Reflections on Being Clean for Four Years, Part One

Today I celebrate, by the grace of God, four years clean. Prepare yourself for lots of CAPS, boldness, BOLD CAPS, suave italics, and exclamations, ’cause I am one excited dude today! Also I’ve had lots of chocolate. Anyway. This is my first think in a series of thinks about it. (Being clean, that is. Not the chocolate.)

Why I Did It (Got High, that is)

This is a doozy. People ask, you know? They wanna know why. As you might imagine, I did, too, but it’s not an easy question to answer.

For a while, I thought it had to do with a few concrete things in my past. To some degree, I’m sure they played a role, and there’s no doubt in my mind that facing such things was a very important step in my recovery. That being said, a piece of advice: face yer demons but keep the train a’chuggin’. After spending too many years in the tangled thought-maze of Cause and Effect, I found no escape but the obvious one, namely, that the maze wasn’t real, that it had at some point become a false construct to mask my inability to face myself. Deep, I know.

Well, so I moved on to accusing my upbringing. Life is easier when you don’t have to take responsibility for it, and since I decided those few concrete instances in my past, while terrible, couldn’t be blamed for it all, my parents were the next likely target. But my parents, you see, are human, and as humans are known for making mistakes from time to time, I decided this, too, wasn’t going to provide the answer I sought.

But what about the Church! There’s a place FULL of bad, hypocritical people entrusted with teaching Sunday School just begging to be maligned! I did this for a while, and with gusto. Unfortunately, while I don’t hold to every piece of the Southern Baptist doctrine in which I was brought up, the Church, too, is full of humans, and as humans are known for making mistakes from time to time… yeah.

It was me, folks. I was the problem. More accurately, what I didn’t do was the problem. Jesus gives this caveat at the end of his revolutionary Sermon on the Mount: “Listen, y’all. If you do what I’ve told you to, you know what you’ll be like? You’ll be like wise and discerning men who build their houses on FOUNDATIONS (Does anyone else hear an awful lot of irony in this statement?), so that when hard times come – storms and floods and wind and whatnot – their houses don’t fall down. If you don’t, however, you’ll be like the unthinkably foolish, who decide it’d be fun to have a house right there on the beach…”

Here’s the thing: his words are so good! They’re for our good, not to put up some unnecessary red tape. They’re words for flourishing, for health, for life. From beginning to end, the Bible talks about people choosing either life or death. EDEN: all kinds of awesome fruit to eat, but Adam and Eve have to have the forbidden stuff (in other words they choose death) and they die for it. THE JEWS: sometimes they choose life (following Moses out of Egypt), sometimes they choose death (makin’ cows outta gold in the desert and then worshiping them, because that makes sense), and God’s always telling ’em stuff like, “I have set before you life and death, blessing and curse… so choose LIFE that you might LIVE!” I wanna LIVE! Don’t you? DAVID: gets off to an incredible start killing a giant, for God’s sake, but ends up choosing death – the death of his first, precious, baby son – all because he can’t keep it in his pants. SOLOMON: super smart, total disaster. ETC.

And then Jesus comes along and says, “You guys! I really want you to get this! I want you to have what I intended you to have from before Time began, and I want you to have it SO BAD I’ll die for you to have it.” And he did. He chose death for our life.

But then he got up! Can I get a Hallelujah?! But that’s another sermon.

In short, I heard the words of Jesus and I didn’t do them and my house fell down. And GREAT was the destruction of it. And LONG-LASTING the pain it caused, to me, to my family, to everyone I loved, and to lots of people I didn’t. I know it’s not in vogue to talk, in moments like these, of the danger of hell, but whatever. Heed my warning: The same destruction, the same growing, gnawing emptiness which ended with me and a needle full of heroin in my arm stares you in the face even now if you neglect Jesus’ words.

Those who have ears to hear, let them hear.

The Way Out

I have a problem from time to time: I forget who Jesus is. I also sometimes forget who I am.

It’s dangerous, you know. It’s one of the reasons I started doing drugs. Had I known, had I really understood the Gospel, I wouldn’t have felt the enormous weight of guilt and shame from which I was trying to escape because it wouldn’t have existed. I’d have known that Jesus loved me anyway, that he bore all that weight so I wouldn’t have to, that I’m actually and finally safe/accepted/loved. And I did, in my head. I knew it. I just didn’t believe it.

How did it happen, you ask? How in the world did I actually start believing it so that things changed? So that I changed?  Well, as I said, I still don’t believe it all the time; but the way I sometimes catch the fleeting glimmers I do is by listening to him, to Jesus.

Somehow, I developed this habit over the years of always reading about him. The Bible was more like a history book instead of Words That Are Alive. From time to time, I would have experiences while reading where it felt like it was really real, but those were few and far between. (To be honest, they still are.)

But when I remember to read as though the things about which I’m reading actually happened, as though Jesus were actually a person, things begin to change. I sit down to read and I imagine the whole scene: there he is in the middle of a crowd, walking from person to person, looking into their eyes and smiling at them, healing them and loving on them, trying to teach them things which most of them totally miss, and this young guy wearing a three-piece suit made from Italian wool and some expensive-looking leather loafers comes up to him, hands in his pockets all casual like, and he says, you know, Hey, I like what you’ve got, so what do I need to do to get it? And Jesus looks at him with that piercing gaze of his, cocks his head to one side, and says, Love God and love your neighbor. And this young, successful, arrogant guy inflates his chest a little and says, Yeah I’m doin pretty well with that actually.

I’m not gonna tell the rest of the story because most of you know it. I’m just trying to say when I read it like that, when I’m listening to him, he’s different. He says stuff that doesn’t make sense. He rarely answers questions directly.

But that’s just it: we know too much. I mean we know, don’t we, that he was answering their hearts, answering their real questions, or what their questions should have been. That’s what you were thinking as you read that last bit, wasn’t it? Try and forget all the stuff you know and just listen.

There was an exercise we did at Wayside – the fifth and final rehab I went to – in which we went through the Gospel of John and summarized every chapter, wrote it down in our own words. That’s when it happened for me. That’s when I met him again.

So my submission to you is that if you find yourself having the same problem – you’ve forgotten who he is, or you just want to change so badly but you can’t – try it. Even if you’ve done it before, do it again. You’ll start to believe he can actually change things. You’ll start to believe he wants to. And actually, he’s so good that you’ll start to change just by getting to know him better.

“And we all, with unveiled face, beholding the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another.” That’s from the Apostle Paul’s second letter to the church in Corinth, and you know what comes right before it?

“…where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom.”

Fiasco

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.)

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.

Tension

I’ve been thinking a lot about tension, about allowing it to exist and being ok with it. As I’ve been thinking, I’ve started to see tension applying to a lot of categories in my life. In fact, it seems to exist in every category.

For instance (briefly), politics: my upbringing plus my understanding of history plus my beliefs concerning people’s inherent fallenness make me lean conservative, but my bleeding heart (which I don’t consider naïve) makes me lean big government/lots of programs; psychology: how much must I “believe in myself” creatively, etc. in order to come into my own, so to speak, and how much has pop psychology bullshit seeped into and twisted what should be the praise and love of God, familiarity with my position in his family, and total trust in his sovereignty as the ultimate answer to mental health, specifically but not limited to depression and anxiety, which together are the bane of my creativity; music, généralement: tension is the reason I am still more moved by “classical” music, the composers of which were more acquainted and comfortable with tension than most modern artists (other than Radiohead), their music still speaking what words can’t about this life of tension.

I could go on and on.

I see tension everywhere – which I only just realized thanks to a conversation with a good friend – so that I’m rarely capable of getting across what’s going on in my head because I run back and forth from this side of the argument to that, never completely spelling out either because, as my mind runs ahead of my mouth, I’m thinking of an apology against the capitulation I’m speaking.

Questions questions questions, which I’m starting to see as tension tension tension, which I’m finally starting to be ok with, because really, back to the psychology bit, this whole train of thought serves to make me even more aware just how utterly necessary it is to be leaning on and trusting in God – how could I not go insane otherwise? – these mysteries being his, for which I’m so thankful, because I need mystery.

You’re tired of being in your head? You want to see something new? Following Christ – really trusting and loving him and losing my life to gain it – is proving to be a more exciting life than I imagined existed. Please, I beg you, consider him. Leave for a moment your problems with Christendom and consider him. O, the man acquainted with sorrows knows your pain! He knows about the big insatiably thirsty hole in your being and he stands up and cries, “If anyone thirsts, let him come to me and drink!”

Go to him. Drink.