(The song I listened to while writing.)
Why do I believe what I believe? Where does this faith come from? Richard Dawkins tells me it comes from a value passed on from my ancestors. Some people are programmed to believe in God, some are not. I won the faith lottery. Maybe. I guess anything is possible.
I look at my friends struggling with the God of the bible and Christ, and I don’t know how to struggle with them. I don’t think my faith is ignorant, but it is strong.
I have been thinking about why I believe, why I love. And the story of the Good Samaritan comes to mind. A man is bloodied on the side of the road and several people pass him. But the Good Samaritan stops and helps him and takes care of him. I wonder if that Good Samaritan was a wife beater or a murderer. I wonder if the beaten man would care, if anyone could ever talk him into believing the Good Samaritan wasn’t that good after all.
God, are you Good? I feel that you are, I think that you are. How do I ever know anything? Why do I believe at all?
I think God is my Good Samaritan. It doesn’t matter what other people tell me of Him/Her. He saved my life and I can feel Her love and so I’m here.
There is one memory that comes to mind when I think of why I love God. I hate going back to it. Those memories feel infectious, oscillating. Like there is something in them - then, that wants to be with me -now. The last time I wrote about it I caught a sickness. But I will go back now.
I am curled up on my bed, in my mothers art studio in New York. It is in the middle of the night, and I am awake, shaking. My stomach hurts and there is a new thing growing in me. The scale in my mothers bathroom tells secrets of hard work. It is the only thing about myself I am proud of. Every pound I lose is the equivalent of a year in jail, or like the slashes on my friends arm. And I want to pay my debt to the broken society I left behind. I will take my punishment and even though I do not have a razor or a jumpsuit, I have my thoughts, or Someone Elses thoughts, I don’t know. My eyes are wide awake in the dark and I am screaming: I am a Fuck Up. I am Going Insane. I am a Bad Friend, a Terrible Christian. I am Guilty. I am Ashamed. I am Disgusting. I Am Just Like My Mother.
My body aches and there is an inexplicable pain in my heart that deafens me, like a screaming mob in a cathedral and I can’t feel anything else. I can’t hear anything else. My breath comes in faster and the room is still dark but it is not empty. Time is suffocating me, it is dragging me along and the present is a murderer. Faces flash through my mind and I try to swallow all of their pain. It is the only thing I want to eat and it settles in my stomach. I put a hand over my mouth so I won’t scream it out. The room is dark but it is not empty.
This can’t be just me. My life stretches before me in minutes and years all the things that Could Happen and it burns and I don’t think I can bear it. I know that I am going somewhere dangerous. I think of my mother and how she felt before she pulled the trigger. Did she think these thoughts, too? My stepmother told me once that she killed herself because she had pain all over her body. The doctors could never find a reason for it and nothing worked and she couldn’t stand it. I didn’t think much of it then but now I wonder whose heart my mother broke. Or who hurt hers. I feel pain all over my body, too.
I sit up and the air feels viscous, it is weighing me down. This room is dangerous but I have nowhere to run. My heart is pounding, terrified. Maybe this was how my aunt felt, when she took a rope and went into the basement. Maybe she was wild with fear and just wanted to be done with it. I realize that it is not just death that connects me to the women in my life, but the very thoughts that bring us all there. But not me, not yet.
I close my eyes and pound my heart so it will shut up, shut up, shut up. And I feel like a child running around in the dark. There must be somewhere I can go, there must be some way to stop this. And so I run and pound on the only door I can think of.
I beg God to love me, to change me and fix me and to getmethefuckoutofhere. And he does. The accusations fade as the Spirit mumbles scripture. Beautiful moments slide behind my eyes: praying in a tree when I was seventeen; laughing with Jenna; listening to Tina sing…. The cathedral empties and it is just me and this ridiculous God. And all the philosophy in the world could not make me love Him less. He is Good to me and I am so sorry if He is not Good to you.
Are you my imaginary God? Why can’t you comfort my friends?
This story has repeated itself dozens of times in the past few months. In my own bedroom, in cars and at church, coffee shops and downtown lakes and grocery stores.
Am I tricking myself? Is this all just mental self help that I brand with the name of God? If so, I am stronger and stupider than I could ever imagine.
I don’t like hell. I don’t like absolutes or most Christians. I don’t like reading Joshua or 1 Timothy. But there are always things I don’t like about the people I love. I guess the same applies to God. And goddamn, I love this God I only know as a terrible mix of Wrath and Love. A God of just Wrath would approve of my mothers scale and my friends arm. A God of just Love, the one that so many people wax on about; the God of Passivity and Keeping it Cool. Like my friends father who let her smoke weed and have boyfriends sleep over when she was 13 and he was such a Cool Father and she Loved him for it. That is the God most people want, but that God broke my friend and I don’t think I trust him.
So I have a God of wrath and love. A God like Jenna who hurts me with truth because it will heal me later.
I only know this God by a pastor taking my hand at sixteen and telling me to pull away. I could not, and I started to panic and then he told me that this was like God. That He would never let me go and it terrified me and enraptured me. The idea of not being alone anymore was both blade and soft skin.
Maybe I just believe this lie because I don’t want to be alone. I can’t bear to believe I am totally, utterly alone. But that doesn’t make sense, I push Him away so often…
I only know the point of prayer because the friends I fought with I mostly kept, those I never argued and cried with I lost.
I only know intimacy when I am singing before God and it feels like the prelude to a kiss and I am still and breathless.
I only know naivety when I look at the world’s cruelties and really believe that it would be different if more Christians believed the words of Christ. But most days I cannot so I try to give the world a break.
I only know redemption by going into prayer ashamed and terrified of what I may find there. And every time, I find grace and a tender whisper and sometimes that is harder to hear than wrath.
Am I tricking myself? Telling myself words I don’t believe but I know subconsciously will help me? The voice of God is just my tender logic? But my logic is never warm. How can I slash at myself and then heal myself the next second? I guess I could…
But I only know grace through the last words of Christ. Why can’t those be my only words?
I only believe in the cross because I know forgiveness is not free. It is rarely easy, it is never a simple shrug or an effortless thought. Forgiveness is swallowing someone elses sin and it will kill you sometimes, like it killed Him.
I only know wisdom through Jordan telling me not to jump while waiting for the subway. He must have had good reasons.
I only know hope when I look at Jen and Tom and Guilherme and see those who will restore works of art, who will work with Christ to wipe the shit off of saints faces.
The language of Christ when speaking of the Holy Spirit: I leave with you a great counselor. Well, good. Because we are really fucked down here, God.
I only know faith because I woke up this morning and knew nothing could hurt me worse than myself. I kissed the mirror and my mothers picture, told my father I loved him and Christ that He did not die for nothing, in case He needed to hear it today and I know love.
I can’t be making all of this up. I love you, I love you, I love you. Oh God, please be Good.
Showing posts with label prayer. Show all posts
Showing posts with label prayer. Show all posts
Saturday, June 6, 2009
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Cool Water
I have a tattooish on my arm. In a house of writers, it took Bradford fifteen minutes to find a pen (oh technology) and then another few minutes to illegibly scrawl
HI
DRATE
NOW
You know you are close with your flatmates when they ask you about the frequency of your pee (Jenna never did this, and she loves pee. She writes about it all the time on her blog). I am forgetting to drink water, and so Bradford has reminded me.
And the idea of water has led me to a few other thoughts. Christ uses water more than any other analogy to represent himself. I wonder if this is lost on us, as we are not a desert people, and water is so accessible. I rarely remember feeling thirsty for more than a few minutes, because thirst is so easily quenched.
But it wasn't in the time of Christ. I would assume that food would have been slightly more accessible than water. And so I'm thinking about all of this in the context of why I don't pray, or make time for God. Or why I see my friends having a hard time being vulnerable with Christ. I think a bit of it comes down to expectations. I expect God to do things for me, help me, guide me, whatever. And not all of these expectations are wrong, but as Oswald Chambers says, when you want things from God, more than God Himself, you're fucked. Or something along those lines.
And so we have a lot of hunger pains. For love, for money, for security, adventure, excitement, fame, power. These are deep gnawing pains that keep us up at night. And so we hope that prayer will either give us those things or take the desire for them away completely. And I think we have all realized that it will not (most of the time). And so we slink our thoughts out of prayer and into fantasy or worry.
But here is the great thing I've discovered: Christ is like water when you are starving.
It doesn't satisfy exactly, it's not what you think you want. But it takes the edge of your pain away, it refreshes you for the time being. And, you can not eat for a month and survive. You are dead after a few days without water. I am spiritually dead after a few days of not praying, or being open with God. His water has run out of me, and I'm living out of a vague idea of what he maybe might want me to do, or doing whatever I please. And I'm missing a lot along the way. I am missing a lot of opportunities to encourage and be encouraged, I am missing God's warnings and his leadings, I am living a half-life.
I am consistently amazed at how I can go into prayer one person, and come out another. And I come out better. I am still hungry for things (although sometimes my hunger is taken away completely) but I am filled with the peace and love of Christ. I believe when he says "seek first the kingdom of God and all else will fall behind".
I wrote awhile ago about how anxiety should be considered hunger pains for God. I am coming back to that realization more and more. That just being in the presence of God, being reminded how the creator of the freaking universe wants to talk to me, is some beautiful stuff.
So, drink Christ. And breathe him in. And know that we both think your ass looks fabulous today.
HI
DRATE
NOW
You know you are close with your flatmates when they ask you about the frequency of your pee (Jenna never did this, and she loves pee. She writes about it all the time on her blog). I am forgetting to drink water, and so Bradford has reminded me.
And the idea of water has led me to a few other thoughts. Christ uses water more than any other analogy to represent himself. I wonder if this is lost on us, as we are not a desert people, and water is so accessible. I rarely remember feeling thirsty for more than a few minutes, because thirst is so easily quenched.
But it wasn't in the time of Christ. I would assume that food would have been slightly more accessible than water. And so I'm thinking about all of this in the context of why I don't pray, or make time for God. Or why I see my friends having a hard time being vulnerable with Christ. I think a bit of it comes down to expectations. I expect God to do things for me, help me, guide me, whatever. And not all of these expectations are wrong, but as Oswald Chambers says, when you want things from God, more than God Himself, you're fucked. Or something along those lines.
And so we have a lot of hunger pains. For love, for money, for security, adventure, excitement, fame, power. These are deep gnawing pains that keep us up at night. And so we hope that prayer will either give us those things or take the desire for them away completely. And I think we have all realized that it will not (most of the time). And so we slink our thoughts out of prayer and into fantasy or worry.
But here is the great thing I've discovered: Christ is like water when you are starving.
It doesn't satisfy exactly, it's not what you think you want. But it takes the edge of your pain away, it refreshes you for the time being. And, you can not eat for a month and survive. You are dead after a few days without water. I am spiritually dead after a few days of not praying, or being open with God. His water has run out of me, and I'm living out of a vague idea of what he maybe might want me to do, or doing whatever I please. And I'm missing a lot along the way. I am missing a lot of opportunities to encourage and be encouraged, I am missing God's warnings and his leadings, I am living a half-life.
I am consistently amazed at how I can go into prayer one person, and come out another. And I come out better. I am still hungry for things (although sometimes my hunger is taken away completely) but I am filled with the peace and love of Christ. I believe when he says "seek first the kingdom of God and all else will fall behind".
I wrote awhile ago about how anxiety should be considered hunger pains for God. I am coming back to that realization more and more. That just being in the presence of God, being reminded how the creator of the freaking universe wants to talk to me, is some beautiful stuff.
So, drink Christ. And breathe him in. And know that we both think your ass looks fabulous today.
Monday, March 23, 2009
The Hierophant and the Hanged Man
Trying to plan events on Valentines Day is like dancing your way across a minefield. Who can be in a room together? Who likes who? Who will misinterpret the guest list? Zombie movie or vampire? Decisions to be made.
After roladexing through several people that fateful day, I finally settled on Kiersten Mitchell, Sean Dey and Jenn. We decided to watch the most wonderful valentines day movie ever: American Movie. Epic. Truly.
Sean is his usual two hours late. Jenn is getting romantic with House reruns in her bedroom. Keirsten comes over promptly on time and I fall in love all over again.
Keirsten is a mix between Natalie Portman and Blossom (looks like Natalie, dresses like Blossom). She has on jean shorts with tights, a tee shirt and high tops. She’s also rocking a huge pair of black nerd glasses on top of her perfect nose.
Keirsten is a natural hippie, floating through life in bright colors and flowy skirts and all the serenity you can handle. She likes to garden and play guitar and has the sweetest, most gentle manner of speaking. I just pretty much love everything about her.
“Hiiiiiiiii.” She sings, her lovely voice floating through my house. “I brought my tarot cards.”
Keirsten is a beginning psychic and it is the best thing in the world. Because she’s kind of just starting her psychic journey, so sometimes she gets confused about goddesses and seasons and says ‘oh fuck it!’ in that wonderful voice.
We take our generous helpings of single-girl-red-wine and sit down at the table on my front porch. Keirsten takes out her tarot cards and shuffles through.
I feel a pang of discomfort. I had tarot cards in high school when I was a practicing Wiccan, and got rid of them shortly after becoming a Christian. I am not quite sure how I feel about them. Especially after the last few months.
I look behind me to the couch on the other end of my porch. I remember sitting there one night, a few months ago, reading scripture and trying to keep a panic attack at bay. I felt like my heart was wrapped in ice, like something was going to kill me any second and my body was trying desperately to warn me. The bible was shaking in my hands and the words were blurry. I could only think one thing: iamgoingtodieiamgoingtodieiamgoingtodie-
Jenn came out onto the porch and sat across from me. I didn’t say anything to her.
She shivered and stood up. “Do you feel that? It feels….terrible out here. I’m putting on some worship music.” Jenn walked into the house.
I left immediately, terrified and guilty that I had brought some sort of demonic spirit into our house.
But, not all spirits are evil. As Keirsten shuffles I begin praying that only nice, sweet, kind, well-dressed spirits talk to Keirsten. As I pray a card falls out, face up. It is The Devil.
“Great.”
Keirsten picks it up. “You know, that card doesn’t actually mean something bad.”
“Well then it’s horrible marketing.”
“Is there anything specific you want to know?” Kiersten asks, placing the cards in three piles. “Romance, money, job stuff?”
A story from the Old Testament floats up from my memory. Something about a king consulting with a psychic and God getting super pissed that the king didn’t just ask Him. I shrug. “Nah, maybe just a general one.”
She puts the first card.
“That’s you.” Keirsten says. “It’s the heirophant, a woman who is wise but constricted by the people around her.”
She places the next card across the first.
“This card represents your difficulties, your obstacles.”
She puts down another card.
“Wonderful,” I say.
"This represents your fears. Whatever you are the most afraid of, is what ummm..."
"What?"
"Is happening now, or will. Or something." She lays down another card quickly.
"I think she represents the past- success, money, happiness...but I'm not sure..."
"This represents traveling, or some journey, but it's in the place where your finances are supposed to be...hmmm.."
"Well, that's good. That's where you end up."
She then lays four cards in a straight line going down next to these.
My stomach lurches.
“That’s interesting.” Kiersten mumbles.
“What?”
“The Devil card, it’s in the place that signifies what you fear. You’re afraid of the devil?”
“Not thrilled with him.”
Kiersten looks at the other cards. “Ummm….well, this one means, uhh-“ She rummages through her purse for the little booklet that comes with the tarot cards. She points to the blindfolded person. “This represents the past, anguish, solitude, fear. And.. ummm…”
“What does this one mean?” I ask, pointing to card of a boy holding a cup.
“I think, I think that’s supposed to represent your family, but it can’t be. If it does represent your family...hmmm…but that one really should not have come up…”
She flips through the booklet for another few minutes. I sip my wine.
“Oh fuck it!” She sighs, throwing the book down. “I really need to get better at this shit.”
See, she is the greatest, I told you.
“Let me try another way,” Keirsten says.
“Wait. I’ll tell you what I see.” I look at the cards, and it seems very clear to me. “The heirophant is me, Christ is over me, protecting me. I’m trying to view everything through his eyes right now and not mine. This woman is what I used to be, I used to be very strong. The man with knives is what Christ is protecting me from. From myself. And this man riding away represents people that are leaving me. But this other woman over here, the strength card, that’s me, soon. And she’s strong, and she’s alone, but okay with it. And the devil can kiss my ass.”
“See, you are intuitive!” Keirsten smiles happily. “Sometimes you sense things in the cards, sometimes you don’t. It’s hard for me to give readings for people I know.”
I look at the cards and they make me very sad. I pick up the man riding away and smile at him.
“Let me try for you.” I shuffle the rest of the cards. I ask for the spirit to speak through the tarot cards. I cut the deck into three piles and touch my finger tips to each one. I am trying to see if I feel a pull towards one over the other.
I settle on the slimmest pile. I pick it up and move the other two to the side. I lay down the first card.
I lay down the second card.
“Wow.” Keirsten breathes.
“I think that means you should come the fuck back to church.” I say, with all the psychic wisdom I can muster.
The next card is the moon and the stars. Then a priest surrounded by material things.
“Okay, this is what you think Christianity is. Stuff that holds you back and clutters your way. The sun and moon card represents where you are going now, to something pure and simple. But I think Christ is there too, in fact, I think he would rather be there, then where you have left him.”
I point to a card showing two people talking. “I think this means that someone is going to try to control you in some manner. I don’t have a good feeling about it. But I think it’s still connected to spiritual things. Your mother maybe.”
“My father.” Keirsten nods.
“Maybe I should be a tarot card reader for Jesus.”
Keirsten laughs at me. “You could probably get away with it.”
Sean makes his grand entrance just then. Keirsten decides to practice some more on him, and I can hear her frustrated, sweet curses from my kitchen.
~~~~~~~
I hung out with Keirsten tonight, talking tarot, and she let it slip how much she hates getting the devil card. My response: Why? I thought it didn't mean anything bad?
"Oh, ummm, well. Actually it represents evil and suspicion, I just didn't want to upset you."
Un.Be.Leivable.
After roladexing through several people that fateful day, I finally settled on Kiersten Mitchell, Sean Dey and Jenn. We decided to watch the most wonderful valentines day movie ever: American Movie. Epic. Truly.
Sean is his usual two hours late. Jenn is getting romantic with House reruns in her bedroom. Keirsten comes over promptly on time and I fall in love all over again.
Keirsten is a mix between Natalie Portman and Blossom (looks like Natalie, dresses like Blossom). She has on jean shorts with tights, a tee shirt and high tops. She’s also rocking a huge pair of black nerd glasses on top of her perfect nose.
Keirsten is a natural hippie, floating through life in bright colors and flowy skirts and all the serenity you can handle. She likes to garden and play guitar and has the sweetest, most gentle manner of speaking. I just pretty much love everything about her.
“Hiiiiiiiii.” She sings, her lovely voice floating through my house. “I brought my tarot cards.”
Keirsten is a beginning psychic and it is the best thing in the world. Because she’s kind of just starting her psychic journey, so sometimes she gets confused about goddesses and seasons and says ‘oh fuck it!’ in that wonderful voice.
We take our generous helpings of single-girl-red-wine and sit down at the table on my front porch. Keirsten takes out her tarot cards and shuffles through.
I feel a pang of discomfort. I had tarot cards in high school when I was a practicing Wiccan, and got rid of them shortly after becoming a Christian. I am not quite sure how I feel about them. Especially after the last few months.
I look behind me to the couch on the other end of my porch. I remember sitting there one night, a few months ago, reading scripture and trying to keep a panic attack at bay. I felt like my heart was wrapped in ice, like something was going to kill me any second and my body was trying desperately to warn me. The bible was shaking in my hands and the words were blurry. I could only think one thing: iamgoingtodieiamgoingtodieiamgoingtodie-
Jenn came out onto the porch and sat across from me. I didn’t say anything to her.
She shivered and stood up. “Do you feel that? It feels….terrible out here. I’m putting on some worship music.” Jenn walked into the house.
I left immediately, terrified and guilty that I had brought some sort of demonic spirit into our house.
But, not all spirits are evil. As Keirsten shuffles I begin praying that only nice, sweet, kind, well-dressed spirits talk to Keirsten. As I pray a card falls out, face up. It is The Devil.
“Great.”
Keirsten picks it up. “You know, that card doesn’t actually mean something bad.”
“Well then it’s horrible marketing.”
“Is there anything specific you want to know?” Kiersten asks, placing the cards in three piles. “Romance, money, job stuff?”
A story from the Old Testament floats up from my memory. Something about a king consulting with a psychic and God getting super pissed that the king didn’t just ask Him. I shrug. “Nah, maybe just a general one.”
She puts the first card.
“That’s you.” Keirsten says. “It’s the heirophant, a woman who is wise but constricted by the people around her.”
She places the next card across the first.
“This card represents your difficulties, your obstacles.”
She puts down another card.
“Wonderful,” I say.
"This represents your fears. Whatever you are the most afraid of, is what ummm..."
"What?"
"Is happening now, or will. Or something." She lays down another card quickly.
"I think she represents the past- success, money, happiness...but I'm not sure..."
"This represents traveling, or some journey, but it's in the place where your finances are supposed to be...hmmm.."
"Well, that's good. That's where you end up."
She then lays four cards in a straight line going down next to these.
My stomach lurches.
“That’s interesting.” Kiersten mumbles.
“What?”
“The Devil card, it’s in the place that signifies what you fear. You’re afraid of the devil?”
“Not thrilled with him.”
Kiersten looks at the other cards. “Ummm….well, this one means, uhh-“ She rummages through her purse for the little booklet that comes with the tarot cards. She points to the blindfolded person. “This represents the past, anguish, solitude, fear. And.. ummm…”
“What does this one mean?” I ask, pointing to card of a boy holding a cup.
“I think, I think that’s supposed to represent your family, but it can’t be. If it does represent your family...hmmm…but that one really should not have come up…”
She flips through the booklet for another few minutes. I sip my wine.
“Oh fuck it!” She sighs, throwing the book down. “I really need to get better at this shit.”
See, she is the greatest, I told you.
“Let me try another way,” Keirsten says.
“Wait. I’ll tell you what I see.” I look at the cards, and it seems very clear to me. “The heirophant is me, Christ is over me, protecting me. I’m trying to view everything through his eyes right now and not mine. This woman is what I used to be, I used to be very strong. The man with knives is what Christ is protecting me from. From myself. And this man riding away represents people that are leaving me. But this other woman over here, the strength card, that’s me, soon. And she’s strong, and she’s alone, but okay with it. And the devil can kiss my ass.”
“See, you are intuitive!” Keirsten smiles happily. “Sometimes you sense things in the cards, sometimes you don’t. It’s hard for me to give readings for people I know.”
I look at the cards and they make me very sad. I pick up the man riding away and smile at him.
“Let me try for you.” I shuffle the rest of the cards. I ask for the spirit to speak through the tarot cards. I cut the deck into three piles and touch my finger tips to each one. I am trying to see if I feel a pull towards one over the other.
I settle on the slimmest pile. I pick it up and move the other two to the side. I lay down the first card.
I lay down the second card.
“Wow.” Keirsten breathes.
“I think that means you should come the fuck back to church.” I say, with all the psychic wisdom I can muster.
The next card is the moon and the stars. Then a priest surrounded by material things.
“Okay, this is what you think Christianity is. Stuff that holds you back and clutters your way. The sun and moon card represents where you are going now, to something pure and simple. But I think Christ is there too, in fact, I think he would rather be there, then where you have left him.”
I point to a card showing two people talking. “I think this means that someone is going to try to control you in some manner. I don’t have a good feeling about it. But I think it’s still connected to spiritual things. Your mother maybe.”
“My father.” Keirsten nods.
“Maybe I should be a tarot card reader for Jesus.”
Keirsten laughs at me. “You could probably get away with it.”
Sean makes his grand entrance just then. Keirsten decides to practice some more on him, and I can hear her frustrated, sweet curses from my kitchen.
~~~~~~~
I hung out with Keirsten tonight, talking tarot, and she let it slip how much she hates getting the devil card. My response: Why? I thought it didn't mean anything bad?
"Oh, ummm, well. Actually it represents evil and suspicion, I just didn't want to upset you."
Un.Be.Leivable.
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.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
prayer shuffle
Today. Hmmm. I hate when days are bad, without there being an exact reason for them being bad. Nothing happened, I met with people that I loved and I did things that I like...but it was still just bad.
I got in my car tonight, I turned on my IPOD shuffle, and I told God that I needed a song.
Previous to this, I was praying about my job, and how worried I am with it. But even with me being anxious about that, I was still so hesitant to ask God for help. I felt bad asking God to help me succeed at my job. Disappointment is the worst emotion in the world to me. So I realize that I would rather expect nothing from people, and nothing from God, so that I don't have to feel it. My prayers consist of only spiritual gifts- compassion, love, gentleness. Things I am positive that God wants me to have. I don't pray for jobs, or money or physical things. I don't want to risk disappointment, and because of that, I don't risk anything.
I have fought so hard to purge a contractional relationship with God from my mind. I don't want to think that just because I'm a Christian that means I'll have a great life- a perfect husband and family and job. It's so easy to let that theology creep in and poison me. I want to love God only for him, not what he has the ability to give me. I have to know that I will care for God even if I live on the streets and I'm alone. That is real faith, to still trust God with all that. But with that knowledge has now come my belief that God almost wills those things for me. And maybe I will be alone, maybe I will lose my house and everything I have, but sometimes I don't even consider the other options. Perhaps God does will for me to love and be loved, perhaps I could be wealthy and be wise with that. So tonight for the first time in awhile I prayed something that I very much needed God to answer.
Tonight I could feel myself falling- I could feel a tide creeping towards me. So I told God that I needed him to give me a song. I needed to know that he saw me, and that he loved me, and that he had something for me in this very moment.
My Ipod went to Unknown Artist, Track 5. The music started playing and in my head, I was already trying to justify maybe shuffling around a bit. Or laughing the whole thing off as me just being silly, and how I should be fine whether he gave me a song or not. I was already trying to stifle even a hint of disappointment.
And this is what began playing. It's called 'Drown' by my favorite band, House of Heroes (which I imported incorrectly, hence what came up on my Ipod). I couldn't find a video on you tube, but here are the lyrics.
The water's at our knees
It's rising while we speculate to its existing
Sinking merrily
Invincible, convinced no warning is worth heeding
The ocean deep and black
That seemed so shallow
Pulls me under
I'm not giving up that easy
I'm not giving up on anything
Long as I have lungs still breathing
Learn to swim
Before we drown
Come, come one and all
And sacrifice your pride to find a new beginning
Open up your ears
And eyes to see our minds are still in need of changing
If we knew the truth
Would we even care at all
Or be pulled under
I'm not giving up that easy
I'm not giving up on anything
Long as I have lungs still breathing
Learn to swim
Before we drown
Grant us grace to change our minds
I listened to the song and I didn't feel anything. I didn't get excited or in awe. I didn't feel God. But that was okay, because even though I wasn't capable of having an emotional reaction, I still knew that this was the most perfect song for me. I prayed a selfish prayer, and he was loving enough to answer it. The next few songs were wonderful as well-
to finish off was India Arie's "Video Girl"
Perfect. Thanks God.
I got in my car tonight, I turned on my IPOD shuffle, and I told God that I needed a song.
Previous to this, I was praying about my job, and how worried I am with it. But even with me being anxious about that, I was still so hesitant to ask God for help. I felt bad asking God to help me succeed at my job. Disappointment is the worst emotion in the world to me. So I realize that I would rather expect nothing from people, and nothing from God, so that I don't have to feel it. My prayers consist of only spiritual gifts- compassion, love, gentleness. Things I am positive that God wants me to have. I don't pray for jobs, or money or physical things. I don't want to risk disappointment, and because of that, I don't risk anything.
I have fought so hard to purge a contractional relationship with God from my mind. I don't want to think that just because I'm a Christian that means I'll have a great life- a perfect husband and family and job. It's so easy to let that theology creep in and poison me. I want to love God only for him, not what he has the ability to give me. I have to know that I will care for God even if I live on the streets and I'm alone. That is real faith, to still trust God with all that. But with that knowledge has now come my belief that God almost wills those things for me. And maybe I will be alone, maybe I will lose my house and everything I have, but sometimes I don't even consider the other options. Perhaps God does will for me to love and be loved, perhaps I could be wealthy and be wise with that. So tonight for the first time in awhile I prayed something that I very much needed God to answer.
Tonight I could feel myself falling- I could feel a tide creeping towards me. So I told God that I needed him to give me a song. I needed to know that he saw me, and that he loved me, and that he had something for me in this very moment.
My Ipod went to Unknown Artist, Track 5. The music started playing and in my head, I was already trying to justify maybe shuffling around a bit. Or laughing the whole thing off as me just being silly, and how I should be fine whether he gave me a song or not. I was already trying to stifle even a hint of disappointment.
And this is what began playing. It's called 'Drown' by my favorite band, House of Heroes (which I imported incorrectly, hence what came up on my Ipod). I couldn't find a video on you tube, but here are the lyrics.
The water's at our knees
It's rising while we speculate to its existing
Sinking merrily
Invincible, convinced no warning is worth heeding
The ocean deep and black
That seemed so shallow
Pulls me under
I'm not giving up that easy
I'm not giving up on anything
Long as I have lungs still breathing
Learn to swim
Before we drown
Come, come one and all
And sacrifice your pride to find a new beginning
Open up your ears
And eyes to see our minds are still in need of changing
If we knew the truth
Would we even care at all
Or be pulled under
I'm not giving up that easy
I'm not giving up on anything
Long as I have lungs still breathing
Learn to swim
Before we drown
Grant us grace to change our minds
I listened to the song and I didn't feel anything. I didn't get excited or in awe. I didn't feel God. But that was okay, because even though I wasn't capable of having an emotional reaction, I still knew that this was the most perfect song for me. I prayed a selfish prayer, and he was loving enough to answer it. The next few songs were wonderful as well-
to finish off was India Arie's "Video Girl"
Perfect. Thanks God.
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