Looking for Love and Finding Family

YAY! It's Valentine's Day! Or as I used to call it, "Singles' Awareness Day (S.A.D.)"

Usually I celebrate today by going out and buying a big bottle (or 4) of my favorite soda (Vanilla Coca-Cola), finding some movie, preferably sans romance, and despising almost all the couples who dared enter my sight.

  
[And counting down the days until my birthday (5 more days!).]

As wonderful and productive as that sounds, I think I need to find a new way to celebrate the day dedicated to love. Sadly, as I have no girlfriend, likely never will, I am rather limited in finding ways to celebrate.

Lately I read an article by Eve Tushnet, called "Coming Out Christian," where I found this funny little reminder: "In the Gospel of Mark, Jesus promises that those who lose their homes or families for His sake will receive new homes and families, 'a hundred times more now.'" She goes on to talk about how people like me have been able to find other families among friends. I, as a recent graduate, couldn't help but think of my own "new family." My family made of friends.

After all, love isn't just about romance. Love can be found anywhere from anyone. It can be from a "special someone," a sibling, or a dear friend. So why should Valentine's Day be limited to just celebrating romantic love? Why can we not celebrate all loves?

I have never found my "twoo wuv," but I have found people who love me as friends, who became my "other family" while I was 1,000 miles and two timezones away from my home. And I want to celebrate them today.

Pictured to the left is my "big brother" with his wife. Ironically enough, I don't even remember meeting him the first time! It was within the first 48 hours of being dropped off at college and I was essentially stoned. No drugs, yet I have extreme few memories of "Welcome Weekend."  He's told me that we met at the "Hoedown" that happens every year for the matriculating freshman class. But you'd have to ask him. He says I looked shell-shocked and I'll be the first to say I was at the time.

It was the second time I met him that I remember, mostly because I knew that I should know his name, but I didn't, and decided to ask him what it was again. And from such auspicious beginnings, I found someone I'd always wanted: a big brother. This guy is so much like me, it's scary. Except he's married (EXTREMELY happily so), much wiser, and older than me. He has been a mentor, a brother, and a true friend. And I even served as a groomsman at his wedding!

Me and my First Friend drinking Wodfamchocsods.

And there's my crazy "first friend," as I call him, who invited me to share his wonderful and loving family, and who was the first guy to welcome me during a campus visit to Taylor. I don't think he knew what he was getting into by offering me friendship. Then again, I didn't know what it was like to have a friend. Thankfully, he's been willing to help me learn. Not that I've made it easy on him. No, sir! But he's given me plenty of grief over the years too. Usually in the form of deadpan sarcasm masquerading as complete sobriety and seriousness.

But I know that I wouldn't be the man I am today with his and my big brother's support. They were first people I "came out" to. They helped me through the struggles and the tears, and celebrated all the joys and victories.

Then there's my first "other family," the first group of people to accept me as their own. This group of crazy cats who came together because of our love of a kids' radio program: Adventures in Odyssey.

Here's a picture of what we called "The Adventures In Odyssey Club," the people who comprised my first real friends. We went to Colorado for a Spring Berak Trip, raised money making Wodfamchocsods (A.K.A. World-Famous Chocolate Sodas), brought Katie Leigh, a famous voice actress to Taylor, and got into all sorts of crazy shenanigans. (Word to the wise: don't poke, jab, tickle, or otherwise maliciously touch a guy who wrestled in high school. Brawling tends to ensue and you will lose.)

And I cannot forget this guy, usually known as "The Beard!" This picture doesn't even begin to do his facial hair justice. But, it does accurately describe our friendship.

But, while he does enjoy finding creative ways to kill me, like a bazooka to the face, the Jawa Jihad, and the Oxford Book of DEATH (!), among other things, he is a stalwart, steady friend. His support helped me come out of my shell, gave me shelter during more than one college break where I got kicked off campus (along with everyone else, mind you!), and invited me to share in his world, an honor I know I didn't deserve. But, friendship and love isn't about deserving, now is it?

Finally, there's my special girl friend (notice the crucial space there, all you romantic types!). She and I visited the same campus the same day. Both of us had no clue what we were doing or what was going on. And I'm certain that we'd both readily admit that we were scared out of our minds that day. Because of that, we formed a special bond. We've been friends ever since that crazy day and supported each other. And, because we hang out so much, we got teased and asked if we were dating. (Oh, the mischief we got into!) Our friendship is unique. As, really all my true friendships are. We have been each other's confidante, ally, editor (because we're both writers), and support. And I can't express how glad I am to have her in my life.

These pictures and descriptions don't begin to describe the family I found. There's The Beard's Left Hand Man, who befriended me of his own free will, along with all of The Beard's so-called "Minions." And who hounded me much of J-Term, a refreshing change. Usually, I'm the hound, so having someone daily prod me into spending time with him was one of the coolest things I've experienced. It was nice to be wanted.

There's all the fun, mildly weird people in my major who accepted me and talk with me on a regular basis. There's my sisters in Christ who pray for me and support me whenever I'm in need. And (I can't forget) there's the brothers I found living on a near-fraternity which used to scare my introverted self beyond all reason. (Love The Brotherhood!)

Family doesn't have to be related through genetics. All it takes is the willingness to love another person. To invite them into your life and be willing to remain a part of theirs as long as you can. Family is made in love.

No, there is no romantic heartthrob in my life at the moment. But I can still celebrate a holiday dedicated to love. I can celebrate my family.

Death Be Not Proud

"DEATH be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for, thou art not so."
 --Death Be Not Proud, John Donne

Death, be not proud. There is no pride in anything you did today. You stole life from a great man, a beloved man.

Josh Larkin was a great man of God. I did not know him well, not beyond a few interactions during lunch or the occasional time I saw him on his floor. But even to me, his fire and passion were clearly seen. They warmed my heart. His presence encouraged those who knew him. He created music and movies. He worshiped God with every breath. He loved his Maker.

Death, be not proud.

Josh Larkin was a Media Comm major. His soul burned brightly with creativity. he played in Worship bands in Chapel, small groups, and Living Waters. He prayed with those in need. He gave of himself selflessly. He shone with the Light of his Savior.

Death, be not proud. For in your hollow supposed victory, you have lost. You have no power here. You may have taken Josh's life, but, poor Fool, you can never have his soul.

Within hours of Josh's death, the men of Sammy gathered in the Foundation lobby, praying for one another and grieving. When asked to go outside, they did without comment, silence reigning in respect and shock. News traveled quickly. By the time I returned to the dorm at 8:20, many people from all over campus sat around the dorm, praying for the men living inside and crying, sobbing, asking God, "Why?" Why did he die? What went wrong? What could we, could I have done? Josh was much beloved on campus.

Professors I knew and even the president of Taylor University, Gene Habecker, came to the dorm, meeting with us men, talking with us, hugging us, praying with us. There was and is nothing they could say to take away the sharp pain of losing such a wonderful man.

So, Death, be not proud. In your haste to snuff out the light of Josh's soul, you have failed extinguish the Light.

Tonight, many on campus came to a quick, small memorial service to process and pray. Songs were sung, verses from the Psalms and the Beatitudes we said, and Randy and Gene spoke to us as a body of believers. Students and faculty came to process the horror that Death had wrought. But in his death, we all remember Josh's light, the same light that made us love him. His honest, unassuming manner made us feel free around him. His light drew people to him, and ignited the wicks of their hearts.

"One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die."

Death, be not proud. Where is your sting? Where is your victory?

"For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord."
--Romans 8:38-39

Rest in peace, Josh.

Wounded Healers

So, I guess it might be one of those "back to square one" moments.

Let me explain myself. I know this may seem rather annoying, but I just realized that, in so many words, something I'd thought I'd gotten over I actually haven't. It just came back with a new face. The name of this nasty "thing"? Listening to the Mirror.

Once upon a time the evil Queen asked her Mirror who was the fairest in all the land. Ever since that day, we humans have looked to mirrors, both real and metaphysical, to define us. Not that I'm bashing real mirrors. I rather like the real ones, because they're nice enough to tell me whether I look nice or like a slob, or when I have a pimple that looks like a third eye protruding from the middle of my forehead. What I hate are the metaphysical ones. Because the fact is the old saying, "Mirrors never lie" is false in and of itself.

Now, I guess in reality, I'm not talking about mirrors but about Satan. I'm talking about how he just loves to make me look at a warped view of myself, a destructive window to my soul, and then try to take away every single shred of joy or happiness I could try to have. He makes me focus on my failures to the point where I'm completely blinded to anything but them. And I begin to despair because of those failures. I guess I'm kind of good at that. In fact, from what my friends keep telling me, I tend to focus on everything I do wrong a lot. But, because I am me, a recovering perfectionist and a rather hurt soul, I see what I do wrong a lot more than I see what I do right.

And for me, because I know I struggle with pride, it feels a lot safer to focus on everything about me that I hate, that I don't like or that I do wrong than what I like about myself and what I do right. I know that it seems rather stupid, but it makes sense in my mind. Plus, after years upon years of doing it, it's become a habit.

And of course other thoughts revolve in my head about this, but I'm pretty sure you don't want to read them. Knowing and commiserating with my struggle is one thing. Hearing about it constantly, without any hope of resolution, of any healing or end? Well, who'd want to read about that?

Ironically, I was taught a truth about myself from the most unlikely place: Grumpy the dwarf. In the show Once Upon A Time, he says to Snow White that pain is important. Rather than take anything that could make him forget, he'd rather hold on to the pain. It made him who he was, became a part of his character. it made him Grumpy.

Now, I'm not saying being a grumpy person is a good thing! Been there, done that, looking for a lighter so I can burn the T-shirt. But the fact is that we "walking wounded," as Henri Nouwen might put it, are wounded healers. We know pain, we know hurt, and because of that we know how to help others with the pain. We know the pain. We know the deep, deep hurt. We wounded healers know the how deep the depths of despair can be. We know the feelings of hopelessness, so we know how to give hope. We see where people are, and we can show them the light by which we see so they can leave the pits, the valleys of Death's enormous shadows.

Now that may seem like wishful thinking on my part, but I know this to be true. Not that I have helped others, but because I have been helped by others. Others who have gone through the same things. And others who have found ways out of the pain of failure. People who have found victory.

These people have led me to Christ. He, who is the Ultimate Wounded Healer, knows the pain of despair. He knows what it feels like to lose hope. He knows abandonment. But He also knows how to heal those hurts. And it's to Him I point you all. It's Him that I praise, though sometimes my voice falls silent. But even in silence, hope and love are found.

Holy is the Lord, and most worthy of praise.

Adopted

You ever wonder what it's like to be adopted into a family? It's a very strange feeling. Especially when you already have one family and find yourself invited--make that adopted--into another one.

It's a completely different experience. At least for me. I'm used to feeling love from my own personal family, the one with whom I share blood. But being invited to share in the love of another family? I have never felt that before. Not until this year.

Now, I'll be the first one to tell you, my family is extremely loving. We love everyone we can and invite others to be part of our family. My mom has many "adopted" children and loves them all. But I have always been one of the natural children, not the adopted one. I never expected anyone else to adopt me. Never.

Then came college. I moved to Indiana, 20 hours by car and two time zones away from my family. It got a little lonely at times. My parents have very little money, so it's not like they can really come out very often. They usually save their money just to fly me home.

Maybe I shouldn't say a little lonely. Special events like Parents Weekend were torturous for me because I was one of the few students who couldn't have family come. Small breaks when my close friends would run home and spend time with their families left me longing for home and my family.

Loneliness hurts. It digs into your soul and makes a nest in the center, feeding you lies of how unloved you are. It even feeds me lies of how unworthy of love I am. Unfortunately, after a little while, the lies start becoming the truth.


But I was given a priceless gift recently. I was adopted by my best friend's family. Not in the court-order-slash-certificate way, but in the we-love-you-enough-to-make-you-part-of-the-family way.

I had no idea how to react to that. It was humbling to feel so utterly and completely loved, though I hadn't done anything to deserve it. It was a gift.It was given totally and completely unselfishly. I mean, when you're invited to come celebrate with your best friend's family on your best friend's birthday, even though he hadn't seen his family very much, you know you're loved.

For me, it's very strange. I have always been on the giving end when it comes to loving my friends, but receiving love and being adopted into a family is something totally different than giving. I was rendered speechless. I still am speechless in trying to express my gratitude and awe.

Now that I think about it, it's a lot like the way Christ treats us. We don't deserve love in any way, but He still loves us enough to adopt us into His family. We are loved by God, not just earthly mortals. I am loved by God. That's something that amazes me even further when I compare it to the love I already feel.

God's love is so astounding. So is my friend's. Maybe one day I can hope to in someway repay my friend for the love he has given me. I know I can never do that for Jesus.

Holy is the Lord and He is most worthy of praise.

Lights

Is there anyone that fails?
Is there anyone that falls?
Am I the only one in church today feelin' so small?

Cause when I take a look around
Everybody seems so strong
I know they'll soon discover
That I don't belong

So I tuck it all away, like everything's okay
If I make them all believe it, maybe I'll believe it too
So with a painted grin, I play the part again
So everyone will see me the way that I see them
  
Is there anyone who's been there?
Are there any hands to raise?
Am I the only one who's traded
In the altar for a stage?

The performance is convincing
And we know every line by heart
Only when no one is watching
Can we really fall apart

But would it set me free
If I dared to let you see
The truth behind the person
That you imagine me to be?

Would your arms be open
Or would you walk away?
Would the love of Jesus
Be enough to make you stay?

Are we happy plastic people
Under shiny plastic steeples
With walls around our weakness
And smiles to hide our pain?
But if the invitation's open
To every heart that has been broken
Maybe then we close the curtain
On our stained glass masquerade

These are the verses and chorus of the song Stained Glass Masquerade, by Casting Crowns. These words express how I feel so often around everyone I know. I wonder, "what if you knew the real me?" Would you still want to know me? Or would you walk away and reject me, wishing that I had never existed in your life?

I struggle with this so much. I try to pretend that everything is all right and that I don't have struggles. Of course, if you've been reading this blog, I imagine you know otherwise. But it's a façade I still maintain, nevertheless. Often I wish I didn't know how to act like this, but it's something I do very well.


Let me show you a picture of what it feels like sometimes. A few weeks ago, a preacher talked about character, and he described it as what someone would see if they were able to open us up and see into our inmost being. I, being the weird, imaginative person that I am, imagined taking a knife and cutting through the skin and all the layers to see the inmost man of the preacher. There I "saw" a vivid light coming from him, and thought his character is likely very strong. Then I turned the knife on myself, and cut through to see my own light. What I saw was a small, writhing ray of light, spinning and curling inward upon itself, rather like what a worm does after you dig out of the ground.


This brutal visual representation of my brokenness saddened me, but I hid it. Instead of letting people see this puny, pathetic, pitiful light, I put a distorted mirror around it, trying to make it seem like a raging torch instead of a flickering candle. I kept myself separated from everyone and continued to watch my light spin and curl, even though it cried out for help. I hurt to see myself in such a way. The last straw was when when I found myself slipping into old habits and lying to my best friends when they asked me how I was doing. Afterward I was so despondent and sad that I had returned to my Old Self that I went back and told them the truth.


Then a funny thing happened. I found the mirror I put up for my light distorted the others' lights as well. I discovered that the bright fires I thought surrounded me were only candles. They were as small as I was and needed truth just as much as I did.


I thought that I was the small weak one among my friends only to find out that when I revealed myself fully, they felt the same way about themselves. We were the same. We all needed and wanted to be open and seen for who we really are. We found unity in our brokenness, our weakness. And then something amazing happened. Our light grew.


If you put the flames of two candles together, in real life, you find that the flame rises and grows stronger. Well, when we released ourselves and saw each other truthfully, in some way our candles, our lights grew. They became stronger and our deep friendship became a little deeper, I think.


If we hadn't been open, if I hadn't been open, none of this would have happened. I would still be believing this age old lie that I'm the only one who struggles to be real to be worthy of acceptance. But it's not true. As someone once said, "We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. And as we let our light shine, we unconsciously give others permission to do the same." 


I only hope I remember this in the years to come when I am tempted to keep my light to myself and refuse others access to it. May God continually remind me how much He has blessed me and how much He loves me. It is only because of Him that I have these friends and this freedom.


Holy is He and worthy of praise.