I fail pretty much all the time...ALL the time. And I am rarely conscious of my blatant failure. I think that is what scares me and shames me most. I am hesitant to even write these words outside of the confines of my journal...because I want everyone to think I am perfect. Yep. It's true. In spite of all my efforts to be genuine...I am lying to myself, and God, and the world. I am an expert face painter. I am really, really good at making you believe in my deception. I am crippled by my overwhelming desire to make you think that I am righteous and virtuous. I am, in reality, depraved and crooked in every way. I like to spout my noble ideas of justice and love, but I fail. I once cross-stitched a pillow (mostly my cousin cross-stitched the pillow) with the phrase "actions speak louder than words" ...and my inaction exposes my own lack of justice, my own hatred.
I promised God that I would not abandon the children I grew to love. I have abandoned them. I promised God that I would pray more often, more sincerely. When I manage to remember my God it is a half-hearted cry. I promised my Savior that I would actually read the Bible and live out it's message. It has been weeks (at least) since I have found true joy in His words, and I mostly pretend to live out the gospel. I promised to be more selfless and loving. My every act is inherently selfish and self-loving. I promised to be open minded. I have closed my mind to past thoughts and old allegiances. I promised to speak out for Detroit. I have become a self-righteous, hypocritical, inactive voice.
I have failed in every conceivable way.
And I don't even know if I want to change. I hate all of my ways, but it is easier to remain as I am. I am terrified at the prospect of seeking God and missing him. I am overwhelmed by the Bible, and social justice, and my human promises...and my failure.
I would like to end this with a nice, upbeat, tie up the lose ends sort of conclusion. But that would be insincere. I suppose I should say that all of my feelings are normal and human, and to not lose heart because God is in control. And that is certainly true. I believe that with all that I am. I would be lost without that conviction. But some days, I just don't feel like believing it. That might be blasphemous or heretical...or human.
I want to see my Jesus. I want to see him. Touch him. Watch him. Love him. I want to want him.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Monday, November 3, 2008
I think that life really is beautiful and wonderful and miraculous. I also think that life really is ugly and unfair and painful. The paradox is one that tears at my soul. I am infuriated that humanity is forced to exist somewhere in between blissful perfection and disgusting depravity. The last few months of my life have been full of great darkness. The beauty that should exist alongside my pain seems to have disappeared. I find myself increasingly pessimistic, and increasingly hostile to the idealism that I once held in high esteem.
I witness so much hatred and ignorance and injustice. I watch the masses walk blindly by their begging brothers. I watch the cycle of the city- and the world - as children grow up fatherless and women grow up unprotected and men become their absent fathers. I see it in the faces of the children who so eagerly seek love that so violently evades them. I hear it in the silence. In the bullhorn. I see it in hoarding hands and selfish service. There is no one righteous, and that truth has never been truer than in this moment.
As I sit on my comfortable couch, in my heated room, at a private college, in an affluent city, I see the hypocrisy of my pen ( or keyboard). Close by, I have friends who are sitting on cold, hard, lonely benches. Perry, Terry, Gwen, James, C... These people are the people of the benches. They are the people of the park. And I say they are my friends...but I would not let my real friends live on a bench. in a park. all alone. I would not visit them once a month to throw food and Jesus into their faces. I would sit on those benches with my friends. To mourn. To laugh. To pray. To cry. To heal. And we would move together toward our hope.
I am crushed under the weight of the despair and darkness of the world and my own selfish existence.
And then. I am on the brink of insanity, and light shines through the murky waters. And I am given miracles. I am given the joy of my Savior. I am surrounded by giggling girls whose tiny, precious fingers form braids in my frizzy halo of hair. I am embraced by a homeless man who transcends social and racial and cultural boundaries to spread love and erase inequality. I am given hope by the girls of AG and their voices and encouragement and thoughts.
So, I am convinced that I will continue to live within this infuriating contradiction of pain and pleasure. And I have no answers. But I'm beginning to become accustomed to that feeling. That is all I suppose...I love life. That is really the lesson I have learned. Life is great. But life is also difficult. And that is ok.
I witness so much hatred and ignorance and injustice. I watch the masses walk blindly by their begging brothers. I watch the cycle of the city- and the world - as children grow up fatherless and women grow up unprotected and men become their absent fathers. I see it in the faces of the children who so eagerly seek love that so violently evades them. I hear it in the silence. In the bullhorn. I see it in hoarding hands and selfish service. There is no one righteous, and that truth has never been truer than in this moment.
As I sit on my comfortable couch, in my heated room, at a private college, in an affluent city, I see the hypocrisy of my pen ( or keyboard). Close by, I have friends who are sitting on cold, hard, lonely benches. Perry, Terry, Gwen, James, C... These people are the people of the benches. They are the people of the park. And I say they are my friends...but I would not let my real friends live on a bench. in a park. all alone. I would not visit them once a month to throw food and Jesus into their faces. I would sit on those benches with my friends. To mourn. To laugh. To pray. To cry. To heal. And we would move together toward our hope.
I am crushed under the weight of the despair and darkness of the world and my own selfish existence.
And then. I am on the brink of insanity, and light shines through the murky waters. And I am given miracles. I am given the joy of my Savior. I am surrounded by giggling girls whose tiny, precious fingers form braids in my frizzy halo of hair. I am embraced by a homeless man who transcends social and racial and cultural boundaries to spread love and erase inequality. I am given hope by the girls of AG and their voices and encouragement and thoughts.
So, I am convinced that I will continue to live within this infuriating contradiction of pain and pleasure. And I have no answers. But I'm beginning to become accustomed to that feeling. That is all I suppose...I love life. That is really the lesson I have learned. Life is great. But life is also difficult. And that is ok.
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