Someday I'll See Clearly

I don't get it.

There's so much bad in me still. Don't get me wrong: there's some good in me, too, and much more than there used to be. I think that side's winning.

But the fight's not over, I guess.

This is probably a weird post to come back on, after the whole Sentence for September experiment, but I guess this is where I'm at right now. And I wanted to write, so this is what you get.

According to my sidebar, there are only 65 more days until I leave this chapter of my life. I thought it'd be different than it is. I thought I'd spend four years at a Christian school, confront the sin in my life, and walk away victorious and unconquerable. That's just not the case.

I wanted to find a book on my shelf tonight that would give me hope. There are books that I turn to when I feel especially useless or lost or confused, books like this and this. But they weren't here tonight. (They must be in Colorado...)

So I grabbed a new book, one that I had bought for the chapter in it about homosexuality for my senior paper. This book has one of the greatest subtitles ever: "How the Culture-Controlled Church Neutered the Gospel." It's by Brian McLaren and Tony Campolo for those of you who didn't click the link (but I'm going to make you work for the actual title).

Anyway, I opened the book up to the chapter on sin, and I stumbled across something that really struck me, especially in such a time as this. (In case you haven't heard, things are a little tense here at the ORU) Here's how it goes: (this is, btw, from Tony Campolo's response to the chapter by Brian McClaren)

A decade or so ago, when television evangelists right and left seemed to be falling by the wayside, I spoke at a denominational meeting of mainline pastors. Before I was on, the master of ceremonies said something like this to the audience: "We must distance ourselves from the likes of Jim Bakker. Men like this have disgraced the church, and we must make it clear to our people that we are not like that."

His words infuriated me, which explains why I started with words to this effect: "The difference between Jim Bakker and the rest of us is that they haven't found out about the rest of us yet. This is no time to distance ourselves from Jim Bakker, but to acknowledge that what was in him is in us all. The line that separates good from evil does not separate one group of people from another, but runs right down the middle of each of us. Each of us has a dark side--and if the truth were known, each of us would have to run away and hide."

I often find that the times when I am most outspoken about the evils of society or culture or the Church or whoever else are also the times when I am faced with the strongest evidence of my own dark side. I don't know if seeing the specks in other people's eyes just sets me up for walking into a log, or if it's the other way around; I expect that it's the second. It sounds much more like me to run away from my own failures by reminding everyone of someone else's.

Either way, I guess this is where I'm at.

Always striving.

Where I'm At ~or~ Far From Home

So it's been a while since a general life update on here, or any kind of consistent posting. I wish that wasn't the case, but things got pretty busy really fast this summer, and this blog kinda slipped in the old priority list.

But now--now, I'm stranded here in Tulsa, alone on a Saturday night with a mountain of reading and writing to do and a complete lack of any desire to do it. It was out of moments like this that this blog was birthed.

I guess I should start at the beginning. Of June. This summer in El Segundo was amazing. Absolutely incredible. It was probably the best summer of my life. The city is gorgeous and friendly and everything I hoped it would be, with a bustling Main Street within walking distance of just about everything, tons of local-owned sandwich shops where they enter your order almost as soon as they see your face, and a Farmer's Market that shuts everything down on Thursday afternoons. The weather is pretty much always room temperature, with a high of 75ish and a low of 65ish; the windows in my bungalow were open every day and every night. Oh, and the Pacific Ocean is just around the corner; I snuck down just to look at the water to fill up a couple of lunch hours on slower days.

While I was down there, I never really thought that I went to the beach all that much, but, sitting down and thinking about it now, I probably hit it up four or more times a week. Something about the sand and the water and the wind and the nature of it all just never got normal to me. It was always breathtaking when I reached the top of the hill on Grand and could finally glimpse the waters beneath.

The church was awesome, too. Instead of assigning me the random intern jobs that no one else wanted, they actually took the time to find out what my passions and strengths in ministry were and then worked with me to design places for me to use those in conjunction with their ministry. It was really cool and gave me a lot of opportunities to test myself in real youth ministry situations. I was amazed with how quickly the staff welcomed me into their lives and their work and supported me and valued my opinion on all sorts of things that I didn't really feel qualified to give an opinion on. It was scary, but in a good way.

The people were also great. My biggest fear going into the summer was that it usually takes longer for people to begin liking me than I was going to spend out in El Segundo, but as the summer unfolded I really quickly fell into some really great new friendships and reopened a couple of old ones. When I first arrived I thought that I'd have loads of time alone in my bungalow to read and study, but between work and hanging out with all the great people I met, I ended up spending very little time back there at all.

There was also a girl. She's pretty amazing. If you want any more of a story than that, shoot me an e-mail, or call or IM me or just stop me walking through the GC and I'll be glad to tell you all about it.


But that's the summer...I think. I mean, there are a ton more stories than that, and maybe over the course of time you'll hear them all. But for now, I think that'll do.

Now I'm back in Tulsa. I've got a ton of work ahead of me this semester. But then there's a bright glowing future somewhere after that and I can't wait to get to it.

Peace, love, and joy to you all.

Unlikely Places: Swimming Continued

If you don't already, allow me to highly recommend reading the comments to whatever this blog is; I've known for a long time that everyone who reads this blog has far more interesting insights than I can conceive of, and the people who comment here serve only to prove that. (I only wish y'all wrote more on your blogs!! I love hearing all that y'all have to say, and hope to hear what it is that you spend your time thinking about!) To start this post, here are some that y'all left on the last post:

"I totally agree, God never intended for us to try and walk it out on our own strength." You know, this is what I was trying, rather violently and unsuccessfully, to say in those flailed words below, so I'm glad that you got it, Jessica. Oh, and I really, really didn't want to do swimming either...but it ended up being one of the greatest experiences of my time at ORU. Look for the lessons.

"In my swimming class, we'd all take turns and watch each other, there was no hiding the fear, either you got over it or you were scared and every one knew which one it was. I kinda wish it was harder to hide our problems in the church. Ya know?" You completely knocked it out, Malia. But, you know, instead of wishing that it was tougher to hide my problems I find I more often wish that I had the courage to admit my problems and deal with them in the context of a healthy community. I think that everyday I'm moving closer to that, but it's definitely a struggle.

How do we find such a healthy community? (which is the segue* now into the meat of the post)

True community arrives whenever we say, a la Aaron Weiss, "If I'm afraid and you're afraid, then we don't have to be afraid anymore," and agree to put down our weapons against one another (isolation, rejection, abandonment, negativity, fakeness, condemnation, et al.) and choose instead to humbly love, one broken piece to the other.

An illustration of this is found in the story of Josh from Beginning Swimming (which is certainly not his real name). I had passed my swimming proficiency test (25m front swim, 25m back swim, 2min tread) very early in the semester, partially because my fear of water was not as developed as many of the others in the class and partially because my feet and hands are like natural flippers, so I've got quite a distinct advantage over the common "well-proportioned" man. Still, I waited until after class so that if I would have failed, as few a number of people as possible would be around to see it.

Josh attempted it a couple of weeks later, after a handful of others had completed various portions of the test. In the middle of class, he got out of the water and told our instructor that he thought he was ready. He began the long journey down toward the deep end. She swam down. We all watched at the edge, standing at the various depths at which we could keep our heads above water by standing on our tip toes.

He jumped in and began swimming toward us on his back. Now, I'm certainly not a swimmer of any merit (I mean, I was in Beginning Swimming). But everybody else seemed to have trouble getting anywhere when they were swimming compared to me. Like, I definitely wasn't fast, but I was always moving when I wanted to be (and even when I wasn't really trying to be). Josh was one of those who splashed a lot and moved through the water very little. It was like one of those nature documentaries, where the great white is devouring the family of sea lions, only the violence on the surface lasted more than mere seconds.

Minute after minute passed as we watched Josh thrash about in the water, fighting with what seemed to be his whole life for every inch. But we weren't just passively watching. We were shouting and cheering and encouraging and doing our very best to will Josh halfway across the pool. But, you know, it's strange now thinking about it--not one of us yelled anything all that practical, or at least, what you'd think would be practical.

You'd think we would have yelled out corrections to his form, or the distance he had left to go, or instructions for every motion, but instead we just yelled out unmitigated support. "You've got this!" "You can do it!" "You're doing great!"

These kinds of things probably would have seemed to ludicrous to an actual swimmer passing by, since Josh obviously wasn't doing very well. But for those of us in the pool, we loved him and we saw only success in each failing stroke. Maybe it was because we didn't know what we were shouting about, or maybe it was because when we looked at Josh, we saw ourselves; our hopes and our fears swam alongside him.

But, strangely enough, he was making it. Whether he was riding on our encouragement or the current from the deep end, he was less than five feet from the ladder which was our finishing mark. And then it happened.

He tried to turn his head to see where he was at. His body failed to properly balance itself. His face ended up underwater. Struggling to surface, he turned himself perpendicular to the path he had been on. We screamed as passionately as we could at him. He was so close. He started to panic. He started coughing. He thought he was going to drown. His hand instinctively grabbed the lifeguard buoy that the instructor had held the whole time.

He had failed. Four or five feet from the finish line, he had failed in front of his friends, peers, and most fervent supporters. There was a silence as he settled his mind and discovered just how close he'd come.

And then we cheered. Josh had failed the proficiency, but what he had done had been an incredible feat of endurance and mental fortitude. And we cheered for him. We knew that he'd pass the proficiency test, sooner rather than later, and that what he most needed at that moment was the same unconditional support which we had given him throughout.

Imagine if the Church was like that.

Instead of everybody yelling what you should or should not be doing instead of what you are or are not doing, instead of the constant judging of whether your Christianity is kosher enough, instead of the disgusting and depraved response of fully rejecting our failures, imagine a Church filled with unconditional support that was actually unconditional.

In the meantime, I wish fully peace, love, and joy to you all.


* I totally thought that this word was spelled "segway" until FireFox red underlined it. After ninjawords and dictionary.com confirmed the incorrectitude, the OneLook Reverse Dictionary came to the rescue.