Thursday, July 31, 2014

Psalm 143

Hear my prayer, O Lord, give ear to my supplications: in thy faithfulness answer me, and in thy righteousness.
And enter not into judgment with thy servant: for in thy sight shall no man living be justified.
For the enemy hath persecuted my soul; he hath smitten my life down to the ground; he hath made me to dwell in darkness, as those that have been long dead.
Therefore is my spirit overwhelmed within me; my heart within me is desolate.
I remember the days of old; I meditate on all thy works; I muse on the work of thy hands.
I stretch forth my hands unto thee: my soul thirsteth after thee, as a thirsty land. Selah.
Hear me speedily, O Lord: my spirit faileth: hide not thy face from me, lest I be like unto them that go down into the pit.
Cause me to hear thy lovingkindness in the morning; for in thee do I trust: cause me to know the way wherein I should walk; for I lift up my soul unto thee.
Deliver me, O Lord, from mine enemies: I flee unto thee to hide me.
Teach me to do thy will; for thou art my God: thy spirit is good; lead me into the land of uprightness.
Quicken me, O Lord, for thy name's sake: for thy righteousness' sake bring my soul out of trouble.
And of thy mercy cut off mine enemies, and destroy all them that afflict my soul: for I am thy servant.

My Love is a Monster

My sincere thanks to everyone who’s contacted me to offer prayer and support. It genuinely does help to know that there are people who care about me. And your prayers are helping too: I felt a lightening of my burdens yesterday, unexpectedly and inexplicably.

I have to be careful in talking to people about what’s going on, for discretion's sake. In fact, I’ve probably already said too much. But let me see if I can, without revealing any more details, explain what’s going on.

Imagine you’ve got this friend. She’s sweet, and lovely, and amazing; accomplished, blindingly intelligent, oh-so charming, and intoxicatingly feminine. She’s like something from another age, when women were women and men were men. Which is perfect, because you’ve always felt like you’d been born in the wrong age: like you should have been a medieval knight, or a gentleman in one of the ages of adventure and exploration. And she is beautiful. Not the easy, flashy kind of beauty that grabs most men’s attention right away, but a deep, rich, complex kind that many are unable to see. And the fact that you see it makes you feel good about yourself. But you’re just friends. Because, although you see all those things about her, you also see that she’s too good for you, and so you don’t let yourself think of her that way.

It’s a special friendship, though. You give her lots of attention and compliments; you buy her things; you support her in everything she does; you go out of your way to look out for her. It may seem strange to others, but you’ve had this kind of friendship before, and it’s not about trying to get anything from her. It’s just because you’re the kind of guy who genuinely loves being good to women: taking care of them, doting on them, making them feel safe, beautiful, special, and cherished. And she obviously likes it; she shows her appreciation clearly, and even tells you plainly that she likes the compliments and presents.

But, one day, it happens anyway. And it’s just like in the stories. Cupid shoots you, and from one moment to the next, you’re in love. Except Cupid doesn’t shoot you with a bow: he uses a friggin’ trebuchet. You’re not just smitten, you’re flattened, like Wile E. Coyote under an anvil.

So, after struggling and debating with yourself for a bit, you decide to tell her. You expect that your feelings will not be returned, because, let’s face it, how could they be? And you also expect that it will ruin your beautiful friendship. But it feels like a betrayal of her trust not to tell her, so you do. Apologetically. But she, wonderful girl that she is, says there’s nothing to be forgiven, and that she values your friendship. So you keep trying to be friends.

But, predictably, it doesn't work. You try too hard, or whatever, and things just keep getting more and more awkward and uncomfortable. There are misunderstandings and sensitivities, and eventually you get to a place where communication is impossible. You try backing off to give her space. You don’t speak to her unless she speaks to you, and you avoid looking at her because you don’t want to seem like you’re staring or watching her. You try avoiding her altogether to give her time, although that means giving up participating in most of the things you care about in your life. But all to no avail.

You, however, keep trying. Cautiously, carefully, seeking advice and counsel. Because you’re committed, not to trying to woo her, but to trying to restore your friendship, or at least fellowship. Part of your heart, of course, still hopes, or wishes rather, that maybe one day, somehow, she’ll change her mind. But you know that’s not a possibility now or probably ever, and you do nothing to try to force that issue. You just want her back in your life, because you miss her.

Then one day, seemingly out of nowhere, you find out that she hates you: loathes the very thought of you. That she sees you as a creepy, obsessive stalker, and wants absolutely nothing to do with you. That she's been living in a state of fear and anxiety, because of you. She’s wrong, of course, but there’s nothing—nothing you can do at this point to change her mind. All you can do is go away and leave her alone forever.

It’s like the peripateia in a Greek tragedy: that moment when the earth comes off its foundation and the hero’s life is completely shattered. When he finds out that he’s married to his mother, or just killed his wife, or whatever. And he gouges his own eyes out and runs off into the wilderness to live as a hermit.

That’s where I am now. I haven’t gouged my eyes out, but I’m at a point where a diagnosis of terminal cancer would be met with a heavy sigh of relief. I only sleep in short spurts, constantly waking up with the horrifying realization of what I’ve done. My heart is so broken that it literally, physically hurts. My prayers are mostly just groaning and crying out. And of course, the situation is worsened by the fact that going away means losing everything in my life that means anything to me. That I must abandon what I’d finally found, which I’d been looking for my whole life: a place to fit in, to feel loved and accepted. And I had wholeheartedly believed that it was the Lord's doing; that he was guiding me in this new life, and I was growing and prospering. And by the fact that this life is one that I was just rebuilding. Because this kind of thing happened to me once before.

The Lord healed my heart, or has been healing it to be more accurate, after the last time. But I can’t even conceive of starting this process all over again, and trying to rebuild another life somewhere else. I feel like I've got absolutely nothing worth living for.

So that’s what you can be praying for me about. I’m trying to hold on, waiting for God to come through for me somehow or other, and trying to believe that this is all some sort of lesson or test. In my better moments, anyway. I have bad days and worse days.

Monday, July 28, 2014

The Capacity to Love


I used to be a bitter asshole. Bitter, miserable, angry, sarcastic, judgmental, and mean. I was alone and wanted it that way, and I slept all day and sat up all night, sitting in the dark, drinking and thinking about death and judgment.

Then, a few years ago, I reached a low point, and cried out to God: just broke down in prayer. He answered by calling me to die to myself, which sounded easy because I wanted to die anyway, but turned out to be not so much. But, I surrendered after some struggle, and the Lord took away my bitterness and filled my heart to overflowing with love. Just like that. Well, mostly. There was still some working out of it to do: changing habits and thought patterns, and that.

And so, since then, I've devoted myself as much as possible to loving and serving others. I still fall and fail. Sometimes someone hits a nerve and the ghost of the old asshole will rise from the grave and have his say. Often I love too much and too easily, and people don't know what to do with it. Sometimes it even scares them. But overall, my life has been steadily and miraculously improving. In fact, except for the ridiculous lovesick brokenheartedness you keep reading about here, I'd say that this has been the best time of my life. But even that has served a purpose for, although it is unrequited with extreme prejudice, the love itself is pure, holy, and beautiful, and has led me to heights of spiritual growth I scarce thought possible.

This gift of the Lord's to love, however, came with a price. In order to allow the love to flow out, one has to live with an open heart. And when one lives with an open heart, one has a capacity to be hurt equal to one's capacity to love. And since I have loved more than I ever thought possible, now I hurt more than I ever thought possible.

I knew this, of course, and accepted it as part of the package when I decided to live this way. But I'm finding, at the moment, that I may not be able to pay it after all.

The point of this post? Pray for me. I need help, and I need it badly. And soon.

Rejoice

You said "follow"
     and I followed
You said "obey"
     and I obeyed
You said "believe"
     and I believed
You said "love"
     and I loved

But now I am forsaken
Lost in a desert to which You led me
Without hope, joy, or love

You said "suffer"
     and I am suffering

-- M.S. du Pré

Wednesday, July 23, 2014

Tuesday, July 22, 2014

I Never Asked You for Anything

I never asked you for anything

I told you I loved you, and that I knew
I didn't deserve you
And I didn't ask you for anything
I only didn't mean to be your friend falsely
But now, because I told you, we’re no longer friends
and you are in pain
I wish I’d lied

You don’t love me
This, I understand quite clearly
Only you can choose whom you will love
It is written in the immutable law of the heart, and of the universe
for even God will not force us to love Him
But neither will He allow us to tell Him not to love us

Only you can choose whom you will love
But only I can choose whom I will love
You once said to me
that each must be responsible for his own feelings
Yet if you demand that I not love you
You deny me that

I offered you my love as a gift
free
unfettered by demands or desires
You didn't want it--I understand
I never spoke to you of it again
But to demand that I not feel it--
How can you ask me that?
If we refuse the love of Christ
does He stop loving us?
We are His Bride--
those who accept His love
But even to those who refuse it
His love continues
unwanted
unclaimed

Perhaps I should have lied--
told you what you needed to hear
But I tried instead to love without being loved
to give without asking
for I thought, in that
I was imitating His love
however imperfectly

I am painfully aware
that I haven't been faultless
I've been careless of your feelings
I've let my hurt show
and I've defended myself
but I am only a man
in need of grace
both His, and yours

I never asked you for anything
but I continued to offer amity and charity
friendship and fellowship
If that made you feel pressured,
then I am truly sorry

If I tried to explain
to mend
to atone
to apologize
to reach out
It was only to try once more to be your friend

If I seemed to brood
to despair
to languish
to mourn
It was only that seeing you, or being apart where we once were together
reminded me how sad I was that you were no longer in my life

When I said that I still cared for you
that I wished to keep trying to make it work
that love is unconditional
I meant that I was still committed to being your brother
your friend, if you had decided to so honor me

If I write poems
or listen to songs
or read the words of poets, philosophers, and prophets
about love
It is about me living with my feelings
not trying to convince you to share them

And now I’m told that my love fills you with fear and loathing
My presence, with distress
My actions, with apprehension
I dared to ask you if this is so
And you replied that you answer is still No
and always will be
Your answer to what?
I never asked you for anything

No matter my intent
No matter my prayers
No matter my caution
my seeking advice and counsel from those closest to you
Whatever I do effects the opposite from what I intend
Including, no doubt, this poem
Which I fear will seem yet another attempt
to win your love

But I am not asking you for anything
Except, perhaps, to believe that I am not asking you for anything
Because I don't lie

What can I do to ease you mind?
To comfort your heart?
I've tried everything
Even nothing at all

But,
If what you need,
if what you want,
is that I not love you
Then I will try
I do not know if it is possible
to love you enough to not love you

but I will try

Friday, July 11, 2014

I have recently learned that I have, without knowing or intending to, been the source of grief, pain, and fear to someone about whom I have cared more deeply than I have time to express here, or you have patience to read about. I truly believed that I was acting honorably, chivalrously, and rightly in all that I have done; that by being completely honest and continuing to hold out the offer of unconditional love and friendship without asking anything in return, I was following the best and highest of principles. But I failed to be considerate and gentle enough, and all that I intended for good has turned to evil. I feel as if I just realized that I'd run over my own child. Accident or not, the shame, guilt, and sorrow is unbearable.

My regret is beyond apology, and such that I cannot even ask forgiveness. I can only remove myself as an object of offense, and hope that I and my mistakes will be forgotten, and that joy and peace will return in our place.

Monday, July 7, 2014

You met me at at very strange time in my life



Those of you who've met me in the last few years, that is.

I have been coming to the end of a time of trial and purgation which has lasted several years. You know, dark night of the soul, death of the Self, all that. Such a time necessarily brings one to a place of self-examination, self-questioning, and self-doubt, which can have strange effects on the personality when viewed from the outside. Or from the inside, come to that. And it hurts. God, does it hurt. But I am only recently finally through it, and am myself again. Or rather, I am myself at last.
“When He [God] talks of their losing their selves, He means only abandoning the clamour of self-will; once they have done that, He really gives them back all their personality, and boasts (I am afraid, sincerely) that when they are wholly His they will be more themselves than ever.”
-- C.S. Lewis, The Screwtape Letters
Not that I'm done growing, or am free of all sin and imperfection, or anything silly like that. I'm still only a man. But, for the first time, I think, fully a man. This passage from The Voyage of the Dawn Treader illustrates it perfectly. The boy Eustace, who has been a perfect beast, has been turned into a dragon so that his outsides match his insides, and is telling his cousin Edmund about how he has been restored.

     "...I was lying awake and wondering what on earth would become of me. And then--but, mind you, it may have been all a dream. I don't know."
     "Go on," said Edmund, with considerable patience.
     "Well, anyway, I looked up and saw the very last thing I expected: a huge lion coming slowly towards me. And one queer thing was that there was no moon last night, but there was moonlight where the lion was. So it came nearer and nearer. I was terribly afraid of it. You may think that, being a dragon, I could have knocked any lion out easily enough. But it wasn't that kind of fear. I wasn't afraid of it eating me, I was just afraid of it--if you can understand. Well, it came close up to me and looked straight into my eyes. And I shut my eyes tight. But that wasn't any good because it told me to follow it."
     "You mean it spoke?"
     "I don't know. Now that you mention it, I don't think it did. But it told me all the same. And I knew I'd have to do what it told me, so I got up and followed it. And it led me a long way into the mountains. And there was always this moonlight over and round the lion wherever we went. So at last we came to the top of a mountain I'd never seen before and on the top of this mountain there was a garden--trees and fruit and everything. In the middle of it there was a well.
     "I knew it was a well because you could see the water bubbling up from the bottom of it: but it was a lot bigger than most wells--like a very big, round bath with marble steps going down into it. The water was as clear as anything and I thought if I could get in there and bathe, it would ease the pain in my leg. But the lion told me I must undress first. Mind you, I don't know if he said any words out loud or not.
     "I was just going to say that I couldn't undress because I hadn't any clothes on when I suddenly thought that dragons are snaky sort of things and snakes can cast their skins. Oh, of course, thought I, that's what the lion means. So I started scratching myself and my scales began coming off all over the place. And then I scratched a little deeper and, instead of just scales coming off here and there, my whole skin started peeling off beautifully, like it does after an illness, or as if I was a banana. In a minute or two I just stepped out of it. I could see it lying there beside me, looking rather nasty. It was a most lovely feeling. So I started to go down into the well for my bathe.
     "But just as I was going to put my feet into the water I looked down and saw that they were all hard and rough and wrinkled and scaly just as they had been before. Oh, that's all right, said I, it only means I had another smaller suit on underneath the first one, and I'll have to get out of it too. So I scratched and tore again and this underskin peeled off beautifully and out I stepped and left it lying beside the other one and went down to the well for my bathe.
     "Well, exactly the same thing happened again. And I thought to myself, oh dear, how ever many skins have I got to take off? For I was longing to bathe my leg. So I scratched away for the third time and got off a third skin, just like the two others, and stepped out of it. But as soon as I looked at myself in the water I knew it had been no good.
     "Then the lion said--but I don't know if it spoke--'You will have to let me undress you.' I was afraid of his claws, I can tell you, but I was pretty nearly desperate now. So I just lay flat down on my back to let him do it.
     "The very first tear he made was so deep that I thought it had gone right into my heart. And when he began pulling the skin off, it hurt worse than anything I've ever felt. The only thing that made me able to bear it was just the pleasure of feeling the stuff peel off. You know--if you've ever picked the scab off a sore place. It hurts like billy-oh but it is fun to see it coming away."
     "I know exactly what you mean," said Edmund.
     "Well, he peeled the beastly stuff right off--just as I thought I'd done it myself the other three times, only they hadn't hurt--and there it was, lying on the grass: only ever so much thicker, and darker, and more knobbly-looking than the others had been. And there was I as smooth and soft as a peeled switch and smaller than I had been. Then he caught hold of me--I didn't like that much for I was very tender underneath now that I'd no skin on--and threw me into the water. It smarted like anything but only for a moment. After that it became perfectly delicious and as soon as I started swimming and splashing I found that all the pain had gone from my arm. And then I saw why. I'd turned into a boy again.
     ...It would be nice, and fairly true, to say that "from that time forth Eustace was a different boy". To be strictly accurate, he began to be a different boy. He had relapses. There were still many days when he could be very tiresome. But most of those I shall not notice. The cure had begun.
-- C.S. Lewis

It's sort of like a convergence of paths: like I've come back to the the person I would have been at this point in my life if I hadn't gone off track all those years ago. I remember, when I was around seven, I had had a fight with the boy next door to where my mother was living. It was after my parents' divorce, and after my horrid stepmother had moved in. Anyway, my mother said to me, "What happened to you? You used to make friends so easily, and were always friendly to everyone." I feel now as if I'm that boy from before the change, grown up. But with all those other experiences behind me as well, except now only the lessons and the strength from them remains, and the wounds are healed.

And I will restore to you the years that the locust hath eaten, the cankerworm, and the caterpiller, and the palmerworm, my great army which I sent among you. -- Joel 2:25

Sunday, July 6, 2014

False witnesses did rise up: they laid to my charge things that I knew not. They rewarded me evil for good, to the great discomfort of my soul. Nevertheless, when they were sick, I put on sackcloth, and humbled my soul with fasting; and my prayer shall turn into my own bosom. I behaved myself as though it had been my friend or brother; I went heavily, as one that mourneth for his mother.

-- Psalm 35:11-13

Edward Scissorhands - Ice Dance

I became a reproach among all mine enemies, but especially among my neighbors; and they of my acquaintance were afraid of me; and they that did see me without conveyed themselves from me.

 -- Psalm 31:13

Love

Love bade me welcome: yet my soul drew back
Guilty of dust and sin.
But quick-eyed Love, observing me go slack
From my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning,
If I lacked anything.

A guest, I answered, worthy to be here:
Love said, You shall be he.
I the unkind, ungrateful? Ah, my dear,
I cannot look on thee.
Love took my hand, and smiling did reply,
Who made the eyes but I?

Truth, Lord, but I have marred them, let my shame
Go where it doth deserve.
And know you not, says Love, who bore the blame?
My dear, then I will serve.
You must sit down, says Love, and taste my meat:
So I did sit and eat.

-- George Herbert

Discipline

Throw away Thy rod,
Throw away Thy wrath,
                O my God,
Take the gentle path.

For my heart's desire
Unto Thine is bent:
              I aspire
To a full consent.

Not a word or look
I affect to own,
               But by book,
And Thy book alone.

Though I fail, I weep:
Though I halt in pace,
                Yet I creep
To the throne of grace.

Then let wrath remove;
Love will do the deed:
                 For with love
Stony hearts will bleed

Love is swift of foot;
Love's a man of war,
                And can shoot,
And can hit from far.

Who can 'scape his bow?
That which wrought on Thee,
                 Brought Thee low,
Needs must work on me.

Throw away Thy rod;
Though man frailties hath,
                Thou art God:
Throw away Thy wrath.

-- Andrew Marvell

Friday, July 4, 2014

Authorship and Intent

I've been asked a couple of times about the poetry I've been posting, so I've added bylines to all of my own. The others already have them. Sorry, I thought it was obvious that the ones without attributions were original.

For convenience's sake, the ones I wrote are:
It Wasn't Love at First Sight (http://randomrantandramble.blogspot.com/2014/06/it-wasnt-love-at-first-sight-not-that.html)
How Long? (http://randomrantandramble.blogspot.com/2014/06/how-long.html)

As to why, well...to begin with, I'm a writer. And writers write. Very often, they write about what's on their minds or in their hearts. And, quite often as well, they want to be read. Just as a musician wants to be heard, a painter wants to be viewed, and a dancer wants to be watched. It's the nature of the beast. And since I have a few actual friends who genuinely care about me and what I have to say, as well as either liking, or being kind enough to say they like, my writing, I put some of it on my blog for their enjoyment and my satisfaction. There's something cathartic about it, as well as about blogging in general: like keeping a journal, but with the possibility of its being read by others (but without the awkward, "Hey, will you read this and tell me what you think?" moment).

On the question of "for whom?", well, I can't say exactly, as it might embarrass them. What I can say is that all but "For my First Love" are for the same girl; that that one is for, obviously, my first love, for whom I carried a torch for something like twenty-five years, all the way through a bad marriage to someone else, and until I fell for the person about whom the others were written; that that person is NOT Amanda Shires; that she has told me I mean nothing at all to her; and that we currently have a very awkward, painful, and uncomfortable relationship (and, for the awkwardness, discomfort, and pain I've caused her, if any, I am truly sorry). But I love her all the same, as true love is unconditional. I know that some people can't handle genuine unconditional love, but that's their issue, not mine, and if someone is constantly trying to turn pure love into something ugly, then the question is not what is wrong with me, but what is wrong with him. I do everything I can to leave her alone completely and make absolutely no romantic advances or gestures, though we can't really avoid seeing each other. But this is my blog, and it's about what's on my mind, and if she, or others who think they're acting on her behalf, are here reading this, then that's their own choice: no one is forcing them to see what I've written. Not that I mind--she or anyone else is perfectly welcome to read what I post here. But if what they see upsets them, then they should also feel perfectly welcome not to read it.

Thursday, July 3, 2014

Graham Nash - Simple Man

Mercy!

"Mercy! Mercy! Even if you are only one more dream, have mercy. Take me on board. Take me, even if you strike me dead. But in the name if all mercies do not fade away and leave me in this horrible land."

-- C.S. Lewis, The Voyage of the Dawn Treader

Wednesday, July 2, 2014

Psalm 13

How long wilt thou forget me , O Lord; forever?
How long shall I seek counsel in my soul, and be so vexed in heart?
How long shall my enemy triumph over me?
Consider, and hear me, O Lord my God; lighten mine eyes, that I sleep not in death; lest mine enemy say, "I have prevailed against him": for if I be cast down, they that trouble me will rejoice at it.
But my trust is in thy mercy, and my heart is joyful in thy salvation.
I will sing of the Lord, because he hath dealt so lovingly with me; yea, I will praise the Name of the Lord Most Highest.