The King is Naked (and God is not amused)

It has been a long time since I’ve posted here. I’ve loved the freedom I’ve felt to be free with my words and express my feelings without needing to post them under a pseudonym.

I got triggered tonight though and I feel like venting. While at my house a friend let me know that a gathering was happening of my old ministry and many of my old staff and students.

This friend innocently thought they were providing me with an opportunity to go to a reunion of old souls and people that I would want to see. The gathering, though, is not a reunion but a re-launch of a ministry that I created several years ago and must go through another rebirth in order to be successful.

 I got online tonight to watch the video and read the syllabus of the new course offerings. To me it is nothing more than just promotion of a man-made ministry and full of self-indulgence and pride. I’ve heard the same damn message from these leaders for years upon years and I keep wondering why somebody besides me doesn’t notice that the king is wearing no clothes. He has no more credibility to re-launch this school as President Bush has to come back and lead this country into economic prosperity and world peace.

 This hurts.

 I am almost tempted to go to this reunion; to sit there in the crowd, even on the front row, to hear this desperate man try and save his credibility as a visionary leader. I’d love for him to look me in the eye and try not to blush in shame and admit his failures and hypocrisy.

 Fuck.

 I know there is better living beyond the past and that is exactly where this fool lives. I am not afraid of his success but God knows I have longed for his humility and his repentance. It feels that as long as he is allowed to run amok with what is supposedly his god-given vision that no one will stand up to him and hold him accountable for his actions and behavior. I hold his staff, and these leaders, no matter how ignorant they pretend to be, in contempt.

 This next revision is just as failed as ever. Its epitaph has already been written. I feel empathy towards those who have been crushed by the last grave stones and those who the next ones will fall upon.

Counting Sheep

I took to the hills for a little R&R and an early morning, mountain climb. After driving over 500 miles and picking up my permit, I figured I’d get to the trailhead and crash. All went as planned till I went to fall asleep.

It was dark enough on the mountain to sleep at 8pm, but even though I was weary my mind simply wouldn’t shut down.

I read for a while and then watched part of a Mad Men episode on my iPod. I read for a while longer, took my blood pressure (too high) and then I listened to music. I had a couple of slices of leftover pizza from dinner and then I read some more. Each of these events was separated with me punching my pillow, closing my eyes, and stretching my legs out in the back of the minivan. I was comfortable enough, but I just could turn off my brain.

I thought about my climb in the morning, obsessing over what time to get up. I kept trying to calculate the time I’d need based on the stories of the climbers I’d met in the parking lot coming down from the summit. I thought about my job and wondering when I’d get my next paycheck and whether or not it would cover the monthly bills. I started thinking about what I could cut in my budget. I had conversations with friends, some with family, some with mortal enemies.

I went to bed at 8 and didn’t fall asleep until midnight. The four hours of sleep I got weren’t enough for a potential 12 hour day on the mountain. I ended up climbing only half as far as I’d planned. I could have gone further, but would have needed a friend.

Woozy and Queasy

My doctor started me on a generic form of Prozac. He let me know that I might not feel the full effects for 4-5 weeks. I can feel some of the side effects after the first pill. I’ve been a bit nauseous all day. I’ve been told this goes away.

I’ve asked a friend, who is a counselor, to start seeing me. Again, it is a good step, and one that my doctor asked me to follow up on.

The doctor also comes from a religious background and has served on several church boards. He was aghast at how I was treated when I was let go from my church, especially perturbed that it was never brought up to the congregation. I hadn’t seen my doctor get angry before, but it was right there behind his eyes.

It felt nice to be listened to, to be understood.

His prescription wasn’t just medication, he suggested that there needs to be some healthy confrontation with the church staff on this matter. I know this to be the case and started wondering why I haven’t pursued the matter before now. I think I expected others to do this for me and have been disappointed when they didn’t. I don’t have much to lose anymore, but they still do. I can understand their hesitation, even if they know what happened was wrong.

This is the first time that I’ve felt a glimpse of hope about letting others off the hook for not protecting me. It is still hard, but it feels healthy.

Speaking of feeling understood, a friends sent me this quote from Pastor David Roper

Unfathomable sorrow lies beneath the rage and retaliation of those who are victims of our prejudice, for the source of all anger is frustration and the greatest frustration is to be dishonored and debased. Every human being is created in the image of God—more like God than any other creature—a holy icon, if you will, worthy of high honor, indeed admiration and awe. To demean that image and deface it is to wound another human being at the deepest level.

Holding my Breath

Restless – waiting for the appointment with my doctor tomorrow.

Hopeful – that the doctor will have some insight to help me deal with the pressure of my emotions.

Scared – that it won’t work for me.

Thankful – for my friends who are understanding towards me and real in return.

Healing 2.0

I guess I’m back to journaling here for a while.

Last week I was hit with some major triggers, some things that tore scabs off old wounds. Relationally I realized how disappointed I am in some people who are close to me. I’d like to move forward but am at a loss on how to do it without addressing the pain with them. Since our current dance card doesn’t allow for this discussion, we sidestep it and pretend that nothing is wrong. It’s an acting role that I’m not going to win any awards for.

I also had a major change to my job. Since being let go of my ministry position I’ve had a steady paycheck. My last one arrived yesterday. My boss is moving me to an hourly position as she can no longer afford to keep me on salary due to our diminished work load. (I should mention that how my boss shared this change with me was great care and compassion.) I’ve been surprised at how strong my reaction to the financial status has been. I’ve made a lot of decisions based on receiving that regular paycheck. I’ve let it be a source of security for me, that in its absence, is frightening. Things I wouldn’t blink about doing last weekend I wouldn’t spend a quarter on this weekend.

I am thankful to have some good friends that have given me helpful feedback as I’ve gone into more detail with them. I’ve been honest with them that I think I need some help, that my emotions are more than I seem to be able to handle at the moment. I see several destructive patterns that I need some help overcoming. One friend gave me a tool to help interpret and categorize my emotions. If it is accurate I’m suffering from depression with associated anxiety, so I’m off to get some help.

I’ve set up an appointment with my doctor, ready to be open with him, and ready to be open to treatment. My fear that has kept me from doing this before now is that any medicine I took for depression might dull my creativity and I’d lose my voice. My friends, several with experience with depression meds, suggest this may not be the case; that I actually might be more focused with my thoughts. That would be a welcome relief.

Anniversaries and Fingerprints

Today's a painful anniversary, my own personal 9-11. And even though the collapse was public many of the details were obscured from view. It may be one of the reasons that I remember this date and no one else around me seems to.

I couldn't picture life today standing amidst the rubble two years back. All I could see was disaster; all I could feel was pain. Yet some 700 plus days later much of the cleanup has occured and there are vast, empty spaces on which to build something new; someone new.

Someone knew. Papa remembers the way he wired me; remembers that details intricately woven into my being. He surprises me with kindness. When I take the time to carefully observe what appears to be happenstance in this day, I often find God's fingerprints all over it. I think He leaves them there on purpose, as indications of His love.

I'm reflective today as I look back; grateful as I look down to find scars instead of open wounds; hopefull as I look up with expectancy into tomorrow.

Holding Less Back

Tonight marks a year since we graduated the last students from our discipleship school. It’s not like I have these anniversaries penciled into my calendar for planned remorse. Some of them spring up naturally, like a graduation scheduled for Memorial Day weekend. Other memories are triggered by the break in the natural rhythms we had created in our schedule. I still find myself planning during the week to what movie we’ll show on Friday, and then when Family night comes and there are no college students filling the living room I feel sad.

Last year at this time I was pretty broken. I’d had a couple of months warning that the school was coming to an end along with my job. We tried to finish well, but it was all pretty awkward.

I couldn’t share what I felt then. I felt I had to protect, to pretend things were better than they were. It’s a hard habit to break. Tonight a close friend told me that I can still hold things close to the vest and can come across more professional than authentic. I know that it stands in the way of real relationship.

So in a night fueled by nostalgia and the Anita Baker music playing in the living room, I reread what I journaled last year after graduation. It’s sprinkled with self pity and is viewed with rejection tinted glasses, but it’s real.

How am I doing now? I’ll check in. Like I said at the beginning I still feel the phantom pains from what’s been cut off, but things are growing in their place- not ministries, maybe just me.

I’m looking less and less over my shoulder, but I also don’t find myself staring longingly in the distance either. There is enough beauty between this sunrise and this sunset, right here, today.