Peace doesn't come comfortably.
I never make my bed. Well, scratch that, I sometimes make my bed, like when I have company, or one corner of the fitted sheet has come undone and I keep getting my elbow stuck in it at night. Otherwise, doesn't happen. I'm not really comfortable in it if I do. I'm like a dog that way. I turn and turn and turn until it's just right. When I make it and try to fall asleep at night, it's like it's saying Um, excuse me, but you don't quite fit. I don't suppose you could sleep on the floor, could you?
I suspect it's rather odd to give dialogue to your furniture...but I digress.
Anyway, I nest. I have to get settled. I fidget in armchairs, sprawl on floors, and rearrange my belongings at least eighty different times. It's how I am with people as well. I cannot be fully comfortable with you until I've made at least three awkward statements just to see how you react to them. (This isn't necessarily something I do consciously, of course, but just a pattern I've noticed over the years.) If you meet my unintentional audacity with grace, eventually I'll become less keyed up and our future relationship will be much more pleasant.
I certainly do not mean to make people jump through hoops. With a family full of smart alecs, I was taught to think swiftly, speak sharply, and laugh at everything. This, unfortunately for me, is apparently not one of those basic "facts of life" kids are normally taught. This, unfortunately for me, makes me awkward.
And then, oy vey, when I meet other people like me...it's disaster. Neither of us can crack the other's awkward barrier, so we just stare at each other, frustrated with the knowledge that there's something deeper, but stubbornly not wanting to be the first to give that information up. Enough to make you want to start a Sardonics Anonymous support group.
After this pattern has rooted itself into your system, you start believing that the only person that can protect you is, of course, yourself. You become awfully lonely and start asking God why He would ever condemn you to such a terrible fate. He, obviously, hasn't, and patiently waits for you to realize you've been alienating yourself for these some fifteen years. (Yes, I began to grasp the art of sarcasm at the age of six. I was quick.) But if you're someone like me, your immediate thought is "This sucks. I refuse this rationale outright." So, God being God, He continues to wait patiently, your flippancy only amusing in the fact that He knows you'll turn to Him eventually, incredulously asking, "What is wrong with the world today?"
Fact of the matter is that I, me, is what's wrong with the world, at least for today. And no ounce of cynicism can protect me from it, because trust me, I've argued with God all day. Past hurt, this semester's frustrations, last week's arguments...there's no point in talking about them anymore whether you'd feel vindicated or not, because bringing them up will only make you appear nagging, and if someone actually does agree with you, and you do gain that vindication...world, watch out, because that's when us smart asses really set out on crusade (trumpets, flags, corrupt mercenaries...the whole shebang).
God's really been hinting at this truth for the past couple weeks, and I'm just beginning to own up to it. As I had said...I certainly didn't like it. I refused it for awhile, punishing anyone with the inability to verbally duel with me with an extra dose. Evangelism at it's best, obviously. So then I went to silence. I simply didn't speak that much. Friends noticed, concerned, while others were probably sending up a prayer of thanks for the unexpected grace. Still, I wasn't happy. Being a naturally outgoing person, becoming a quieter version of myself didn't sit well. When friends asked what was up, I would only respond bitterly, only having to apologize immediately afterward, explaining I was undergoing spiritual growing pains.
Which brings me back to my first fact. As with my bed, I mess with my ideas. God delivered a revelation to me, neat and perfect, as only God can do. I, recognizing it as truth, asked God for peace about it, but again, as only God will, He said, "No, you haven't even thought about it. I want you to own this." So, me, sulking in the bathtub with my pillow and blanket only as I can do, thought about it. Thoroughly. And this morning at breakfast, when a friend asked what was wrong and I had to tell him, honestly, that I wish I could explain but couldn't, thought about it some more. And in chapel. And at work while sorting mail. And during my guitar jury (which is probably why I missed a note during my D Major scale, but really, how do you explain that to your music professor?). So there I was, all day, turning and turning and turning until it felt like a part of me. I think this may be God's sick version of Inception.
I still haven't fully settled yet, but I figure this post would hardly be as interesting or relatable if I were to write it after the fact. I think it's a bit of the process anyway. Oh, and I quit counseling. That's probably worrisome for a few of you, but really, if you can talk your shrink into a corner, chances are they're not for you. She had me draw pictures of my inner-self. I don't think it had quite the cathartic effect she was hoping for.
and
Sarcasm can be alienating.
I never make my bed. Well, scratch that, I sometimes make my bed, like when I have company, or one corner of the fitted sheet has come undone and I keep getting my elbow stuck in it at night. Otherwise, doesn't happen. I'm not really comfortable in it if I do. I'm like a dog that way. I turn and turn and turn until it's just right. When I make it and try to fall asleep at night, it's like it's saying Um, excuse me, but you don't quite fit. I don't suppose you could sleep on the floor, could you?
I suspect it's rather odd to give dialogue to your furniture...but I digress.
Anyway, I nest. I have to get settled. I fidget in armchairs, sprawl on floors, and rearrange my belongings at least eighty different times. It's how I am with people as well. I cannot be fully comfortable with you until I've made at least three awkward statements just to see how you react to them. (This isn't necessarily something I do consciously, of course, but just a pattern I've noticed over the years.) If you meet my unintentional audacity with grace, eventually I'll become less keyed up and our future relationship will be much more pleasant.
I certainly do not mean to make people jump through hoops. With a family full of smart alecs, I was taught to think swiftly, speak sharply, and laugh at everything. This, unfortunately for me, is apparently not one of those basic "facts of life" kids are normally taught. This, unfortunately for me, makes me awkward.
And then, oy vey, when I meet other people like me...it's disaster. Neither of us can crack the other's awkward barrier, so we just stare at each other, frustrated with the knowledge that there's something deeper, but stubbornly not wanting to be the first to give that information up. Enough to make you want to start a Sardonics Anonymous support group.
After this pattern has rooted itself into your system, you start believing that the only person that can protect you is, of course, yourself. You become awfully lonely and start asking God why He would ever condemn you to such a terrible fate. He, obviously, hasn't, and patiently waits for you to realize you've been alienating yourself for these some fifteen years. (Yes, I began to grasp the art of sarcasm at the age of six. I was quick.) But if you're someone like me, your immediate thought is "This sucks. I refuse this rationale outright." So, God being God, He continues to wait patiently, your flippancy only amusing in the fact that He knows you'll turn to Him eventually, incredulously asking, "What is wrong with the world today?"
Fact of the matter is that I, me, is what's wrong with the world, at least for today. And no ounce of cynicism can protect me from it, because trust me, I've argued with God all day. Past hurt, this semester's frustrations, last week's arguments...there's no point in talking about them anymore whether you'd feel vindicated or not, because bringing them up will only make you appear nagging, and if someone actually does agree with you, and you do gain that vindication...world, watch out, because that's when us smart asses really set out on crusade (trumpets, flags, corrupt mercenaries...the whole shebang).
God's really been hinting at this truth for the past couple weeks, and I'm just beginning to own up to it. As I had said...I certainly didn't like it. I refused it for awhile, punishing anyone with the inability to verbally duel with me with an extra dose. Evangelism at it's best, obviously. So then I went to silence. I simply didn't speak that much. Friends noticed, concerned, while others were probably sending up a prayer of thanks for the unexpected grace. Still, I wasn't happy. Being a naturally outgoing person, becoming a quieter version of myself didn't sit well. When friends asked what was up, I would only respond bitterly, only having to apologize immediately afterward, explaining I was undergoing spiritual growing pains.
Which brings me back to my first fact. As with my bed, I mess with my ideas. God delivered a revelation to me, neat and perfect, as only God can do. I, recognizing it as truth, asked God for peace about it, but again, as only God will, He said, "No, you haven't even thought about it. I want you to own this." So, me, sulking in the bathtub with my pillow and blanket only as I can do, thought about it. Thoroughly. And this morning at breakfast, when a friend asked what was wrong and I had to tell him, honestly, that I wish I could explain but couldn't, thought about it some more. And in chapel. And at work while sorting mail. And during my guitar jury (which is probably why I missed a note during my D Major scale, but really, how do you explain that to your music professor?). So there I was, all day, turning and turning and turning until it felt like a part of me. I think this may be God's sick version of Inception.
I still haven't fully settled yet, but I figure this post would hardly be as interesting or relatable if I were to write it after the fact. I think it's a bit of the process anyway. Oh, and I quit counseling. That's probably worrisome for a few of you, but really, if you can talk your shrink into a corner, chances are they're not for you. She had me draw pictures of my inner-self. I don't think it had quite the cathartic effect she was hoping for.
