I had an absolutely awful day at work yesterday. Almost everything that could have gone wrong went wrong. In hindsight, it was mostly due to lack of foresight (and accompanying preparation), but I'm also learning that my strengths do not lie in organization or administration. The details are boring unless I'm telling the story in person, so just know that, in the world of Panera Catering, my failure was catastrophic. Never in my working life have I been so directly responsible for such an unmitigated disaster.
The subject of this post is what happened in the middle of it.
If you've read my blog before, you know I'm a Christian. You also may know that I'm rarely good at it. Very often, I'm a gossip, a manipulator, a liar - "hypocrite" is a good summation. So yesterday, I was trying, again, to walk in the Spirit (the lifestyle to which we Christians aspire), and I was singing songs to myself in order to remember that "My soul finds rest in God alone" while delivering orders which would arrive unthinkably late, anticipating getting reamed by the people kept waiting for their food, when I started thinking about movies.
The first one that came to mind was Cameron Crowe's feel-good drama Elizabethtown. Orlando Bloom plays Drew, a designer for a shoe company who, through poor planning and execution of a new shoe, loses his company $900 million. There's a scene in which he's telling his love interest, Claire (Kirsten Dunst), about his failure, trying to explain to her the magnitude of it, and she says, "SO WHAT?!" Then she says nice things like, "Have the courage to mess up big and keep showing up. Make 'em wonder why you're still smiling." And I thought to myself, That sure sounds nice, but man, that's not easy. Then I thought, Actually, Claire doesn't give Drew a foundation for her sunny outlook. How is he supposed to react any differently from contemplating suicide if he doesn't have an identity alternative to that of the successful shoe designer? More on that later.
The next movie was the comedy Meet the Parents. I have never liked Meet the Parents for the following reason: I become extremely embarrassed on behalf of people who do embarrassing things and to whom embarrassing things happen.* At least, I used to think that was the reason. But yesterday, while everything was going wrong, I realized that it's not embarrassment I'm feeling. It's terror. I am terrified that everything is going to come unraveled like it does for Ben Stiller's character, Gaylord Focker, and for that reason, seeing it happen to other people is almost unbearable. It feels like watching my own inevitable end.
(Another common occurrence in which I feel very uncomfortable is being in the audience when someone is singing or playing an instrument and they don't quite hit the note or series of notes they're looking for. They're flat or sharp. This happens a lot on music reality television like American Idol, which is hard for me to watch because, unlike Meet the Parents where it's mostly about bad things happening to a person, these are poor performances given by people who think they're performing well. I am also terrified of that. I am terrified of thinking I've done well when, objectively, I haven't. I haven't measured up. I've shown up to school wearing only my underwear or walked out on stage naked. Terror.)
There's a lot for me to deal with, here. I mean, this is raw revelation you're hearing, not some well-thought-out past experience, my preferred writing fodder. Some things do immediately occur to me, like how my identity/acceptance/sense-of-belonging is found in Christ, not in my ability to accomplish a given task or my job title or the group of friends I have. This is, of course, the alternate identity Drew needed in Elizabethtown. Taking hold of that truth in the middle of messing up big time is hard, but I already knew that. In fact, I talk about it so much, I'm afraid it's starting to lose its meaning.
I am sure that this fear of devastating failure, unwitting inadequacy, or just plain embarrassment has knotted together and stopped up many channels in my metaphysical world - creative output, to be sure - and I just know that if I can beat it, if I can stop being afraid, there's a whole new world on the other side.
Two other things happened aside from this revelation which were also good: (1) I didn't quit my job, and (2) I showed up to work again today. Those might be a given for you, and though they are for me now, too, it wasn't always so. There was a time in the not-too-distant past when such failure would have been too much and I'd call in sick the day after and then again the next day and on the third day I just wouldn't show up. (An interesting juxtaposition.) So I guess that's some sort of proof that my identity issues are slowly but surely being dealt with.
*This is sometimes referred to as Second- or Third-Party Embarrassment syndrome. Second-Party Embarrassment is the embarrassment felt when an embarrassing act is witnessed, like Person A witnessing a speaker fart on a stage. Third-Party Embarrassment is the embarrassment experienced by Person B when Person A tells Person B about the speaker's outburst. (I couldn't resist.)
13 November 2012
05 September 2012
this present darkness
I have this drive to make sure you know you're not alone. By "you," I mean two groups of people: those who believe what I believe and those who don't. We Christians have a hard time expressing our feelings because we're afraid of what it would look like if everything was out in the open, if people really knew about the dark shit that goes through our heads from time to time, or our messed up family life, or what we said at work the other day. Because we have a hard time expressing this, we alienate people, oftentimes seriously hurting them in the process. I mean, it's not like the rest of the world can't see straight through us. I wish we could quit pretending.
So I get on here and I write about the dark shit that goes through my head because I want my fellow believers to know it's ok. You're not alone. I'm going through it, the people who stand next to you in church are going through it, David went through it (a bunch of his psalms are full of despair and fear and are right next to the ones that praise God for his never-ending love), all of the forefathers of our faith went through it (none of whom had what would even remotely resemble a healthy family life), and God still had mercy. He still loved them and worked through them and stuck with them. He just wants us to be honest, I think. Well, that's part of what he wants.
And I get on here and I write about what I'm going through because I want the people who don't believe what I believe to know that I'm a real person. Sometimes people who aren't Christians hear that I'm a Christian and they automatically assume a whole lot, like for instance that my life is about a bunch of rules and that I'm in league with the kind of people who show up at funerals for fallen soldiers holding picket signs full of hate. And so the same people who complain about how Christians label and judge them label and judge me.
But I get it. The Church is messed up. In fact, sometimes I wish I could apologize to the world at large for the way that my Family fails. The Founder of our faith spent a lot of time telling us to take care of the poor and the widow and the orphan and we treat it like an option. The prophets before him warned of God's judgment on nations who forsook justice and mercy and who instead participated in oppression, and on Sunday morning a lot of us end up hearing sermons that keep us comfortable in our opulence, sacrifice being reduced to giving up chocolate for Lent.
But I still believe in my Family. I still believe in the Church. I love her like crazy and I want to keep at it, to keep struggling with her.
Anyway.
So I get on here and I write about the dark shit that goes through my head because I want my fellow believers to know it's ok. You're not alone. I'm going through it, the people who stand next to you in church are going through it, David went through it (a bunch of his psalms are full of despair and fear and are right next to the ones that praise God for his never-ending love), all of the forefathers of our faith went through it (none of whom had what would even remotely resemble a healthy family life), and God still had mercy. He still loved them and worked through them and stuck with them. He just wants us to be honest, I think. Well, that's part of what he wants.
And I get on here and I write about what I'm going through because I want the people who don't believe what I believe to know that I'm a real person. Sometimes people who aren't Christians hear that I'm a Christian and they automatically assume a whole lot, like for instance that my life is about a bunch of rules and that I'm in league with the kind of people who show up at funerals for fallen soldiers holding picket signs full of hate. And so the same people who complain about how Christians label and judge them label and judge me.
But I get it. The Church is messed up. In fact, sometimes I wish I could apologize to the world at large for the way that my Family fails. The Founder of our faith spent a lot of time telling us to take care of the poor and the widow and the orphan and we treat it like an option. The prophets before him warned of God's judgment on nations who forsook justice and mercy and who instead participated in oppression, and on Sunday morning a lot of us end up hearing sermons that keep us comfortable in our opulence, sacrifice being reduced to giving up chocolate for Lent.
But I still believe in my Family. I still believe in the Church. I love her like crazy and I want to keep at it, to keep struggling with her.
Anyway.
11 June 2012
you look just like your enemy
Do you ever have dreams involving ostensibly trivial things - like the date, for instance - and then wake up and go about your day thinking it's a week ahead of reality? I do. I've been breathing hard all morning because I thought I'd been here for a full month already and that would mean time is going by too fast which in turn would mean I'm not really living in the moment. Needless to say, I was delighted to find out just now that it's only been three weeks.
Well so. It's been three weeks.
Moment of honesty: Writing updates is difficult because I feel like I've gotta say something profound and moving and original and I don't feel up to it most of the time. Actually, that's the same reason I don't blog as much as I'd like to. Or write music. Or create.
Wow. Epiphanies.
Alright, I'm just gonna tell you how things are going.
The language is a lot harder than I expected it to be, but I found a really cool way to measure progress: I watch Pan's Labyrinth once a week and see how much more I understand. It's fun, except for that scene in which the doctor amputates a leg 1940's-style.
Unfortunately, that's just the understanding bit. The speaking bit is so much harder, and I'll tell you why: I hate looking foolish. I hate making mistakes. I have this fantasy in my head that one day I'll just start speaking flawless Castellano and everyone will be amazed - I want you to be amazed at me - and there will be all these accolades and big eyes and pats on the back and Wow Ian is so smart!
Sad, but true.
I know I've written about that before, but I wanted to make sure you know I'm still not perfect. I had a lot of you fooled, I know.
So how do I get out of that? (I feel a soap box coming on.) I mean, that's the question, right? Or it should be. I can't count how many times I've been talking to someone and they reveal a flaw and they just throw up their hands and say Well that's just me. Really? That's just you? I'll tell you what I think: I think you're lazy. Or you're building walls to hide behind because you want to be satisfied and all this imperfection is not satisfying, is it? So you gotta figure out a way to make it okay. We're all just trying to be okay.
Well, wake up. You will never be okay if all you do is build walls to hide behind. The answer for you is the same as the answer for me. In my case, I'm running around seeking everyone's approval. Why? I've made an idol out of people. More specifically, out of people's praise. In other words, I'm worshiping at the altar of people's good opinions. The answer is to start worshiping God.
When that happens - and I know, because I've experienced it - everything falls into place. When I'm really, seriously worshiping God with my life, the puzzle fits together. It affects everything. And beyond that, what's available is not just being okay but total satisfaction. I'm gonna say that again, in case you missed it: complete, utter, absolute, consummate, unmitigated, comprehensive, out-and-out satisfaction is available in the person of Jesus Christ. Man, I want that.
Ok this is turning into less of an update and more of a sermon. I'm just not content to sit around sighing about my inadequacies (insofar as they are a result of my inaction) and I don't think you should be either. So let's start figuring out what our idols are, huh?
Anyway.
Ropes Course
Mark has asked me to spearhead the planning and building of a ropes course for the camps this summer! God has provided in a lot of ways to make this a reality, the most notable of which is the person of my brother-in-law, Alex. Alex has a lot of experience with experiential education by way of wilderness trips and ropes courses, and is an invaluable resource for this project. We're still in the very beginning stages - developing a (my) mental framework, which is of utmost importance - but plan to move this forward very quickly. It'll be a miracle if it comes together, because camp starts on the first of July.
Ok I'm all write-ed out. We've got some things to pray for, you and I.
That reminds me: I'd really like to hear from you. Yes, you. You don't have to comment on here, but maybe a quick Facebook message or email to let me know what's going on in your world. We gotta stay connected!
Love.
Well so. It's been three weeks.
Moment of honesty: Writing updates is difficult because I feel like I've gotta say something profound and moving and original and I don't feel up to it most of the time. Actually, that's the same reason I don't blog as much as I'd like to. Or write music. Or create.
Wow. Epiphanies.
Alright, I'm just gonna tell you how things are going.
The language is a lot harder than I expected it to be, but I found a really cool way to measure progress: I watch Pan's Labyrinth once a week and see how much more I understand. It's fun, except for that scene in which the doctor amputates a leg 1940's-style.
Unfortunately, that's just the understanding bit. The speaking bit is so much harder, and I'll tell you why: I hate looking foolish. I hate making mistakes. I have this fantasy in my head that one day I'll just start speaking flawless Castellano and everyone will be amazed - I want you to be amazed at me - and there will be all these accolades and big eyes and pats on the back and Wow Ian is so smart!
Sad, but true.
I know I've written about that before, but I wanted to make sure you know I'm still not perfect. I had a lot of you fooled, I know.
So how do I get out of that? (I feel a soap box coming on.) I mean, that's the question, right? Or it should be. I can't count how many times I've been talking to someone and they reveal a flaw and they just throw up their hands and say Well that's just me. Really? That's just you? I'll tell you what I think: I think you're lazy. Or you're building walls to hide behind because you want to be satisfied and all this imperfection is not satisfying, is it? So you gotta figure out a way to make it okay. We're all just trying to be okay.
Well, wake up. You will never be okay if all you do is build walls to hide behind. The answer for you is the same as the answer for me. In my case, I'm running around seeking everyone's approval. Why? I've made an idol out of people. More specifically, out of people's praise. In other words, I'm worshiping at the altar of people's good opinions. The answer is to start worshiping God.
When that happens - and I know, because I've experienced it - everything falls into place. When I'm really, seriously worshiping God with my life, the puzzle fits together. It affects everything. And beyond that, what's available is not just being okay but total satisfaction. I'm gonna say that again, in case you missed it: complete, utter, absolute, consummate, unmitigated, comprehensive, out-and-out satisfaction is available in the person of Jesus Christ. Man, I want that.
Ok this is turning into less of an update and more of a sermon. I'm just not content to sit around sighing about my inadequacies (insofar as they are a result of my inaction) and I don't think you should be either. So let's start figuring out what our idols are, huh?
Anyway.
Ropes Course
Mark has asked me to spearhead the planning and building of a ropes course for the camps this summer! God has provided in a lot of ways to make this a reality, the most notable of which is the person of my brother-in-law, Alex. Alex has a lot of experience with experiential education by way of wilderness trips and ropes courses, and is an invaluable resource for this project. We're still in the very beginning stages - developing a (my) mental framework, which is of utmost importance - but plan to move this forward very quickly. It'll be a miracle if it comes together, because camp starts on the first of July.
Ok I'm all write-ed out. We've got some things to pray for, you and I.
That reminds me: I'd really like to hear from you. Yes, you. You don't have to comment on here, but maybe a quick Facebook message or email to let me know what's going on in your world. We gotta stay connected!
Love.
30 May 2012
doing
I realized after writing that last post that some of you are perhaps wondering what I'm actually doing here. So I'm gonna write another one, and we'll call it a double feature.
A lot of people asked me this question before I came: What are you going to do in Spain? Of course they did. What else are they gonna ask me? Well, the response I often gave, while good and accurate in my own estimation, was vague, and left most people unsatisfied. "I'm going to help."
"Okay..?" was a common response.
"With what?" was another one.
"Right on." was my favorite.
As I said, I stand by what I said about coming here to help. It was and is my chief desire to be a blessing to Mark and Stephanie and the team here at YFC Spain in whatever way I can. (Actually, that idea has been rolling around in my head since I heard about a conversation that took place between my brother, his wife, and some of their college friends - the idea of being a blessing. Whether you are working at a law firm or building houses or going to school, one of your jobs, if you are a Christian, is to be a blessing to those around you. I love that. That makes work so much more fun. Of course, I haven't perfected it.)
Anyway, here are some of the things I've been doing, for those curious.
Cleaning
There is a LOT of cleaning to be done. Well, first, I should tell you about the center. YFC Spain has a center in Barcelona which is a front, if you will, for their missions operation. One thing they do at the center is run an English Academy. They have a couple of classrooms and a couple of teachers - a wonderful British lady named Bev and a full-time missionary named Brandon. They also run a tutoring program and have forums on Monday and Friday nights. Monday nights are for twentysomethings to come and talk about ideas. Fridays are for the kids.
Well. Kids make things dirty. They run around and play like kids do, and they scuff the walls, etc. So, Friday, I came in and scrubbed the walls in the rec room. This room is also used by two churches on the weekends. Today, I scrubbed the walls in the lobby and in the hallway which leads to the classrooms. It was a fair amount of work, but nothing that a couple afternoons couldn't take care of.
Future tasks include more wall-scrubbing and painting what can't be scrubbed.
Berea
Berea is a camp that YFC runs during the summer, named for the city Paul and Silas visited in Acts 17. It. is. beautiful. It's an hour or so inland - and let me tell you, the Spanish countryside feels like being in a movie or a novel - and it's in the middle of nowhere up in the hills so you can see the Mediterranean in the far distance as well as this incredible mountain called Montserrat. On Monday, Mark and I went up to ready ourselves before the Spanish Inquisition came to make sure we didn't need to be put on the rack for our heresies. Ok bad joke. We had to make sure the camp would pass the yearly, somewhat-capricious inspection. No big deal. We spent the night and I spent a few hours on Tuesday morning painting the concrete around the pool in some seriously ideal weather. An awful sacrifice, I know.
So one of the big pluses (or drawbacks, depending on your point of view) of doing jobs like these for missionaries who don't have the time to do them is that you're an immediate hero. They are simple tasks, really. (I mean, it is true that there's a certain lack of...I don't know...initiative...in the Spanish psyche, so probably any American who came in would look very industrious and/or ambitious. Also crazy.) But that you have done them is SUCH. a big HELP. you have no IDEA!
The reason I said that about drawbacks is that it doesn't do much to help me fight my pride. But by God's grace, I am vigilant.
What else? Ah yes. I really like YFC Spain's approach to missions because it's right up my alley. (Also, it works very well within the context of recent Spanish history, but I won't get into that here.) YFC Spain is all about developing relationships with people, building trust in those relationships, and then speaking the Gospel into that space. If you know me, you know I love that. I love people. I love people's stories. I love hearing people's stories. I love building relationships with people. And most of all, Jesus loves me and I love Jesus and I love telling people about how Jesus loves them. It can be a very long process, but it's my favorite.
So anyway. I hope the picture is coming into focus, now.
A lot of people asked me this question before I came: What are you going to do in Spain? Of course they did. What else are they gonna ask me? Well, the response I often gave, while good and accurate in my own estimation, was vague, and left most people unsatisfied. "I'm going to help."
"Okay..?" was a common response.
"With what?" was another one.
"Right on." was my favorite.
As I said, I stand by what I said about coming here to help. It was and is my chief desire to be a blessing to Mark and Stephanie and the team here at YFC Spain in whatever way I can. (Actually, that idea has been rolling around in my head since I heard about a conversation that took place between my brother, his wife, and some of their college friends - the idea of being a blessing. Whether you are working at a law firm or building houses or going to school, one of your jobs, if you are a Christian, is to be a blessing to those around you. I love that. That makes work so much more fun. Of course, I haven't perfected it.)
Anyway, here are some of the things I've been doing, for those curious.
Cleaning
There is a LOT of cleaning to be done. Well, first, I should tell you about the center. YFC Spain has a center in Barcelona which is a front, if you will, for their missions operation. One thing they do at the center is run an English Academy. They have a couple of classrooms and a couple of teachers - a wonderful British lady named Bev and a full-time missionary named Brandon. They also run a tutoring program and have forums on Monday and Friday nights. Monday nights are for twentysomethings to come and talk about ideas. Fridays are for the kids.
Well. Kids make things dirty. They run around and play like kids do, and they scuff the walls, etc. So, Friday, I came in and scrubbed the walls in the rec room. This room is also used by two churches on the weekends. Today, I scrubbed the walls in the lobby and in the hallway which leads to the classrooms. It was a fair amount of work, but nothing that a couple afternoons couldn't take care of.
Future tasks include more wall-scrubbing and painting what can't be scrubbed.
Berea
Berea is a camp that YFC runs during the summer, named for the city Paul and Silas visited in Acts 17. It. is. beautiful. It's an hour or so inland - and let me tell you, the Spanish countryside feels like being in a movie or a novel - and it's in the middle of nowhere up in the hills so you can see the Mediterranean in the far distance as well as this incredible mountain called Montserrat. On Monday, Mark and I went up to ready ourselves before the Spanish Inquisition came to make sure we didn't need to be put on the rack for our heresies. Ok bad joke. We had to make sure the camp would pass the yearly, somewhat-capricious inspection. No big deal. We spent the night and I spent a few hours on Tuesday morning painting the concrete around the pool in some seriously ideal weather. An awful sacrifice, I know.
So one of the big pluses (or drawbacks, depending on your point of view) of doing jobs like these for missionaries who don't have the time to do them is that you're an immediate hero. They are simple tasks, really. (I mean, it is true that there's a certain lack of...I don't know...initiative...in the Spanish psyche, so probably any American who came in would look very industrious and/or ambitious. Also crazy.) But that you have done them is SUCH. a big HELP. you have no IDEA!
The reason I said that about drawbacks is that it doesn't do much to help me fight my pride. But by God's grace, I am vigilant.
What else? Ah yes. I really like YFC Spain's approach to missions because it's right up my alley. (Also, it works very well within the context of recent Spanish history, but I won't get into that here.) YFC Spain is all about developing relationships with people, building trust in those relationships, and then speaking the Gospel into that space. If you know me, you know I love that. I love people. I love people's stories. I love hearing people's stories. I love building relationships with people. And most of all, Jesus loves me and I love Jesus and I love telling people about how Jesus loves them. It can be a very long process, but it's my favorite.
So anyway. I hope the picture is coming into focus, now.
priorities
Hey everyone!
But on to the good stuff. One of the great things about major transitions is that there are many lessons to be learned and God's teachings seem abundantly clear. I think this is because the times are volatile, and one feels one's need of and dependence on God more acutely and thus searches more diligently, perhaps, for the diamonds in the rough.
So, the major question of the last week: What are your priorities?
On my first work day at the center, Mark and I sat down to eat lunch with another worker named Ruben. I finished my lunch first, which is not uncommon no matter whom I'm with, and as soon as Mark finished his food, I grabbed both of our plates and darted for the kitchen sink. Mark looked at Ruben, laughed and shook his head, and said something along the lines of, "Crazy Americans..." It was in Spanish, so I didn't catch all of it.
(I considered writing something like "Saludos!" but I didn't want to be predictable.)
Well. I arrived in Spain over a week ago on Tuesday at eight in the morning Barcelona time. That's 1 a.m. Chicago time. I hadn't slept except for maybe an hour on the transatlantic flight because there were several fantastic in-flight movies available, so I was very tired. I was advised, however, that the best way to conquer jet lag is to stay up for the first day, be in the sun, let your body-clock readjust, etc, and this I did. It wasn't easy.
Anyway, the first week has been really good. Until yesterday, when I moved to the center, I'd been staying with the Dodrills. It was nice to be in a comfortable environment around people I know while acclimating to the new culture and learning my way around. They have a great place in a town called Castelldefels which is a couple towns over from Barcelona. It's actually a destination in itself because it has the longest beach on the Mediterranean.
But on to the good stuff. One of the great things about major transitions is that there are many lessons to be learned and God's teachings seem abundantly clear. I think this is because the times are volatile, and one feels one's need of and dependence on God more acutely and thus searches more diligently, perhaps, for the diamonds in the rough.
So, the major question of the last week: What are your priorities?
On my first work day at the center, Mark and I sat down to eat lunch with another worker named Ruben. I finished my lunch first, which is not uncommon no matter whom I'm with, and as soon as Mark finished his food, I grabbed both of our plates and darted for the kitchen sink. Mark looked at Ruben, laughed and shook his head, and said something along the lines of, "Crazy Americans..." It was in Spanish, so I didn't catch all of it.
Meals take a long time here. Lunch can be a two-hour event, no matter the context. You go out (or stay in), you order your food (or you heat up what you brought with you), you sit down and eat, and you talk. And talk. And let the silences linger. And talk.
At first, I was thinking, "Oh my gosh these lazy people! How does anything get done around here?" But then I started to wonder if it isn't more a question of priority. In America, efficiency is king - You're done eating lunch? Alright, get the place cleared and get back to it. - and we think that's universal. What's more, we tend to think that inefficiency is immoral. Well, maybe it is, but was what I just experienced inefficiency? Was it, in fact, laziness? Or was there simply a higher priority being placed on time spent with one another, enjoying the moment, however small.
Well, I think that's enough for now. Feedback? Feel free to write.
And thanks for being on this journey with me.
At first, I was thinking, "Oh my gosh these lazy people! How does anything get done around here?" But then I started to wonder if it isn't more a question of priority. In America, efficiency is king - You're done eating lunch? Alright, get the place cleared and get back to it. - and we think that's universal. What's more, we tend to think that inefficiency is immoral. Well, maybe it is, but was what I just experienced inefficiency? Was it, in fact, laziness? Or was there simply a higher priority being placed on time spent with one another, enjoying the moment, however small.
Well, I think that's enough for now. Feedback? Feel free to write.
And thanks for being on this journey with me.
26 April 2012
rock bottom
You know, I thought, when I put it out there for people to pick my brains, that I'd get easy questions like, "What's acid like?" and I could give easy responses like, "Every last person who has ever tripped will tell you that they have this experience of 'one-ness' with a capital 'O' and 'we're all connected, man' and it's all bullshit," which would be a true and accurate response. But y'all are not taking it easy on me.
Anonymous writes:
Every addict has a rock bottom. What was yours?
Deep breath.
Rock bottom, for me, didn't happen once. The first bottom I hit was breaking into my friend's house (whom we shall call Fred) to get at his stash of Oxycontin. My other friend (whom we shall call...Thomas) and I were on the withdrawal end of the spectrum, not feeling good, and we were trying to figure out what to do about it. It was, oh, five in the morning.
In the car:
"Well," said I, "I know where Fred keeps his Oxycontin."
Said Thomas, "..."
"And he keeps his back door unlocked."
"..."
"Ugh. I mean. He wouldn't mind, right? I'll leave him the money."
"Yeah! No problem. He won't even be angry."
"I don't know, man. Maybe we should just wait til he wakes up."
"I don't want to wait."
"Me either."
We drove over to Fred's. Not a creature was stirring, etc. The problem I knew I'd have was the dog. He would be loud. But, I thought, he knows me. I was a regular at Fred's. If I could just get through the door silently, it'd be alright.
Long story short, I got past the dog, I got the pills, I left the money, Thomas and I got high, and a few hours later, after I'd woken up from the sleep/daze, I had some pretty heated messages from Fred. Go figure.
This, as I said, was the first bottom. I'd been stealing from my parents for years - starting with a $20 here and a $20 there and ending with hundreds at a time - but this was the first time I'd stolen outside the family. (Wow. That's the first time I'm seeing that in writing, and I can't tell you for the life of me why the two were different. That's plain crazy, and no mistake.)
So. I dealt with the storm of Fred's anger - which mostly involved telling him that Thomas pushed me into it, Thomas, don't you see, was the bad guy - and had a big moment of "What. in the world. am I doing." except the coarse version. The whole debacle ended with a phone call to my sister. She hadn't known, I don't think, the severity of my drug use, and without prodding from me, decided to drive down from Chicago the following day. As soon as she walked through the door at my parents' (I hadn't known she was coming), I told her I was coming back with her, and she said, "I know. That's why I'm here."
Makes me weep every time.
That launched the long road to rehab, and there are plenty of stories surrounding that journey, but I don't have time for them now. The next and lower bottoms I hit were in between rehabs. I kept convincing my parents to allow me to come home after I'd finished one or was on my way to another. I stole from my parents every time, got high. every time. At the last, I was in Chicago preparing to attend Teen Challenge after a brief visit home, and I received a call from my mom. She'd just found out about a check I'd cashed for something like $500, and I was at the theater with my girlfriend when my pocket buzzed.
"I know about the check, Ian."
"Mom...I'm so sorry."
"It's like you're two different people! You say you want to get clean and then you come home and steal from us again and I just don't know what to think. Do you even want to get clean?"
"Yes. I really do. I'm sorry."
But my sorries didn't mean anything anymore. Not at that point. Words, my friend, are useless at that point. I was so tired of it, but I didn't know how to tell anyone so that they really believed me because that's the thing, right? It's TOTAL insanity! What are they supposed to think? You want to do one thing, you do the opposite. You love people, you really do, and you despise them with your actions. I can't explain that. I can point to a letter a guy named Paul wrote to his friends in Rome, though. "I do not understand my own actions," he wrote. "For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate...Wretched man that I am!" (Romans 7:15, 24)
So. That was what bottom looked like for me, that conversation with my mom. I felt so empty when I hung up because I was standing there looking at myself from the outside for just a second, and I LOOKED. so. empty. I mean, all my promises...
All I wanted to do after that phone call was get high. By God's grace, I didn't (read: wasn't able to).
I've said before, and I'll say again: I didn't go through what so many others have. I was never on the streets. I never sold my body. My dad was AROUND, for pete's sake, unlike so many others'. I thank God for that. And I thank God my mom and I were still close enough that such a conversation made me so ashamed and provided an impetus for change.
I should stop here, though it doesn't feel complete, probably because that's the beginning and end of a story fraught with many evils committed, each worse than the last. I can talk about those, too, at some point, but I'm going to let this ride, for now.
Blessings.
Anonymous writes:
Every addict has a rock bottom. What was yours?
Deep breath.
Rock bottom, for me, didn't happen once. The first bottom I hit was breaking into my friend's house (whom we shall call Fred) to get at his stash of Oxycontin. My other friend (whom we shall call...Thomas) and I were on the withdrawal end of the spectrum, not feeling good, and we were trying to figure out what to do about it. It was, oh, five in the morning.
In the car:
"Well," said I, "I know where Fred keeps his Oxycontin."
Said Thomas, "..."
"And he keeps his back door unlocked."
"..."
"Ugh. I mean. He wouldn't mind, right? I'll leave him the money."
"Yeah! No problem. He won't even be angry."
"I don't know, man. Maybe we should just wait til he wakes up."
"I don't want to wait."
"Me either."
We drove over to Fred's. Not a creature was stirring, etc. The problem I knew I'd have was the dog. He would be loud. But, I thought, he knows me. I was a regular at Fred's. If I could just get through the door silently, it'd be alright.
Long story short, I got past the dog, I got the pills, I left the money, Thomas and I got high, and a few hours later, after I'd woken up from the sleep/daze, I had some pretty heated messages from Fred. Go figure.
This, as I said, was the first bottom. I'd been stealing from my parents for years - starting with a $20 here and a $20 there and ending with hundreds at a time - but this was the first time I'd stolen outside the family. (Wow. That's the first time I'm seeing that in writing, and I can't tell you for the life of me why the two were different. That's plain crazy, and no mistake.)
So. I dealt with the storm of Fred's anger - which mostly involved telling him that Thomas pushed me into it, Thomas, don't you see, was the bad guy - and had a big moment of "What. in the world. am I doing." except the coarse version. The whole debacle ended with a phone call to my sister. She hadn't known, I don't think, the severity of my drug use, and without prodding from me, decided to drive down from Chicago the following day. As soon as she walked through the door at my parents' (I hadn't known she was coming), I told her I was coming back with her, and she said, "I know. That's why I'm here."
Makes me weep every time.
That launched the long road to rehab, and there are plenty of stories surrounding that journey, but I don't have time for them now. The next and lower bottoms I hit were in between rehabs. I kept convincing my parents to allow me to come home after I'd finished one or was on my way to another. I stole from my parents every time, got high. every time. At the last, I was in Chicago preparing to attend Teen Challenge after a brief visit home, and I received a call from my mom. She'd just found out about a check I'd cashed for something like $500, and I was at the theater with my girlfriend when my pocket buzzed.
"I know about the check, Ian."
"Mom...I'm so sorry."
"It's like you're two different people! You say you want to get clean and then you come home and steal from us again and I just don't know what to think. Do you even want to get clean?"
"Yes. I really do. I'm sorry."
But my sorries didn't mean anything anymore. Not at that point. Words, my friend, are useless at that point. I was so tired of it, but I didn't know how to tell anyone so that they really believed me because that's the thing, right? It's TOTAL insanity! What are they supposed to think? You want to do one thing, you do the opposite. You love people, you really do, and you despise them with your actions. I can't explain that. I can point to a letter a guy named Paul wrote to his friends in Rome, though. "I do not understand my own actions," he wrote. "For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate...Wretched man that I am!" (Romans 7:15, 24)
So. That was what bottom looked like for me, that conversation with my mom. I felt so empty when I hung up because I was standing there looking at myself from the outside for just a second, and I LOOKED. so. empty. I mean, all my promises...
All I wanted to do after that phone call was get high. By God's grace, I didn't (read: wasn't able to).
I've said before, and I'll say again: I didn't go through what so many others have. I was never on the streets. I never sold my body. My dad was AROUND, for pete's sake, unlike so many others'. I thank God for that. And I thank God my mom and I were still close enough that such a conversation made me so ashamed and provided an impetus for change.
I should stop here, though it doesn't feel complete, probably because that's the beginning and end of a story fraught with many evils committed, each worse than the last. I can talk about those, too, at some point, but I'm going to let this ride, for now.
Blessings.
23 January 2012
narcotics
The first question's in, and it is a tough one. It's been a long time since I’ve thought about these
things, and for good reason: It isn’t good to dwell on them, especially when
you’ve not been sober/clean for long. That said, I want to strongly discourage
you from continuing to read if you’re in recovery, which here I’ll qualify as
less than a year since you last used.
Just to be clear: If you haven’t been clean for at least a year - and even then, check your conscience - go watch a movie or read a book.
Gustavo/Dad writes:
Every time I have been treated with a narcotic pain med, in addition to the (variable) pain control, I have felt either nothing, or nausea and/or an intense malaise.
Question: Did your first doses of narcotics feel good? If not, what made you take the second dose?
Deep breath.
Here we go.
Did your first doses of narcotics feel good?
Yes, but my first doses were small and I wasn’t in any pain. I’m no doctor, but I wonder if this made a difference.
A few things are important to understand here:
1) My first experiences were with the little cousins of heroin - hydro- and oxycodones like Lortab and Percocet. Still narcotics, but nowhere near as strong.
As I said above, what made me take the second dose is, well, wanting to. At that point in my life, drugs had been my way of escape for a few years and I was committed to them. It wasn’t all peaches and cream, but when it came down to it, I got results (apathy, dumb happiness, rootless pleasure). I was buying the lie.
Just to be clear: If you haven’t been clean for at least a year - and even then, check your conscience - go watch a movie or read a book.
Gustavo/Dad writes:
Every time I have been treated with a narcotic pain med, in addition to the (variable) pain control, I have felt either nothing, or nausea and/or an intense malaise.
Question: Did your first doses of narcotics feel good? If not, what made you take the second dose?
Deep breath.
Here we go.
Did your first doses of narcotics feel good?
Yes, but my first doses were small and I wasn’t in any pain. I’m no doctor, but I wonder if this made a difference.
A few things are important to understand here:
1) My first experiences were with the little cousins of heroin - hydro- and oxycodones like Lortab and Percocet. Still narcotics, but nowhere near as strong.
2) By the time I was experimenting with narcotics - probably
late summer ’07 - I’d been through marijuana, cocaine, methamphetamines, ecstasy,
and hallucinogens (LSD as well as experimental designer drugs like the 2C
family). The significance of this is that I’d already watched the effects of a
variety of drugs on my body - I was experimental in my use to the nth degree -
and was very practiced in, quite literally, controlling my body in the event of
negative effects. I’m not sure how to relate this except in terms of the
stomach flu: Have you ever been sick, or felt as though you were about to be,
and “steeled” yourself, perhaps until you were closer to the toilet? It’s like
that.
3) I wanted it to
feel good. I wanted it very badly. This begins to answer the second question, but I’m
not ready to go there, yet.
More to the point, I think, are my first few experiences with the drug Oxycontin, which led
to my heroin addiction in early 2009. These experiences would have been anti-climactic if I'd been expecting anything. I snorted the crushed-up pill and it made me
sickly, lazy, and cloudy. Very similar to the symptoms you described, Dad. It
wasn’t until one of my friends showed me how to use it intravenously that I fell in love. And oh man did it make me sick.
What made you take the
second dose?
As I said above, what made me take the second dose is, well, wanting to. At that point in my life, drugs had been my way of escape for a few years and I was committed to them. It wasn’t all peaches and cream, but when it came down to it, I got results (apathy, dumb happiness, rootless pleasure). I was buying the lie.
What’s crazy is I knew it was a lie and I kept going. I could
put you in touch with the people with whom I used to shoot up or smoke or
whatever and every one of them will tell you about how I would talk about
Jesus and how I wanted to quit, much to their chagrin. It wasn’t every time, but Jesus came up a lot when I was high. I wrote
things in my journal like this, pleading with God to deliver me, make it
better, anything. But another part of me was all in.
I got sick almost every time. I didn’t throw up, but I felt
awful. The initial rush was followed by an incredible wave of nausea, but I was
addicted to it as much as I was addicted to the needle and the drug itself. I cherished it, to some degree,
because it meant I’d just shot up.
(Soap box: I hope you see that these are not cut-and-dry, black-and-white feelings. Feelings rarely are, but these are twisted and dark - are they not? - and I can't make sense of them outside of Christianity. How else do you explain this infatuation with what is incontrovertibly evil than to say I am evil? And if evil, at odds with God. And if at odds with God, in need of a Savior!)
Beyond that, I’d already gone so far even before the Oxycontin and heroin that, even though I knew I’d be sick, it was all I had. I mean, I know that’s not true, but it felt true. I’m here to tell you: when you’re sticking a needle in your vein, there doesn’t seem to be any way out.
Beyond that, I’d already gone so far even before the Oxycontin and heroin that, even though I knew I’d be sick, it was all I had. I mean, I know that’s not true, but it felt true. I’m here to tell you: when you’re sticking a needle in your vein, there doesn’t seem to be any way out.
This doesn't feel complete, but I hope it's the beginning of an answer. Follow-up questions are welcome, as are completely different ones.
(If you're a recovering addict and you didn't take my advice to quit reading and now you're feeling crazy, do the following: a) Pray earnestly for deliverance, picturing Jesus on the cross paying for it, and know that I've been praying for you while writing this. b) Call me, Gary, or someone you trust, stat.)
17 January 2012
give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, the wretched refuse of your teeming shore
Hi there.
I have a hard time writing most of the time. This is why I post monthly-ish and not more often.
Yes, yes, I know: so do you so does everyone who writes get over it and write you just have to do it suck it up yadda yadda YADDA!
But I had an idea.
You know, when I started this blog, it was before heroin. Now, it's mostly about heroin or rehab or whatever, and the more I talk with people, the more I realize how many questions y'all have. And here I am - white, male, upper-middle-class, lover of Jesus since I was eight, great family, ex-junkie. (That is to say, NOT minority, male, poverty-level, no father, projects, ex-junkie.) I come from where you come from (which is perhaps why there are so many questions).
So. Help me. Help me help you. You have questions? I have answers. (And I want prompts.)
I should qualify that. I'll have experiential answers about particular drugs. Everything but peyote, anyway. I probably won't have answers about why people do what they do - alternatively, I'll have answers you won't like - but it might make you feel better to have asked and to have been answered by someone who was there, even if what you receive is subjective and inconclusive.
Maybe someone you know is going through it. (Me, circa 1998.) Maybe you're toying with some taboos with which you never thought you'd be toying. (Me, circa 2002.) Maybe you're in the middle of it, up to your neck in it, can't stop it, scared shitless. (Me, circa 2007.) Maybe you're a wet-behind-the-ears homeschooler who just has no clue and you'd like to. (Well...)
Ask.
Oh, and that's the great thing about the intranets and about Blogger in particular: you can ask anonymously! Or not, which would be even sweeter.
SEND THESE, THE HOMELESS, TEMPEST-TOST TO ME,
I LIFT MY LAMP BESIDE THE GOLDEN DOOR!
I have a hard time writing most of the time. This is why I post monthly-ish and not more often.
Yes, yes, I know: so do you so does everyone who writes get over it and write you just have to do it suck it up yadda yadda YADDA!
But I had an idea.
You know, when I started this blog, it was before heroin. Now, it's mostly about heroin or rehab or whatever, and the more I talk with people, the more I realize how many questions y'all have. And here I am - white, male, upper-middle-class, lover of Jesus since I was eight, great family, ex-junkie. (That is to say, NOT minority, male, poverty-level, no father, projects, ex-junkie.) I come from where you come from (which is perhaps why there are so many questions).
So. Help me. Help me help you. You have questions? I have answers. (And I want prompts.)
I should qualify that. I'll have experiential answers about particular drugs. Everything but peyote, anyway. I probably won't have answers about why people do what they do - alternatively, I'll have answers you won't like - but it might make you feel better to have asked and to have been answered by someone who was there, even if what you receive is subjective and inconclusive.
Maybe someone you know is going through it. (Me, circa 1998.) Maybe you're toying with some taboos with which you never thought you'd be toying. (Me, circa 2002.) Maybe you're in the middle of it, up to your neck in it, can't stop it, scared shitless. (Me, circa 2007.) Maybe you're a wet-behind-the-ears homeschooler who just has no clue and you'd like to. (Well...)
Ask.
Oh, and that's the great thing about the intranets and about Blogger in particular: you can ask anonymously! Or not, which would be even sweeter.
SEND THESE, THE HOMELESS, TEMPEST-TOST TO ME,
I LIFT MY LAMP BESIDE THE GOLDEN DOOR!
16 January 2012
Truth
This is my exposition of an original idea (not of my inception) about what blinds the human race to Truth, which is or should be our chief concern.
From the beginning, there is engendered within us a set of ideas about The Way Things Should Be. This happens in our homes, in our neighborhoods, in our schools – read cultural context. As we grow older, we either accept these ideas or reject them, and it is this platform from which (typically) we launch into our adult lives. Now, the reasons we accept or reject them are manifold – peer pressure, or wanting to be accepted by a certain group, is perhaps the biggest – but it is not my purpose to delineate them here. My purpose is to draw out this truth:
Much of what we believe we believe because we want to believe it, and this directly affects our facility to embrace what is true.
The obvious example: Truth as an absolute.
Most people no longer believe in Absolute Truth because our time is a time of pluralism, and no matter how many times the starkly obvious logistical flaw of pluralism (or tolerance) is exposed – that is, the moment you say everyone can have their own truth, you are asserting a claim on truth which is absolute – the average intellectual pushes blindly forward toward a future he or she expects to be all green with love and acceptance.
Why? If you’re starting to have strongly negative feelings, I implore you to try the following: forget that you and I may embrace totally different worldviews and take an objective look at what I just said. Reread it. Pluralism cannot work, and to say otherwise is to denigrate the Reason you so cherish and claim to employ.
Here’s why this happens: It feels right! It just does, doesn’t it? I really want tolerance to work, too, sometimes. I want to believe that everyone can believe what they want and it'll all work out. “If it makes you happy, it can’t be that bad,” right?
Well, wait a minute. Doesn’t that philosophy encourage the consumerism we all claim to hate? And that’s just one example. How about pedophilia? Oppressive dictatorships? We would call the pleasure these offenders experience twisted, but we gave up the right to say so at the door of broadmindedness.
(I understand that the tolerance camp’s prima regula is that it’s only ok as long as you’re not hurting anyone else, but, honestly, I've been at this for three hours now and I don't have the energy or desire to address the inherent problems of this qualification. They are there, I assure you.)
The point, in summary:
Our desires – what we want and feel – have an incredible power, a terrifying power which carries the potential to blind us, not only to the Truth of God, but to truths like the logical fallacy we just briefly examined.
I said at the beginning that I am not the first to think this, and that’s because of the fifth chapter of the Gospel of John. Jesus told the Pharisees with whom he was speaking that they were blinded to the eternal life standing right in front of them because they sought (or desired) glory from one another. They wanted so badly to be held in high esteem, to be well-regarded, to be the first pick on the basketball team during high school gym class, that the Truth to which they thought they’d given their lives passed before their eyes unnoticed and, worse, maligned.
So. Go ask yourself some hard questions.
From the beginning, there is engendered within us a set of ideas about The Way Things Should Be. This happens in our homes, in our neighborhoods, in our schools – read cultural context. As we grow older, we either accept these ideas or reject them, and it is this platform from which (typically) we launch into our adult lives. Now, the reasons we accept or reject them are manifold – peer pressure, or wanting to be accepted by a certain group, is perhaps the biggest – but it is not my purpose to delineate them here. My purpose is to draw out this truth:
Much of what we believe we believe because we want to believe it, and this directly affects our facility to embrace what is true.
The obvious example: Truth as an absolute.
Most people no longer believe in Absolute Truth because our time is a time of pluralism, and no matter how many times the starkly obvious logistical flaw of pluralism (or tolerance) is exposed – that is, the moment you say everyone can have their own truth, you are asserting a claim on truth which is absolute – the average intellectual pushes blindly forward toward a future he or she expects to be all green with love and acceptance.
Why? If you’re starting to have strongly negative feelings, I implore you to try the following: forget that you and I may embrace totally different worldviews and take an objective look at what I just said. Reread it. Pluralism cannot work, and to say otherwise is to denigrate the Reason you so cherish and claim to employ.
Here’s why this happens: It feels right! It just does, doesn’t it? I really want tolerance to work, too, sometimes. I want to believe that everyone can believe what they want and it'll all work out. “If it makes you happy, it can’t be that bad,” right?
Well, wait a minute. Doesn’t that philosophy encourage the consumerism we all claim to hate? And that’s just one example. How about pedophilia? Oppressive dictatorships? We would call the pleasure these offenders experience twisted, but we gave up the right to say so at the door of broadmindedness.
(I understand that the tolerance camp’s prima regula is that it’s only ok as long as you’re not hurting anyone else, but, honestly, I've been at this for three hours now and I don't have the energy or desire to address the inherent problems of this qualification. They are there, I assure you.)
The point, in summary:
Our desires – what we want and feel – have an incredible power, a terrifying power which carries the potential to blind us, not only to the Truth of God, but to truths like the logical fallacy we just briefly examined.
I said at the beginning that I am not the first to think this, and that’s because of the fifth chapter of the Gospel of John. Jesus told the Pharisees with whom he was speaking that they were blinded to the eternal life standing right in front of them because they sought (or desired) glory from one another. They wanted so badly to be held in high esteem, to be well-regarded, to be the first pick on the basketball team during high school gym class, that the Truth to which they thought they’d given their lives passed before their eyes unnoticed and, worse, maligned.
So. Go ask yourself some hard questions.
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