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LostDogCanada
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Name: Adam
Gender: Male
Interests: Trail Running, Backpacking, Canoeing, High Ropes
Expertise: Adventure Leadership
Industry: Outdoors Recreation
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Member Since:
12/19/2004
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| I was going to tell the story of how I was baptised today. But I am wary of thinking about my baptism already. It's only Chapter 3 and Chapter 1 was merely an introduction. Can I really compress the first fifteen years or so of my life into one chapter? Is that fair to me? Certainly there were major points of life which occurred during those fifteen years, beyond merely going to church a handful of times. What about my first crush? My early best friends? Daily family life? Didn't these things affect me? Change me? The thing about daily life is that it is so... daily. So mundane. Friends and family play such a huge role, but rarely in a suddenly life-changing sort of way. But the mere fact that they are there, day in and day out for you, teaching you and growing alongside you... you simply cannot help but be formed by them. Unfortunately, they rarely make the big life list of important influences.
Two key things happened in the last week that have made me stop and pause, two things which have actually caused me to think about life, and about how it is happening.
The first, was when my grandmother, Fay Wandless, passed on from this world. It's weird. I've barely told anybody, and, truth be told, I don't think I've told a single Christian. Why is that? Why did I not share this news with somebody who would pray for me and my family? I did tell some friends... and I am always really and truly indebted to the awesome friends which I have been blessed with... but how come I have such a hard time telling people. Maybe I don't want sympathy? I don't want to give up this image that I'm tough and independent and don't need anybody? That's a lie of course, but it is one that I hold to stubbornly. Maybe I don't want to tell anybody face to face because I'm afraid I will cry, and I don't want people to see that? I did cry. Not a lot. Truth be told I hid myself beyond a veil of business, protecting me from feeling... anything. Going out, watching plays and movies, climbing... but not allowing the news to sink in. But I did stop for a bit. I allowed myself to feel the loss, the wish to be surrounded by family at this time, to hug my mom. And I did cry.
Secondly, I heard from an old friend, one who was only in my life for a very brief moment, but who was an important and daily part of my life for that moment. He apologized to me. I won't say what he was apologizing for, because frankly, that is none of your business. What struck me as worth writing about however, was that, as far as I had seen it, he never had anything to apologize for. And not in the "Dude, you had every right to do that" sort of thing... but more in the, "Dude, you literally didn't do anything wrong" sort of way. But yet, clearly, his perception of the situation was completely different. He felt that he needed to apologize, to make amends, to, in some way, atone. Perceptions are powerful things. They frame the way we think, how we interact with each other and with God. What we perceive to be true is true, whether or not it is factual. And might it be true that his perception is actually more factual than mine? Perhaps I am the one with the flawed perception? Maybe he does in fact owe me an apology. Maybe he did negatively affect me in some way, which I was too, well, stupid to perceive. Maybe there is a truth to my life in that relationship, one which I've been unable to perceive? I'm still not sure, though it is something I hope to dwell on for a while.
The point of this chapter is to share how ignorant I am of my life. As sad as it is, I was not ever planning on mentioning either of these individuals in my story, or at least not in a substantial way. They never seemed, to my dull mind, to be lead actors in my story. Merely extras. How egotistical is that? These two individuals are completely beautiful in their own way. Each one has their own story, with their own climaxes and characters and lessons to be learned. Each one was formed in the very image of God, created not by accident, but purposefully, because they are loved by God. And guaranteed, each one affected me. Helped to forge me into the man I am today, for better or for worse. And I thought of them merely as extras.
How many other people are there, drifting in and out of my life, everyday, who I fail to acknowledge? How many other people are there who I fail to understand or respect their affect on me?
Or more importantly, how many other people are there, who I interact with daily, and yet I completely fail to think about their story?
My life, including those highly influential first fifteen years, are full of people who have influenced me in ways only God truly understands. The fact that I am omitting them says nothing about their importance, either as individuals in their own right, or as influences in my life. The fact that I am omitting them only demonstrates that I am, unfortunately, held down by my own biases, unable to think and see beyond the limits which I have learned to see. I am, to put i bluntly, too dull.
It is my hope that, those of you who are reading this, who may never see their name or likeness presented in this story, will forgive me for my omission. Truly, you did affect me, more than I will ever know. | | |
| EDIT:
In my last post, I included several things which readers should keep in mind as they read through this story. One of which was an explanation of some of my biases, especially the big one, of me being a Christian. Before I continue, I would like to explain something about Christianity, one which many of you may already be aware of, but which I feel the need to develop a little more fully before I continue.
Christians, especially those who are under the "Evangelical" banner, have been known to be quite eager in sharing their faith. And by eager, I mean that they have, at some times, been extremely annoying, and, at other times, outright offensive. There has been much pain caused by those who are trying to "share Jesus." This causes two great sins as I see it... the first, is that the name of the Christ becomes associated with ignorance, arrogance, hypocrisy and even hate. Those things are so far from the love of Jesus, that they can be nothing more than sin. The other sin, one which is perhaps not quite as blatant, though it is still a sin, is the sin of silence. This sin, which I have recently been convicted of, is one which I have named myself, so don't bother looking it up. Let me explain instead.
The sin of silence comes from not wanting to create friction between my friends, not wanting to hurt them, or make situations truly awkward between us. It is a sin that comes from wanting to distance myself from the hurtful members of God's church, in order to show that I am, "not one of THOSE Christians." So instead, I don't ever talk about God. In an effort to not push Jesus in your face, I hide Him in a storage room. He still means a lot to me, but I would rather not talk about Him, and, usually, I become really awkward when the subject comes up.
This is a sin against God, since it is not giving Him the glory which I say that He deserves, since, in all seriousness, He does mean a LOT to me. My times with him, few and far between as they are, are never anything other than pure joy (at least at the present time... but more about that in a future chapter). I do love Him.
As well though, this is a sin against each one of my friends. In my irrational fear to not hurt them, I do not give them the chance to respond to me. I do not give them the dignified position that it may be possible for them to love and appreciate me, even if they do not agree with me placing my complete faith in Jesus. I prejudge them, and act accordingly.
For this sin, I would like to apologize. I am not suddenly going to start going door to door telling people about Jesus... and perhaps I may not change at all. But I am hoping to at least start the process of being truly authentic with people.
As such, there are two subtopics which must be addressed.
The first, is that there may be times in which I rip on the Church. There may be times when I say hurtful, and perhaps even hateful things, directed to the Church. I will not apologize for this, though I will explain. I love the Church. The Church, when She is at her best, is literally the best thing in the world. Unfortunately however, the Church is made up of people like me, people who sin, who hurt, who are hurting... and as such, there will be many times when what the Church is doing is painful and needs to be addressed. And so I will address these moments, knowing well that I am just as guilty for them as anybody else.
Secondly, I will try, as hard as I can, not to be preachy. Unfortunately, there may be times when I do, however, preach. Due to the fact that everybody has a different idea on what that means, I cannot avoid it, while still talking about God and my relationship with Him. I ask that you forgive me for those times when you feel that I am preaching, and know that that is not my intent.
And so, without further ado, Chapter 2.
***
I recently started training for a new job, with my first shift on Sunday, meaning that, unfortunately, I could not attend church in the morning. However, while thinking of this, I realized that the bike path which I use to get to work, is located right beside another church in town, Redwood, and I remembered from my first year, that they had an evening youth service. I decided to check it out on my way home from work.
I'm not going to get into much detail on what the service was like, however I will say that interestingly, the message was on sharing our stories.
Some Christians tend to read into signs. I remember hearing one guy share that the reason that he became a Christian was because one day, as he was driving, he noticed a telephone pole in the shape of a cross, and thus knew that he should be a Christian. I wish I were making that up. As such, I am extremely wary about reading too much into things which could be coincidences. So I will not say that the fact that this sermon, about telling one's story, the one immediately following my announcement to tell my story, which was heard at a random church which I never attend and had never planned to attend until the day before, was a sign that God is wanting me to continue.
It is however, an incredible coincidence.
Why am I telling you this? And what does this have to do with the beginning of my story? Nothing really. But I'm the teller of this tale, and as such, thought it would be cool to share. Also, I am procrastinating from beginning the story... since once it begins, I have no idea how it will end. Where it will go. So here we go.
***
I was born in Toronto, and lived until the ripe age of 9 there. At the age of 5, my sister was born. Two years later, my brother. We were a traditional, nuclear family. Two years after that, we moved to Uxbridge. My faith story pretty much starts in Uxbridge, with one odd little tidbit that occurs in Toronto.
I wasn't born into a Christian family. Both of my parents had, as children, attended churches growing up. My mother went to an Anglican church and my father attended a United Church in Toronto, and then, while spending summers at his relatives' farm, went to the local Baptist church. But by the time I came along, that tradition of church going was long gone. I'm telling you this because it is important... church just did not play a role in my early childhood. I had a basic understanding of who Jesus was, and I knew that Mary was his mother... I remember a childhood friend once mentioning the name of Joseph, but I didn't know how he fit into the whole Jesus family. Also, my grandmother used to sing "Jesus loves me" a lot. To this day that song sorta chokes me up.
At some point as well, I got this image of Christians in my head. Basically, to my childhood brain, they wore ties a lot and never had fun. I'm not sure when this idea got lodged in my head. Or how. But it was there. I'm also not sure whether it was there before the next story occurs, or if this next story is, perhaps, the reason why that idea was created. In retrospect, most likely this story gave birth to that idea... though I will never actually be truly certain.
One Sunday, my mother woke me up, telling me that she had decided to take me to church. I don't know how old I was at the time, or even whether I had any siblings at the time. Whether they were too young, or not yet born, is irrelevant... the point is that my mom and I headed to church, just the two of us. I remember wearing a buttoned up shirt and a zipper tie... which, let's be honest, does not bode well for the experience being a good one for a child. There is never an experience in a child's life, when the wearing of a shirt and tie means that fun is about to happen. What is about to happen is going to be heinously boring.
We went to a local Anglican church, and, in my experiences there, I remember exactly three things.
i) One day, while sitting in Sunday school, I was asked by the teacher to draw a healthy meal on a piece of green construction paper. Though the entire meal escapes me, I remember drawing peas. It made the colouring easier afterwards.
ii) Every week, the Sunday school kids would go upstairs to the church service to have communion. I remember standing in line, getting all prepared to get away from these weird people who were keeping me away from my cartoons, and having an older kid ask me how old I was. After responding politely (I seem to recall being VERY afraid of this girl), she broke into a HUGE rant about how I had been in the wrong class! I was supposed to be with the little kids, not the big kids. In the clarity of hindsight, it probably wasn't a huge rant. But I was afraid, alone, and in a place where I did no even remotely feel comfortable. I was honestly incredibly sad being there. I felt abandoned.
iii) In the Anglican church (or, at least in this Anglican church), communion is served weekly in the following way: each child kneels in a line in front of the Priest, who then serves some form of breadlike substance (I can't remember what kind of form this bread took), to every child in turn. Next, a single chalice of wine is passed down, in the same way. I remember the wine, mostly because it was the most disgusting thing that I had ever had in my life. I had no idea what it was at the time, or why I was forced to drink it... just that it was disgusting. After we drank it, I was finally allowed to return to my mom. One day, after church, while walking home, I finally asked my mom what that drink was that they made us drink. When she told me it was wine, I was absolutely blown away. This church was trying to make me, a little kid, drunk.
We only attended the church a few times. I asked my mom a couple of years ago why we stopped attending. What made her decide to quit the whole experiment? She answered, "You just really weren't happy there."
Is that telling? My first experience with Christianity was an absolutely devastating one. It was one where I had no idea what was going on, was taken away from the only secure thing which I knew (my mother) and was thrown in with a bunch of random individuals who honestly scared me. Welcome to the Church.
I would like to clarify one point. Since that moment, though I have never been a regular attender, I have in fact returned to Anglican churches, and have no desire to slander the denomination, or their rituals. I am simply showing how, as a child, and armed only with a child's innocent and naive perception, I did not have a good experience.
I am curious as to how those early experiences, it couldn't have been much more than a month or two of regular attendance, shaped my understanding of the church. How did I perceive Christianity?
More importantly, how does that early experience continue to shape my view and experiences within the church? Why do I still feel like an outsider of any church which I attend, whether that be at Redwood, which I have attended only once within almost three years, at Grassroots, which I have attended almost every Sunday for two years, or even of Trinity United, which is the church in which I grew up? Looking through a lot of my experiences (though not all) in Christian settings, whether in churches or at Tyndale or through involvement in the Christian group here at Lakehead, I have always felt like I didn't quite fit in... like I didn't belong.
Certainly, the majority of the people in these organizations are beautiful, amazing, welcoming people... definitely not like that terrifying girl who yelled at me in the communion line. They are not to blame.
I also don't want to blame my "dis-connection" completely on this early experience. This feeling of outsider-ness is a common problem in modern society, and certainly, because I am living in this modern climate, that does affect me as well.
But did my early experiences, drawing meals and getting drunk in church, affect me? Are those memories trapped in my psyche, holding me back from drawing too close into Christian community?
***
In 1989, when I was nine years old, we moved to Uxbridge, Ontario. It was a new subdivision, and one of the nice things about new subdivisions is that all the new kids in the neighbourhood are in the same boat as you are. They are friendless. And so, the crew of Quaker Village Drive quickly became a tight group of friends.
Among that crew were two kids, Tim and Jon, with whom I am still friends (though we rarely ever speak any more, largely due to distance more than anything). Unlike the other kids, there was something weird about Jon and Tim. They were Christians. Now, remember that idea I had about Christians. That they always wore ties and never had any fun.
The problem with prejudiced ideas is that eventually, you will meet somebody who does not live up to that prejudice. Who somehow makes you realize that maybe, just maybe, you don't know people as well as you thought. My ideas about Christians slowly became untangled... after all, as far as I could see, neither Jon nor Tim ever wore a tie, and, other than the whole Sunday morning thing, they were always up for fun. Even though I hung on to the idea that I was cooler than them (which, by the way, I still think is true to this day), the reality is that my guard was slowly coming down.
One Sunday, my mother woke me up, telling me that she had decided to take me to church. I was about twelve or thirteen at this point, and was really confused. We had tried that years ago. What the hell? My father came into my room too. "Adam, get up, we're going to church now."
And with that, the entire Wood clan, decked out in our shirts and ties (or dresses for my sister and mother), headed to Trinity United Church.
Good night. | | |
| If you write for God you will reach many men and bring them joy.
If you write for men--you may make some money and you may give someone a little joy and you may make a noise in the world, for a little while.
If you write only for yourself you can read what you yourself have written and after ten minutes you will be so disgusted you will wish that you were dead.
- Thomas Merton, New Seeds of Contemplation, Chapter 15
***
I like reading books. As I write this, I have recently moved into a new house, and so all my books are somewhat packed away in two very large and imposing cardboard boxes beside my over-sized novelty desk. My room is much too small for them, and they make it look like I am in a perpetual state of unpacking-ness, which, to be fair, I am. Still, even though my book collection is conspicuously packed away, enough loose volumes have managed to find their way into the various makeshift shelves which surround my workspace to help me realize that I like reading them. To my left is Wendell Berry's book of poetry, "A Timbered Choir," a book of poems written on the theme of the Sabbath. I read one poem every Sunday, though, in the interest of being open, I read two poems this Sunday last. I have also managed to keep Wm. Paul Young's book, "The Shack" unpacked. It was given to me by my mother to read over a year ago and for some odd reason, I am afraid to read it. Everybody I know who has read it has raved about it, but I am hesitant, though I do not know why. John Dewey's book "Experience and Education" adorns the top shelf of my miniature bookshelf, as does a little booklet by Mors Kochanski on how to make a doll out of the cattail plant. All of this is not to brag about my various interests, or how much money I have spent, but rather serves to prove the point which I started this paragraph with. I like reading books.
There is something about knowledge which fascinates me. I want to learn, to understand why the world is the way that the world is, why people are the way people are. I want to understand, to grasp some great truth which has often eluded me. Which has always eluded me. I like to study.
I have been doing a sort of "devotional" study over the past year. For those of you who don't know that term, essentially, in the Christian culture, a devotional study is any sort of study or book which the Christian uses to better understand God, the world, humans, and themselves. This particular study is by Richard Foster, the author of yet another book that is near to both my heart as well as to my hands, "Celebration of Discipline." This book highlights twelve beautiful and amazing "spiritual disciplines" (those actions which a Christian does in order to achieve a stronger relationship with Christ, such as prayer, worship, simplicity, solitude, etc.). The devotional I am doing is a sort of partner to this book, which essentially allows the reader to learn about a different discipline each month, with weekly readings provided by Christians throughout the ages about the discipline being studied.
For those of you who are thinking that I must indeed be a super-Christian, let me assure you that, over the past twelve months, I have only managed to finished exactly three sections. Three out of twelve.
The most recent discipline which I have learned about is the discipline of Study. Not just cracking the books and cramming information into my head, but actual loving, adoring study. Sitting with a book for hours on end just absorbing the truth which it contains. Letting that truth go beyond merely being an idea to you, but allowing it to go into your very heart, to change how you act, who you are. Of course, for most Christians the ideal book for this purpose is the Bible (I have two within arm reach, though one has been completely destroyed due to a bad canoeing experience... I keep it mostly as a relic). Sitting with the Bible has been a favoured Christian pastime since the beginning of the movement, and though methods have changed, the purpose has not, to better know God. Of course, other books are equally capable of being studied, and many are incredibly beautiful, though, in my admittedly biased view, the Bible is the best.
In this devotional guide however, Foster suggests, in the very first entry in the section on Study, to not begin with studying the Bible, but to begin with studying your life. The first entry is written by George MacDonald, who, even if you are not a Christian yourself, you should read up on. His fiction was a major influence on such individuals as Tolkien and Lewis, and it is amazing. I own a book by him. Anyways, in the reading, MacDonald unpacks a biblical story of Jesus and his disciples. Basically, Jesus has already fed huge crowds of people with only a few loaves and a couple of fish, however he has just got in a big argument with the Pharisees and so he decided to take off with his disciples across the sea. (I would like to take this time that I am absolutely butchering the story... I really REALLY want to encourage you to check out the whole thing, the story is found in Mark 8:1-21 and you should check it out). Anyways, Jesus is pretty pissed off at the Pharisees, and he decided to drop a holy metaphor about how the disciples should "Watch out--beware of the yeast of the Pharisees and the yeast of Herod." Which the disciples instantly think is referring to the fact that none of them thought to bring any bread on their boat trip.
This is when Jesus brings out the line "Do you still not perceive or understand? Are your hearts hardened? Do you have eyes, and fail to see? Do you have ears, and fail to hear? And do you not remember?" He then reminds them of the times with the crowds, when he was able to feed so many with so little. Don't you remember what I have done? Do you not get who I am? Interestingly, only a few verses later, Peter finally makes the connection. Jesus is the Christ.
So what does this mean?
Where is this going?
My hope for this summer, is to reflect on my life. To try and put the pieces together, to draw meaning from the chaos, to try and understand who I am, why I am here, and possibly, to gain a greater clarity for where I am going. I hope to, in a small way, try to do what millions of people do every single day. I am hoping to figure out life. I want to see God working throughout my life. Is it a big task? Yeah. And I'll be honest, probably an impossible task. After all, life is HUGE. But, I believe it is a worthy task. Before I continue however, let me, first of all, start with some basic words of warning.
1) Bias
I am a Christian. It's difficult labeling oneself as a Christian however, since there is often the felt need to follow it up immediately with "but I'm not THAT kind of Christian." Which is ridiculous. If you are reading this, you already most likely know me a little bit. So you hopefully already know my beyond any stereotypes which the word "Christian" may bring to your mind. I have not been a Christian all of my life, though I have been a Christian for almost half of my life. As such, there are certain components of Christian belief which I assume to be true, though I may not in fact, be able to prove that they are true. I am okay with that. It is my hope that you will be okay with that as well, even if you do not agree with my assumptions.
Furthermore, I have a bias since I am, in fact, me. I cannot help but see the world through my own eyes, and there will likely be stories which I share which have different, and perhaps even more true, points of view. I will not share those different viewpoints, largely, because I am unaware of them. I will also most likely miss major themes and ideas which are incredibly important in my life. I will not do this intentionally, but rather because, in my ignorance, I am unaware of them. They are no less important or true.
2) Authenticity
Many years ago, I bought a t-shirt from Walmart with the word Authentic written across the chest. If you look at my profile picture on Xanga, you can see it. I still own it though I don't really wear it anymore. For years, that was my goal in life, to be more authentic. To be real. To be somebody who others knew, and who they knew that they knew. I wanted to wear my heart on my sleeve. To live a life in which both my successes and my failures were freely available to all. At times, that led to awkward moments, uncomfortable moments, and downright painful moments. However, I still wish that, though I will admit I have not held as true to it as I once wished I would. Perhaps this study will redeem me.
3) Friends and Family
As with all stories, my story includes many others. Friends and lovers, enemies and sages, people have helped to define me while being defined by me. Some people have been a humongous blessing, while others have given me a scar so deep that it will always be with me. When one is studying their story, it is important to be specific with people, however, when one is publicizing it, it is important to be careful. Even my biggest enemies deserve love and respect, and as such, I will change all names to a moniker, should I feel that their names may be slurred. I am not writing for revenge, but for understanding.
4) Chronology
I do not believe that stories must be told chronologically, that oftentimes there are better ways of telling stories, perhaps thematically for instance. Having said that, I realize that chronological stories usually make more sense, and are often a way of ensuring that there is limited jumping around. As such, I will, for the most part, tell my story chronologically, starting at the beginning and working my way forward. However within that chronology, I will also take the time to stress themes, perhaps with entire chapters on a single idea, one which has been hovering over my head, which has been a sort of thematic influence on my life.
5) Edits
Due to the nature of this medium, I will not re-edit old entries if I have omitted important information or otherwise require a rewording or stress on a single point. Instead, if I need to revisit a previous post, for whatever reason, I will revisit it in the beginning of a new chapter. Or perhaps, if it is significant enough, I will give it its own chapter. Either way.
6) Cancellation
This story may, at any time, end. Perhaps I may feel that I am not being truly honest. Perhaps I may feel that my priorities and reasons for the telling of the story are wrongly places. Perhaps, I may feel like this was a dumb idea. Or perhaps, I may simply not feel like continuing. No matter what, I have the right to stop sharing at any point, even if it is right after this chapter.
7) Questions
I am not sure how interactive I will make this. If however you have any questions, please feel free to send them to me. I may respond personally, I may respond in a future chapter, I may do both, I may do neither. It really does depend on the specifics of the situation at hand.
8) Dedication
Merton's quote, cited at the beginning of this chapter, has really struck a chord with me. Why am I doing this? Why am I revisiting my life? My successes and failures? And, more importantly, why am I sharing them publicly? And to be honest, I am not completely sure. Those I would like to say that I am writing only for God, I do not believe that that is necessarily true. If it were, a simple hand written journal would suffice. Or, at the very least, I would not post this onto my Facebook account, advertising its whereabouts.
However, I would like to believe, that deep down, I am writing only to Him. Though I wish that anybody else who reads this would be encouraged, challenged, or otherwise changed by what they find here, my real true hope is that, through my recollection of my story, I would better know God, would better love Him and allow myself to be loved by Him. And so, in a horrible stereotypical move, I would like to dedicate this project to the beautiful trinity that consists of God, Jesus, and the Spirit who dwells within. Thank you.
| | |
| I spent the day with a friend today, we talked deep talks and shared our lives and probably disagreed, though my friend was far too polite to mention when I was way off. But it got me thinking... Does God have a plan for our lives? Is there a grand cosmic plan for each and every one of us? On one hand, I think there is some sort of overall plan... something epic... good vs. evil... the end of death... one day, God's kingdom fully realized. And it makes sense that He is working towards that. But what about the little things? How do they fit in? I remember this one time my sister explaining to my brother (they were both really young at the time) that she wasn't worried about losing her pen, since if God had wanted her to keep the pen, she wouldn't have lost it. Thus, the losing of the pen signified some sort of God-ordained plan. And maybe, it did. Maybe the loss of that plan started some slight butterfly-effect type change, which will one day result in the aforementioned coming of God's kingdom. Or, most likely, the pen merely was lost, maybe being driven over by a car, breaking into a thousand pieces which eventually (in another thousand years or so due to it's plastic nature) will be fully composted. Either way, I yelled at her that that was a stupid idea. Yeah, I was a good brother back then. And maybe it still is a stupid idea. I mean, it's a friggin pen. But what about the bigger things? Is there a grand plan for my life (I have after all lost my fair share of pens). What about my current route to Lakehead? Seneca/Kesagami/Mt. Albert/Tyndale/Venture/St. Paul's/MEC/Cyprus/Lakehead. That's a weird freaking route. Most of my peers were way more direct. Is there something there? Were these stops on the way to somewhere? Where is that somewhere? And what about my failings (which are far too great to go into too much depth in this post, though long term readers (and anybody who knows me) know well about)? Are the failings merely my screwing up of God's plan for my life? Or are they God's plan themselves? Did He, in his ultimate wisdom and love, know that I would fail at Mt. Albert? Did He set me up to severely struggle in Cyprus? I've been learning a lot about education lately... and I'm actually really interested in the pedagogy of failure... about how failure can, perhaps, be used as a tool to enhance learning. I mean, face it, I've screwed up a lot. Most of you reading this can name quite a few times. If you can't, just wait a bit. And I'm not trying to be extremely humble and self-pitying here. I've done good stuff too, but hear me out. I'm talking about failure here. When we fail, we come face to face with our own limitations, something which we, as humans, don't really like to admit. We can do anything we want to. Or so we tell ourselves. But when we fail, especially those epically big failures which I'm personally a fan of, we come face to face with the realization that we are, at the end of the day, human. That we will screw up. We learn a lot more too, especially if we are wise. But let's get back to my point, is there a plan? Or, maybe life doesn't have a plan. Maybe shit just happens. Maybe there really is no rhyme or reason, no destiny, just a bunch of shit that goes on and we have to deal with it the best that we can. And I'm not sure if that's liberating or not. On one hand, it's nice to not have to worry about being in God's will, about worrying if you're doing the right thing, if each choice you make is the one that is God's will. On the other hand... if there is no plan for each of our lives, how can there be a grand plan? I'm sure smarter people than me know the answers, or at least can come up with more coherent questions. But here's the best that I can give for now. This is most likely heretical, so please do not quote me on this. I am tired and have had an emotionally draining (though overall good) day. Maybe things happen. Good things and bad things, and they're usually way out of our control and have to do with a variety of situations which we can never understand. Like, my sister lost her pen because, as a young child, she has a short attention span. So she put it down somewhere and promptly forgot all about it. Nothing she can control there, she was biologically prone to losing pens (not sure if that is still occuring regularly to her). But maybe what matters to God is not whether she lost her pen or not, but how she deals with it. For example, she could get mad about it. She could swear (as a little kid) and maybe steal somebody else's pen. Or, maybe she could hand the situation over to God, struggling with this and trying to figure out God's character from it. And I'll admit, the pen is a stupid example, but let me apply the same principles to my own, big fucking failure: Mount Albert. For those of you not in the know, I was once a youth pastor at a church in Mount Albert. The entire story is likely described in detail in previous posts, but for both your sake and for mine, I'll go over the pertinent details here. As a youth pastor, I was in charge of a small and challenging group of teens with a small and even more challenging group of youth leaders. I was given way too much power, and, to sum it up nicely, I was an incredible failure. In eight short months, I probably did more damage to the church, both the local one as well as the greater Church, than I have done the rest of my life. I hurt people. Let me state this again. I hurt people. I hurt youth. In the name of Christ. I knew how to do everything. I didn't need advice from anybody. I was in charge. I had the power. Nobody could get in my way. God was on my side. And I seriously hurt people. I'm not sure if there is a youth group now. I've checked out there website and the only post on their "Youth Blog" was from 2008... either way, when I left, there wasn't a youth group. I had killed it. I cannot stress how much damage I did. How many faiths I had been entrusted with and completely destroyed. Was that God's plan? Probably not. But maybe what He wants is for me to learn from that, to see what I can learn about Him from the situation, about myself, about the way that life works. And obviously, that experience left a huge mark on my life. I think I'm still struggling through a lot of the day to day faith stuff that I had to face. Maybe I'll never be completely healed. This post is going nowhere. Apparently today brought up some memories which I had tried to bury. I just saw that the church had a youth lazer tag event on April 9. Apparently, God managed to pull something out of my fuck-up. Maybe the point of God's plan is that it allows us to realize that God can work not because of us, but in spite of us. | | |
| I've been doing some thinking lately, not much, so don't get your hopes up, but some. Here are a few of the things that I've been thinking. They are not fully developed yet, so please don't put much stock in them. It's not worth it.
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Why does our society place such emphasis on being professional? I've gotten that a lot lately, in education class and also in rec classes and through meetings with the administration.
Why do they always make it sounds like putting on some act to fool people? Isn't being authentic more important?
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Am I somebody who thinks the best of people? At all times? Or am I somebody who immediately thinks the worst?
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Do I have low self esteem? I don't think I do. But maybe.
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