Angst and Apathy

Lately, I've found myself simply coasting.  There's been a certain apathetic reluctance to engage in the spiritual.  It's not that God has become undesirable or uninteresting necessarily, just that I've allowed myself to be busy and distracted.

It's true that I have an unfortunate enthusiasm for chasing myriad distractions.  My "free" hours each day are easily filled by Netflix, sports, video games, and books.  And the whole buying a house adventure certainly demanded a lot of my attention for a while (and quite fairly I think).  None of those things are bad, of course, but as DFW would say,

". . . the insidious thing about these forms of worship is not that they're evil or sinful, it's that they're unconscious. They are default settings."

It's not really that I've been making bad choices, I simply haven't been making any choices.  I've floated along, letting each little whim take me where it will.

Actually, that's overstating it a bit.  It's not like I've been spiritually bankrupt, but I have noticed an itch for something deeper.  But that takes me to a somewhat conflicting realization: I've lost my angst.

Oh, how I remember those years of angst.  Always desperate, always pushing in, pressing in, digging deeper, begging for more, making promises and commitments and covenants . . .

It was so exhausting.  Just a soul-crushing cycle of fervor, burnout, and "renewal".  I have absolutely no desire to go back to that place.  As Father has revealed the depths of his love and affection over the last decade or so, all that desperation and angst has slowly faded away.  There's no more fear about missing out on what God is doing, or of disappointing him, or feeling some need to work up some type of supernatural experience.  I have found fullness and completion in him, love and affection that carry me through every circumstance, grace for every failure and joy in every sorrow.

Not that I'm claiming I've arrived or reached the peak of spiritual knowledge and wisdom, far from it.  More than ever I am aware of my incredible ignorance and lack of understanding.  But I've found peace in situations that used to terrify me, a calm and comfort that certainly seems to come from something beyond myself.

And that's the conflict.  Am I truly apathetic or just finally moving into a serenity born of fellowship with Father?  Is there room to be more intentional in my relationship without regressing into angst?  Is it just that I have a hard time comprehending why there seems to be fruit developing in my life at a time that my effort is nearly nonexistent?

Maybe this is simply a season of discovering that all the years of striving and working could not produce any lasting fruit while the simple surrender of relaxing into Father's love has untwisted much of the fear and frustration that resided in my heart.  It's possible some of what I'm feeling is an echo of the guilt that used to plague me for never doing enough.  I suppose I'll probably be wrestling with this for the rest of my life, trying to find that balance between devotion and surrender, intentionality and relaxation.

I want to learn to be present and engaged, ready to respond to each of Father's invitations to join Him in this dance, but not so over eager that I try to build something of my own effort and strength.  This seems to be a delicate walk and I have no doubt that I will often stumble off both sides of the path.  But grace, always grace, will bring me back.

Changes

I'm in a fog.  A funk.  A funky fog of frustration and fear.

To what end?  Where does this angst take me?  Why am I surprised by how quickly anger leaps in my chest?  Why does there seem to be no hope, no redemption, nothing of interest at all?

Drudgery.  That's the word I've been looking for.  All is drudge.

I'm being forced to make decisions, which I approach with bone-deep dread.  Ambiguity is more my speed.  Plan, but nothing concrete.  Prepare, but ready to bail.

I need resolution, but refuse to travel down that path.  Too many long hard conversations block my way.  Too many possibly painful moments of honesty.  I fear the truth I've buried in the dark.

But doing nothing solves nothing.  The gloomy clouds do not dissipate by ignoring them.  A storm may be on the way but this little shanty of fear and frustration will do nothing to shelter me.

Still I am mute.  A heaviness rises from my heart and lodges in my throat.  The more space is given to speak, the more I shrink back.

Possibly I am too aware of the impact of words.  What is said can never be taken back. Why talk about a problem when you can simply ignore it and hope it fixes itself?  Despite all evidence to the contrary, I live as though that may actually happen.

Avoidance begets avoidance, distraction begets distraction.  Running in place is exhausting and hiding under a rock offers no refreshment.

But what alternative is there?  To face the issues I have caused with uplifted chin and shoulders thrown back?  Preposterous.

Another day of fluorescent lights and shrinking cubicles.  Another evening of anxious escapism.  All too easy to see thousands of these days stretching out before with no change and no relief.

Yet change is as frightening as it is needed.  It is not easily controlled, it leaks into every area of life.  A shift of the rudder to avoid a sandbar can lead you dangerously close to an unseen whirlpool. Better almost to be becalmed on the still seas. At least that only leads to madness.  And a certain comfort can be found in madness.



But even this rambling is simply another way to delay, to analyze without engaging, to make an abstract study of the very fabric of my life.  Much easier to stand outside and observe than to slip inside my skin and risk the many trials and tribulations of life.

To feel is to know pain.  The alternative - an unfeeling existence - seems to me to be a little less than life.  Even now I have not slid so far as to desire that.

So I tentatively point one foot down the path, knowing I wear no armor at all that will protect me from the discomforts of change.  To live honestly is not the same as living easily, but I must trust that there is a far greater reward.

Two Left Feet

My feet felt light for the first time in months

It was like You came walking across the room
Straight at me and then straight through me

And then stopped and stood still for awhile

I knew then that I’d been lonely for quite some time

And as we started to dance, You gently took off my tear-soaked coat

And let it fall heavy to the floor and then

We danced some more

I do not dance well.  This is a fact.  I can blame it on a variety of factors, but the plain truth is simply that I can not dance, nor should I try.

It's that stupid rhythm thing, y'know?  I can hear the rhythm fine, but the translation to movement is where I get lost.  And the more I get out of rhythm, the more I analyze each move.

"Should my left knee bend now?"

"Do I sway right now?"

"What the hell am I supposed to do with my arms?"

Shockingly, intense analysis of each limb's movements does not lead to graceful dancing.  The more I try to calculate movement, the further I fall out of rhythm.  It's a vicious cycle.  

I think dance needs to come from the heart, not the head.  There needs to be an instinctual, shameless response to something larger than myself.  Instead of trying to control the rhythm, I need to give myself to it.  

And this pretty much sums up why I struggle with a lot of things in life.  It occurred to me recently that life is a dance, and for most of my life I've been at least half a beat off.  I have grabbed and grasped and tried my best to control every outcome.  Even when the music invites me one way, I stubbornly stomp another.

It's like I'm getting on the dance floor determined to dance a samba, even if the band plays a gentle waltz. And the worst part about it is that in life I am capable of dancing wonderfully.  For the few moments I've managed to let go and simply move to the music around me, I've been able to join in life's joyous rhythm.  I've allowed myself to be swept away by One who is music and movement itself.  

The only catch is that I have to allow myself to be led.  It's not always an easy thing to let myself be pulled into the dance, it seems my natural impulse is take the reins myself.  Maybe it's a guy problem, or I have control issues, but I've always fought against being led.

I do think part of the problem is that there are some misconceptions about what it means to be "led".  It seems that we've somehow used that language to imply that Father lays out a specific path for us to take and then it's up to us to walk it.  At least, that's what I had always thought.

Now I'm wondering if maybe it's not a specific path we're invited down, but rather an invitation to dance down whatever path we are on.  I tend to focus too much on my particular situations and circumstances and remain unaware that Father is asking me to dance in the middle of it all.  

I fight and I struggle and I cling so hard to the many frustrations and disappointments that fill my day, all the while missing the fact that I'm being invited to let them all go and join the God of Love as he leads a dance of grace and joy. Sometimes the hardest thing of all is to surrender my right to be miserable.  

So now I'm trying to quiet myself a little bit, to take a deep breath and listen for the faint strains of music in the midst of the everyday.  I'm trying to remember that my feet will move to the rhythm if I let them and that if I really want to dance, I need to face each day with a soft, tender heart.

When all is said and done

When all is gone and still just begun

I will be asked what I did with my time and why

Can You be my alibi

Cause I know I spent it dancing with You  

~ Blindside, My Alibi

Peace in the Corners

My wife and I went to North Carolina last fall for our vacation.  One evening I was randomly wandering around downtown Charlotte by myself and came across the library.  I was quite heartbroken when I realized they were already closed, but I found this wonderful quote (pic on right) on a column outside.

I have started to realize that I really do find peace in the corners.  It may have to do with security, with knowing limitations, with feeling protected and sheltered.

I often find myself gravitating toward the corner of a room when I'm in a new social situation.  Part of it certainly has to do with my introverted nature.  But on the whole, it just gives me a level of comfort as I navigate a new environment.

Right now I'm at a point in my life where I can't see any walls, let alone a corner.  Everything seems vague and nebulous, poorly defined.  I struggle to find a place of comfort and security.  On the one hand, I seem to have a lot of options.  I could try to change jobs, or move, or change my life in a different way.  On the other hand, I have no place to rest or recharge.

By being able to move in any direction, I find myself paralyzed.  With no map or landmarks, I don't know which direction to move.  My fear of making a wrong move prevents me from making any sort of progress on my journey.

Sometimes I find myself wanting to just pick a direction and start running.  Damn the consequences!  All forward motion is progress!

But then the "what ifs" start playing in my head.

"What if I end up in a worse place?"

"What if I hurt somebody?"

"What if I disappoint the people that care about me?"

And I long again for the comforting corner, the wall against my back, the quiet moment to rest.

But sometimes, if I'm conscious enough to put aside the panic and the worry, to be aware, to find the space between the heartbeats . . . I hear a whisper in the sunlight and the breeze.

I am reminded that I will not be given a map that tells me the best route, but I do have Someone who will help guide me.  I am reminded that even wrong steps can lead to beautiful places.  I am reminded that Love and Grace are my constant companions, that they provide me with a corner in which to rest even in the midst of the wide open wildernesses.  

Being Right

Walter Sobchak: Am I wrong?
The Dude: No you're not wrong.
Walter Sobchak: Am I wrong?
The Dude: You're not wrong Walter. You're just an asshole.
Walter Sobchak: Okay then.




I used to think it would be nice to have the answer key to life, the universe, and everything.  Trying to maneuver through life using only instinct and guesswork has always been uncomfortable for me.  Everything would be so much easier if I had something that told me exactly what to do and say.

And I've approached much of my Christian life the same way.  I tried to use the Bible as a book of answers that could solve any and all of my issues or predicaments.  The whole point of being a Christian seemed to be to get all the right answers so I could live the right way.  Those who professed to have the answers seemed to be the most spiritually mature.

But eventually I began to realize something.  Having more answers didn't make you a better person.  Even when I felt like I had a lot of the whole God-thing figured out, my life was a mess.  And I began to see it in others as well.  Talking a good game loses its luster when you start to see through the cracks of the facade into a person's broken life.

So now I was really lost.  If getting all the answers wasn't the point, what the hell was I doing?  Where was I going?  What did I have to show for all the time and effort invested into getting it all figured out?

Why worship being right when you can be right and still be an asshole?

It was really in the midst of this confusion and loss that Father gently and quietly began to invite me into something else.  Something that was even better than having the answer key to life.  He began to show me how my desires were misguided and how there was something much better than what I had been looking for.

He invited me to know a Person instead of a theology, to know a Father who loves me beyond my comprehension, to know a Jesus who is actively at work around me and asking me to join in.

It is, in some ways, a much more difficult path to walk.  I like concrete solutions to problems.  I am somewhat of a linear thinker.  I like to have a toolbox full of principles that I can use to fix any situation.  Learning to hear Father's voice and walk alongside him in everyday life can be scary at times.  Letting go of my need to control things has been a difficult transition.

But you could not pay me to go back to my old rule-driven, paint-by-numbers religious life.  Knowing all the answers in the world can not give me a fraction of the peace as enjoying a quiet moment with Father.  Life is more unsettled now but it is finally life.

And this has really begun to work through into other areas of my life.  I'm less concerned about being the person who is right, and more interested in truly hearing other people.

I've begun to realize that to have really meaningful dialogue, all participants need to at least consider the possibility that they're wrong.  Once I let go of needing to be right about everything, my conversations with other people became so much more enjoyable and rewarding.  People have started to be more important that my own agenda.

And lest you think I'm trying to simply preach a different set of answers, let me assure you that this is all still very much a work in progress.  This is not something I think I am going to master in this lifetime.  Some days I do better at quieting the noise and distancing myself from distractions in order to create a space for Father to speak.  Some days (or weeks) I remain consciously unconscious, choosing meaningless busywork because it can be much easier.

But now we see another example of why knowing a Person trumps the quest for answers.  If I stumble on my walk with Father I am not given a failing grade and told to go study harder.  On a journey together there is grace to sustain me when I falter, there is loving correction when I screw up, and failure is never the final word.

A New Day

But I can't stop thinking

How you just keep making

Sense of all that was broken before

And I won't keep faking

'Cause I'm done with taking

'Cause with you, I'm not broken anymore

~Not Broken Anymore (Blue October)

I've never been one for New Year's resolutions.  I don't really get the concept of waking up one day, making a list of things to do better, and then magically becoming a different person.  I just don't think it works like that.

Sure, some Type A driven people probably thrive on that kind of thing.  But for me it would simply be a new list of things I failed at, a way to track my shortcomings.  Plus, on January 1st I'm usually deep in my sun-deprived winter blues and am only focused on surviving 'til April.  Suffice it to say, I am not really a goals-oriented person.

Still, though, the somewhat arbitrary distinction of a new year does provide at least the illusion of a fresh start.  And that may not be a bad thing.  Maybe that helps us understand grace a little better.  Maybe it lets us take stock of where we are and look ahead to the promise and potential of the future instead of being mired in the pain and disappointment of the past.

Ok, ok, that last sentence was a bit much.  But I do think the idea of a clean slate is important.  And maybe that's not something that should be relegated to only one day a year.  What if every day was the start of something new?  Yes, that's nauseatingly trite, but does that make it wrong?

It's easy to accumulate loads of baggage as we maneuver through our days, becoming weighed down by a thousand regrets.  And it's not that we should ignore our pasts, there are wonderful lessons to be learned there.  But maybe there's more than one way to see our past.

One option of course is to let ourselves be defined by all the things we wish we had done differently.  That's generally what I choose.  But those lyrics at the top of the page really resonated with me when I first heard them.  There's something amazing about the idea of Father taking everything that seems broken and showing us how he's fashioned something beautiful from our messes.

Even though I don't make resolutions, it's nice to be reminded that a new year is beginning.  And this year, I'm going to try to see each day as a fresh start, a chance to try again, an opportunity to learn how my mistakes and failures are woven into a beautiful tapestry by Father's hands. 

It's not easy, and frankly I don't really feel like doing it.  I read what I've just written and I can't honestly tell you I believe it all.  But I know changes are needed and I'm going to try to exercise my ability to choose how I think. 

This is a new day.

This is water.