The Artist

I've had several conversations with friends about the creative nature of our being. To the world's eyes, logically, it is inexplicable that creativity should be a factor, let alone a focus, of human existence. Yet, as we've learned, it is inarguable that the desire to create is woven into our being just as essentially as the necessity to survive.

This point has been accentuated recently for me by such simple pastimes as leisure reading. Ironically enough, the book in question is from the Harry Potter series. I've noticed that, as I read, I find myself in increasing fascination of the minute complexities, which neatly tie the entire series together by the end.

As I was reading today, I once again had this awe sparked. However, as I've also been trying for a greater measure of diligence at Bible study lately, I found myself comparing my time spent at each. Specifically, I've noticed details in the plot of Harry Potter on this time through (my second reading) which I missed the first time, and they have helped me to draw up and bolster my own ideas about the things toward which Rowling was building. I found it to my slight shame that it was much easier for me to find those connections in this fictional telling of "witches and sorcery" than to pick out profound, relevant thoughts from scripture and apply them to life.

As a side note, I refuse to overthink this too much, for the simple reason that I've read the Harry Potter series more completely than I've read most biblical passages. It therefore stands to reason that more things will stand out to me within the former, especially given that it has a simpler grand design than the scope of all creation, as has the Bible.

Bringing the point back to how we are handcrafted with a creative drive, it only makes sense that we strive toward artisanship with our own crafts, such as writing. Regarding that example, to any piece of writing there is bound to be a certain poetry, beginning as small as words and phrases, but expanding to subplots and, ultimately, the broad compass of the story. We measure the quality of a piece of writing by the author's ability to subtly, yet certainly, convey their message in a way that is aesthetically pleasing; that is, poetically. This often includes seemingly arbitrary details throughout the writing, which are actually hints that make perfect sense in the end.

We focus our art the way we do because we're created by God in His own image; an image not just physical or visual, but one that extends to the very depths of the soul. Though the world ignores it, we as His creations cannot help but strive to be more like Him artistically.

The artistry of telling a story includes conflict and resolution; pain and relief; times of apparent senselessness and of clarity. Every call has an answer; like a rhyme. And in a way, the same can be said of any artistic medium: by its completion, we can see the extent of its beauty, no matter how ugly it may have looked somewhere along the way.

As flawed creatures following the archetype of a Divine Creator, it's obvious that we cannot tell a perfect story, sing a perfect song, or draw a perfect picture. What should be equally obvious is that we also can't see the perfection of God's creation, partly because of the imperfection of our sin, and partly because we've yet to see its full fruition. Therefore, in our daily struggle to find beauty, resolution, and meaning behind the constant suffering and redundant failures of our plans, we need look no further than Christ, who knows (*correction: is) the end and the purpose to it all. As He is the perfect artist, we must trust that His eye is keen to the subtleties as they relate to the finale.

The Forgotten Ones

As an extremely self-conscious introvert, I find my natural inclination is to stay out of the limelight. That's in every aspect of my life. In class, I tend to keep my hand down. In group conversation, in many cases I've learned to shut my mouth. In ministry, I stay in the background. And with most ideas, they usually remain just that. I could go on, but you get the picture.

Now, there is a lot to be said against being too self-conscious, which I won't deny I often am personally. But beyond that, the tasks and projects comfortably performed by introverts and self-conscious folk are necessary. Not everyone was made for the center stage. Such being the case, it's perfectly normal, even biblical, for the various "body parts" to perform their respective functions. Or, as I've said before, the kitchen needs all of its utensils, and as cool as cheese graters are, we can't all be one.

So what about the rest? Is our "glory" less, just because we're not the center of attention? Well, yes and no. (No.) We simply don't get as much praise from other people for doing things like cleaning, maintenance, ushering, and other support positions. And it doesn't seem fair, because we often work just as hard, but then might feel like we're completely overlooked by our peers when it comes to recognition.

Obviously, as egocentric as this blog is, I wouldn't be writing about this if it weren't an issue for me. But there really does come a time to take a good look at the state of the heart and recognize that pride has gotten the better of me again.

What I'm saying is, who cares? So maybe people don't notice as much. But is that why I'm doing what I'm doing? Would I clean my apartment bathroom so that my roommate will thank me for it? No, I do it so that it'll be clean. Likewise, do I do ministry for peer recognition? No. It's for God. And regardless of whatever anyone else praises, acknowledges, or even notices, my ultimate aim is God's glory. And He is honored by a heart that seeks to do His will.

The Point of No Return

I experience nostalgia often. My tendency is to look back when I'm faced with huge changes, to sort of hang on to some familiar ground where I can be comfortable. Especially in light of the differences in the overall social dynamics of my associates, it's easy to retrospect and dwell on "glory days." During such times, I was nearly always surrounded by close friends. We were in the same place socially, and in life in general. I don't recall feeling as frequently and intensely isolated as I feel now.

When I have those nostalgic thoughts, it's tempting to go through the motions and return to my interests and behaviors from back then, in an effort to relive those experiences. The goal, of course, would be to return to that mental/emotional place of comfort and rediscover myself at my most natural and at-ease state.

There's more than one problem with this, however. Most obviously, at best I would only be able to recreate my own part in that chapter of the story. Everyone else would still be on to other things, and they would likely be less keen to return to the way things used to be. Reliving it would be, in the truest sense, impossible.

More importantly, however, when I'm faced with obvious facts like that, I have to stop and ask myself what it is to which I'd be returning. In this case, recognition of the ways in which I've changed is key. As tempting as it would be to go back to that time and setting of perceived comfort, that's the life I willingly left behind. I know that nostalgia glamorizes the past, and I put that lifestyle behind me for a reason: it wasn't satisfying, even then.

Still, my former things stir in me, and the temptation to return to them is real. And while I believe that there is a way to glorify God with worldly things, that notion is not without its limits. Many of the things from that life do not and cannot represent who I am now, and more importantly, Who I represent. My comforts must be things of God.

Lapse

For the past three years or so, I have called myself a Christian. I have jumped through hoops and integrated myself into Christian community and culture. And I've blended, more or less. But I can no longer ignore the two-faced, double-minded nature that is my life outside the Church.

The fact is, I'm a monster. I have been ungracious, ungrateful, bitter, perverse, bigoted, greedy, and entirely self-serving. I have seen a selfish end in every means of my life. And this behavior, and these tendencies, have reflected internally. I feel empty and rotten inside, and fraudulent on top of it all. I've let my guard down and allowed my faith to slip away.

But now for the good news: there is hope.

I know why I've faltered. I've allowed the world to distract me with hurts and worries, as well as with pleasures. But I'm so tired of living this selfish life and putting on a mask to try and hide it. I see the joyful state in which other Christians live; a joy that can't be faked, which can only come from the Lord. This genuineness is what I seek, and I am committing right now, in this evening, to go to every length to live my life in that way; to put God first and centered, and to abandon all things that would get in the way of that. The time is now.

Iter Impius

There's nothing I've experienced in life that's as destructive as resentment. Nothing is as harmful, painful, or ultimately pointless. On a quick search, I've found several variations of a quote that's been attributed to several famous figures. Instead of researching and satisfying my curiosity about the original instance, I'll just paraphrase and let the glory fall to whomever it may:

"Not forgiving someone is like drinking poison and waiting for the other person to die."

How frustrating that, even knowing what I know about this subject, throughout my life I've always wrestled with forgiveness. Even now, I question things I've put behind me; wrongs done against me, fights I've had, fallings-out I've experienced. I sometimes revisit them in my mind, and I'm occasionally shocked at how tender the subjects still are. It's like I still bear the weight of these burdens, even years later.

I think all of this goes to show that time doesn't heal all things. It's like in the case of an actual flesh wound. Sometimes there are factors to consider; an infection, the venom of a sting or bite, or even just an increased severity can complicate that healing process. These can be seen as an allegory for things like a codependent relationship, a betrayal, or simply the termination of a deep bond. Proper care is needed, rather than just putting on a proverbial Band-Aid.

So often, my solutions to painful situations have involved cutting something or someone out of my life. The effect is essentially out of sight, out of mind. Of course a thing will stop hurting if it's taken out of focus, especially if there's other pain to replace it. And there always is.

What I'm trying (and slowly, finally succeeding) to find is the proper treatment for the condition of a bitter heart. We use terms like, "Give it to Jesus," as though it's as simple as physically handing Him an object. But when you have little or no experience with that, it just comes off as a Christianese platitude. On the other hand, when there's an action you can physically take, like doing something entirely for someone else, it provides an avenue for a real change in the condition.

Rope Ends

I've been caught in a dark, despairing place lately. Now, you could probably read this blog from beginning to end and tell me I've almost always been there, but even in my darkest moments, there's usually some kind of comfort or hope for a way out. But right now it seems like I'm actually at the end of my rope.

The frustrating thing about my situation is how innocuous it probably looks to anyone else. The things that compose my problems are, of themselves, far from life-shattering. They're inconvenient, heartbreaking, and constantly disappointing, but in the long run, no one dies from them. But I think the frequency, spread, and apparent permanency of these problems give an overall tinge of bleak hopelessness to my life. So it's not that any of it is going to kill me, but what it does is drain me of a desire to live.

To an extent, all of this has actually had a positive impact. I've been reaching out more lately, turning to Christ and trying to hand my pain over to Him. I've sought counsel from several people who are wiser than I am, and I've established myself in a couple of church-related groups for community. At times I've even felt inspired to flourish in my own ministry.

I know all of this must be at least part of the purpose to my suffering, to inspire a closer connection to God and the church, and to better use the gifts I've been given. But lately I feel completely oppressed, often to the point of paralysis. When everything I try seems to be met with dismal failure, I'm left only asking God what I'm still doing wrong. And I know that not every bad occurrence in life is a result of a poor decision, but the thought that my past mistakes are the cause of my present sufferings constantly lingers in my mind. Internally, I'm still trying to justify and give a definite earthly purpose to everything that's going wrong.

I'd be lying if I said that no negatively extreme solutions have entered my mind. I've had passing thoughts of simply walking away from God, and either suicide or at least letting myself die. I'll tell any readers right now: passing thoughts is all they are, and so they're not anything I'm actually considering. But in the interest of keeping this blog full-disclosure, it'd be remiss of me to not mention it.

I don't know what to do. I'm told God just wants me to completely trust Him. I know that, and for what it's worth, I'm trying. But it's amazing how difficult it is to simply trust when I don't understand His ways, and His love for me is completely unlike anything I'd imagined it to be, or how it appears to be for other people.

Rage of Despair

I've been working through resolving a lot of my uncomfortable emotions lately. My recent life choices have been difficult, and they've left a lot of deep wounds. It seems only natural that those hurts would manifest themselves as anger. From the beginning, I knew that what I was feeling wasn't actually that. But I couldn't exactly put my finger on why, so I've allowed myself to seethe for a little while as I've attempted to process what it is I've been going through.

One of the obvious questions I've had to ask myself has been at what I've actually been angry; in other words, where that anger should be focused. There are a few factors, several of which are people, that are tied into my present sufferings. But as I ran down a mental list (with the guidance of wise counsel), it became clear that these were things on which I had no right to focus any anger, especially the people in question. Certainly, things could have been handled differently by everyone involved (myself included), but nothing resulting from anyone's actions merited actually being angry.

From this it's become clear that anger isn't the appropriate response. So while I was irrationally, unjustly angry, it's my responsibility to process that emotion; to try to understand the myriad of pieces that compose it. What I've realized is that what looked at first like simple rage was actually more a combination of sadness, hurt, frustration, hopelessness, and a general sense of self-inadequacy.

The practical distinction between all of these and the anger they resemble is that they're either internal struggles which must be dealt with between myself and God, or they're scalar in nature and therefore can't be focused negatively on anything at all. In effect, what this does is allow me to grieve my sense of loss in a healthy way and work on my own development, both without placing the blame for my hurts on other people. It empowers me, and it therefore gives me a responsibility to myself.

I thought, at first, that there would certainly be forgiveness, eventually, for the hurts I've suffered. I now realize that there can be no forgiveness, because there are no wrongs to forgive. The other people involved, no matter in what way, have nothing for which to be sorry.

This is a step in my personal growth, as well as in my faith. God is taking this suffering and using it to reveal the ways in which I can grow closer to Him.