Captured and Suprised

Brilliant Yellow Beauty

I leaned over a bouquet of mostly yellow flowers and was captured - stolen - by the scent of the brightly blooming roses, daisies, lilies and mums. It was the best of spring, summer and beauty and it penetrated my soul. Immediately tears came, my throat gulped, and I was broken in praise and gratitude by a God that did not have to make flowers smell so rich, full, and satisfying.

Between the tears and the grip this beauty had on my heart, I could barely squeak out the words "thank you"

It has been an intense month of closing on a house, packing, moving, hosting 5 events at my new house, being the wedding coordinator for one of my best friends weddings, preparing 5 seminars and speaking for a week in Ohio. Saturday was the first day in that time period were I was not going constantly driven by agenda. I was aware of my depleted resources and that when I have given that much of myself I am usually a Satanic Buffet. I take precautions in these times to protect me and others from the possible onslaught of a "me not at my best". In these moments I try to surround myself with things that remind me of the good, safe places and people. Flowers are a great source of beauty so I picked up this "summery golden bunch of grocery store flowers" that caused me to be stopped in my tracks.

Goodness... in the moment

I'm learning to walk in my own story and as a result into more grace. I find myself more and more patient with me. It is good. In the moments where I feel deep betrayal or sadness, that do not match my current situation,  I am able to see it as it is happening. I am able to say to me "You have good reason to feel this... so go ahead and feel free to feel it... many past experiences make this moment reasonable... so go ahead and feel it - but also recognize this is not the same moment." Rather then self contempt and the hours of battle and trying harder - there is more peace and rest. A self comfort.

I have found this grace by allowing others to love me in the chaos, deception and brokenness of me. It is not easy as I am "messy" But guess what? We all are. There is a deep grace given to me by a few, that has allowed me to see their mess. In the meantime seeing their mess it opens the door to my own, and gives me the courage to just be.

At Beulah Beach Camp in Vermillion Ohio

As I watch their lives be restored I see my own story unveil.

It is a thing of beauty that I attribute to a God, that at His core He longs/loves for use to experience it. What do you do with a God that did not have to make flowers smell, the skyline blaze with brilliant color, Bacon or steak tastes so amazing or that places the most nerve endings in the human body in the most vulnerable areas of our genitalia or secondly in our taste buds? He has meant for us to experience and enjoy His creation and each other. If you believe God created you - you have to believe he did this with purpose and intent.

I love this about him... I am captured by the beauty of His provision, surprised by His creation and loved by His created. He is good.

The Reality of Anti-Social Social Media and the Church

This last week I have sworn off of most forms of social media and realized the anti-social nature of social media and its parallels to the church.

The problem with facebook and the like is that it can give you an impression of a community that does not exist. I could look on my home page and see that I am closing in on 800 friends and feel like “wow people really like me” and when I get a lot of comments on a post it makes me feel like “people really care about what is happening to me right now” Many corporations are now starting social media forums that make you feel like they actually care… they don’t. They cause you to think they care about you and promote that they do but in he end what they really care for is the your affinity for them and their products… bottom line it is their way to your bottom dollar. It is your pocket book on their radar not you… a false community and in the end anti-social - portraying but not delivering on the real thing.

The danger is the same could be true for church. We can arrive Sunday morning and see many smiling faces and get warm greetings and suppose that it means you are really being cared for… that you are important to someone and that all is well. But like with facebook, and my 800 friends, there are those that I have connected with and have actually walked through life with and those that “friended” me because some of their friends have “friended” me or because they just ran into me somewhere. Being “friended” does not really mean you are friends. Just like being a member of a church does not mean you really belong there or are in a caring environment.

I have felt, when I post things, that people actually care and the occasional “like” or “nice” comment actually carries with it some investment in my life and other times not. Like if someone says, “Amen” in church or passes the peace of Christ to you- we can easily assume that people care, agree, or have understanding of what preceded the comment.  In the majority “Amen, like and passing the peace” are virtually the same.. an exchange, a  comment that recognizes that something was said and that there is some sort of affinity for it but that is it...

If social media and attending a church is all you have and you think that is enough I dare say that you are more anti social then you realize.

Relationships are not built on being in the same place and recognizing that the other is there. Commenting “Like, amen or the peace of Christ” are worth nothing without further action.  It does as much good as does waving at a tree as you pass it by.

True community does not happen in simple recognition or association without care.  In order for there to be real community there has to be feet put to the good intentions of good people. As I signed off of social media and stepped away from church between Sundays… my life went silent in several ways : in the way posting carries with it the desperation of did I say the right thing, the constant questions of if people really cared, and when I see interaction of others and not to me if they were ever friends in the first place.

I feel like my true friends are the ones who pursue me.

I seem to be the guy who calls others or who pursues others and am not pursued myself…. I recognize my need is great that it overwhelms people to the point of repulsion. In the middle of the struggle I am reminded of the quote, “If you love something let it go free. If it doesn't come back, you never had it. If it comes back love it for ever”.  I don’t know if it is right.. it is kind of like “throw it up against the wall and whatever sticks you keep”. The thing is if it doesn’t return or stick I cannot stop caring or stop pursuing. That in and of itself may speak more about my value and self worth then anything… it could go both ways.

Referring to dating relationships Doug Horton says “The more we are filled with thoughts of lust (and the desperation that accompanies it) the less we find true romantic love.” I find myself doing the same with my relationships desiring so much to be loved and pursued that in the pursuit I miss the real thing and make it dirty and desperate.

My 800-facebook friends and those that greet me Sunday morning might care on some level but of them all there might actually be 5 that really see me. The ones that truly do care if I think that it is a beautiful day or a crappy day or that I saw a clever bumper sticker or If I am well or not…. will be the ones that actually call or find me and ask. This week was not intended to be a test but be a time of making space to be with God and others. In the end I was surprised how little it felt like either.

I know this week is not a tell all and that time will be a better judge then this week but I also know I have found myself feeling the fool and lost much of my facebook friend frenzy.  

Reality Not Reality

Like Neo in the Matrix I have known that my reality was not reality. Little things that do not compute that are not consistent and that daily speak to the incongruity, of admittedly, my reality. I have known for a long time that life seems out of sync. I thought it was because of the environment I grew up in… how one thing was said and another thing happening. How I would as a child go to my mother offering myself or a hug and find myself moments later laying on my back on the floor completely dazed and confused.

Life seems a lot the same way… the more I try to embrace it and walk in the reality of my struggle. The more I hold out for life and make my way towards it the more I find myself on my back looking up and asking what the hell just happened?

The equations are off – the math doesn’t work. It used to be “be a good boy, be kind to others, sacrifice for those you love, serve others, do not complain, do not voice a negative opinion, think of others before yourself, die to self, overlook offenses, have an un-offendable heart, look at the needs of others before your own, see the needs of others instead of your own… love, love, love and you will be loved and cared for.”

I heard a quote about 6 years ago [and have not been able to find it to quote it accurately here.. so misquoting it -] it said “Create the world you want to live in and eventually you will.” Frankly this is a lot of kakah. In the end it is prostitution… giving out to get what you need.

The math does not work. There is no amount of Karma and doing good things for others and putting yourself second that gets you anything. I just happened upon a memorial of a 17-year-old benevolent teenager girl that was randomly murdered. There was no connection to the perpetrator and the young women. It was random… and no amount of her goodness or generosity kept her from a violent death. Life is literally “Emily thanks for playing the game… but you loose”

There is a deep anger in me as though I have worked for 42 years on the promise of receiving a paycheck and never getting the huge pay off I was promised. I sit a home waiting for the paycheck to arrive… call the main office… talk to the supervisor and …nothing. “Thanks for playing the game Lee, but you loose”

I have asked for a fish expected it to come and instead get bit by a snake on the way to the mailbox.

I’m not sure that “doing good to get good” is a good motivation to begin with.

Do you ever feel like you are pushing a rock up hill and that rock was never meant to be moved in the first place?

The converse of all of this is no better, “live for your self and just take care of your needs.” This philosophy results literally in pure hell. A society of me-ites, not caring about the condition or needs of others… means more of what we are already living in. Self absorbed, self centered “I don’t care who I step on to get to the top so I get all the toys and love” mentality.

I wish I could say I have found anything to the contrary. After 18 years in the non-for-profit world I have not found one person who has worked in ministry that has not had a horrible experience at some point along the way. In fact the world of nonprofit seems to breed, under the guise of Christian sacrifice, abuse of those dedicated to the very cause they sacrifice for… somehow those in ministry deserve less and should expect less because they are serving Christ. In the last year a friend of mine lost a job after 8 years of excellent performance and evaluations because a new supervisor  “a friend of a friend” was put in charge of him and did not like him.  

It seems like unless you are at the top you are going to get stepped on. You won’t have to look to far in the recent news to see the abuse of power, money or people from those that are in charge. Sadly there seems to be little to no difference between the supposed “secular” and “sacred” worlds.

Don’t get me wrong… it is not as though it doesn’t exist in both. I have observed individuals, who in their dedication to the cause and to others, give me the millimeter of finger nails I need to hold onto hope. I have seen directors of homeless shelters and teachers in public schools broken and sold out for those under their care… it is precious and it makes me weep.

As I look at the whole it seems the only choice is, if there ever is to be hope at all, that I keep doing what I have been doing. Not that it will ever come back… or that I will live in the expectation of it ever doing so but in the hope that maybe I could help someone else not have the same experience that I have had. Maybe in the end there will be someone that says, ”thanks for playing the game, you didn’t win but you also did not loose as badly as you could have.”

"Good people with Good intentions aren't enough to keep babies alive"

A young lady got pregnant and was abandoned by her "lover." The young mother bewildered did not know what to do.  For 4 months and 2 weeks she questioned whether or not she should go forward with her pregnancy. The “good” people in her life told her not to worry about it… to ignore the child in her and that it would take care of itself. Just ignore it? How could she? But taking their advice the child was left in her womb. Amazingly the child stopped growing…. It also did not die. It was just there.

The young women went on with her life and after years of following the “good” advice she was barely aware of the life still in her.  Until one day it became painfully obvious that something was wrong.

Doubled over in gut wrenching pain and on her own the young lady felt helpless and alone. Had she been given bad advice about the child in her?

Bewildered and lost she wondered through the plains and into the mountains and settled near a spring. People saw her sitting there and her pain. The Women’s Guild gathered around her and asked what was wrong? She told them the long story and how for years she had denied the life in her… the child stunted and ignored.

After much counseling and as the young lady began to trust the Women’s Guild that surrounded her, she was convinced to once again let the child in her continue with it’s life. Caught up in the story and the excitement everyone committed to helping her raise the child. Pledges to provide nurture, food, shelter, protection and belonging were abundant.

Uncertain but choosing to trust the young lady committed…and the child grew! He grew until the day of his birth.  When the time came everyone gathered around for the big day… excitement filled the air.

The labor was difficult and the mother struggled greatly… The doctor had never seen such a hard delivery but the Women’s Guild “in it for the long haul” stayed by her side cooing words of encouragement The young mother exhausted did not want to go on…  could not go on.  Struggling her friends reminded her of all the promises and pledges to support and be by her side. Encouraged the young mother pushed through and the baby was born.

As the baby came into the world a stench like no other entered the room. It was horrible… so bad that everyone even the mother had to leave the room.  The child lay there alone. Eventually doctor and mother armed with masks and deodorant reentered the room and washed and covered the child. No one knew what was wrong but the doctor upon hearing the whole story understood the stench to be a result of the unusual circumstance of the child’s  “incubation” . Upon further examination the Doctor realized the stench would go away after a few years and the child had every potential to be completely normal.

When it came for the baby to leave the hospital (none to soon for the staff) the community gathered hailing the bravery of the mother in birthing the forgotten child. All was lost as the child was seen and more importantly smelt by the good “Women of the Guild”. The child was not what they expected. Ideal dreams of a pleasant child smiling and garbling its joy were gone and with it all the pledges of support, care and help.

The Women’s Guild was not evil - their intentions were true – they were really good people…. The child indeed was disgusting, smelling strongly of bowl movement and one, after mere moments being around it, could barley hold down their lunch. The women all quickly realized they had committed more then they actually had or could offer. Embarrassed, they left one by one pleasantly smiling and wishing the mother well - leaving the now very new mother completely alone.

The mother tried her best scrounging food or money where she could. She understood the difficulty of being around her b.m. son… she did not blame anyone, as she had to choose daily to stay with the boy herself.

Alone and unequipped she could not feed the child.  The days wore on and she got weaker wand weaker until she could no longer care for the aromatic child and he died.

It was tragic and the Ladies of the guild felt worst of all. But after all what could they do? It was more then anyone could expect…. And the stench was too much… They were indeed mothers themselves and battled with how responsible would it have been for these ladies to bring the horrible stench of caring for the b.m. smelling boy into their own families.

As the years passed they wondered, as they waved and exchanged pleasantries with the former mother, if they should have just let the baby be…. The wondered if the mother would have been better without the child and could have lived her life – pain and all - till the end of her days…  but by then it was too late - the b.m. baby was long dead and with it a part of themselves.

Unfortunately they had to learn the hard way that good people with good intentions aren’t enough to keep babies alive.

Part of my hearts core...

John Eldridge, loosely paraphrased has said,  “The movies that are most important to you will tell you about yourself.” Movies that I return to consistently and move me in the deepest parts of my heart are movies like: Braveheart - not because of the battles but because of William Wallace’s sacrifice for his love, Glory- where the men battle together against great odds to their death. Band of Brothers – for the same reasons mentioned before, Hachi – where a dog’s love for his master brings him back to a meeting place every day 10 years after his master died and The Lord of the Rings trilogy, because of Frodo and Sam’s tenacious love that took them through to the end.

Themes of love, dedication, loyalty, care, protection - accompanied by deep certitude and commitment, rock me to the core.

Conversely betrayal and those that are untrustworthy are my souls kryptonite.

The coupling of friends saying, “farewell when the road darkens” and my own exhaustion and uncertainty destroy me. It is a Hell spiral.

"Faithless is he that says farewell when the road darkens." J.R.R. Tolkien

For those I love and trust, I express love and value by honoring my commitments… If I say it I will do it. If I commit to you, I will move anything to get to where I need to be to fulfill my commitment. “I will be faithful” is a core statement to who I am… so when I give my word it is a contract, un-voidable.

If I see a need or an offense of those who have walked in my heart, I will try to meet them both in provision and protection. There is something in me willing to sacrifice everything for those that have walked with me.  After a while it begins to be hard for me to see where my resources, life and possession end. Their dreams joys, pain and sorrow become mine. It is more than familial… it is deeper. Not life but life better, fuller and more worthwhile.

Twice I have almost lost my job, once when a friend was in a car accident and another when a buddy had a diabetic seizure. The belief that my place was by their side no matter what the cost was unstoppable.

Engage me, protect me and stand by me and there is a warrior that rises in me.

I was told 20 years ago that this is wrong… codependent. I proceeded to try and live my life devoid of needing others… I don’t know that I always get it right but if there is one thing I have learned over the last 12 months it is that we are made for relationship… that God created us with needs so that we could be loved and that we need each other to remind us of who we really are.

A friend who is also a Christian counselor told me, “there is no such thing as Codependency only relationships”… another friend told me, “relationships get messy”.

I know I am tired of battling over what is right and what is wrong… questioning every movement of my heart,  it hamstrings me and the longer I walk with others and I learn to lean into them, the more I am able to “just be”. 

It is a deep blessing.

“Touch-less wash”

It was a beautiful day in the “Springs” one of those days that inspires you to wash your car. The Jeep was not that dirty but I was caught up in the clarity of the bright sky and the fresh air. So I decided to get a quick cheap wash.

There is nothing like a washed car… like a haircut or new clothes - it makes you feel lighter, somehow sharp and even brighter.

Going through the wash I was caught by the “touch-less” nature of what I had paid for and how much of my life is “touch-less”. If you think about it we don’t touch much these days. Doors open, water runs, paper towels dispense, and toilets flush all by themselves. Even when we go to pay for items we have purchased, where we used to hand someone cash, we now swipe a card. You go to a restaurant and you are handed your menu, your food, a folder with your bill and you never make contact. You drive up to a bank and you hand or pass your papers through a tube or a metal drawer to a person behind a thick glass window… 30 feet away or into a machine that grabs and spits money. Now you don’t even have to go to the bank … my phone has an application that allows me to take a photo of a signed check and deposit it to my account wirelessly.

Even they way we handle children has changed… Teachers can no longer hug children and spanking has been turned into quiet time… separation – not only no contact, but an extended proximity.

I remember getting paddled in grade school… I don’t know if I deserved it but it did at least tell me I existed and that someone cared about how I acted. That the space I was taking up and the oxygen I was using was worthy of my existence.

What happens to a person un-tethered in a culture of unattached people? About a year ago I heard that teachers were concerned about a national epidemic. It seems as though kids were going around hugging one another… they would hug in groups and often. As I heard the story - teachers were upset about grade school “hugging gangs”. No doubt this spawned a 10 million dollar grant for a study of the harmful effects of kids hugging… but I digress.

Really?

As I have gone through counseling dealing with childhood abuse, I could not remember being held by my mother even one time. What I do remember is going to hug her and being pushed away or knocked down or being 21 before I remember her saying I love you. The only physical contact I had was associated with severe punishment or abuse.

How it has and does impact me… It was not to long ago that I was struggling and was asked by a friend to meet him at a coffee shop. I was in a hard place and by whatever grace God gives; my buddy could see the struggle. At one point he reached his arm over and just simply rested three fingers on my shoulder.  I was taken out. For about 20 minutes my breath got shallow and I could not think…. I could not speak. It was powerful beyond this world and it was the longest I had ever been “attached” in my life. As the simple touch confuted the mess in my head, the tears came like the first drops of an emerging spring. It still perplexes me today. It wasn’t the three fingers… it was that the three fingers were attached to a fellow warrior’s heart. It bypassed my defenses, my protections and opened a deep place in me that I have not been able to close (that is another blog).

There are times recently knowing friends, seeing my struggle, have simply brushed me in passing, touched there knee against mine, leaned against me or given me a playful punch. As they do it seems to snap me to back to reality, suck the darkness away and like the time at the coffee shop, tether me to this world and grant me citizenship in this existence.

My need to be connected and the overwhelming need for care admittedly may seem a  “strange” journey for a 42-year-old man, but over the last month I have been casually tracking “touches”. It has been disturbing to realize how little I “touched.” Not including the occasional masculine handshake (which is more about protocol and feats of strength) I am not touched much. In the last 6 weeks I have gone on 3 - 5 or 6 days streaks without any physical contact.  The danger with even mentioning this is that seems to compel you as a reader to have to touch me. This is not helpful. It is not merely technical physical expression, but about true connection, a caring a being known and seen.

How does touch-less-ness affect me? It is a point of self-condemnation, making statements about who I am and if I am loveable, disgusting, dirty and even forcing the question “am I a part of this world?”  It also begs the question how does a 42-year-old, 6’10” man go back and fill in the honest voids of a lost childhood in healthy ways?

One thing I know. I take great satisfaction in hand washing my car. There is something about going over ever inch of it, inside and out, and getting all the spots a “touch-less” car wash misses. When I wash my car, myself… it is my car. I’m proud of it. I drive with confidence knowing that it looks good. Somehow it even seems to drive better. The trouble is finding the time, space and the tools.

I guess it is back to the cheap wash.

Salmon Colored Jesus

Evidently I “look” German. I took a walk this afternoon, had coffee in a café, ate a Super Doner and tried to find the river Ivan. Along the way I have been stopped and asked questions in German. I have a strong German ancestry so it makes sense… I’m tall and am just a generation or two from the Van Raden family that came from Germany so it I can see how I “look” German. I wonder if there is anything else I “look” like?

Being in Wittenberg Germany, walking in the footsteps of Martin Luther, I have discovered he as quite the rebel. He was a catholic priest who married a nun and burned letters and books from the pope and his enemies.  He might as well have had a neon colored foot tall spiked Mohawk and have given everyone the finger. The pope was the representative of God on earth… the man God spoke to and through and you have a nobody priest that married a nun… [Heaven forbid! Hell afford!] that burned the Pope’s letters.

I visited a spot in the town market square where inlaid into the cobblestones are four square stones that demark an execution platform. The platform used to stand in front of the town hall and in front of a second story balcony from which governing town officials could rule for the life or death of anyone living inside the city walls. In that day Martin Luther risked everything.

Martin Luther had to believe fiercely in what he was doing.

Wittenberg is also the place where Martin Luther nailed his 95 these to the door of the church… or rather the doors of the churches… I was in a shop talking to the owner about Martin Luther and asked “which church did Martin Luther nail his 95 these to the door of..?” the answer was “all of them” evidently Martin Luther was trying to get his point across… he nailed a copy (copy sounds so easy… until you understand that he hand wrote all the copies) of the 95 these to door of every church in the city.

He really did not look catholic… I don’t eve know if he looked Lutheran.

I wonder what I “look” like? I do I look American, White, Protestant or Christian? What does that mean? The deeper question is what standard have I accepted as status quo? Not that I need to rebel on purpose or do I? What are the papal things that I need to question? Where is my Mohawk?

Lately it lies in my childhood… questioning the beliefs I have accepted about me and about God… I wonder what I believe about him that I still need to challenge? I wonder what I have accepted from the church and other Christians that I need to challenge…?

Again not to just stir up trouble but to challenge what I have just accepted because that is what I have said or that is what I believe the church has said. I wish I had the actual quote from a book By George McDonald. It basically says the we have accepted as doctrine the opinions of men. That we attribute to theology and Christ-ness that does not exist. It is a challenge. It is like someone saying, “Jesus was Salmon colored” and we all just said, “yes he was.”

I think of the kids song “I’d rather be a sheep… bah ba bah ba.” I don’t know… maybe there are two many sheep. Maybe in light of those under the tyranny of legalistic religious belief we need more roaring lions like Martin Luther burning the statements of false God messages and propaganda.

Maybe we need be Christians with theological Mohawks that question men’s opinions and point everyone back to the words of Christ.  Maybe we need to grow our own personal Mohawks and question the beliefs we have about ourselves… the beliefs not founded in what Christ said about us… “Maybe” is not even the right word– undoubtedly we do.

What do you look like? What do others look like? What have we contributed to looking like Christ that is not of him at all?

Rest, Relax and Receive – part two - Other moments…

At the retreat… (which by the way was one of two retreats I actually attended in the last 17 years that I did not run or lead in some way) There were other moments of me trying to find my way into the masculine herd.. and my buddy encouraging me to stay present.. Another good friend walking up and giving me a brand new pipe.. Saying “he did not know why he bought it when he did but that it was for me… “ Just two days before I felt God say, Do not buy a pipe… pipes like masculinity are bestowed not bought… let them be bestowed on you.

The pool of Bethesda

Perhaps the most perplexing event of the weekend was being split up into a small group as a part of a spiritual direction exercise and being invited to see ourselves, as individuals, as an observer at the pool of Bethesda (healing) then being invited to talk about it and to listen for what God had for each other in our small group.

I listened to the story and saw it play out in my on mine… I found myself, one of the wounded, sitting in a shadowed corner, knees gathered to my chest deep in pain. I could see Jesus with the paralytic… my heart screamed hoping to be seen… hoping to be noticed for Christ to come my way… I felt tightness in my chest…such a deep longing to be seen.

The day before we were invited to ask Christ to heal us… I have prayed for years for healing of a Roseaca and psoriasis and since I was in college prayed that I could be like the demon-possessed man that Christ healed… that I could sit at His feet whole and of healthy mind … “Please Jesus let me sit at your feet whole” After years of praying and seeing no movement, I did not go forward… I didn’t know why I should, He knew what I needed, I have asked thousands of times.. I saw no point in asking again … why should I ask again… for 22 years I have asked.

So when I saw myself at the pool of Bethesda I knew Christ would pass me by… the ache for his acknowledgment was deep… to be noticed… for my struggle to be valued to have his help… seemed like to much to conceive.

As the group talked about their own experiences and we listened – I felt keenly aware of what God wanted to say to several of the group… I held back thinking that what I thought was revealed to me couldn’t possibly be right. Compelled I spoke, the group got quiet, it was as though the person and I were the only ones present. As I spoke tears would well in their eyes… and the words rolled out… shortly I heard phrases like “you have no idea how I needed to hear that or how true that is… you have no idea how accurate that is or what is happening… ” It was true I had never met these people before. I was satisfied that God had used me in part to heal others but also keenly aware that the time was up and Jesus was passing me by.

As the group was getting up to leave one member said “Lee, did God show you something about yourself at the pool?” I was taken back and stumbled to respond. Several said “we will take that as a yes” and sat back down. I told them that I saw me in the shadows.. Knees gathered to my chest, that it felt young, that I was crying out to be seen” The group sat silent… several said I’m sorry I really don’t hear anything. Till one man spoke he said “I don’t know what Christ is saying but as a father I know that Christ could not ignore his own child… that there are many reasons why the healing has not come…as a father sometimes I can’t help my kids… sometimes they won’t let me… and sometimes I know it is best to let others help… Lee I feel like the reason you are not being healed is not because God can’t or because you won’t let him… I feel like He wants to use others… He is not ignorant of your need… he is fully attentive…fully watching you… his eye is on your every step…and he is trying to work through others to bring your healing… the reason you are not healed is not because of you… God is trying to use others as they are willing your healing will come” I was stunned… I did not know what to say…

Now after I have been home and am about 10 hours away from that experience God has pointed out to me two things…

One , this is the second time God has said this to me… earlier this summer while praying with a friend I felt like God said they same thing… I want to use others to heal you and they have to be willing. I feel like my friends have done more then I deserve so I don't understand what He is saying....

The second… the day before we were asked to make something that spoke of thanksgiving… the image that came to me, and that I painted, was me on the path of life with my closest friends (my clan) and the path of life led to the eye God.. My every step being watched by him. That I am not walking this alone….he is fully aware…that from his eyes a river of compassion and love…

I’ll take it.... whatever he has whenever he has it...

Rest, relax and receive

If you have been following my blog you know that this is a rather unique, intense and deeply [potentially awesome] challenging time in my life. I have repeatedly heard God tell me to, “rest, relax and receive”. I feel as though I have done pretty miserably at the task yet most of my close friends seem to differ… saying I have come along way in the last year.

I feel it on some levels, the struggle is still there, the questions still there, still intense but different. I have been called out - valued in ways I never thought I would be, I feel like some of my friends actually see me not only for the struggle but also for the potential. I occasionally get glimpse of what they see…what they say, their deep expressions of value and truth solidifying, through their consistency, a different future.

Receiving is a difficult yet God has definitely said it is time… this is about receiving… the work done to this point was all about now and what is coming– it means vulnerability… hope and more trust. I don’t trust well in fact, that I trust as all... is significant. I was talking to my pastor about the fear I have of those I trust leaving and he mentioned, “The greater concern was ME leaving.” He understood the daily battle to stay… to risk… It is a huge leap of faith.. as I walk in the risk of love, relationship and receiving - I gamble being re-abused… I gamble the biggest pain of my life I gamble loosing hope. If it were not for the certitude that God has to be good that his heart for me has to be good and that I am seeing it demonstrated by these same people everyday I wouldn’t take a step…

Touched

This weekend I had the opportunity to attend my churches first retreat. I have enjoyed some days of normalcy lately – they have been so good and I have felt so normal and so much like “me” [whatever that is]… I was concerned to throw myself in to the fray of unknown relationships and outcomes. The retreat would prove to be a good experience filled with all the normal pitfalls and questions rambling about my head and all the struggles of friendships.

It is not that I don’t have friends… I have tons of friends I have done the big crowd thing… I have maneuvered the public side of ministry well… I can do it in my sleep… I’m just not interested any more… It feels like a type of personality prostitution... it feels cheap. Being known however and relational intimacy is my kryptonite.

I have been told that I have a laser understanding of relationships… that I can identify problems instinctively.. know what to do and skillfully do it… it is why I have my current job, I see it… I think that is true… true that is until it comes to me… as soon as I get close to people the screen goes blank… the radar is down and I am lost. wondering with more questions then direction.

I have had a few experiences that stop me in my tracks one was my buddy just resting his hand on my shoulder… it stunned me… touched me deeply and as I have written before tethered me and made me feel like I belonged on this earth. It was the longest I had ever been touched it was about being connected, being touchable [not disgusting] and being asked to be present… join the masculine journey… little did I know where that would take me but in the moment it took me out.

This weekend I had a similar experience. A friend of mine is very present, very aware and very fully God’s women and presence of beauty in the lives of many. Her and her husband are part of a Godly persona trifecta that is changing my life… this day it was her… She stepped into my moment and in a similar fashion to the tethering took me out. This time it was not about tethering… I was in the battle…feeling as though I had made a huge relationship mistake… that I was really not wanted and that I had made a huge mistake by coming to the retreat…I felt like I did not belong felt like I was being needy. I was on my way out… going to pack and leave. My heart and mind raged, wrestling with what was true.

I decided to stay knowing what I felt was not reality and chose to try and ride it out… I tried to avoid people that knew me… I entered the dining hall got my food and sat as far away as I could. Soon my table was filled with friends. She, God’s ambassador and her husband sat next to me and for a few minutes. She knows me well enough to know something was up and simply rested her crossed knee on mine… on purpose. It took me out, rather then tethering it accessed vulnerability I couldn’t restrain.. I tried to keep it together but my lip began to tremble my eyes watered I tried to choke it back.. I did not understand what was happening. I felt my breathing slow my mind calm and this huge spring of emotions come without restriction. I wanted to rest in it and felt a deep compulsion to just put my head down and weep. As quickly and quietly as I could I left the table and went to the nearest quiet place [the men’s bathroom] and just cried… I still don’t know why… I still can’t say. It just was… I had been touched… on purpose by beauty… sought and cared for on purpose. It was a tender grace a mothering and more then that it was beauty in its purest form his beauty in the way God intended.

I still can’t talk about it without tearing up…

I am Carlos

Through the fog of my own ignorance comes truth and an image of  me that I do not know. I have talked about my story in front of thousands, on the radio in auditoriums and through print and on the web.  You would think by now I would know my own story.

Several days ago I met with my counselor Sam (www.samjolman.com)… he said, “Lee you do not know your own story” I was perplexed I could right now give you the whole wad… spew it out in full detail, colors, places and participants. How could I not know my own story? Yet as our time went on I began to see how I have held myself, the younger places, the ones who went through the abuse, in deep contempt.

I know the contempt well, desiring at times to want to punish myself or thinking that I deserve the bad things that come my way. In relationships a sparse contact, a friend having a bad day, or an ambiguous comment  and I am sent reeling into having done something wrong. I get trapped in my head and my thoughts race trying to find an exit…finding none they turn in on each other and me...as my chest tightens, I close my eyes and try to pray and ride it out. Sometimes hours later, exhausted, I fall asleep or make it to my car… or crawl my way to some distraction.

I know my story… I hate it! I hate what I did and what happened to me… what I couldn’t do and what is left undone. It is part of the problem. The fact that I hate my own story, I’m told, is proof that I do not know it… Do not know the warrior child that survived overwhelming odds… indomitable force… severe abuse, abandonment, loneliness and constant humiliation. That still does not understand how my friends can love me.

Deep powerless humiliation….There was a time my mother forced my out into a hotel room completely naked… the room was filled with family and strangers… I remember them laughing… even now as I write I feel like withdrawing… turning in on myself… I hear the words said without being spoken words about my body, masculinity, value and worth. I hear the coins of agreement drop into place ... that I deserved it, that I still deserve it, that no one could love me, that I am poison, and hurt those I love and that I mess everything up... It is this boy I hold in contempt

I would never treat a child that had been sexually abused by his own mother the way I treat myself. Yet in my own story it is perfectly acceptable… having spent time in the DR recently with orphans there faces pop into my mind…images of these boys… of Cristian, Ramey and Carlos. I would never ever treat these boys the way I treat myself in fact I would do severe damage to anyone who tried to harm them. I could not stop myself, Yet for me it is acceptable….  One boy Carlos made a huge impact on a friend of mine and as a result got into my heart as well. As I watched them interact it touched me in such deep, deep places. In these moments of contempt where I look at myself with such deep hatred, and sincerely struggle not to punch myself in the face, eat poorly or not exercise...thinking that I am or deserve to be ugly, ignored or abandoned…I find myself saying “I am Carlos”

I AM CARLOS!… sitting there looking at him… me looking at me.. with many of the same unmet needs… many of the same desires , to be held, fathered,  tickled, wrestled with, to belong and to have a home to have a family. I am forced to recognize the value of my experience.

Me… understanding my story, begins with Sam just two days ago and me admitting out loud and not just saying it… not just telling the story in third person but admitting it  “My mother abused me sexually and exposed me to pornography and sexual acts at a very young age”  I could not say it and mean it for a while…even now as I type it I hear the contempt… “you crybaby why don’t you just get over it! I hear another voice saying, “quit being such a pussy you little faggot!”

It is these same voices I hear coming from the blanks that are left in the unintentional ambiguous non-responses of friends…  in the open spaces this contempt leaps in and I hear it…just get over it…. Why aren’t you farther along idiot… I don’t have time for you! The thing is I know these people, they have and are walking with me through my mess they have committed themselves to my journey told me of their love, of our brotherhood and they would never say these things. Yet it is what I know… it is what I feel like I deserve.. It drowns out the truth that “I am Carlos… I am a champion and warrior! That it is flat out amazing that I am here, alive and not in jail… “ I do not understand it… In my story I am an anathema.  

The truth that I have heard and is perhaps the hardest to accept is that I am my own worst abuser. It is the part of the materializing image that I prefer not to be true yet it is…. I have found my enemy and it is me…