, animal and angel, struggling against or giving in to the stories we were all told.
Our friendships should not always be so easy.
Aristotle completely disagreed with his teacher. He said that there is no 'perfect world', only this one. And we make hundreds of choices every day that could make it better or worse, that allow us to give in to what feels comfortable or go against the grain.
In Christianity- many early church leaders adopted Platonic philosophy. At first I though it was neat, when people would talk about Plato and call it 'christianity'. But now I am a little disturbed. Christ had little to say about heaven- he had many things to say about community and friendship and right here/right now.
Who are you now, right now? Who are you becoming?
Can you talk to your friends about what you mean when you say various words? What is love to you- can we describe it without using the word in the definition? What is LOVE, what is NOT LOVE to you?
These are hard conversations. Movies don't show people maturely working through things, it's not exciting- they would rather show perfection or dissolution. These are not our only choices.
Be careful with your community- they will either change your standards or be changed by them.
Look carefully into your definition of GOD/YHWH- what you believe about these things will reflect in your actions, even if you can't put it into words.
Emotionally and mentally attracted to you,
Kate
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Monday, July 5, 2010
Saturday, December 5, 2009
blue
Love defined seems like this
(to me- today)
:
someone to whisper my secrets to-
in the dark, under cotton covers
my mind is open and lips are parted
the world comes tumbling out
and my leg is bare and you are in love
with both skin and voice
and how they slide over and
wrap around you.
...but we have whispered feverish poetry
to intemperate statues
thrown up pearls at the feet of false gods
those more interested in legs than lips
and we must admit
others have spilled sonnets into
our own cold, alabaster ears
and truly, truly
we heard nothing...
(if we could go back
maybe I could hear the words you spoke
maybe they would turn me from stone
but that is Regret, not Love)
Love defined seems like this
(to me-today)
:
Someone to whisper their secrets to me
And i will drink them in through
warm, pink ears you can kiss and
i will bury them in a heart
you chose to love
and hold you with skin
that is like anyone elses except
it is mine and yours.
and when all the world sees gray,
I will look to you and very gently, very softly say
:
blue
you will nod and
hold me closer and this
seems like love
(to me- today).
(to me- today)
:
someone to whisper my secrets to-
in the dark, under cotton covers
my mind is open and lips are parted
the world comes tumbling out
and my leg is bare and you are in love
with both skin and voice
and how they slide over and
wrap around you.
...but we have whispered feverish poetry
to intemperate statues
thrown up pearls at the feet of false gods
those more interested in legs than lips
and we must admit
others have spilled sonnets into
our own cold, alabaster ears
and truly, truly
we heard nothing...
(if we could go back
maybe I could hear the words you spoke
maybe they would turn me from stone
but that is Regret, not Love)
Love defined seems like this
(to me-today)
:
Someone to whisper their secrets to me
And i will drink them in through
warm, pink ears you can kiss and
i will bury them in a heart
you chose to love
and hold you with skin
that is like anyone elses except
it is mine and yours.
and when all the world sees gray,
I will look to you and very gently, very softly say
:
blue
you will nod and
hold me closer and this
seems like love
(to me- today).
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Poetry Arc of 25
i come up
out of dark waters
gasping in comfort
throwing up fear
dragging Christ into my lungs
and for a moment
i believe i've learned to swim
and i can stay here
with him
and then
down, down, down
God escapes in bubbles
i push him out and away
my fingers claw an inch of air
but my feet are heavy, so heavy
immersed in alone and lead
and i'm gone-
the surface and spirit above
unseen and unknown below
and i know, i know, i know
soon i'll have to come up
or learn to breathe dark waters instead
November 25th, 2008
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
hey you
hey heart
you have no right to hurt
so just beat your blood
and shut the fuck up
i don’t care what you’ve heard
you’re a bloody fist, valves and tissue
not a romantic flower
a sighing lover
so stay out of my business
and try not to seize, palpitate, murmur or fail.
Just try not to kill me thanks
Unless I tell you too
Because I hate being the bitch
Of a mythological shape in my chest
That doesn’t exist
December 23rd, 2008
~~~~~~~~~~~~
I woke up and
loved the captain of the football team
with a Mohawk and 67 dodge and
he had my heart
but I was too hard, too dark
so I had him
when we were alone and seventeen
and for a few years
that was enough
but then I closed my eyes
I woke up and
loved a boy in a jeep and
he had my heart
with an unpacked room and a worn passport
he would kiss me then say “it’s just not right-“
so I had him
when we were weak and twenty
and for a few years
that was enough
and then-
I shivered without my pride and closed my eyes
and faces flew by
blue eyes and brown
rings and long distance
martini kisses
and it was not enough
because i was lost
and twenty-three
and then I woke up and
there was no love
there was no heart to have
but there was blood
on my boots, a coppery stain on my lips
and I was surrounded by those I’ve destroyed
and those destroying me
when i was dying and twenty-five
and now i wake up
reformed and something more
my bones are still healing
but i love a spirit and community
poets and theorists arising
desiring more than words and wine and intellectual meaning
forming into healers and lovers and their hearts are breaking
so they can have my mine
i choose to love the wiser and better
the fools that Christ loved in all their selfishness and glory
now that i am almost alive and twenty-five.
February 29th 2009
out of dark waters
gasping in comfort
throwing up fear
dragging Christ into my lungs
and for a moment
i believe i've learned to swim
and i can stay here
with him
and then
down, down, down
God escapes in bubbles
i push him out and away
my fingers claw an inch of air
but my feet are heavy, so heavy
immersed in alone and lead
and i'm gone-
the surface and spirit above
unseen and unknown below
and i know, i know, i know
soon i'll have to come up
or learn to breathe dark waters instead
November 25th, 2008
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
hey you
hey heart
you have no right to hurt
so just beat your blood
and shut the fuck up
i don’t care what you’ve heard
you’re a bloody fist, valves and tissue
not a romantic flower
a sighing lover
so stay out of my business
and try not to seize, palpitate, murmur or fail.
Just try not to kill me thanks
Unless I tell you too
Because I hate being the bitch
Of a mythological shape in my chest
That doesn’t exist
December 23rd, 2008
~~~~~~~~~~~~
I woke up and
loved the captain of the football team
with a Mohawk and 67 dodge and
he had my heart
but I was too hard, too dark
so I had him
when we were alone and seventeen
and for a few years
that was enough
but then I closed my eyes
I woke up and
loved a boy in a jeep and
he had my heart
with an unpacked room and a worn passport
he would kiss me then say “it’s just not right-“
so I had him
when we were weak and twenty
and for a few years
that was enough
and then-
I shivered without my pride and closed my eyes
and faces flew by
blue eyes and brown
rings and long distance
martini kisses
and it was not enough
because i was lost
and twenty-three
and then I woke up and
there was no love
there was no heart to have
but there was blood
on my boots, a coppery stain on my lips
and I was surrounded by those I’ve destroyed
and those destroying me
when i was dying and twenty-five
and now i wake up
reformed and something more
my bones are still healing
but i love a spirit and community
poets and theorists arising
desiring more than words and wine and intellectual meaning
forming into healers and lovers and their hearts are breaking
so they can have my mine
i choose to love the wiser and better
the fools that Christ loved in all their selfishness and glory
now that i am almost alive and twenty-five.
February 29th 2009
Saturday, March 7, 2009
Farrah
Thursday morning I was back in a place I'd never thought I'd be- putting on my make up at seven in the morning in the bathroom of a Westgate timeshare resort. High school revisited. Usually the bathroom is filled with women elbowing for counter space, complaining about weight and men. But now, I was the only one in here. The recession had hit my timeshare resort brutally. When I left I had 250 co-workers. Now there were 40 of us.
Farrah breezed in.
"Kate! You're back! Thank God!" Farrah gave me a big hug. Her hair smelled like Herbal Essence and Coco Chanel.
Farrah is very sensual, very warm. She has big wavy brown hair, and these gorgeous cat green eyes that tilt up at the ends. She has a huge smile, this great raspy voice and curves for days. Farrah is that beautiful girl that dated older men in highschool, because she didn't know any better, but the men did. Cigarettes and alcohol and those men have aged her skin, and now she is more sexy than beautiful. But she still exudes a warmth and confidence I wish I had.
Before I left she had been on and off again with my friend, Frankie. I met Frankie on my first day at Westgate, almost five years ago. He's a super sweet, class clown type. He does the best, and I mean THE best impersonations of all of our bosses and managers. Frankie was one of the few guys I would hug at work. Most guys at my job are pretty sleazy, always making comments. Frankie has always been very vocal about complimenting me, but there was something more sweetly appreciative than suggestive. When Farrah started dating Frankie, I was really excited about it. I assured her that he was one of the best guys I'd met at our job. I'd left shortly after that.
"I have to go to the gym," Farrah complained, checking out her perfect reflection, "all I do is sit around all day with my man."
"Are you still with Frankie?" I asked, brushing on my mascara.
"We've been living together for three months." Farrah said, smoothing her hair.
"Congratulations, are you happy?" Our voices echoed in the empty marble room.
"Oh yeah, he's great. I love him." Farrah smiled at me, that great grin.
"I'm so happy for you." Farrah had had a rough life. She deserved to be with someone that made her happy.
I ran into Frankie that afternoon.
"Oh my God! Mami! You look so skinny!" Frankie twirled me around. "Don't you have a man to feed you?"
"Nope."
Frankie sighed dramatically. He does everything dramatically. "Only the white boys are going to look at you now, mami."
I saw Farrah as I was leaving work today.
"Hey honey," I gave her a hug, "how are you?"
"I've had better days." She said, waving her hand at me. Her middle finger was in a splint, wrapped in clear taping. Through it I could see her finger, bloody and swollen.
"What happened?"
"Frankie slammed it in a door way." Her gaze slid over to her little boy, Logan. Logan is about seven, and he was a few feet away on the stairs.
"Why?"
"Because he's fucking crazy, that's why. He's been beating the shit out of me for six months."
I looked down at her, aghast.
"Last night he locked me in the house for six hours, and beat me with a wet towel, so there wouldn't be any marks."
"Six months?" I asked.
"I'm so fucking stupid. That man has given me scars, bruises, he almost broke my arm last month. Thank God he hasn't done it around Logan." Farrah was talking very fast, very defiantly. "But I'm done, I'm done and if he ever so much as looks at me I'll fucking kill him."
"Farrah, I'm so sorry." I mumbled. "God, if Dave was here, he'd kill him."
"Dave told me, Dave sat me down and told me before we started dating. He did this to his last girlfriend, too. And I didn't listen. So, this is what I get. I'll see you later honey."
She picked up her son and walked off.
Dave was our boss, this big man wrestler-type that everyone lived in fear of. But he looked out for us, specifically the girls. He had left a few months ago, when half of the resort got fired.
I got in my car and tried to picture Frankie angry. I had never seen it. I tried to imagine what his face would look like, twisted in rage as it must have been. I tried to see him hitting Farrah, whipping her with a towel or slamming her hand in a door. I couldn't. I literally could not see it in my mind.
And I thought about this, over and over again:
"Are you still with Frankie?" I aked, brushing on my mascara.
"We've been living together for three months." Farrah said, smoothing her hair.
"Congratulations, are you happy?" Our voices echoed in the empty marble room.
"Oh yeah, he's great. I love him." Farrah smiled at me, that great grin.
My eyes are so weak, my awareness so small. I think that if Jenna had been in that bathroom with us, she would have known. She would have seen something in Farrah's eyes, the way she smiled. Jenna would have seen through her lies.
I remember when Farrah first told me about Frankie. The way her eyes lit up and that smile I adored spread across her face. I was excited for her. Beginnings used to be so exciting to me. Now, any beginning just seems treacherous. It's just a period of time where you don't really know anything at all.
I drove home and could feel my heart sinking. I hurt for Farrah, I put my hand against my chest and could feel pain. Life seems like such a dangerous thing lately. How do I know that I won't smile about a boy next week that will break my arm next year? Could I be so short sighted as to marry a man that would slam me into a wall, or crush me with his fist. I would say that I couldn't. But I still can't picture Frankie angry.
And then I remembered my God. What a precious thing we have in this relationship with Christ. In James it says that prayers for wisdom will always be answered, and that has been true in my life. If I prayed, he would tell me no. Maybe I wouldn't know why he was saying no, but if I trusted him I would walk away from that man. Maybe.
I fell in love when I was 20. I prayed about him and God said no. And I didn't understand why. He was an amazing Christian, he wasn't intimidated by me, he challenged me and made me laugh. God said no and I didn't listen.
And so I experienced what God already knew. Three years of feeling unworthy and used, in love with a boy who kissed me in private and ignored me in public. Three years of him avoiding me for months on end, because God told him to, and then the inevitable phone call. My own weakness.
I realize I'm still recovering from ignoring God. This trust thing is so hard. I'm watching one of my closest friends struggle with bitterness, because he still doesn't have a job. But I know that God hasn't forgotten him. I want to tell Farrah that if she trusts God with her heart, and learns to hear his voice, he will be like Dave and tell her in advance. But it's still up to us to believe him.
I would like to think that I have learned my lesson with relationships. I don't want to play russian roulette with my heart anymore. I need to hear God say, 'this is the way, walk in it'. I used to pray to be kept from doing things- I was always so eager to not be left behind, or miss out. But beginnings are too much for me now. I need God to tell me whether or not a middle or an end is necessary.
This past Wednesday, I spoke to high school about the levitical code. How pissed the Israelites must have been when Moses told them they couldn't eat pork or lobster, crab, squid and the like. They didn't know then the 30 different diseases pigs carry, or how they don't sweat, so the meat is filled with toxins. God didn't tell Moses that the fish he outlawed are water detoxifiers, so the impurities they clean from the water stay in their bodies, and are transmitted to us. He just told them and expected them to trust that he knew better. The ones that did lived two to three times longer than the average person. Still today, people that follow the levitical dietary code live ten to fifteen years longer than the rest of the world.
So, to the handful of blogspotters that follow this- trust him. As Alecia pointed out in her last beautiful blog- we have a banquet in front of us, but we still eat the trash. Oswald Chambers says the reason why we do not pray is because if we hear from God about a thing, we will have to tell him we will not do it, or do it. Both are terrifying.
But he does know, and he will tell us, warn us. God cares about our bodies, our hearts, our jobs.
I should end this more eloquently, but I have nothing else to say other than I love you guys.
Farrah breezed in.
"Kate! You're back! Thank God!" Farrah gave me a big hug. Her hair smelled like Herbal Essence and Coco Chanel.
Farrah is very sensual, very warm. She has big wavy brown hair, and these gorgeous cat green eyes that tilt up at the ends. She has a huge smile, this great raspy voice and curves for days. Farrah is that beautiful girl that dated older men in highschool, because she didn't know any better, but the men did. Cigarettes and alcohol and those men have aged her skin, and now she is more sexy than beautiful. But she still exudes a warmth and confidence I wish I had.
Before I left she had been on and off again with my friend, Frankie. I met Frankie on my first day at Westgate, almost five years ago. He's a super sweet, class clown type. He does the best, and I mean THE best impersonations of all of our bosses and managers. Frankie was one of the few guys I would hug at work. Most guys at my job are pretty sleazy, always making comments. Frankie has always been very vocal about complimenting me, but there was something more sweetly appreciative than suggestive. When Farrah started dating Frankie, I was really excited about it. I assured her that he was one of the best guys I'd met at our job. I'd left shortly after that.
"I have to go to the gym," Farrah complained, checking out her perfect reflection, "all I do is sit around all day with my man."
"Are you still with Frankie?" I asked, brushing on my mascara.
"We've been living together for three months." Farrah said, smoothing her hair.
"Congratulations, are you happy?" Our voices echoed in the empty marble room.
"Oh yeah, he's great. I love him." Farrah smiled at me, that great grin.
"I'm so happy for you." Farrah had had a rough life. She deserved to be with someone that made her happy.
I ran into Frankie that afternoon.
"Oh my God! Mami! You look so skinny!" Frankie twirled me around. "Don't you have a man to feed you?"
"Nope."
Frankie sighed dramatically. He does everything dramatically. "Only the white boys are going to look at you now, mami."
I saw Farrah as I was leaving work today.
"Hey honey," I gave her a hug, "how are you?"
"I've had better days." She said, waving her hand at me. Her middle finger was in a splint, wrapped in clear taping. Through it I could see her finger, bloody and swollen.
"What happened?"
"Frankie slammed it in a door way." Her gaze slid over to her little boy, Logan. Logan is about seven, and he was a few feet away on the stairs.
"Why?"
"Because he's fucking crazy, that's why. He's been beating the shit out of me for six months."
I looked down at her, aghast.
"Last night he locked me in the house for six hours, and beat me with a wet towel, so there wouldn't be any marks."
"Six months?" I asked.
"I'm so fucking stupid. That man has given me scars, bruises, he almost broke my arm last month. Thank God he hasn't done it around Logan." Farrah was talking very fast, very defiantly. "But I'm done, I'm done and if he ever so much as looks at me I'll fucking kill him."
"Farrah, I'm so sorry." I mumbled. "God, if Dave was here, he'd kill him."
"Dave told me, Dave sat me down and told me before we started dating. He did this to his last girlfriend, too. And I didn't listen. So, this is what I get. I'll see you later honey."
She picked up her son and walked off.
Dave was our boss, this big man wrestler-type that everyone lived in fear of. But he looked out for us, specifically the girls. He had left a few months ago, when half of the resort got fired.
I got in my car and tried to picture Frankie angry. I had never seen it. I tried to imagine what his face would look like, twisted in rage as it must have been. I tried to see him hitting Farrah, whipping her with a towel or slamming her hand in a door. I couldn't. I literally could not see it in my mind.
And I thought about this, over and over again:
"Are you still with Frankie?" I aked, brushing on my mascara.
"We've been living together for three months." Farrah said, smoothing her hair.
"Congratulations, are you happy?" Our voices echoed in the empty marble room.
"Oh yeah, he's great. I love him." Farrah smiled at me, that great grin.
My eyes are so weak, my awareness so small. I think that if Jenna had been in that bathroom with us, she would have known. She would have seen something in Farrah's eyes, the way she smiled. Jenna would have seen through her lies.
I remember when Farrah first told me about Frankie. The way her eyes lit up and that smile I adored spread across her face. I was excited for her. Beginnings used to be so exciting to me. Now, any beginning just seems treacherous. It's just a period of time where you don't really know anything at all.
I drove home and could feel my heart sinking. I hurt for Farrah, I put my hand against my chest and could feel pain. Life seems like such a dangerous thing lately. How do I know that I won't smile about a boy next week that will break my arm next year? Could I be so short sighted as to marry a man that would slam me into a wall, or crush me with his fist. I would say that I couldn't. But I still can't picture Frankie angry.
And then I remembered my God. What a precious thing we have in this relationship with Christ. In James it says that prayers for wisdom will always be answered, and that has been true in my life. If I prayed, he would tell me no. Maybe I wouldn't know why he was saying no, but if I trusted him I would walk away from that man. Maybe.
I fell in love when I was 20. I prayed about him and God said no. And I didn't understand why. He was an amazing Christian, he wasn't intimidated by me, he challenged me and made me laugh. God said no and I didn't listen.
And so I experienced what God already knew. Three years of feeling unworthy and used, in love with a boy who kissed me in private and ignored me in public. Three years of him avoiding me for months on end, because God told him to, and then the inevitable phone call. My own weakness.
I realize I'm still recovering from ignoring God. This trust thing is so hard. I'm watching one of my closest friends struggle with bitterness, because he still doesn't have a job. But I know that God hasn't forgotten him. I want to tell Farrah that if she trusts God with her heart, and learns to hear his voice, he will be like Dave and tell her in advance. But it's still up to us to believe him.
I would like to think that I have learned my lesson with relationships. I don't want to play russian roulette with my heart anymore. I need to hear God say, 'this is the way, walk in it'. I used to pray to be kept from doing things- I was always so eager to not be left behind, or miss out. But beginnings are too much for me now. I need God to tell me whether or not a middle or an end is necessary.
This past Wednesday, I spoke to high school about the levitical code. How pissed the Israelites must have been when Moses told them they couldn't eat pork or lobster, crab, squid and the like. They didn't know then the 30 different diseases pigs carry, or how they don't sweat, so the meat is filled with toxins. God didn't tell Moses that the fish he outlawed are water detoxifiers, so the impurities they clean from the water stay in their bodies, and are transmitted to us. He just told them and expected them to trust that he knew better. The ones that did lived two to three times longer than the average person. Still today, people that follow the levitical dietary code live ten to fifteen years longer than the rest of the world.
So, to the handful of blogspotters that follow this- trust him. As Alecia pointed out in her last beautiful blog- we have a banquet in front of us, but we still eat the trash. Oswald Chambers says the reason why we do not pray is because if we hear from God about a thing, we will have to tell him we will not do it, or do it. Both are terrifying.
But he does know, and he will tell us, warn us. God cares about our bodies, our hearts, our jobs.
I should end this more eloquently, but I have nothing else to say other than I love you guys.
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