agnosticynicism

apprehensive

"They’re fooling themselves. They think all this bullshit about hard work and achieving means something but it doesn’t. Universe is completely random. Particles colliding at random. Blind chance. So you didn’t make it. No big deal. It’s not your fault. Shit’s random."
-Party Down

I'm not an atheist, just apprehensive.

I've mentioned before that I've stopped praying or relying on God in any kind of way.  I used to feel guilty about it but now I don't feel bad at all.  Nothing in my life has changed.  I'm no better or worse for it, which makes me wonder if God was ever in my life at all, or if God is anything at all.

I don't know.  I'm not sure I care.  I do hate that I've slid so far down but what can I do?  I've tried it all with the prayer and meditation and Bible reading and patience.  Nothing helped.  Nothing ever does.

Faith is a lot like a slot machine.  You pray and pull the lever and you hope for good results but you never know if you'll hit it big or end up empty.  It's really all random chance. You can never be sure if the constant prayer ever pays off or if things in your life just finally line up.  You want something long enough and if you work for it, you might just get it.  It doesn't mean God had anything to do with it.  Just to be fair, it also doesn't mean he didn't.  You just can't know so why get caught up in it?

It pisses me off when people think I have given up on my faith in God just because I am not where I want to be in life.  Do people think that's how I think it works?  I'm not new to this game.  I'm not asking for a perfect life.  It's not about circumstances but sensations.  I have never felt that comforting presence.  I have never had a good feeling when it comes to God.  I've only ever felt separation, emptiness, nothingness.  I am not reassured when I pray.  When I scream for God to give me a sign, I get nothing.  I am not comforted and therefore I don't think there's anything out there to comfort me.  How hard is it just to say hello?  If God cares/exists, why has he not shown me?

And where's the stable relationship with anyone in my life, cosmic or concrete, with flesh or faith?  My parents are distant, my coworkers are crass and former friends are too busy.  I can congregate and communicate but I'm no one's number one.  

I wish I could believe again.  I wish I could be the good little Christian boy in my Christian bubble like so many people around here.  They are small-minded and naive and annoying.  And sometimes I think it would be easier if I could just be that way, too.  What if God gave a shit?  What if he finally had mercy on my menial life?

It's not like he's bullying me or anything.  It just feels like it.  But that's conceited on my part because, really, who am I?  He has a whole big world to ignore so why would he single me out to slice and dice?  No, he's saving that dirty work for the devil.

victor/victim (i love to complain)

The co-worker who played the race card all the time also called me out the other day.  I said something about how he and the other co-worker who moonlights as a preacher had all the luck with customers.  They always ran into receptive individuals who treated them warmly while I got stuck with the disgruntled, disheveled, and diarrhea prone.

He smiled and said, "Come on, man.  You play the victim."

His words struck me like a slap to the face because that's what my counselor said to me when I was in college.  At the time, I thought my counselor was full of crap and didn't understand what I was going through.  And here was this guy, having only known me for a couple of weeks, giving me the same diagnosis.  He already had me pegged.  Am I that transparent? 

Maybe I am.  Maybe I do play the victim and it's something I've subconsciously done and I never realized it and yet it's plain to everyone else.

It's painful to see myself like that but it's also necessary if I want to correct it.  In some ways, I feel I've made peace with my pain.  We are all hurting.  We didn't choose to be born but yet we were thrust into this cruel world.  We are all victims but some are just more vocal about it.  No one's pain is more important or unjustified than anyone else's but we continually negate other people's negative feelings.  Sure, I agree some people do have it worse than others.  I've said multiple times that I don't even have it that bad.  But does that mean I should strap on a smile and act like everything is fine?

I think there's a fine line between being grateful and being gross about it.  At the end of the day, if we and our families are safe and can feed and clothe and house ourselves, we really have nothing to complain about.  And yet, we all complain.  And then we get annoyed when other people complain.  How many of us really examine our situations and realize we have it better than probably 90% of the planet and then and immediately put an end to our own rants?  I'd venture to guess not many, including those who complain about others who complain.  It's all relative, really.

I complain to vent.  Sometimes, it's how I get through the day.  It doesn't mean I'm not grateful for what I have.  It doesn't mean I think I have the worst life ever.  But sometimes I get pissed off about things and I need to express that.  I express myself.  I complain.  I piss and moan.  It's what I do.  It's what feels good.  And I'm darn good at it.  But it's not all I'm about.  If I had something good to express, I'd express that, too.  It just so happens I haven't had much good to express lately.

And just because someone seems like they have it all together, don't make the mistake of thinking they actually do.  My outside world might seem fine, but on the inside, it's on fire.  It's not so much a physical suffering but an emotional/spiritual one that not a lot of people outside of my blog have access to.  It's that silent and unseen slicing that gets a lot of people.  It's the hurt hidden in plain view.  It's the fear of the consequences of complaining.  We are taught to get up and get over it.  Quit yer cryin'!  Stop yer complainin'!  There's starving children in Africa, for God's sake!  We should be grateful we can breathe, they say, even if we're inhaling hell.

Ultimately, I think a lot of us can be less whiny, including me.  And a lot of us can be more compassionate as well.

I've tried to be more accepting of the nature of my being.  Some people are just more unfortunate than others but with bad luck.  Some are unfortunate but the odds are in their favor.  Some people are naturally happy and some are born bleeding.  Yep, I'm the hemophiliac.  I've made a conscious effort to stop blaming God for my troubles.  It's conceited to think he'd single me out and send a mack truck full of crap barreling into me.  At best, he loves me.  At worst, he doesn't care.  Either way, it's not helping my condition.  What is love without action?  If I don't know about it, does it really count?  Not in my opinion.

I'm just trying to learn to take the blows and keep it moving.  And I complain to get some of the pain off my chest.  It helps and I don't care.  I don't have to justify  myself to anyone 'cause no one knows the extent of my imbalanced brain.  But I try to justify myself anyway.  And I vent to people because I want them to know I'm not a victim and bad stuff really does happen to me.  I point out specific examples, sometimes as they happen, to show them I'm not making it up or playing a role.

But am I trying to convince them or myself?  

god complex

"If you grew up going to church, at some point in your 20's you'll probably stop going to church.  If you grew up with faith as a central part of your life, at some point in your twenties faith might move to the outskirts of town next to the trailer park and three-legged squirrel refuge. Your twenties are a process of making faith your own apart from your parents and childhood. Sometimes that means staggering away so you know what you’re coming back to."-Paul Angone, All Groan Up

"Free from the torment of sin
all this I'm giving up..."
-The Used, Light with a Sharpened Edge

I feel like I've been shedding a lot of old notions about God and humanity over the past several months.  I've heard before that sometimes our emptiness is God carving us out so he can fill us up again.  I can only hope that's what's going on with me.

I've stopped praying entirely.  I've been angry with God.  I've been rebelling, pushing my self-inflicted boundaries, joking about going to hell and rolling my eyes to all the religious symbolism embedded in my town.  Days go by and I don't even think about it.  God is not in my life and I don't cry or fret.  I just float.

I've never been so far away from God before and I feel like I've entered this new state of being.  I don't know if it's good or bad.  I'm slowly breaking away from all of it and there's a part of me that feels tremendously guilty and there's another part of me that feels nothing at all, the same kind of nothing I felt when I was more religious.  When I have God in my life and when I don't, I still feel jaded.  That muted feeling has been my only constant since the mess of my life started.

Despite my anger, I still find myself wanting to defend God against the non-believers, to those who portray God as a fag-hating proponent of 'Merica.  That is not God.  God is love.  God wants nothing more than to love and cherish all us and have us be happy.  It's that simple.  But am I right about that?  How do I know who God really is?  It certainly isn't from first-hand experience.  I was taught God was one of love but what if he really does discriminate and decimate?

One problem with people's views on God is that a lot of people pick and choose what they want to believe.  That's why we have denominations.  One person didn't like one aspect of Christianity so they started their own.  The other problem is everyone thinks their way is the right way, which seems pretty egotistical to me.  I thought the only right way was God's way.  And we can't choose which parts we want to follow and which parts we want to disobey.  At least, not if we want to be good Christians.

Of course, I'd like to believe that God is one that loves and accepts everyone.  That doesn't mean it is true but I hope it is.  Unfortunately, there are also a lot of people who believe God is about death and vengeance and punishment.  That doesn't mean it is true but they hope it is.

I admit I don't know much about God but I feel I have a better grasp on him than the majority of the Christians that live here.  They know a textbook God through a pastor chosen to recite the words from the Bible and interpret them based on his opinions.  And people come and sit and follow his interpretations, not because it's what God teaches, but because they agree with the pastor's opinions.  If they can get behind what he says, they treat it as gospel.  If not, they simply move to a different church that lines up with their own pre-existing values and morals. 

But their version of God doesn't hold up when applied to a real-world setting.  They think it's about following rules.  They believe if they go to church and pray before bed and vote Republican, they'll get into heaven.  Stay away from the gays and lesbians because they'll turn ya!  Don't mingle with people of other faiths because they could cause you to question your own and we can't have independent thought!  Stay pure until marriage because sex, out of all the sins you can commit, even though they are all supposed to be equal, is the worst!  Well, besides being gay.

But the world is filled with gays and atheists and Muslims and the whole lot of them are having sex.  You just can't avoid that stuff and you can't act better than them because, as Christianity teaches, all of mankind sucks.  You're in the same tuna boat as the lesbians, the same burning building as the terrorists, the same blood-stained bed as the man who beats his wife and the woman who cheats on her husband.  We're all guilty of something and we shouldn't pretend to be pious because we have the Bible app on our iPhones.

You can't pray the gay away.  You can't make someone believe in God.  You can't take back your virginity before your wedding night.  And sometimes you get cancer and sometimes someone you love dies in a violent car accident because of a drunken driver and sometimes you lose your job right as your wife tells you she's pregnant and sometimes you can't get pregnant.  And all the while, these Christians say to give it to God but what happens when God does nothing with what you've handed him? 

They say God will make it better.  But then, what if he doesn't?  Then they say that it's a part of his plan.  There's no accountability.  Christians flip flop more than politicians sometimes.  God blesses us with the good stuff but is nowhere to be seen once the shit hits the fan.  Yes, God blessed her with a new home and him with a promotion.  No, God had no hand in her melanoma or his molestation.  We can't sincerely say God will make it better when sometimes he doesn't.

How do we know when he's ever involved at all?  People talk of free will all the time.  God gave us free will and that's why life sucks.  When is it God's will and when is it free will? 

I feel I know enough to realize God sometimes takes a lunch break just as we have our legs broken but I also know that it's not about the rules.  One day, I watched an interview with my favorite band, Showbread.  They happen to be Christians and they were talking about why they were a band and what Christianity meant to them.  The lead singer, Josh, said it wasn't about following a set of rules but having a personal relationship with Jesus.  That changed the way I viewed Christianity from then on.  Until then, I thought it was about following rules, about staying on the straight and narrow, because that's what I was taught as I grew up in and out of the church and through Christian friends.  But I realized rules don't lead to relationships and so I changed my focus from trying to stay good to trying to get to know God.

In fact, I've learned more about Christianity through the band and their lyrics than I have through church or conversations with Christian friends.  I've come to know God better through the band and have learned that God is acceptance and not alienation.  However, who's to say that the band is right?  And who's to say I'm not just another Christian switching seats until I find one I can go along with?  Maybe I'm just as guilty as those who frustrate me.  But I suppose the difference is my beliefs don't demean or discourage anyone else.  I don't think it makes my beliefs more correct or better but at least I know I'm not spreading hatred and I think that counts for something.

Of course, despite feeling like I knew God in a better sense, despite my prayers and attempts at making a personal connection with something I couldn't see, hear, taste, or touch, nothing got better.  I stayed sad.  I stayed numb.  I stayed hopeless.  But I tried to keep the faith.

But eventually the anger surfaced.  I was angry at the Christians who spouted on about God without really knowing what God was about.  I was angry at God because I couldn't understand how all these people felt the pull of his love and I begged for it and felt nothing.  Why was he so out of reach?

Sometimes I wonder if I'm actually angry with the God I thought God was supposed to be, the one I learned about in Sunday School, the one splashed across television, radio, and on the lips of the idiotic and patriotic.  Maybe I got it all wrong because God was given to me all wrong.

But like I mentioned earlier, how do you get God right?

I tried to figure it out for years.  I prayed and read the Bible and went through the motions but no answers came.  God did not smile down upon me and I eventually gave up.  My faith waned and I felt disconnected to the one thing I had held onto throughout the passing years and the changes to my body and attitude and spirit.

I'll never know if my God is the right God.  In fact, no one will until we die and the great veil is pulled back to reveal a hand or a hatchet, a spacious room or a blank space.  And that frustrates me because I'll always wonder if I'm pondering my version of God or the God that actually exists (assuming he does).  It makes me want to push way more because there are so many differing ways to worship, so many differing opinions on who God is that it overwhelms me.  If I can't get it right, why bother at all?  Is believing in the wrong God the same as not believing at all?

Sometimes it feels easier to let it all go.  God is complex.  Too complex for my cranium to comprehend.  I'm not saying I am rejecting God or giving up on him but I am giving up on trying to feel something.  I'll always remain open and receptive to God's love but I'm too exhausted to seek it out at this point in the game.  I've put so much energy into trying to be a good kid and it's gotten me nowhere.  I've put so much energy into trying to figure out who or what or how or when God is that my mind pleads for rest.  I've been blessed.  I've been cursed.  I've been damned.

I don't think I'll ever understand why. 

of god and football

"On the East Coast, football is a cultural experience. In the Midwest, it's a form of cannibalism. On the West Coast, it's a tourist attraction. And in the South, football is a religion."
-Marino Casem

Football is in full swing around my way.  At work, we are allowed to wear football regalia on the weekends.  I see co-workers and customers alike wearing their favorite team colors, washes of red and white or blue and orange.  It's how they show their loyalty.  They also express their team pride vocally by switching the usual salutations with team mottos "War Eagle" and "Roll Tide" as they pass each other in the store.  I just stand there and shrug.  I don't understand their passion for the pigskin at all.

I'm not a sports guy.  I don't like playing sports and I don't like watching sports.  Of course, I try to be neutral and understand that I won't always share the same interests as these people and so I try not to hold it against anyone.  However,  my tolerance for the consistent in-your-face fanaticism is low.  I don't go around pushing my passion for zombies onto others and I wish they'd keep their football frenzy to themselves.  I'm constantly asked what team I root for and I always respond by saying I don't care about football.  I get weird looks in return, expressions that ask how I could live here and not be in love with the sport.

One day, a lady bought a toddler-sized Alabama team jersey.  As I bagged it up, I wondered what the jersey meant to the lady and what it meant to the toddler.  He doesn't realize the gravity of the garment he's going to wear.  He doesn't understand what it represents or how much it means to those who put it on him.  What if he grows up to root for the other team?  What if he grows up to dislike football all together? 

It's kind of the same with religion.

We raise our children in the church and in the football stands and teach them to yell out "Amen"/"Hallelujah" and "Roll Tide"/"War Eagle" but do these children ever know what it all means outside of their parents' and pastors' influence?  Can they separate what they've been told from what they want to learn?  And how do you introduce God and football into a child's life without making it seem like it's only way to live?

Many Christians would argue that God and Jesus is the only way to live.  I'm not disagreeing.  But there are people out there who do disagree and what if your child is one of those people?  Don't they have the right to believe or not believe what they want?  And the more you push God onto someone, the harder they will push back, even to the point where they might give up on God entirely.

I've seen it happen with me and with others.

But how do you really learn about God?  Someone has to teach you, right?  But what if the one who teaches you has it wrong?  And what if the one who taught them had it wrong?  It further complicates matters when we are taught not to question God and his mysterious ways.  But I think it's vital to question.  We don't want to be handed salvation.  We don't want to be told we are wrong or evil and given vague instructions on how to fix it.  We want to know for ourselves, to feel in our hearts that we are moving toward something divine and not delegated.

Through questioning, we see why things are the way they are.  We can develop a deeper appreciation for them and can explain ourselves when faced with questions and opposing viewpoints.  It's good to not only be enlightened, but educated about it as well.   

But that's hard when all you have to rely on is a collection of books written by man (who put their own spin on the word of God, surely) and a slew of individuals who consider themselves fit to decipher damnation.  No one knows for sure who or what God is, although we've tried.  We've conceived this image with these rules and systems of rewards and punishments.  But God is not what man conceives.  Where is God buried in the b.s.?  How do we dig our way through a Christianity perverted by man and get to the heart of Jesus?  Who do we turn to to guide us in the right direction and when is it possible to come up with our own conclusions?  And when we do, how do we know we got it right?  Will we pass down our erroneous prayers the way they were passed down to us?

We sit on the bleachers and in the pews and see the wave approaching, the clusters of undulating bodies standing and throwing their hands up in praise and sitting down in unison and soon we find ourselves swept up in the sea of bodies, standing and sitting because we think we're supposed to.  It's what we were taught.  We go along with it because it's all a part of the game.  It's how we show we believe.  We reach up and touch the excitement, the thrill, the electricity and we feel united.  But you begin to wonder if it helps the players at all.  With the bright lights and ever looming threat of being tackled, does the quarterback even notice us in the stands? 

Do we do it for his benefit or our own? 

bumper sticker razor blade beckoning

I stopped praying, stopped talking to God.  I gave him the silent treatment (hey, he started it).  I came to a point where I was just tired of trying to feel something and tired of talking about it and so I just stopped.  Not entirely gave up.  But took a break from calling on Christ and the resulting disappointment.

And then the signs came.

Several days ago, I drove to work and noticed a truck with several bumper stickers attached to the exterior like badly placed tattoos on bare arms.
  

For whosoever shall call upon the name of the Lord shall be saved. Rom. 10:13

  
Orly?  I've called upon the Lord many times.  Did that mean I was saved?  Was that my confirmation?  It sure didn't feel like it.  Just another random sign that anyone could have ran into or an actual extension of God?  He must have sensed my hesitation because the signs kept coming.

fearfully and wonderfully slayed, part 2

"Just let your faith die..."
-AFI, Sacrilege

I hear people say that unanswered prayers are still answered.  I keep thinking of that stupid footprints story.  Maybe you've seen me through all the pain and I never realized it or maybe I just made it on my own.  How will I ever know because you'll never tell me!  How can I keep the faith when there's no sign, no feeling, no subtle recognition to keep me going, to let me know I'm doing the right thing?  Am I just wasting my time? 
 
I kept praying, turned away from my sins, tried to think positive thoughts, focused on you and nothing ever changed.  I was empty on the inside and disappointed with the nothing in the sky.  Why couldn't I get a sign or a feeling of reassurance?  Why was there such a disconnect between me and you?  Was I still doing something so wrong as to keep you so far away?
 
I looked for you and only saw sadness.  I saw confusion over the course my life had taken.  I saw this little boy who sat alone, teary-eyed, wondering where the love and comfort was that was promised to him in a big book with big words and big promises if only he would believe in it all.
 
I believed in you.  But you didn't believe in me.

I put everything into college and it was the biggest financial and emotional mistake of my life, one that I will likely pay for until I die, which will probably be sooner than later.  Not only did college not work out but I barely scraped through graduation with all of my limbs.  My mind was destroyed as well as my spirit.

fearfully and wonderfully slayed, part 1

"If I ask you 'what is truth' will you be silent still?
My questions and doubts made a chasm
That I fear you can not fill..."
-Showbread, The Heart is Deceitful Above All Things
 
I met up with God the other day.  He actually let me record our conversation and I have conveniently transcribed it for you.  We had a long talk, or actually I had a lot to say to him.  You might notice he was sparse with the responses, which wasn't surprising.  Below is our exchange.

Me:  What's up, Lord?  I know you're busy not answering prayers and and standing idly by as the world crumbles, yet somehow swooping in and saving certain individuals from damnation to propel the proselytizing of non-believers, but we need to have some tea and a chat.  You've been dodging me for twenty-six years so the very least you can do is spare me a few minutes. 

God:  *irritated, pointing to iPhone*

Me:  Sure, I'll let you finish your call.  Tell Jesus I said hi and that I miss him.

God hangs up after several minutes, looks at me, becomes morose.

Me:  Please, have a seat.  Can I get you a Snuggie?  Nescafe?  Comfortable?  Good.  This is gonna take a while.

God:  *rolls eyes*

Me:  I hate to be negative right from the start so let's get to the good stuff first, shall we?  First of all, I am an incredibly fortunate individual.  I guess you'd prefer the term "blessed".  Sure, we can use your terminology.  I'll give you the benefit of the doubt and say you played some part in the positive aspects of my life.  I've never starved because my family couldn't afford food.  I've never been beaten by my mother or molested by my father.  I've never been left out in the cold or went without adequate clothing.  I've never had loved ones torn away from me by death or divorce.

My life is easy.

But I am absolutely miserable.   

I know this doesn't make much sense but please hear me out, okay?  As much as you might want to lambast me, I've already beaten myself up about it plenty of times.  I feel guilty and selfish because there's no real reason why I should be so miserable.  Looking at me from an outsider's point of view, I have no reason to be sad or even complain at all.  There are people who struggle twice as much as I do and aren't half as unhappy.  It's not something I can explain.  Believe me, I've tried to figure it out.  It's just those small things I've mentioned before, the small slices of pain life inflicts, the paper cuts that add up to amputation.

graphic tease

While at work, a man came through my department.  He was in his fifties, salt and pepper hair underneath a worn red Alabama football team hat, his eyeglasses shining under the florescent lights.

"Hey, it's pastor John," he said into the phone.  "Just calling to check in on you..."  His voice trailed off as he walked away from me.  I turned around and watched him.

A pastor.

I haven't had the best experiences with pastors in the past at work and I wondered if this guy would be different.  In fact, I was counting on it.  So, when he eventually left the store, I turned to God.


"God, here's a sign for me," I silently prayed.  I had given up on God giving me straightforward reassurance through a peaceful feeling or a calming voice swirling through the concha of my ear so I hoped for signs, obvious objects that would soothe my skepticism.  A quote.  A song.  A person.  A pastor.

"Please God, just let that man come back.  Use him," I said.  I prayed the man would feel some overwhelming need to come to me, to tell me that I will be okay.  God would use him as my sign, my assurance.  "I'll give it five minutes.  Please, have him come back within five minutes to let me know you're with me."

I watched the clock and counted down the minutes.  I felt stupid doing this but people witnessed miracles every day so would it really be that out of the ordinary for this pastor to come back to give me a sign I've been so desperate for for so long now?  The best part was no one would know.  It would be between me and God.  My own little miracle in the men's department.

Five minutes passed.  He didn't show.

I was a little disappointed but I wasn't all that surprised.  I know it was a silly request and it's not like my faith was resting on whether or not the pastor showed up.  But, hey, never hurt's to ask, right?  I thought I'd give it a shot.

I grabbed a bunch of strewn shirts and went back to my counter to fold them.  I zoned out as I stacked the perfectly folded shirts and when I looked up, the pastor was coming toward me.

My heart swelled.  He was coming back after all, just a little later than I laid out.  We were playing on God's time.  That was fine by me, as long as I received my affirmation.

As he got closer, I couldn't keep the smile from blooming across my face.  I looked up to greet him and he walked right past me.

My heart shrank back to its original shriveled prune size.

I stood among the graphic tees and witnessed God's graphic tease, dangling hope in front of me and pulling it away, constantly pulling it away, magnifying the hurt swirling inside me.  Like I said, I know it was a silly prayer and kind of a dumb thing to ask but it was one thing to let the man just walk away the first time and never see him again but having him come back in my sight only to walk away again just felt cruel.

I wished I hadn't even brought it up.  I did it on myself.  Stupid prayers on a whim that turned into more of a hassle than they were worth.  I should have put the pastor out of my mind and went on about my day without bringing myself down.      

It's the way God and I roll these days.  I ask for guidance and get gutted.  I ask for good days and receive depression.  It's in those moments that it doesn't feel like the actions and circumstances that I encounter are due to free will.  It feels like God is directly linked to my lacerations.  Are those my signs?  I don't know if I should be relieved that God is finally presenting himself or dismayed that he's proving his existence by eviscerating me.

I know I have it wrong.  My perspective is off.  I'm making too much of a not-so-close encounter with an unaware man of God.  I'm making too much of God's lack of involvement in my life.  Doesn't mean it doesn't still hurt.  

He keeps holding onto my head, keeping me at arm's length so I can't reach around his waist and hold tight.  I struggle, fighting to have faith in him and all I can feel is that hand, pushing away, rejecting me, maybe testing me, maybe seeing how long it'll take before the fight finally falls out of me.

It won't be much longer.

sort of like church

This entry is going to be a two-parter so hold on to your taters.  I wanted to write about a Tumblr post I read from an author I follow and then I realized that I need to talk about the guy who wrote it so I decided to split up the topics for your convenience/dread (Gosh, more long posts, Brannon, back the eff off).

parallels
I was perusing the public library one day when I came across Isaac Marion's Warm Bodies.  The cover looked interesting so I picked it up and discovered it was about zombies.  Instantly, I was sold.  I took it home and read it and realized it was not your typical zombie tale.  It was a zombie story with heart.  In fact, the story is told from the perspective of a zombie.  And he has a heart!  Or, well, he's trying to have one.  I liked the book and could really tell that the author was trying to inject more than blood onto the page.  There was a love story there, as well as questions on life and death and the nature of existence and all that good philosophical stuff.

As I do with any book/movie/television show I find interesting, I did some research on the book and Isaac Marion.  Turns out, Warm Bodies was originally self-published.  He wrote it when he was in his mid-twenties and actually landed a movie deal through his contacts in the industry (The movie comes out next year).  A book deal soon followed.  So, while he found his success backward from how most people do, I thought it was awesome that something he put out himself still managed to catch the attention of movie studios and publishing houses.

Due to his movie and book deal, he has a good chunk of change now and through his Tumblr and Twitter, I read along as he traveled across the country and independently put out his second book, The Hungry Mouth, a collection of short stories, which includes a prequel novella to Warm Bodies.  He personally sent me a copy.  Okay, and he sent 500 other people copies too but the point is we are practically BFFs. 

And because we are "so close", I get to see who he is behind the books.  He's a real guy.  He is sarcastic and crass and likes beer and sex and beards and other macho things.  But he can be charming and sensitive through the interaction he has with his readers.  He often hands out advice and his perspective on things.  I like that he's accessible.  I guess he's not famous enough yet to blow off fan inquiries so I appreciate that.  He's also an artist.  He paints.  He writes.  He plays music.  He just finished a screenplay.  He is multi-talented.  I also get this sense that he's a bit restless and is always looking for creative outlets to express himself and it reminds me of me.

We're not totally alike but I do see several parallels between us.  He grew up in a religious environment and had a downfall with religion later on in his life.  Before the success of his book, he worked unsatisfying jobs to pay the bills.  He expresses himself through different mediums.  It's both comforting and inspiring to see he was once where I am now. 

I hope, as with any budding author, if I ever put my book out, it might fall into the right hands just like with his book.  I don't see anyone making a movie out of my story but it might be traditionally published and exposed to a wider audience.  That would be great.  And if I could have the opportunity (and money) to travel, I would.  The guy gives me hope. 

He also lives in Seattle and seems to like it well enough.  I've heard good things about it from people who have been there or currently live there.  I even thought about moving there before, which led to an idea of sending him a desperate e-mail saying I was also a struggling writer and would love it if he'd house me in Seattle while I found myself (and a job).  But then I realized he'd probably get a restraining order against me so I squashed the idea.

sort of like church
As I mentioned, I also follow Isaac on Tumblr and he infrequently posts his thoughts on certain things.  Several days ago, he posted about a bar that offered cheap tacos and beer every Tuesday.  He and his friends gather there and enjoy each other's company, as well as the cheap tacos and beer.  And he wrote something that made me pause:

Taco Tuesday will always be there for you, a regular, reliable community event where friends can get together and share life.  Sort of like church, but with less self-hatred and irrational dogma and more beer and ground beef.

He brought up a good point about the self-hatred.  Ever since I was a little kid, sporadically attending church with insistent classmates, I've been taught that people are sinful and deserving of hell.  Everyone of us, from little kids to big adults to the clean to the dirty to the mean to the considerate.  It's only through Jesus that we can be saved.  Seems a little unfair that we are born sinners.  You can't help your eye color and you can't even help your soul.  That is, until you are old enough to understand Christ (but who ever really gets old enough to do that?) and ask to be saved.

And I can't tell you how many Christian songs out there have self-deprecating lyrics.  Even one of my favorite bands, Showbread, often put themselves down when responding to fan compliments.  They are quick to explain that any talent, any inspiration comes from J.C. and not them because they are losers and sinners.  I know that in many cases, this is a display of humility but come on. It all feels a little too harsh at times.

I don't even disagree that we all suck.  It's true.  We're all sinners.  We all screw up and fall short of God's glory.  BUT.  This is expected.  God himself knows this.  We know it.  It's no huge secret.  So why is it that we have to be constantly reminded of our shortcomings?  Why do we put ourselves down over something that we don't have much control over?  I'm not saying that because we are sinful, we should just give in and indulge in our sins.  Not at all.  I'm just saying we know we will never be perfect so why should we dwell on it?  We should be as good as possible, of course, but we shouldn't beat ourselves up over a few mistakes here and there.

There seems to be so many negative aspects to Christianity that have bogged down believers.  I know I'm one of them.  It would be nice if we could switch the focus from hellfire to helping others.  Pointing the way instead of pointing fingers.  Being kind instead of accusing.  Accept that we are sinners and move on to more constructive things.

I have a problem with that myself.  Sometimes I get so wrapped up in my own negativity that I think I inadvertently spread it around like smearing ink.  But embedded deep within all the negativity is the knowledge that God is supposed to love us despite our setbacks and unsatisfied lives.  That's another tough one for me.  I just don't feel that love, that acceptance.  Everyone keeps telling me Jesus is talking to me.  But all I can hear is the negativity, the low growl of disappointment and defamation from devils but grow deaf in the presence of deities.  Hopefully I'll find the strength to work on that one day.

Until then, I need to work on myself, find out how I can climb out of this well of misery and shake off the skepticism and despondency.  I've got to change my focus from regret to revival.

preacher punch

"But following Christ does not mean following His followers. Christ is infinitely more important than Christianity and always will be, no matter what Christianity is, has been, or might become." 
-Anne Rice

"Your lips touched every hand but mine
If you choose me, I’m waiting for you
Always waiting..."
-Flyleaf, Tiny Heart 

Living in the deep-fried South, I'm surrounded by a lot of religion.  And a lot of hypocrisy.

Working with the public, I encounter a lot of religious people.  And a lot of them are obnoxious.

It's astonishing to see someone's sweet Christian demeanor diminish as soon as there is a problem with their purchase.  Por example, a lady called me one day and inquired about the status of her order and when I couldn't find it in the computer system, she proceeded to freak out on me and told me I'd better find out what happened to her order.  I told her I would call her back after I got off the phone with another department and that it wouldn't take more than a few minutes.

After I sorted out the situation, which took about three minutes, I called her back and got her voicemail.  That irritated me.  If she was so adamant about finding out what happened to her order, why wasn't she waiting by the phone to hear from me?

But the part that really got me was when she left a Bible verse on her voicemail, followed by a sweet as pie "God bless."

I had to laugh.

She finally called back an hour or two later (because she was really concerned about her order).  I told her that her order was found and was actually supposed to be placed on her doorstep the next day.  She calmed down then and said, "Thank you, sugar."

"No problem, ma'am.  God bless!"  Bitch.  

belly-flopping into the lake of fire

“Pie is an irrational number, incapable of being made into a fraction, impossible to divide from itself. So, too the soul is an irrational, indivisible equation that perfectly expresses one thing: you. The soul would be no good to the devil if it could be destroyed. And it is not lost when placed in Satan’s care, as is often said. He always knows exactly how to put his finger on it.”
-Horns by Joe Hill

I'm pretty sure I'm going to hell.

It seems like such a casual conclusion to an insignificant life, a lazy indifference to a devastating destination.  I'm definitely not happy about it but I feel calm.  In fact, I think I'm more disturbed by now undisturbed I am by it.  How can be so blasé about baking in eternal hellfire?  Maybe it's because it is too terrible to conceive.  Or maybe I feel deep down in my heart that I'm truly not deserving of damnation.  But hell is not determined by good deeds or being a good person.  It's salvation through Jesus, which I'm not sure I have.  It's about having a personal relationship with Christ, which I definitely don't have.  The more I learn about Christianity, the more I realize how far away from it I am, how I'm confused by certain aspects or flat our disagree with others.

I already knew there were several parts of Christianity I wasn't following.  There's that whole bit about loving your neighbor, which is a problem for me because I pretty much hate everyone.  And through stumbling upon other Christian teachings, I found out, much to my surprise, that anxiety and depression are symptoms of sin.  And since I believe I fit those labels, it makes me wonder if it's all my fault, if I've done this to myself.  I can't help but to think of my horse-faced counselor in college.  He sat in his chair, his gray hair pulled tightly across his temples, hanging in a limp ponytail, telling me that a lot of my troubles were brought on myself.  He said I assigned different roles to different people in my life.  Some were executioners, others were saviors.  And I fulfilled the role of victim.  He did have a Jesus beard so maybe there's a connection there.  But at the time I didn't need to hear that.  It didn't seem like the best idea to tell me I was bringing all the pain I was feeling on to myself.  Even if it was true, it felt like there should have been a better way to go about it.  Telling a depressed person it's all their fault?  What good is that supposed to do?  Are they expected to snap out of their sadness?  It only plunged me deeper because not only was I going through all of this grief, I was told it was all my fault, that it was all pointless, that I could have controlled it, that I could have done without it, that I might have been happy.  No, I did not feel better.

But I prayed through it and tried to rely on God.  Things got marginally better.  That could have been God at work or that could have simply been life unfolding as it randomly does.  So there was no reassurance.  There was no proof or confirmation.  It was most likely chance, something easily explained away.  Easily dismissible.  God felt easily absent.  But I kept going, kept praying, kept relying because you don't give up on God when it's hard.  But when things are easy, it's easy to be a Christian, easy to praise God for all the good in your life.  Yet it feels nearly impossible to hang on to the hope of something greater when your world is in shambles.  Obviously, it can be done.  Good Christians do it every day.  I have an acquaintance whose life is worse than mine in many aspects and yet she still has a strong faith.  I envy her a lot.  I have it better in so many ways, but worse in others.  I look up to her an wonder how she does it.  I suspect a big part of it is because she grew up in church.  Her parents were strong Christians and instilled that into her at an early age.  I didn't grow up that way.  For her, her faith was as natural as her arms and legs.  For me, faith always felt like having an extra arm attached to my forehead.  It never quite felt right.

It's just hard to talk to a God who doesn't talk back.  It's hard to put faith in something that seems so distant and unattainable.  It's hard to believe in good when you feel bathed in bad every day of your life.  My mind is diseased and my body is deformed and I can't see the justice in it, especially when I called out for salvation so many times, read my Bible, prayed, listened for God's voice many a night and never got so much as a whisper.  I felt like I followed the "rules" but every Christian has a different set of rules, another aspect of the religion that frustrates me.  Go to any church, any religious leader, and they'll all tell you there's only one way to reach Jesus, but they each have their own "one way."  I've been told to just follow me heart and pray about which way to go and believe in that but what if I believe in the wrong way?  Take a look at my life and you'll see I'm not good at making decisions.  I tried to have faith, tried to press on through prayer because people told me that God was still there, God was still with me, working through me, even if I couldn't feel it or hear it.  And I tried to believe that but belief only goes so far without a little evidence, faith only goes so far without a little bit of confirmation.  None of which I have received.  The wind never blew, my heart never stirred and my soul never stilled.

god the father

"Fathers, do not embitter your children, or they will become discouraged." 
-Colossians 3:21

I've often tried to do research on man and God and the connection between the two that I cannot seem to establish.  In the past, I've made attempts to live the Christian lifestyle, to give my troubles and fears to God but there was always a slight hesitation, always a need for validation that I was living correctly, that I was in fact saved, that God was there with me.  But there was never any indication that God heard me, that He was with me, or that He even cared.  And one day, I came across an interesting viewpoint about certain people's relationships with God.  I cannot recall where I gathered this information but I remember it struck me.  The person said that there is often a correlation between the relationship you have with your heavenly father and the relationship you have with your biological father.  When I thought about my dad, I realized it always felt like he was absent, too.  Maybe this person was on to something.

As you might have guessed by now, based on my assessment of the rest of my family, I don't have a great relationship with my dad.  He's a stoic figure who isn't incredibly expressive, articulate or affectionate.  He hasn't hugged me since I was a little kid.  I don't even remember the last time we've touched.  I also can't recall the last time he told me he loved me.  And I see God in the same way.  My father in heaven feels just as cold and distant as my father in my home.  It's as if they both gave me life and then stood back and watched me live it, witnessed my stumbles and falls into the dirt and didn't lift a hand to help.  They've both provided in some ways, such as financial comfort and housing, and lacked in other ways, such as emotional stability and safety.  They both feel like a presence that cannot be persuaded.

There's quite a few differences between me and my father.  He's incredibly country and I'm not.  He likes to hunt and fish and drink beer on Fridays after work.  I like to write and draw and eat candy.  He's not into art or music like I am.  He likes westerns.  I like horror.  He's an outside type.  I'm an insider.  You get the point.  But we don't clash over our differences and it's not hard for us to get along, mostly because we are so different we are almost removed from each other's lives.  There is no tension because there is basically nothing there at all.  When I come home from work and walk into the den where he is, he doesn't say hello or acknowledge me.  I always have to be the one to initiate contact and it hurts.  An absence of a greeting might not seem like much but I don't see him all day and when we find ourselves in the same room, he can't be bothered to tear himself away from the six o' clock news to say hello.  And God, in his vast greatness, can't seem to come down to Earth to throw me a bone.

But that's not to say my dad doesn't care for me.  I know he does.  He just doesn't show it.  And being the insecure mess that I am, I need that reassurance.  And I know God is supposed to care for me but I don't feel that, either.  I'm constantly praying for a sign that I'm living the way I should be, that God is with me, that I'm not some gigantic sinner that's bound to belly-flop into the lake of fire.  And I wonder what it will take to change things.  Should I begin with God or my dad?  If I see an improvement in one area, should I expect the same results on the other side?  I doubt it.  Much like my sister, my dad is set in his ways, not that my dad is a douche like my sister.  As far as I can tell, he's a good man, just guarded and closed off emotionally.  And because he has been that way for over fifty years, I don't think there's much I can do to pierce his countrified armor.  

While my father remains steadfast in his stoicism, God remains deaf and dumb to my dilemmas.  I know I've called out to him more times than I can recall only to be met with silence.  I wonder if my dad would be so silent.  I suppose all it would take is for me to ask.  But if I were to be honest with myself, I'm not sure I really want to ask.  Maybe I'm not in a hurry to change things, to have such a great relationship with my dad.  Maybe I'm too far gone or maybe I'm just too scared.

My dad has never been the picture of great health.  He's a big believer in deep frying everything.  He also enjoys his alcohol and cigarettes.  The smoking thing is a big problem for me.  He's getting older and having worked a back-breaking job for over thirty years now, his body has slowly worn down.  He has an unhealthy diet and doesn't wear sunscreen despite the fact that he works out in the sun all day long.  It feels as if he's already in danger of disintegrating without having to add the bad habit of smoking to the mix.  There's a long list of dead relatives who expired due to tobacco related illnesses.  He watched his aunt die a slow and painful death from emphysema.  She was a long time smoker.  He watched his brother die a slow and painful death from lung cancer.  He was a long time smoker.  And you think that might have stopped him, might have been revelatory occurrences.  But he never missed a beat.  Even when his colon exploded at four in the morning when I was eight-years-old.  It was cancer.  Despite the chemotherapy and colostomy bags, Dad still lit up.  And I think that kind of scare left a scar inside me.  In the back of my mind, I'm always terrified that my dad will fall ill again, that the cancer will come back or turn up in a different part of his body and he'll die in a hospital bed hooked up to tubes and wires.  That he'll turn skeletal and bald like his dead brother.  that he'll suffer and that I'll suffer seeing him like that.  And that fear has held me back from getting close to him.  I don't want to spend years building this beautiful relationship with my dad only for him to die on me so suddenly.  And so I don't get close to spare myself that potential pain.  And I feel bad about that.

It's kind of weird because I don't feel like I'm missing anything in my life, therefore I almost feel like nothing needs to change.  I see my dad fairly regularly and so he's in my life, he's just not involved in my life.  I'd imagine a lot of people would want to be closer with their loved ones but I'm not sure if I do want to be closer with my dad.  We can't relate to each other as we are on two totally different areas of the personality spectrum.  I don't agree with many of his philosophies, nor his small-mindedness on certain issues.  But there's no talking or compromise because he will always think he's got the world figured out and there's no fighting that.  He's already mentioned that he'd be willing to disown me if ever I turned out a certain way and so it's hard to bond with that knowledge tucked away in my head.  My dad has his own world figured out and I wonder how much I factor into it.  It feels like a case of not missing what you never had but I fear it will turn into not knowing what you have until it's gone.  I don't want to regret that I never had a better relationship with my dad but it's not like it's strained to begin with.  I don't dislike him but there's nothing special there.  I hate to say it because so many people grow up without a father and I am fortunate enough to have one but I don't cherish it.  And a part of the reason why is because I feel like he doesn't cherish it, either.  But nothing will change because things don't need to be.  I don't think I'll get anything more out of our relationship than I've already gotten and I guess I'm fine with that...or I will be eventually.  

And I feel that same kind of standstill with God, at least in the relationship department.  I feel my knowledge and understanding of God has been changing and growing throughout the years yet I can't seem to apply that knowledge and understanding to whatever it is that he and I have.  There are times when I want to give up and there are times when I want to persevere.  But nothing ever really seems to change.  It's hoping and wishing and no action.  It's the fear of rejection, of awkward silences, of breaking down walls and putting in effort.  It's wondering if the outcome is worth that effort.  It's all about relationships and how I can't make them work with friends, family or God the father.  It's about wanting to be loved by those considered to be closest to me.  And it's about not feeling like I am.  What good is the heart if you can't show it to me?  How do I know I have it when it's kept locked away in a box among the money and gifts?  It's nice to know you're loved.  It's nicer to be told.  It's the best when shown.  And that's something I think people have a lot of trouble with, especially my two dads.

christianitease

"I searched for God, No answer came
Just the victim of dying love
Take my sins away..."
-Aiden, ReEvolver

Sometimes, it feels like Christianity is nearly unattainable.  One of the biggest goals in the religion is to be Christ-like, which includes being kind to everyone, including friends, neighbors, even your enemies.  It's really all about being humble and showing love to everyone.  And for me, someone who pretty much dislikes people as a whole, someone who doesn't believe in love anymore, this is problematic.

I don't want to act like I've seen the worst humanity has to offer because I know that is not the case but I have seen a lot of rude and disrespectful people in my time.  Working in retail, I see it every single day.  I know it might sound silly to develop an opinion on mankind based on discourteous customers but it really does add up over time.  It all comes back to my paper cut concept, how small annoyances or missteps don't seem like a big deal when dealt with separately.  It's only when it all builds up within you, stacking sickness upon setbacks until it swells into insanity.  And in retail, you really see how selfish, rude, uneducated and unwashed people can be.  It doesn't help that my fellow employees are just about as bad as the customers.  And while one bad person can ruin my day, a collection of crass (and oftentimes crusty) customers can ruin my entire outlook.  It would be different if I had a rude interaction every once in a while but it is all day, every day.  I'm pretty sure that will wear on anyone after a while, no matter how cheerful they believe themselves to be.

Yet, God, and my employer, command that I be nice to these people, that I treat them with kindness and respect, although they ignore my greetings, destroy my perfectly folded shirts and berate me when they aren't given the type of discounts they believe they are entitled to.  And I am nice in the face of their fury.  But I don't like it.  I wish I could call people out on their nasty behavior, put them in their place and even give them a good smack, something to rattle them out of their rudeness.  But I can't and it probably wouldn't make a difference anyway.  All of this is coming after a tragic time in college where my perceptions of people were originally shattered.  Now, those broken perceptions are ground into my face daily.

It's hard to look an a-hole in the eye (no pun intended) and be generous.  Yet, that's what we are supposed to do.  But it's easier to be negative, to be rude and hateful and angry just like everyone else.  It almost feels natural.  And in a way, I suppose it is.  We all fall short of the glory of God.  We are all born sinners.  It is who we are.  As Christians, we are constantly told we are only worthy of hell and it is through God's grace that we are given the chance at heaven.  So, we are forced to go against the ungrateful grain and be gracious instead.  And through it all, Jesus promises to make it all better in another life.  Your human life will most likely always suck but your heavenly soul will find peace.

It's kind of strange because you're told to spend your life denying yourself and loving your enemy and although you may not find this lifestyle easy, you're working toward something beyond yourself, something incomprehensible and amazing and yet we will never know how amazing it will be.  That is, if we even earn our place in heaven.  Sure, you can say a prayer and give it all to God but is that enough?  We are never given a glimpse of that promised prize, never know if all our efforts will be worth it.  We are only told if we don't abide by the rules, we will only suffer more in hell.

On Earth, barely any thing is black and white.  Barely any one person is black and white.  Good people do bad things and bad people sometimes show mercy.  Yet, when it comes to your soul, it's pass or fail, stop or go, do or die.  It seems a bit harsh, doesn't it?  It's not even so much about being a good person as it is having a personal relationship with Jesus Christ.  But, a part of that relationship is being a good person so I think it still does play a big part in acceptance into heaven.  You can't be a curmudgeon Christian.  And you can't be an amiable atheist (of course you can but as far as heaven goes, it doesn't help your chances).  

I think it's easy to be a Christian when you don't face much adversity.  I have an acquaintance who is a strong Christian but she's also had it easy her entire life.  Obviously, she might have faced problems I'm not privy to but let's just say she has not.  It's pretty easy to have faith when you don't have to struggle for it.  And just to play devil's advocate (pun intended), I have another acquaintance who is a strong Christian but life has constantly crapped all over her.  So, I suppose it is possible to keep the faith while failing at life.  So, where does that leave me?  Pretty sure that means I'm just a selfish jerk.

It all feels like this big tease.  Life's cruelties are so easily dismissed as just the world we live in but God is waiting on the other side to sweep us up, dry our tears and set us in a warm bath called heaven.  God is so good.  God is so gracious.  God is loving.  God won't turn His back on the believers.  Yet, I've never experienced any of that goodness firsthand.  You could argue the fact that I'm not poor or out on the street as proof of God's goodness.  And I can see how you'd say that.  But what about free will?  Free will is also a big part of Christianity.  God loves us but if he forced us to love Him it wouldn't truly be love so He gave us the free will to choose or reject Him.  So, what if everything good in my life was a product of free will, the choices of others, random chance?  It seems pretty convenient that a lot of Christians pass off good fortune as God's blessing and misfortune as the consequences of free will.  And I think it's a cop out.

Feeling God's existence is something I've struggled with my entire life.  Even when I was at my Christian best, praying and reading/studying my Bible, going to church and sending out positive energy to the world, I always felt the same sadness scouring my insides as they always had.  And I prayed for salvation every night.  And although I went through the motions and tried to seek God sincerely, I never felt Him, never felt like He had entered my heart, never changed me.  I've heard that because I might not feel God the way others do doesn't mean He's not with me.  That's all nice and good but what if he's not with me?  I can't go through my life on an assumption, especially when my very soul is at risk.  I need some confirmation.

And then college happened and everything suddenly spiraled downward at an alarming pace.  I kept God close.  Maybe not close enough.  I graduated and came back home to no job, no money and no friends.  Some of the most important people in my life disappeared and I completely cracked under the weight of debt and failure, fell into an element of blank and died.  And yet I prayed and asked for God's help.  And, as always, nothing.  Finally, I gave up because I felt like it was a waste of time.  Of course, I understand God doesn't answer all prayers.  I understand God's not going to drop gold on my doorstep.  I understand that God will not make life perfect.  Please, I'm not that delusional.  Yet, I always hoped God would at least give me a sense of peace, a semblance of calm as a sign that everything would eventually work out.  I wasn't asking for the world, just a word, a gesture of encouragement, a feeling of being full instead of that incessant emptiness that has plagued all of my years.  I really just needed a "hey, you're gonna be okay, kid."  And I couldn't even get that much.

I'm only complaining.  I know that God still loves me.  I know I'm being selfish.  I know it's not His fault but mine.  I know I'm probably not trying hard enough, being persistent enough or having enough faith.  I can just hear all those stock Christian responses right now.  And I'm not saying they are wrong.  I'm just simply saying how I feel about things, how my life hasn't fit in with that Christian mold of prayers and peace.  I'm just saying that it shouldn't feel like it's that hard to talk to God, to ask for some peace.  Why does it feel like I'm constantly running through this obstacle course that continues to add pillars and pitfalls to postpone my progress?

At work, some people set up a church next door to my department.  The company I work for is separated by the rest of the mall by a giant glass sliding door. Is it just me or is a mall a weird place to have a church?  Not that there's anything wrong with that but I guess I just don't picture consumerism and Christianity jelling like that.  Anyway, we always close the mall door on Sundays because no other store in the mall is open (except now for the church).  During my most recent Sunday at work, I looked into the mall and saw the churchgoers outside, some going in, some coming out, others standing around and talking and smiling outside.  A teenage girl was swinging a younger girl around with her hands.  I could hear the muffled giggles.  And as I looked through the glass, I thought it was an appropriate scene, quite literally reflecting my spiritual struggle.  Here I was, miserable, put to work in a hopeless job and on the other side of me was that promise of peace, that vision of what I thought Christianity should look and feel like for me.  There was happiness there.  Community.  And there was a wall that separated me from it.  I could see it and hear it but I could not touch it.

I was closed off from it all.

Christ, No Mas

Expensive gifts and cards.  Family gatherings with estranged relatives.  Irritating cold.  Irritating people.  Moldy mistletoe and awkward exchanges.  Dead turkeys.  Dead hopes.  Commercialism and competitiveness.  24 hours of A Christmas Story.  Oh yeah, And Jesus is thrown in there somewhere, too.

This, my dears, is Christmas.

The worst time of the year.

Work
For me, Christmas hasn't been nice in years.  A big part of that happened when I started working.  Retail not only reveals the true evil of humanity but it really rears its fugly head during Christmas.  Tensions are high with the expectation to deliver nice gifts to friends/family/baby mamas coupled with the proclivity to procrastination.  They come in at the last minute and expect every article of clothing in every size waiting for them, perfectly folded and eighty percent off the suggested retail price.  Then, they expect coupons at the register because they were too irresponsible to remember to bring in their own.  And when we don't have those coupons or those shirts or the size they need, they get pissed and take it out on us.

In my town, there are really only two places to shop.  Where I work and Wal-Mart.  All I heard this season was, "Well, all I have to go is go to Wal-Mart and I'll be done with my Christmas shopping," or "I just came from Wal-Mart and it was a nightmare!"  Of course, the ones who just came from there are the ones who come up to me.  They are the most worked up because they've been waiting in long lines (out of the twenty or so registers they have, only four are open, which is better than their usual two).  They've just come from a fistfight with three other middle aged moms with cigarette breath and gray mullets over the last Hannah Montana poster/Salvia laced lip gloss combo pack.  And now they're coming into our store, tired and angry and expecting to be waited on like their aren't five hundred other people scrambling to purchase the last ill-fitting shirt on the table.  The sad part is it's not much different from any other time of the year.

And there is no Christmas cheer.  This year alone, I've had old women get nasty with me, yell at me, tell me I was lazy and call me fat.  There has been no "Merry Christmas!" or "Happy Holidays!"  It's only been, "This isn't ringing up on sale like the sign says!" or "What do you mean you don't have this in stock?  Why  not?!"  It doesn't help that it's our store's policy to not only allow the customer to abuse us, but to stand there and smile and take it.  I can't tell you how much it pains me to let people get away with such rude behavior when really they need a nice swift kick in the butt and to be told off one good time.

Family
I don't even know these people.  Every year, it's another uncomfortable visit with family that I only see specifically for Christmas and no other time.  I have no connection to them other than name and a little bit of blood.  Other than that, I don't have anything in common with them nor do I care to.  They are all in different stages of life than I am.  For one, there's a large age gap.  Everyone close to my age has kids now so any commonalities we once shared have been negated by the kids and the kids are too young for me to tolerate.  Everyone else is older than I am so there's no common ground there.

The only people I like other than my nuclear family is my grandmothers.  But, as the years pass by, it's getting harder to ignore the decline in their health.  It's always sad to see the toll the year has taken on them.  One is becoming senile while the other is becoming frail.

It's also a shame to see everyone else being such typical white trash.  I know that sounds harsh but it's the truth.  They all drink and smoke and have low wage jobs that are barely getting them by.  None of them went to college, if they graduated from high school at all, partly because they couldn't afford it and partly because they probably just didn't have that drive to become better than where they came from.  They shack up with other white trash families in the neighborhood and before you know it, we have another unexpected pregnancy and the cycle continues.  And because neither parent is educated and/or has a good-paying job nor is out of their late teens, the child will essentially be raised by children.  All the money will go toward beer, cigarettes and scrappy dogs that they can't take care of.

Of course, I'm not much better off than these people.  I went to college but I also had to take out exorbitant loans to pay for it and it's slowly coming back to bite me in the butt because I also have a low wage job and those loans are coming due.  But, at least I like to think that I often dream of better things for myself.  I suppose it's presumptuous of me to assume they don't but if they did, why would they then go out and knock up some dumb slut, thus cementing their skank status?

Judging?  Of course I'm judging.  It's what I do.  But don't think I don't judge myself just as harsh.  I'm overweight and balding and at twenty-five I'm working in a low-class retail clothing store where I have to put up with people's crap every single day and I'm not exceptionally talented or particularly smart.  I just happen to take hygiene a bit more serious than the rest of my relatives.

The Reason for the Season
I suppose I'm not the only one who wasn't exactly thrilled for Christmas this year.  In fact, I haven't been for several years now.  I guess it's almost a given as you grow older.  You stop believing in Santa and as you make your own money, you buy whatever you want whenever you want instead of having to wait until the end of the year.  It was almost nice, that excruciating anticipation and near nirvana-esque moment of tearing off that wrapping paper and finding yourself in possession of the item(s) you've been coveting for months, spending the day drunk on turkey and toys.

But, the older you get, the less fun it becomes.  Suspense is slacked.  Surprises are scarce.  Because, let's be honest, Christmas is about presents.

Of course, that's not what Christmas should be about.  For Christians, it should be all about Jesus.  Although the date is wrong, it's a commemoration of his birth.  I mean, he's kind of a big deal.  Without Him, we'd all be belly flopping into the lake of fire.  And if you're not a Christian, then the time should be about family.  It's one of the only times of year when you can get together with all of your relatives, especially those who have been fortunate enough to scatter and find a life somewhere else.   That is, if you like your relatives.

But, as for me, Christmas really never had to do with any of those things.

I think it's hard to be all about Jesus when you didn't grow up with Jesus being the center of your life.  My parents aren't particularly religious and never were.  They believe in God but I think that's about the extent of it.  We never went to church or prayed before a meal.  I don't even know if they are saved.  I don't even know if they know how to be saved.  And while I'm down with Jesus, He's usually far from my mind while I'm clutching my new XBox or other highly sought after electronic device.

I hate when people use the expression "remember the reason for the season."  I think people just say that to feel better about themselves as they go for that pair of jeans or purse.  As long as we have Jesus in the back (way, way back) of our minds as we max out our credit cards, then it's all good!  If we really remember the reason for the season, then all this gift-giving wouldn't be as big of a deal as it is.

I feel bad because I don't know what Christmas means to me anymore.  I've had a falling out with my faith this year and I've never been about family so where does this leave me?  How can Christmas be special without gifts or God or grandmothers?  How can I find that spark of excitement that seemed to have fizzled out so long ago?  It seems every year I become more jaded, more numb to the festivities, to family, to my self.  I guess I'll need to make some changes.  Calm down, slim down, appreciate what I have, get a better job, confidence, a nice wardrobe, tolerance for obnoxious people and love.  Love for God, for others and for myself.  And someone to love me.  And I'll need a heart to make all of this possible.

Man, Santa's got a tall order to fill for next year.

Carnival God

"I don't believe in love," I told Chasity.

"Well, then you don't believe in God," she responded in a matter-of-fact fashion. Her head was lowered and her eyes rose up to me, her mouth open. Then her eyes rolled down to her spicy tuna sushi roll as she plucked one up with her chopsticks and popped it into her mouth with a suctioning sound.

"Uh, you know what I mean. In a romantic sense."

The setting: An Asian restaurant in Savannah.  Chasity and I met up to catch up with each other.  We hadn't been spending too much time together because of our busy schedules and because her new forty-one-year old boyfriend was taking up what little free time she had.

"He's greaaat," she said, using a baby doll voice that most girls use when describing a male of special interest or a really cute puppy. And this is how we got on the topic of love, which led to God. About the time of our conversation, I had been crushed by a number of people and was conceding to my bitterness, embracing it even. I was also funneling those bitter emotions into my senior film, so that bitterness was skidding on the surface of my skin, real and raw within me.  Consequently, I was a bit allergic to Chasity's warm and fuzzy feelings that radiated off her stuffed cheeks.

No, I didn't believe in love but I was okay with God. Or so I thought. Of course, Chasity was right, even if I didn't want to admit it. Christians believe that God is love and love is God. It's basically interchangeable. And to say you don't believe in love would make most people think you don't believe in the god that is love itself.  I tried to cover my butt by saying I was talking about romantic love but really, I was talking about all love.   You might be thinking, "Well, what about your parents and the love they have for you?"  Yeah, I guess they love me but I almost feel like parents/family don't count because that kind of love feels more instinctual, somewhat forced.  Like, would they really love me, still want me to be around, if I wasn't there child and their responsibility?  I think about that a lot.

The kind of love I'm talking about is the kind of love you choose.  I think it's much harder to choose to love someone rather than love someone just because they've always been in your life and that love is really more of a concept rather than an actual affection. 

And I feel like, in my life, people have chosen not to love me at a certain point. It feels like people just kind of cut contact with me after a certain length of time, whether it be after a few months or even after a few years. Now, I don't want to act like it's entirely everyone else's fault. It's certainly possible that I could be to blame but I honestly don't know what I've ever done differently to make people turn away. I'm like a new toy whenever I meet someone new. They open me up and play with me and once they've put me through all the motions of being funny and informative, and when the novelty of my spring-loaded missile launching and laughter wears off and after my hair has been cut and I've been dragged through the mud, they are done with me. I am thrown at the bottom of the toy box and I'm forgotten as only a six-year-old with no attention span can forget something.

As I've said, this might indeed be my fault. Perhaps, like a toy, I can only do certain things. I'm only so pliable. I have a certain amount of weapons and can take on only so many attachments. So maybe it's my own limitations that limit the love people had for me. Perhaps it just comes down to the fact that I'm not all that interesting after a certain point. Maybe after a while, I have nothing more to offer. And maybe that's okay.

I don't want to just come right out and say I feel betrayed because that sounds way too over dramatic and lame and like I'm a victim and it's me against the world. But, it’s the closest comparison I can come up with. Saying I’ve been betrayed also negates the fact that I am responsible for the dissolution of friendships and as I said, I'm sure I'm also responsible. Yet, it still hurts to the point where I don't understand the concept of friendship.

I don’t refer to people as friends anymore. It’s a foreign concept to me now. Using that word leaves my tongue thick and dry.  What is a friend? What’s the difference between a friend and an acquaintance? Similar interests? Respect? Loyalty? Love? I much prefer to the term acquaintance because that is what I am comfortable with. Acquaintance has the feel of friendship but without the close connection, without the promise of always being present. Acquaintance is safe and lacking the strings of attachment and the insecurity of abandonment. I don’t use the term friend and I no longer actively acquire friends because friendship is too volatile, too slippery and unpredictable. It takes work and the social, moral and connective skills that I believe I no longer possess. It takes care and heart and genuine kindness, abilities that have been lost to me long ago.

I also don’t use the word love in reference to people anymore. This is probably the saddest thing of all. I don’t tell people I love them except for my mom but that goes back to the parent thing as described earlier. And when I do find the words dribbling out of my mouth, I literally have a reaction of revulsion. It’s as if the word has stuck to my lip like a string of snot that catches on your mouth when you blow your nose. It’s as if I’m making some grand declaration of something I cannot uphold, as if I know I’m lying and everyone else does, too. When I was younger, even as my love was being whittled away by the world, I had held on for as long as I could. I tried to spread love, tried to show that it was at least good for other people. And even when I felt my own ability to love was collapsing underneath me like a creaky foundation on which I could no longer stand, I had hoped love for other people. Now that’s gone as well. It’s not like I wish hate upon the masses but wishing love for people is hard because it’s difficult to wish something for someone when you simply don’t believe in it. It would be like me wishing for a leprechaun to slip out from under your bed and pull out a giant cauldron of shiny gold coins for you. Sure, it would be nice if it happened but I won’t hold my breath for its occurrence.

And I have to wonder, if God and love are one in the same and I have sworn off love with the utmost conviction, has that lopping off of love somehow crossed over into my fading faith?

A year or so ago, I never would have imagined I would have sunk as low as I have. I never would have, could have imagined my faith being virtually gone. I’ve never been an upstanding Christian but I tried in my own way, despite my human weakness, to be as good as I could and to be a good example for others. And then college happened and everything spun out of control and after college I was trapped at home and with no job and I almost felt abandoned not only by people that I once held close, but by God for not providing. Yes, I know that is so entirely selfish of me to think that way. But, I did. Plus, working at the electronic bingo facility put me in a funk. Is this what God wanted for me, after all the hard work and ambition to do better than work a menial job and this is what I get? Not to mention the fact that everyone else around me seemed to be doing great. It’s not that I believe Christianity is an exchange of good behavior for good jobs, friends and money. I know it doesn’t work like that and I never expected it to but at the same time, there’s that ingrained sense of “Hey, what about mine?” that goes through my head. It’s almost as if all the goodness I ever did wasn’t worth anything, especially after seeing not so nice people getting their way. I thought God would help me out a bit more than He did.

Putting the rewarding aspect of Christianity aside, I also just wanted to hear from God. I wanted God to tell me that, even if He wasn’t going to help me out right now, to at least let me know that things would be okay in the future. I needed some reassurance, some guidance, some validation. I never heard from God or felt Him touch me in any way. I prayed so hard and squeezed my eyes and hands so tightly together that they cramped up. I bore a hole into the blackness cast by my eyelids and felt my heart jump forward in sincerity. The sincerity was met with silence. And this is the way it has always been. I have prayed for salvation more times than there are grains of sand and yet I never felt saved. I never had that feeling of serenity wash over me like I had seen and heard of. For a short amount of time, I found some solace in the notion that God treats you like you’d be treated by people on earth. Some people like touch. They like to be touched and like to touch others. Some people don’t like touch as much. I am someone who doesn’t necessarily like touch so that’s why I don’t feel God physically. Now, I’m not so sure about that answer. I think it's almost a cop out, an easy excuse as to why I don't feel God. I pray and pray and nothing ever changes and I never feel better. Christians tell me I’m not praying hard enough or long enough, that I’m not reciting the right words when I pray, that I’m not reading my Bible, that I’m doing too much talking and not enough listening. I think those are all convenient answers. I also think that it shouldn’t be that hard to talk to God. If He is everywhere and so accessible, why should I have to follow a certain set of steps just to say “wassup”? If I’m really in need of Him, shouldn’t He come swooping through? Religion shouldn’t be about rules and regulations. If it’s all about love, why can’t I skip the red tape and just get to the heart of the matter?

God is like a carnival game.  The game operator tells you the rules just like a preacher would.  It all sounds simple enough.  You knock down the milk bottles and get a prize, say a prayer and be absolved of your sins.  But as you go through the motions, you realize it's not as simple as that.  See, you have to hit the middle milk bottle that holds them all together and you have to pray with all of your heart, not a fraction of your heart or half of your heart.  The Holy Spirit pops in and out of your consciousness like a whack-a-mole and every time you think you've made contact, it slips away and leaves behind a black hole of emptiness, mocking you with a buck-toothed smile, teasing and always out of reach.  You spend so much time trying to knock down those bottles and so much energy trying to find God until you grow tired and weary with empty pockets and empty pews.  After a while, you wonder if it's all rigged.

It doesn't help when I'm exposed to all these stories about God coming to people, reaching out to them and changing their lives, these people who never even wanted to know God.  If He can so easily work his holiness on these people, why can't He for those who actually want it?  I'm jealous of those who are secure in their Christianity, in their God who they know loves and cares for them.  I'm jealous of those who sought and found God and those who were sought out by God.  It seems so easy for some and so impossible for me, reaching my hand so far out only to feel the humid air, dislocating my shoulder and setting in more pain, building it and spreading it out.  How much more pain will it take until submission feels sincere?

I'm left, like I always am, wondering what to do about it all.  I've gotten good at expressing my problems, spewing syllables and slime and slapping them together into these unfocused diatribes in a desperate hope that I can make sense of the mess that I have become and the mess that has been made of me by outside factors.  Yet, the sense never comes.  Questions produce questions while answers flitter away.  Relationships are hard.  Consequences are hard.  Decisions are hard.  But when it comes to God?  How do you make your way around that obstacle?  Emily Dickinson said the brain is the weight of God.  God is only as vast, as powerful, as potent as my brain can imagine but if my brain is defective, does this impairment keep me from knowing God as I should?  Am I just incapable of being in alignment with God's love because my head won't allow for it?  Or maybe my head has nothing to do with this divine separation?  No one has enough head space for God.  Yet, there He is, living within so many people.  Maybe it just goes back to what I told Chasity that night at the Asian restaurant.  I don't believe in love.  I no longer have the capacity to feel anything positive.  It's not a depressing sentence, just a declarative one.  'Cause I'm actually fine with my heart condition these days.  So, maybe closing off my heart to all things closes it off to God as well.  I might verbally state I want God to fill the void but subconsciously I'm still warding off all who try to enter.

Once again, it all comes down to me, comes down to the fact that it's my fault.  Same old story.  Yet, I can't keep wondering why God can't come to my rescue, saving me from the world and from myself.  Despite all the internal conflict that might be hampering any kind of connection I'd want to make, why can't He just cut through the cords of contention and pierce my pathetic heart?  I guess no one will give you a plush prize for free.  Expressing a desire for it isn't enough.  You gotta pay up, take your shots and want it bad enough to keep fighting for it despite the odds, despite the dwindling resources.  And maybe sometimes you have to stop and go home.  But the carnival isn't going anywhere and that prize will always be sitting on the shelf, waiting for you to come back and take another swing.

Karma Chameleon II

It’s not that I wish misfortune on anyone.  It just makes me feel better when it happens.

I tend to focus on the negative when it comes to myself.  That’s nothing new.  What you might not know is that I also tend to focus on the positive things in everyone else’s lives.  I always see how much better other people have it in relation to my own circumstances.  If only I could be rich or thin like them.  It doesn’t matter that their parents were abusive or that they might have a drug problem.  Nah, I don’t think about that as much.  And it’s weird because I should focus on the positives in my life but I guess I just take the positives for granted, as if they will always be there.  I’m not naive, I know they won’t be but I see them as my safety, my security blanket at all times and to imagine those positive aspects missing would be like imagining I had no forehead.  It’s just there and will always be.  Except, it won’t.  But I don’t think like that.

And when I see something not so good happen to someone who usually succeeds at everything, I admit that I do feel a small rush.  And it’s not so much that I feel good that someone else is hurting, just that life is balancing things out.  It’s nothing personal.  It’s simply universal.

I feel that human beings have this innate sense of right and wrong, of balance, of justice.  I could be wrong but I think, deep down, we all kind of have this moral compass.  Whether we allow ourselves to be guided by the compass remains up to us.  But it's there, willing to lead us.  It’s not that we expect our lives to work out wonderfully, and if we do, we are corrected pronto.  But, we do feel like there should be some sense of right and wrong, good and bad.  Things get a little messed up when things don’t go that way.  Naturally, if things are going great for us, we won’t speak up and wonder why.  We take it and love it.  To speak out against such blessings would be like that annoying kid in middle school who would pipe up and remind the teacher that they forgot to take up the homework from the night before that no one did.  I always hated that kid.  When things are consistently bad, however, we’ll definitely chime in and wonder what’s up. 

And I think we all have this sense of justice because justice is balance.  If someone does something wrong, they are punished.  They did something bad and now something bad happens to them to balance things out.  And that balance doesn’t even have to apply to someone who does something good or bad.  This balance could be applied to someone who was born rich or someone who never gains weight.  Someone who’s really smart might be ugly and someone who’s very successful might have a receding hairline.  And we all need that kind of balance because it helps us to move on.  Balance keeps us moving.  If there was no balance in life, bad to even out the good, good to cancel out the bad, there would be no reason to live.  If we knew that life was just always going to be good to certain individuals and always bad for others, then what kind of hope do the unfortunate have?  If you were to know that your life would never get any better, if you were destined to be depressed, would you bother getting out of bed every day knowing that no matter how hard you tried, you’d never make it?  I know I’d probably just off myself right then.  And I think that’s why we all feel like there should be balance in the world because if we didn’t have that feeling ingrained in us, half the population would be omitted due to suicide.

I know this guy.  He has a life I would like.  He makes good money and lives in a bigger city with more opportunity and culture and he has had many people who have loved him.  But, he was born into a bad family life.  His father left his mother when he was a child.  His mother then went through a phase of bringing home bad men and basically ignored her children so she could recapture her youth.  His sister became addicted to drugs.  But, he’s fine now.  Things were bad for him when he was young but now that he's an adult, he’s doing okay for himself.  And I guess that might be his balance.  Maybe he looks at me and wishes he had the good home life I did.  But, I'm also fat.  There’s my balance. 

I think this is why people believe in God and karma.  God will grant us access to heaven if we are good people and karma will come back to haunt those who are naughty.  And the beauty of these concepts is that we may never witness this justice, this balance, while we are on this earth.  It might take crossing over to finally get the good that we “deserve.”  This kind of faith also keeps people going, even under the most dire circumstances.  If someone ever gets to the point where he or she realizes that life will never get better, that person can look to the afterlife for happiness.  Simultaneously, it's frustrating when people aren't punished for their bad deeds, at least not in this life.  People who kill others and get away with it might go to hell but the friends and families of the victim will never know this.  And people who have wronged you might do their damage and then leave your life and move on and become successful.  Or maybe they'll become destitute.  You'll never know, you'll never have your sense of balance because it might not come any time soon.  And I suppose that's where faith kicks in.  You have to have faith that your God will punish the wicked and reward the good.  And the more I think about it, the more I think some people use God and karma to soothe themselves, to make themselves feel better about certain situations.  I almost feel like God and karma are more like concepts that people cling to to give themselves hope that something better will come along someday.  Because, if not, what's the alternative?

I think this sense of balance is why many people are so obsessed with celebrity scandal.  As previously mentioned, it's not so much that anyone personally wishes anything bad to happen to someone famous.  It's just the fact that when someone is more rich and recognized and powerful than they will ever be and they finally flop in some kind of way, that's the balance taking effect.  People feel better because they see that money and power can't get rid of every problem.  It grounds celebrities and makes common people feel better.   

It's also kind of funny how limited the faith in the concept of balance can be.  At least for me.  As of right now, I have pretty much given up any kind of hope for a good life.  I know that's very groan-inducing but I can't help how I feel, ya know.  It's been a slow transition but now it's finally sinking in that I'll probably never be anything more than struggling white trash.  I've worked so hard all of my life to do the right things i hopes that all of my goodwill would be rewarded but it hasn't and I don't think it ever will be.  The funny thing is I could win the lottery tomorrow or fall in love a year from now.  But, I can't see past my own misery.  I don't have that faith anymore.  I don't have that hope that God will intervene or karma will kick in.  It's kind of sad to give up on life at an age when life should just start beginning but I have just been beaten down enough, buried underneath so much emotional catastrophe that I can't see the light anymore.

For me, I don't believe in karma.  I don't believe that good people will always be rewarded and I don't believe that bad people will always be punished.  I see it as one big random spin of the wheel.  I've seen bad people succeed and good people suffer.  Good things happen to random people, whether they are good or bad.  Bad things happen to random people, whether they are good or bad.  This is a very dangerous idea to be toying with because it basically grants me permission to be a prick.  I mean, I'm not going to be but I could if I wanted.  If goodness doesn't matter then why should I spare anyone's feelings?  Why should I go out of my way to care when no one cares for me?  Obviously, because it's the right thing to do.  I don't want to be one of those people who are just nasty to be nasty, who goes out of his way to be mean just because life didn't treat him kindly.  No, my inner a-hole would only be brought out when prompted.  It's a side of myself that I've always kept well hidden because it wasn't appropriate to act that way, especially in fear of being galactically steamrolled because of my bad behavior.  Then again, I probably would be anyway.  With my poor circumstances, everyone else in the world could be terrible and get away with it but as soon as I flipped off someone or so much as uttered a swear word I would just be making things worse for myself.  Bad enough things happen to me when I try to be good so I don't want to risk taking on any more tribulations.

Maybe the most maddening part is that there is no balance.  Life is chaos.  Justice is imperfect.  Karma doesn't always catch the right guy.  And God works in His own mysterious ways.  So, what is left for us to do but pick up and continue.  But how?  I know that sitting around and waiting for balance is about as likely as waiting around for someone to fall in love with you.  Maybe you have to find your own balance.  The next step is to find out how to do that.  And I haven't quite made it that far yet.