Pet Peeve of Mine: God's "Calling" on Our Life?

I was on my facebook today, and this girl I know through a wedding we were in together had posted a note a few days ago asking for people to sponsor her for a mission trip to East Asia. Ok, all fine and good, whatever. She goes on to talk about how two years ago, she made a commitment to do this for the year after college, and even though she really is afraid and doesn't want to anymore, she can just feel that this is what God is calling her to do, so she's going to be a good Christian and do as she's told, even though she doesn't want to. This calling on her life is just so strong and it must be what God wants for her. Right?

So I get on again today, and her status has changed to something like "If you saw the note about me going to East Asia, disregard it :) God has changed his plans!"

Ok, so call me crazy, but does God really change his plans like that? I was never really under the impression that he made plans and changed them the way we do.

I get so frutrated with things like this, cuz really, the way it looks to me, either this girl Laura is too afraid to go and she's not doing what she needs to do or she was never really being "called" to East Asia to begin with.

I feel like people use "the call of God" to justify something they're doing, to ask for money, or to make it seem like they're doing something for a bigger purpose for the rest of us. Does God ever really put "calls" on our lives like that at all? It all seems so incredibly fake to me.

Maybe I'm way off base, maybe he does do this, maybe this is what Laura felt, but really? Does he change his plans just like that? Does he really go, "Hmm, nevermind, I'll send you here instead, even though I already told you I wanted you here."

Wallow

"Well you have suffered enough
And warred with yourself
It's time that you've won."

Lyrics excerpted from the song "Falling Slowly" by Glen Hansard.


I think I might actually just need to dwell and, as they say in the Gilmore household, "wallow" about Derek for a while, like Nic suggested. At least just take a night and cry it out, get it out of my system.

I've struggled with mild depression for a few years now. It seems to go with all the ups and downs with my religious beliefs and my faith. Since the my exchurch fell apart in front of me, I've struggled. I've left that, yet I still struggle, and the emotional wreckage that the whole ordeal caused is still part of who I am. Unwilling to go on anti-depressants because of the the job stipluations that would cause me if I ever decided to work in the criminal justice field, I've tried some over the counter stuff to self-medicate, and while it worked for the time I really needed it, I recently stopped taking it cold turkey. I did this partly because I lost the bottle in the move back from school, and partly because I hate being on stuff like that for very long. The problem with quitting mood supplements is it can drop your mood before you return to normal.

Me, being the "strong" person I always thought I had to be (partially personality, partially what I was told), decided I wouldn't wallow or dwell on Derek, I would just be strong. As a result, I refuse to cry, talk about him too much, think about him all the time, dream about him every night, and keep checking my phone every five minutes. This needs to stop, and maybe the night of just letting myself dwell on it and wallow in the pain will actually let me let go by letting the grief just kind of run it's course.

We shall see.

Nicotinecrayon, here I come . . .

Grammy and more dreams

My grandmother is in for a visit. She's a little senile these days. I love her, but she drives me crazy. I was sitting in the living room, on a big cushy couch, just trying to read a little bit, and she keeps talking. She was going on and on, talking about the characters in her fiction books as though they are her neighbors and everything in the books is actually real (please god, don't let her ever pick up a sci-fi book) and telling me how her robotic Roomba vaccuum cleaner is confused, because she let someone else borrow it and now it doesn't know who's house it's at. "And just when I was finally getting it trained." She's a bit of a riot, really.

So I keep having these dreams full of Derek. The more I seem to be doing better without him during the day, the more I dream about him at night. I was all excited yesterday because of this guy I know from school. He graduated last year, but was back for a semester to take a class I was in. I didn't know him well enough to talk to him, but I had this baby crush on him the whole semester. I got to talking to him a little bit over the next semester. I talked to him online last night, and he's coming into town to visit some mutual friends and wanted to know if I'd be around.

Honestly, I know it's not going to go anywhere. I was just enjoying the flirtiness of the conversation, and realize to ensure that I'll respect myself, I probably shouldn't see him this weekend. I don't see it ending well.

But regardless, it got my mind off of Derek, and I really needed that. Alas, I dreamed about Derek the whole night. I dreamed he was in bed next to me, I dreamed it was our first time, I dreamed that I fell in love with him right there, and I dreamed that I rolled over and there were two other girls in his bed. Ouch. Yeah, that's kind of how it felt.

*Sigh* I really wish I could just move on from this easier. I wish I could just heal. I'm having hard time believing that there really are decent guys out there who could catch my fancy anymore.

I'm gonna try to just keep focusing on myself these days, keep getting me back to where I need to be with life. I need to get organized, I need to get happy, I need to get busy enough that I don't have time to dwell on the heartache anymore.

And yet, part of me wants to just lay in bed all day and do just that.

Baskets of Eggs

Occasionally, I get these really bad tension headaches that start in my neck and work their way up to the front of my head. I had one of these last nigt, and complained about it long enough, my mom pulled a bottle of left-over narcotics from when I was really sick a few months ago and was having similar headaches. I didn't know there were any left. I tend to have an addictive personality, so my family will usually hide drugs like that from me after I no longer need them.

I took a pill and a glass of water, brushed my teeth, and went to bed. Narcotic induced sleep bring some of the most intense and real dreaming I ever do.

Last night, my dreams took me on a bit of a journey.

To begin with, I was in a car with Derek, my ex, and we were on our way to go camping. God, he looked good. He was in and out of my dream all night. We stopped at Walmart to pick up some stuff, and while he was chatting with a friend of his, I noticed a male friend of mine over in the refrigerated section putting eggs in his cart. I walked over to him. I never saw his face, but it was the same elusive male friend that was in one of my previous nightmares, mentioned in a previous post. I looked through the cartons of eggs in his shopping cart and noticed that almost every egg in every carton was cracked. "No, no, you need to look at them first," I told my mysterious reappearing dream friend. "Here, I'll just help you." For what felt like hours in my dream, I pulled out carton after carton, examining each egg very carefully before placing the good ones to the side until he had a full carton of eggs.

I don't know why I did this. I know it may sound stupid, and I know the dream was very drug induced.

But I just find something interesting about walking away from the man who hurt me to spend hours and hours with another man, helping him pick something that was whole and unbroken.

Dreams that Still Haunt Me

I had a dream that still haunts me and reoccurs from time to time, often with some different forms, or I'll just see flashes of the scene, but it still comes and goes, as it has for years.
In the dream, I walk into a sanctuary. The pews are stained so dark, they're black, and everything is covered in a layer of dust. The place has a smell that is a mixture of an old church (anyone has to know what that smell is) and evil, like rotting blood or dead bodies. The ceiling is open all the way up, and the same dark stain coats the rafters and the walls.

I stand off to one side, to the right in the back, under the choir loft. Someone is standing with me, but I don't know who it is. I never look. I believe it is a man, but I don't know who he is. I get the impression that he's from my more recent life. He's from my now. He doens't know of my past, and he doesn't understand what is going on.

There is another man standing center stage, rage pouring from his being. My family is standing in front of him, namely my parents, and this man, this pastoral-like figure, is pure evil and full of fury. I stand in the back, unable to move, unable to speak, unable to do anything, while this evil man brutally slaughters my family in front of me, letting their blood spread all over. The figure next to me doesn't understand anything that's going on. I want to scream. My body shakes. My body shakes when I can't cry. My body shakes when I'm furiously angry. I look down at my legs. My thighs are splitting like ball park franks with huge horizontal slices that bleed profusely. I'm trying to pull down my skirt over the wounds, trying to cover them up and hide them while watching my family being killed. Figure next to me is confused. He's looking at my legs, taking hold of my elbow, saying my name. I don't know what to say to him. The pastor's eyes are full of evil fury and he looks at me.

I wish I had had this dream three years ago, even two years ago. I wish this didn't still haunt me. I had this dream about three months ago. It's one of many like it, though this is the most detailed dream I can remember anymore.

I don't understand it, and I'm not too sure I'd even want to. What I do know is at some point, while we were in the process of leaving my XC, someone spoke to my mom and said that the congregation would rather see my family's blood in their aisles than have us back in fellowship. I know that makes the dream seem pretty obvious. But it's been five years, and I've moved on from so much of it, you'd think I'd be able to get to a point where I at least wasn't still having the dreams.

Do spiritual wounds, such as the ones so many of us carry, ever really heal? I don't think time heals things like this.

I'll be honest, I've tried to leave and ignore so much of it, so much of my faith even. I closed my eyes to spiritual things a long time ago because I was so weary and beaten down, and so young, I just didn't want to deal anymore. I left my town and the life I've been living has barely lined up with the perfect little christian girl I was before. I honestly don't regret most of it . . . but I thought once I wasn't immersed in that church anymore, in all the evilness that was there and all the lies that were being told, I thought once I was free from those bonds, the dreams would stop and I would heal.

Apparently, I was wrong.

Where is the Fulfilling?

I was reading barb's post today where she was talking about how her kids have been hurt through the church, and how can she now help them when she doesn't feel like she has anything left to measure the acceptable/right/true things anymore (ok, big summary, but i'm exhausted, and right now, i think that's part of what she was saying). I don't usually respond to posts, but I couldn't help but respond to this one. As the child of a family that has divorced itself from an abusive church, I had every rule that had been handed to me on a silver platter, neatly wrapped and packaged at the time, knocked out of my hands with one hell of a blow. There weren't even pieces left to pick up.

So I took a hard swing to the side. From perfect Christian girl to falling apart college girl, I had all the sex and alcohol and drugs I could possibly want at my disposal. I didn't hit it as hard core as I could have. I mean, I've only had sex with one guy I thought I loved, stayed away from most drugs, and I drink . . . ok, a fair amount.

I just think it's kind of ironic how both my church and this opposing lifestyle I've lived for the past two years have both left me with deep wounds that won't seem to heal. Both have left me lonely. Both have left me wanting for something more.

If neither of these extremes work at all in the quest for truth and love and something real, then what is the balance? How can I have a rule that doesn't make me want to vomit with legalism? How can I obey them blindly with out being a pharisee? How can I advise my baby sister not to walk the same road I have without being a hypocrite? How can I give my heart to someone else someday without feeling like I have no standards left to judge a guy with?

I feel like I lost all I believed in, except for Jesus. (I have to admit, I hate calling him that . . . when I talk about God, I'm usually referring to the Jesus part of that God. Jesus was just a name that was overused for me, and it's become almost a cliche, stupid thing to say . . . saying "Dear Jesus," is the same to me as "Dear Santa" . . . but for the purposes of this blog, I'm going to try to just suck it up and call him that). I never stopped believing in him.

Everything else, I'm building from the ground up now. I don't know where to draw the lines, how far left or right they should be, or if I should be going about drawing lines for myself at all. I've hit on the unfulfilling. More broken and prime for change than ever, where is the fulfilling?

Flashback

If I could go back five years and talk to myself . . .

I'd tell her she didn't have to try to be so strong. I'd tell her pastors aren't trustworthy just because they're pastors. I'd tell her not to put so much faith in her church family, because it wasn't going to be there for her when the shit hit the fan.

I'd tell her that she was going to be hit with a lot of pain, and that she was going to be expected to act like an adult towards actual adults who acted like children, but that she was still a child, and she didn't have to do it. I'd tell her not to worry so much about protecting my family, and to get the help she needed.

I'd tell her to say all the things she meant to say when she wanted to say it and not hold back.


If I could go back four years . . .

I'd beg her to get help then, and save herself a lot of secrecy and pain and scars.

I'd tell her to get out of that church right then, to leave the youth group. It's not abandoning because they abandoned you.

I'd tell her to find other friends, friends who maybe weren't Christians, or friends who didn't go to church. I'd tell her these friends would be fine, and they'd probably end up being the best and truest friends she'd ever have.


If I could go back three years . . .

I'd tell her to take more pictures, because I don't remember her anymore. I don't remember what she did or didn't do, I just have scars to prove that 16 happened.


If I could go back two years . . .

I'd tell her go ahead, college is right for you right now, don't be so afraid. But be careful. And keep praying (she stopped praying).

I'd tell her not to be so afraid of her gifts. You're not weird, but you're also not better. Just relax and pray.


If I could go back a year . . .

I'd tell her to forgive my pastor sooner, to tell her parents she didn't want to talk about the lawsuit anymore, and to tell she's not someone to dump on, she's only 18. I'd tell her to off Dori and Todd, tell them they hurt her when they told their daughter, my best friend, that we were bad people. I'd tell her to speak her mind to Jeff and tell him what she thought about what happened.

I'd tell her to never hang out with Derek. No, don't ever go over to see him. Don't give him you're number. Don't play with that fire.


If I could go back six months . . .

I'd say, yeah, get that tattoo, it'll look good.

I'd say don't go back to Derek. Don't get in bed with him. You're just lonely right now. He's dangerous, he's fire, he'll burn you, he'll push under your skin. You won't keep saying no. And once you don't say no, he'll never let you go back to saying no. He'll leave you lonely. He'll leave you broken and when he says he'll call you soon, you'll never hear from him again. He'll just bruise your heart up so it's too tender to entertain the thought of ever letting anyone else really care for it.

I'd say speak kindly but firmly. I'd say care for the relationships you've got, care hard, care strong, don't waste away your time with someone who doesn't love you.

I'd say don't let people walk all over you.

I'd say take care of yourself as best you can.


If in two years, I can come back to now, I hope I say . . .

Don't count your regrets. You got out when you did, and you'll be ok. Your heart will heal, and it doesn't matter if he ever calls you or not, because you're stronger than that, and you don't need him. There's something better for you coming soon enough. Just be patient, you'll see what I mean.

Take care of yourself. Don't give yourself away again. Don't let your lonliness determine the condition of your heart and who has access. You won't always be lonely.

Keep writing, it's what you love most. Keep playing that guitar, you'll love that, too. Be open to new friendships. Keep the ones you have.

You're stronger than you think.

Perhaps I should feel vindicated.

Five years since my fourteen year old heart was crushed by my church. Five years since my narcissitic pastor was finally fired, after years (possibly a couple decades) of abusing his staff and raising a church that followed him in blind faith. Five years since the shit hit the fan and he was kicked out, only to get another job a few states over, in the same denomination, as he sued my family and put us through a nightmere of pain.

He's held that job. My fear was always that he had excelled. I wondered what his kids must have though. His daughter, who was a good friend of mine, and his son, who I came very close to dating right before everything, probably still think terrible things of my parents and I -- we brought him down, we were the reason he was fired, it was our fault.

But it's happened again. For the third time, this man who caused so much destruction, has been shown the door. What's more, he is barred from the denomination for good.

I should feel vindicated . . . shouldn't I?

I can't help but think of him differently now, five years out. A victim, perhaps, to an evil so intense, so supernatural, yet so close to our own breath.

This pattern of churches is quietly sweeping the nation, is it not? Most who have not actually had this destructive-like church experience that I, my family, and many, many others have may not believe it or hear about it, unless it happens to them or friends of theirs, but it is happening.

What is it? Why is it happening? Maybe I speak too strongly when I say this, but from where I'm standing, so much of this looks almost cult-like anymore. Regardless, the focus has left Christ entirely and has shifted somewhere way off-base, to a religion that is sold and pastors or elders who are worshipped instead of God. It's like the real meaning has been lost in the shuffle.

My question is why is this happening? Why has it become a pattern?

I hate to talk about "spiritual warfare" anymore because of my past experience with this term and the "forces" that it refers to. But I feel as though I almost can't escape it in regards to my ex-pastor.

Is it possible to be blinded by forces outside ourselves? To be so misdirected, we think what we are doing is right and honorable, even if we see the same actions as wron in others? Is it possible that something, some being, in a realm outside our own can have that kind of influence on us? Is it really possible that there is a battle so huge, that it is actually effecting the churches across our nation in the same way?

Or is the problem with my pastor merely a diagnosable narcissistic personality disorder? Is the similarity just some kind of trend, something that would have eventually happened in any church at this stage, like it should have been expected?

change

"I've been spending way too long checking my tongue in the mirror
And bending over backwards just to try to see you clearer
But my breath fogged up the glass
So i drew a new face and I laughed.
I guess what I be saying is there ain't no better reason
To rid yourself of vanities
And just go with the seasons
It's what we aim to do
Our name is our virtue."

This is an excerpt from Jason Mraz's "I'm Yours." I love this song. The part above just makes me smile. I hope to be like that again someday.

I'm struggling with trying to "find myself" again lately. I'm back home, trying to find some swing of things to get into for the next four months (that seem to drag on forever, and it's only week one). I'm realizing that though I long to be back at school right now, I'm much safer here. I think more clearly. My mind is not fogged by the haze that is college -- the alcohol, the music, the intense stress and hours upon hours of studying, the smoke, the mj, the boys (oooh, the boys), and the wasted times. Of course, much of what I'm leaving behind right now is what I miss the most. I do absolutely love being a college student. I'm thriving, really I am.

But like I said, I think more clearly when I'm at home. No, I don't feel like I can really spread my wings here, but I have a better sense of who I am. I'm stronger, I know myself more, I stand up for myself and for what I really want. I'm not as uncertain about things. Standing here, I see the world as an adventure I can't quite reach. Standing at school, I see the parties as an adventure, but a very different type of adventure that I don't really want to fill my life up with.

I have so much history here, so much painful history, and I'm actually looking for an out of town job for the purpose of avoiding as many people from my exchurch as I possibly can. But I'm also much closer to the raw mess of what became of my heart during those times. I've avoided that rawness, that honesty, for the past few years, because it hurts, it hurts a lot.

I think it's the raw flesh of my heart that is most easy and willing to change. Anything to get it out of the state it's in. Well, I've tried "anything" at college. And it's unfufilling. And now, I'm hurt from that as well.

But I'm ready to grow up a lot. I'm tired of trying myself and falling. I'm tired of trying to find the arms to hold me and make the pain stop. I'm tired of the drugs and alcohol that numb the pain only as much as the last. I'm really ready to put this behind me this summer and let what happened in the past be in the past and start looking toward the future and what I need for my life right now. I want to find the adventure I need and take it. And I'm accepting that if I'm alone for that, if I'm not in the process of joining my life with someone else's during that adventure, that's ok. I'll be ok alone. I really will.


Conclusion: I think my heart had to get trampled on a little bit to get me here. here is where the pages turn. Here is where I change.