As my fourth year of college begins to wind down to a close and the grains of sand dwindle through the hour glass of my undergraduate career, I begin to reflect upon my life.
I wonder if I've lived each day to the fullest. I wonder if I can be proud of what I've accomplished. Then I wonder why you can't understand what snuffalufagus is saying? Man, that gets me. I was annoyed when I was 6 and I'm annoyed now, when I'm... older than six. But I digress...
I wonder if I've had much of a life. I wonder if I've enjoyed much of the "college experience". Now, now, before you get all in a tither, let me qualify my last sentence. I was a veritable commuter student my first year of college, so that was little more than another 12 months of High School.
I guess I did have a lot of fun my first year here at Baylor. But that was fun in the Super-Christian summer-camp kind of way. It was very much a blur of "Hi! My name is Neil. No, I'm not interrested in going to Antioch"'s, evenings in Spencer's room, gawkings at the beautiful Baylor girls, "yes, I am Catholic"'s, caffeine consumptions at Common Grounds and WWJD bracelets. It was an awesome time.
Then the last few years, I've been a Community Leader (CL), which is Baylor's version of a highly over-trained RA. Being a CL has been a labor of love. Its never been easy, but its never been hard. I do not regret a second I've spent on this hall, a moment of sleep I've lost because a guy needs to watch the History Channel at 5 in the morning for a class project or a dollar I've wasted on pizza for two. No, I promise you all that I'm quite thankful for the opportunity to do so. Being a CL is the greatest thing the Lord has allowed me to do with my life.
But all that being said, it has taken up a bit of my time. And while I honestly mean it when I say that I regret nothing (much to the contrary), it has taken up a bit of my time. My life has not been the same as that of the average Baylor student. I've not yet had to worry about horrible roommates, or paying rent. I've never suffered from an inconsiderate landlord or wanted for playmates. I haven't had to deal with seeing people day after day that I'll never get to talk to or get to know because they moved out of the Residence Halls for the expressed purpose of not having to deal with Howdy-Doody Olive-Branch-Weilding Tools like myself.
On the other side of the coin, I've never been to more than three or four parties. And if you're only counting parties that've included alcohol, even less. I've never really taken part in much debauchery at all. I've never really gone clubbin'. I've never really done any of those things. Now, I've never exactly been beholden to that kind of stuff. But it would be deception upon my part if I put forth the idea that I'd never even thought about it.
So anyone who really knows me is probably thinking "Okay, Neil. What brought this up and where is this going?". Well, here it is.
Thursday, I decided to experiment.
In the southwest corner of the Brooks Hall courtyard is what has come to be known as "the smoking club". I always enter the Hall from the door in that corner, so I've kinda come to know those guys. I always have a comment for them or something. Well, Thursday was a good day. I was feeling a bit saucy, so I decided sit down chill out with them. For some reason or other, they were talking about dip. They asked me if I'd tried it. Well, I've been lying for years about whether or not I'd tried it. But I never had. So I figured: "what the heck? Worst that could happen is, I puke.". You all should have seen the look on their face when I said "sure" to them.
Anyways, so I try it.
As you may or may not know. "Dip" is basically rough cut tobacco with pieces of fiberglass mixed into it that you wad up and stick in your cheek. The fiberglass is added to it to cut the inside of your cheek so that the nicotene would more easily be absorbed into one's bloodstream. All I know about Dip is that you, under NO circumstances, swallow your spit.
So I'm chewing, spitting, spitting, chewing and all of a sudden it hits me like a tennis racket to the face. The "Buzz". I get light-headed and dizzy. I keep going... but yeah, its a lot. I get asked "dude, Neil, are you F'd up?"
"uh, huh?... oh, um, yeah... maybe. Perhaps... grrrroooan maybe... yes." I mumble.
"You can spit that sh*t out if you want. It's totally cool." Chris Churchey informed me.
"Um, yeah... [spit]... yeah um... [spit] maybe thats uh... [spit] uh good idea." And I chunked that crap as far as my chubby little fingers could send it. "Um, guys? Do you think maybe somebody could let me in? I'm a little dis... disory... awe you know what i'm trying to say, one of you jerks let me in. I gotta lay down."
So I went upstairs to the bathroom and sat for a while, trying to gain control of my head. I was completely vulnerable. If someone was ever going to come up and give me an atomic wedgie... that totally would have been the moment for them to try it. So anyways, as I was upstairs in the bathroom, swishing my mouth out and spitting constantly when one of my residents walks in and asks "Neil, you okay man?"
"Huh, what do you mean?" I stammered as I tried to smile. As I say this, I look up at the mirror to see a pastey pale face somewhat resembling my own.
So, I go lay down, proud I've finally experimented.
Saturday, April 24, 2004
Saturday, April 17, 2004
Have angst, will travel
Hello, my friends.
I have a problem. Lately, I've had nothing to write about. Between my reading about the Cubs, the end of the year coming up and the different possibilities of a Graduate Assistantship, I'm afraid I've not allowed my mind much room to wander, or wonder as the case may be. ;)
And lately, whenever I do come up with a thought I'd like to write about, it seems as though I wear out my angst before I finish. (Something you probably could have figured out by the crappiness of my last couple of posts)
So basically, I'm asking for a prompt, or a question. Anything. Help me out, y'all.
Most sincerely,
Neil Golemo
I have a problem. Lately, I've had nothing to write about. Between my reading about the Cubs, the end of the year coming up and the different possibilities of a Graduate Assistantship, I'm afraid I've not allowed my mind much room to wander, or wonder as the case may be. ;)
And lately, whenever I do come up with a thought I'd like to write about, it seems as though I wear out my angst before I finish. (Something you probably could have figured out by the crappiness of my last couple of posts)
So basically, I'm asking for a prompt, or a question. Anything. Help me out, y'all.
Most sincerely,
Neil Golemo
Tuesday, April 13, 2004
Jesus and Baseball... An Easter Story
The other day was Easter.
As I was growing up, every year, around this time, I would hear my father explain to my brother, sisters and myself how "this is the most important holiday of the year... even more important than Christmas and Pulaski Day. [Insert knowing smile and a wink]" (My dad's so Polish, he burps and kolaches fly out... or not)
I completely understand why it is my father felt this way. Easter Sunday is the day Jesus triumphed. I've heard the stories, I've read the stories, I've seen the movie. Easter kicks Christmas's butt. Think about it... Jesus rises from the dead in one hand <==> Mary gives birth. Hmm, which one is more unusual?
But I will say this about Easter. Its kind of anti-climactic. Isn't it? I mean think about it. Throughout the entire Bible, we keep hearing about how this guy is going to come and do some crazy stuff. Then he does the crazy stuff. Then... what?
Going through Lent, which, I think is my favorite time of the year, and then seeing Easter elicits a weird feeling. Its like you know something big is happening... but you're not sure what it is.
I remember one time when I was little, I was listening to a Cubs game on the radio. [Yes, folks, yet another baseball metaphor.] It was the bottom of the 8th and Ryne Sandberg, the great Cubs 2nd baseman, had hit a home-run, a double and a bloop-single. That's right, folks. He had a chance to do what, literally, only a handful of men had ever done in the entire history of Major League Baseball. Hit for the "Cycle". Which is, to hit a single, a double, a triple and a Home-run in ONE game.
Ryne Sandberg steps up to the plate. Strike one!
Fart!
Strike two
Stink!
The third pitch comes and I hear the announcer yelp: "OMIGOD, OMIGOD!"
Harry Caray slurs: "huuuu-it could be... huuuuu-it might be.... Sandberg is on his huuu-orse!, he rounds first as the right fielder scrambles to the corner for the ba- ho my! He's rounding second! Here comes the throw.... hhhhhh-he's in thar! He did it! He did it! Holy Cow he did it!"
Now, I'm not exactly sure how to describe the feeling as I heard this. I could tell from the initial "Omigod" that whatever was happening, it was big. But I didn't know exactly what it was. The whole Easter season is kind of like that for me. We know something big is coming and we pretty much know from the crack of the bat what it is... but we're not exactly sure about the what, the where or the why.
And don't forget, this was only the 8th inning. There was still a whole inning yet to play. There was still work to do. How was anyone on the field supposed to be serious after that? This huge thing has just happened and you're expected to keep going as though nothing happened?
If you think that's crazy, how much worse must it have been in the days after Christ ascended into heaven? I'm talking about the days after the initial shock and awe had worn off. After the "afterglow" had begun to fade. How were the disciples able to deal with the fact that they were "it" for a while? I can tell you this Yankee would be a little overwhelmed. Guess its a good thing I was born now, no?
Anyways, that was just a thought.
As I was growing up, every year, around this time, I would hear my father explain to my brother, sisters and myself how "this is the most important holiday of the year... even more important than Christmas and Pulaski Day. [Insert knowing smile and a wink]" (My dad's so Polish, he burps and kolaches fly out... or not)
I completely understand why it is my father felt this way. Easter Sunday is the day Jesus triumphed. I've heard the stories, I've read the stories, I've seen the movie. Easter kicks Christmas's butt. Think about it... Jesus rises from the dead in one hand <==> Mary gives birth. Hmm, which one is more unusual?
But I will say this about Easter. Its kind of anti-climactic. Isn't it? I mean think about it. Throughout the entire Bible, we keep hearing about how this guy is going to come and do some crazy stuff. Then he does the crazy stuff. Then... what?
Going through Lent, which, I think is my favorite time of the year, and then seeing Easter elicits a weird feeling. Its like you know something big is happening... but you're not sure what it is.
I remember one time when I was little, I was listening to a Cubs game on the radio. [Yes, folks, yet another baseball metaphor.] It was the bottom of the 8th and Ryne Sandberg, the great Cubs 2nd baseman, had hit a home-run, a double and a bloop-single. That's right, folks. He had a chance to do what, literally, only a handful of men had ever done in the entire history of Major League Baseball. Hit for the "Cycle". Which is, to hit a single, a double, a triple and a Home-run in ONE game.
Ryne Sandberg steps up to the plate. Strike one!
Fart!
Strike two
Stink!
The third pitch comes and I hear the announcer yelp: "OMIGOD, OMIGOD!"
Harry Caray slurs: "huuuu-it could be... huuuuu-it might be.... Sandberg is on his huuu-orse!, he rounds first as the right fielder scrambles to the corner for the ba- ho my! He's rounding second! Here comes the throw.... hhhhhh-he's in thar! He did it! He did it! Holy Cow he did it!"
Now, I'm not exactly sure how to describe the feeling as I heard this. I could tell from the initial "Omigod" that whatever was happening, it was big. But I didn't know exactly what it was. The whole Easter season is kind of like that for me. We know something big is coming and we pretty much know from the crack of the bat what it is... but we're not exactly sure about the what, the where or the why.
And don't forget, this was only the 8th inning. There was still a whole inning yet to play. There was still work to do. How was anyone on the field supposed to be serious after that? This huge thing has just happened and you're expected to keep going as though nothing happened?
If you think that's crazy, how much worse must it have been in the days after Christ ascended into heaven? I'm talking about the days after the initial shock and awe had worn off. After the "afterglow" had begun to fade. How were the disciples able to deal with the fact that they were "it" for a while? I can tell you this Yankee would be a little overwhelmed. Guess its a good thing I was born now, no?
Anyways, that was just a thought.
Tuesday, April 06, 2004
On a roll...
Who's to say human beings aren't in possession of the fabled "6th Sense"?
Have you ever been thinking about a friend you haven't talked to in a while only to receive a phone call from them minutes later? Have you ever had a song you haven't heard in years stuck in your head only to have it come on the radio? We've all shared those weird, yet strangely comfortable moments where you seem to share one brain.
Well, my friends. I'm here to tell you I'm a believer.
My last post spoke of my pissing people off. I believe that I have psychic capabilities.
In the last four days...
I've lost my patience for the first time all year with a few of my residents.
Jerk
I've insulted a good friend by calling him a hypocrite for doing something he was really doing out of regard for my feelings.
Punk
I've offended not one, but two, ex-girlfriends.
Schmuck
I've abused my body by forgetting to eat and staying up too late. Now I'm sick and completely slacking at my job.
Moron
I've been curt with my fellow staff members, and shirked responsibilities.
Fool
I've harbored angry thoughts against people I love and care about completely out of jealousy.
Butt-head
I had the gumption to rain on a dear friend's parade when she was giving me awesome news about herself and how she's finally gotten a chance at something she so clearly deserves by changing the subject to what's going on with me, in my life. I was unable to be happy for her because all I could see was how the situation was going to affect me.
Freaking Jackass
I've disappointed my father.
Crap-head
I've asked God to look the other way because "I'm going through some crap".
Not cool
The worst thing I can say about our recent actions is that I did them with almost full knowledge of what I was doing. I saw myself sucking happiness out of the atmosphere, and I allowed it.
I've had friends that say "We all have rough times, Neil. It's okay". But I've never been okay with "okay". I so treasure the people in my life. They are what matters in life. Its not how much money I make or what car I drive. Its not what books I've read or what my major is or where I'm graduating in my class. Its how I treat my fellow children of God, that matters.
So if I know this, then why do I keep screwing up? Why should I tolerate it? Why should anyone else? I know, I know. This is where Missy or Beth would tell me I'm being too hard on myself. This is where my mom would tell me to get down off my cross because someone needs the wood. But its so hard for me to forgive myself. I hate that I can do this to my friends. I hate that they trust me and I hurt them.
In moments of total confusion, my friend Daren would ask me this question: "So, uh, Neil. Whaddya think Paul has to say about it?"
Hebrews 8:12 "For I will forgive their wickedness and will remember their sins no more."
Col 2:13 "When you were dead in your sins and in the uncircumcision of your sinful nature, God made you alive with Christ. He forgave us all our sins."
About this point my father would start explaining to me how I'm being a jerk. If God sees fit to forgive me, but I don't, I'm contradicting the Lord. Where do I get off thinking I know better than the creator of ALL THAT IS?
Ahh, I do it all the time.
I'm sorry. I don't know what my problem is. I can't say that this "isn't me" because it really is. I'm weak. Is this the part of me that's usually rearing its ugly head? No, thank-GOD, its not. (Not this particular ugly head, anyway).
I'm sorry. I don't know how to fix it. But I do know what to do.
I need to hit my knees and thank the Lord for such amazing friends who'll swallow a plate-full of abuse and come back for seconds. I need to thank the Lord for his never-ending forgiveness. There's not a sin I could commit that hasn't already been wiped clean by the blood shed by his Son. I'm so thankful for that.
As for the forgiving myself part, I'm working on it... baby steps y'all, baby steps.
Have you ever been thinking about a friend you haven't talked to in a while only to receive a phone call from them minutes later? Have you ever had a song you haven't heard in years stuck in your head only to have it come on the radio? We've all shared those weird, yet strangely comfortable moments where you seem to share one brain.
Well, my friends. I'm here to tell you I'm a believer.
My last post spoke of my pissing people off. I believe that I have psychic capabilities.
In the last four days...
I've lost my patience for the first time all year with a few of my residents.
Jerk
I've insulted a good friend by calling him a hypocrite for doing something he was really doing out of regard for my feelings.
Punk
I've offended not one, but two, ex-girlfriends.
Schmuck
I've abused my body by forgetting to eat and staying up too late. Now I'm sick and completely slacking at my job.
Moron
I've been curt with my fellow staff members, and shirked responsibilities.
Fool
I've harbored angry thoughts against people I love and care about completely out of jealousy.
Butt-head
I had the gumption to rain on a dear friend's parade when she was giving me awesome news about herself and how she's finally gotten a chance at something she so clearly deserves by changing the subject to what's going on with me, in my life. I was unable to be happy for her because all I could see was how the situation was going to affect me.
Freaking Jackass
I've disappointed my father.
Crap-head
I've asked God to look the other way because "I'm going through some crap".
Not cool
The worst thing I can say about our recent actions is that I did them with almost full knowledge of what I was doing. I saw myself sucking happiness out of the atmosphere, and I allowed it.
I've had friends that say "We all have rough times, Neil. It's okay". But I've never been okay with "okay". I so treasure the people in my life. They are what matters in life. Its not how much money I make or what car I drive. Its not what books I've read or what my major is or where I'm graduating in my class. Its how I treat my fellow children of God, that matters.
So if I know this, then why do I keep screwing up? Why should I tolerate it? Why should anyone else? I know, I know. This is where Missy or Beth would tell me I'm being too hard on myself. This is where my mom would tell me to get down off my cross because someone needs the wood. But its so hard for me to forgive myself. I hate that I can do this to my friends. I hate that they trust me and I hurt them.
In moments of total confusion, my friend Daren would ask me this question: "So, uh, Neil. Whaddya think Paul has to say about it?"
Hebrews 8:12 "For I will forgive their wickedness and will remember their sins no more."
Col 2:13 "When you were dead in your sins and in the uncircumcision of your sinful nature, God made you alive with Christ. He forgave us all our sins."
About this point my father would start explaining to me how I'm being a jerk. If God sees fit to forgive me, but I don't, I'm contradicting the Lord. Where do I get off thinking I know better than the creator of ALL THAT IS?
Ahh, I do it all the time.
I'm sorry. I don't know what my problem is. I can't say that this "isn't me" because it really is. I'm weak. Is this the part of me that's usually rearing its ugly head? No, thank-GOD, its not. (Not this particular ugly head, anyway).
I'm sorry. I don't know how to fix it. But I do know what to do.
I need to hit my knees and thank the Lord for such amazing friends who'll swallow a plate-full of abuse and come back for seconds. I need to thank the Lord for his never-ending forgiveness. There's not a sin I could commit that hasn't already been wiped clean by the blood shed by his Son. I'm so thankful for that.
As for the forgiving myself part, I'm working on it... baby steps y'all, baby steps.
Saturday, April 03, 2004
Jonah was a punk
After 3 years of attending the World's largest Baptist University, I've finally joined a Bible study... and I'm sticking to it. It's a "Life Group" made up of people who go to Calvary Baptist Church. I'm enjoying it a lot. My fears that I would be judged because I didn't know every chapter of the Bible have proven to be unfounded.
From the very first moment I met my group, as I walked in an hour and forty minutes late because I accidentally hit the "reset" button on my alarm, I felt less like I was jumping in the deep end of the pool and more that I was jumping into a vat of jello. Mmmmm, jello! And by that, I mean, they were sweet, but they had some substance to them... and something tells me that if I was recovering from massive surgery, doctors would probably give me a lime-flavored version of these people. ;)
And they're funny! For instance, when we returned from our week off after Spring Break, the first question we asked was "what did we do on our week off"? At this one of my favorite people in our group, Martin, started off by saying "well this is something that's never happened to me before..."
Now people, before I get into the story, please let me preface by telling you a little about Martin. He's a "somewhere in his fifties" years-young electrician married to a brilliant Doctor. He's burly, yet okay with himself. Think "Bounty paper towels" guy listening to Enya. Anyways back to the story...
[insert Texan twang with a slight rasp in the voice]
"Well, the other night I was in my boxers about to go to bed when I went out to the garage to close the doors an' I seen this guy in the corner rummagin' through stuff." he said.
I look around the room. People are interested. "So what'd you do?" Meghan Becker asked with a justified amount of incredulity.
"Well, I started hollerin' at 'im! 'what're you doin' in muh garage?!?!" Martin barked.
At this I hear a whimper. Looking around the room, I found no culprit... eventually I realized it was me.
"He tried to run so I chased him."
"Did you capture hime?" Priscilla asked in her gorgeous Aussi accent.
"I tackled him.... an' I kept 'im pinned until the police my wife called showed up."
We all laughed and asked a few questions and procured a few clarifications. As the conversation died down, there was a slightly awkward silence. Then I looked up at this rock of a man in awe-struck admiration and, much to my surprise, uttered: "Martin... you are exactly 57 times the man I am."
I was absolutely serious. There is no way I would ever chase a guy down like that... unless he said something about the Cubs or Spider-Man or something... but even then the most I'd be able to do is maybe throw my shoe at him -but even then, I'd probably do it screaming like a Tri-Delt with a bug on her shoulder. I'm a lover, not a fighter. Right, Mary? :-D Soccer moms rule.
This group of people... they're special. And no, I don't mean "special" in the "Jerry's kids" way either. I mean it in the "central Texas cable company that carries all the Cubs games" kind of way. Unexpected, a little random, but completely needed in my life.
At the last meeting we started talking about suffering and the role its to play in our lives as Christians. I'll spare you the exact details but basically Christy asked a rhetorical question. I commented on it and sounded like an ass in the process. (Please, hold back your shock) The reason I made this comment the way I did... its a point of view that's very much been shaped by my past. To explain it, I had to share what many Baptists, much to my ire, would call my "witness" or "testimony". It killed me. I almost started to cry half way through it. I felt so... I didn't want to be telling this story
Listen, I know I've been through some big stuff in my life. Not necessarily all that hard. But I've been told "my story" is quite inspiring. So if I feel so close to these people, why is it that I had such a hard time sharing "my story" with them? I know it wasn't because of the story itself. I mean, I don't really care to talk about it, but I do it all the time. So why the problem?
The fact of the matter is that certain events in my past, while extremely formative of who I am today, are not all that I'm about. In the portrait of my life, my cancer is but a button on my lapel, or a wort on my chin. It is not all I'm about. I fancy there's a little more to the man. But when I tell people this story, they automatically assume that I'm "so special." I'm "going to help so many people; do so much good." Somewhere in there, my chest starts to get tight and doubts begin to form.
Listen people, jiminy christmas if you only had the audience with the thoughts that run through my head on a daily basis that I do. I think I'm an alright guy. And yes, I know God has a very special plan for me. But if I do whatever it is he wants me to do, I'm sure he's going to be the one to blame, not me. There's a reason I sympathize so much with Jonah. He was a punk. The only only thing he did right was he said "okay, God. Whatever. Fine! I'll do it... but I promise I won't like it and it won't do any good anyways". And it took his running away, hoping a boat, inciting a sea-storm, getting thrown overboard and eaten by a whale to before he even got that right. Yeah, if I do whatever it is God has in store for me, its going to be because he didn't give me much of a choice. The only thing I have going for me, is a willing heart... most of the time. I hardly see how that much makes me deserving of much acclaim.
The biggest reason I hate it that people who hear "my story" tend to see me differently, is that I am a "panderer". I pander. I love to give people what they want. If people think I'm special, I want, desperately, to play the part. And its exhausting.
I just like it when people like me for me. Not because I'm incredibly good-looking. Not because I smell like heaven. Not because I'm a miracle. I like it when people get annoyed with me because I know its me, they're annoyed with. Its not my reputation. Its usually not jealousy. It is I who has done something to earn their contempt. Only friends would stick around after the illusion is dispeled. Call me weird, but I like that. There's a comfort in knowing that you have a little control over how you are viewed.
So there it is. I put a problem out there. How do I fix it? Maybe I should give myself the benefit of the doubt and trust I'm a swell enough guy. Maybe I should keep playing "hide and seek" with a past I'm not ashamed of. But I think I'd rather give my friends a little credit and trust the Holy Spirit to bless them with discernment. Whatever the solution, you can be sure I'll still keep pissing people off. Now only if I could work on not doing for the sake of my own self-esteem...
From the very first moment I met my group, as I walked in an hour and forty minutes late because I accidentally hit the "reset" button on my alarm, I felt less like I was jumping in the deep end of the pool and more that I was jumping into a vat of jello. Mmmmm, jello! And by that, I mean, they were sweet, but they had some substance to them... and something tells me that if I was recovering from massive surgery, doctors would probably give me a lime-flavored version of these people. ;)
And they're funny! For instance, when we returned from our week off after Spring Break, the first question we asked was "what did we do on our week off"? At this one of my favorite people in our group, Martin, started off by saying "well this is something that's never happened to me before..."
Now people, before I get into the story, please let me preface by telling you a little about Martin. He's a "somewhere in his fifties" years-young electrician married to a brilliant Doctor. He's burly, yet okay with himself. Think "Bounty paper towels" guy listening to Enya. Anyways back to the story...
[insert Texan twang with a slight rasp in the voice]
"Well, the other night I was in my boxers about to go to bed when I went out to the garage to close the doors an' I seen this guy in the corner rummagin' through stuff." he said.
I look around the room. People are interested. "So what'd you do?" Meghan Becker asked with a justified amount of incredulity.
"Well, I started hollerin' at 'im! 'what're you doin' in muh garage?!?!" Martin barked.
At this I hear a whimper. Looking around the room, I found no culprit... eventually I realized it was me.
"He tried to run so I chased him."
"Did you capture hime?" Priscilla asked in her gorgeous Aussi accent.
"I tackled him.... an' I kept 'im pinned until the police my wife called showed up."
We all laughed and asked a few questions and procured a few clarifications. As the conversation died down, there was a slightly awkward silence. Then I looked up at this rock of a man in awe-struck admiration and, much to my surprise, uttered: "Martin... you are exactly 57 times the man I am."
I was absolutely serious. There is no way I would ever chase a guy down like that... unless he said something about the Cubs or Spider-Man or something... but even then the most I'd be able to do is maybe throw my shoe at him -but even then, I'd probably do it screaming like a Tri-Delt with a bug on her shoulder. I'm a lover, not a fighter. Right, Mary? :-D Soccer moms rule.
This group of people... they're special. And no, I don't mean "special" in the "Jerry's kids" way either. I mean it in the "central Texas cable company that carries all the Cubs games" kind of way. Unexpected, a little random, but completely needed in my life.
At the last meeting we started talking about suffering and the role its to play in our lives as Christians. I'll spare you the exact details but basically Christy asked a rhetorical question. I commented on it and sounded like an ass in the process. (Please, hold back your shock) The reason I made this comment the way I did... its a point of view that's very much been shaped by my past. To explain it, I had to share what many Baptists, much to my ire, would call my "witness" or "testimony". It killed me. I almost started to cry half way through it. I felt so... I didn't want to be telling this story
Listen, I know I've been through some big stuff in my life. Not necessarily all that hard. But I've been told "my story" is quite inspiring. So if I feel so close to these people, why is it that I had such a hard time sharing "my story" with them? I know it wasn't because of the story itself. I mean, I don't really care to talk about it, but I do it all the time. So why the problem?
The fact of the matter is that certain events in my past, while extremely formative of who I am today, are not all that I'm about. In the portrait of my life, my cancer is but a button on my lapel, or a wort on my chin. It is not all I'm about. I fancy there's a little more to the man. But when I tell people this story, they automatically assume that I'm "so special." I'm "going to help so many people; do so much good." Somewhere in there, my chest starts to get tight and doubts begin to form.
Listen people, jiminy christmas if you only had the audience with the thoughts that run through my head on a daily basis that I do. I think I'm an alright guy. And yes, I know God has a very special plan for me. But if I do whatever it is he wants me to do, I'm sure he's going to be the one to blame, not me. There's a reason I sympathize so much with Jonah. He was a punk. The only only thing he did right was he said "okay, God. Whatever. Fine! I'll do it... but I promise I won't like it and it won't do any good anyways". And it took his running away, hoping a boat, inciting a sea-storm, getting thrown overboard and eaten by a whale to before he even got that right. Yeah, if I do whatever it is God has in store for me, its going to be because he didn't give me much of a choice. The only thing I have going for me, is a willing heart... most of the time. I hardly see how that much makes me deserving of much acclaim.
The biggest reason I hate it that people who hear "my story" tend to see me differently, is that I am a "panderer". I pander. I love to give people what they want. If people think I'm special, I want, desperately, to play the part. And its exhausting.
I just like it when people like me for me. Not because I'm incredibly good-looking. Not because I smell like heaven. Not because I'm a miracle. I like it when people get annoyed with me because I know its me, they're annoyed with. Its not my reputation. Its usually not jealousy. It is I who has done something to earn their contempt. Only friends would stick around after the illusion is dispeled. Call me weird, but I like that. There's a comfort in knowing that you have a little control over how you are viewed.
So there it is. I put a problem out there. How do I fix it? Maybe I should give myself the benefit of the doubt and trust I'm a swell enough guy. Maybe I should keep playing "hide and seek" with a past I'm not ashamed of. But I think I'd rather give my friends a little credit and trust the Holy Spirit to bless them with discernment. Whatever the solution, you can be sure I'll still keep pissing people off. Now only if I could work on not doing for the sake of my own self-esteem...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
