Rock

Happy almost Easter.

Sorry about the lack of enthusiasm there. In addition to trying to remove the exclamation point from my life (because I am developing a sincere dislike for people, especially former speakers, who use exclamation points in a book) I'm just not excited. You see, for me, Easter last year was a big deal. Big. Huge. It was the end of a terrible season in my life. I want to say that Easter Sunday that Sunday was an epic experience, where light flooded back into my life and all the past wrongs that had ever happened were set right. That'd be a lie, so I'll try to avoid it.

But the point was that I could talk to God again. I could pray, and not in the angry, despairing, fearful, useless words that had defined my life before. I always get a little creeped out by mystics- I'm not really sure what to do with people who love God that much and in that way- but the easiest analogy is like getting back together with someone after you've had a fight. You know, you can talk again and each person forgives and forgets enough to function together. You put away the things that you argued about in the first place and focus on the reasons why you like being around the person. It's not a lie, per se, you're just willing to love the other person while they work on fixing the things that made you angry.

Well, God's not going to change, so guess who needs to fix themselves in this argument?

The really frustrating thing is that a year later, I'm still the same. Well, I'm a little different. The outside pain that I wouldn't let myself feel is creeping in. And I can't sit down in front of God and say that I've failed to hear the cry of the needy, because I have. I think I've been under the impression that hearing is enough. Goodness knows it's not. Imagine if God had only heard the cry of the Israelites in Egypt.

But doing is difficult. It's this rock in between me and God right now, because I'm not willing to do. But what do you do about the things that stab your heart? How do I do anything to help the more than 4. million. Palestinian refugees? Crying over their stories is not enough, but inviting them to live in my dorm room that has seceded from the residence hall isn't particularly reasonable. What do you do about abusive parents? Abusive boyfriends? You can't catch them all. How do you get a world that can feed every one of its citizens to wake up and realize that global hunger needs to be something in our shameful past? My heart breaks over the big things, the things that I have minimal control over. What are you going to do? You gonna beat up everybody?

But there must be something I can do, something beyond the small things I do.

And I'm really afraid there is.

You see, I don't want to go to the cross. I don't want to follow Christ to the cross on Friday, because I know that I've got my own cross that I have to pick up, my own mission for the redemption of humanity that no one else is going to do. And I don't know what it is yet, but the potential scale of it scares me to death. I can see the cross. And I don't want it.

See, I'm one of those people who said a long time ago that I'd follow You, Lord, wherever you lead. And I'm one of those people that says now, not there. I'll follow you anywhere but there. And there. OK, and maybe there too. Oh, and there's definitely out. Here, I've got this sharpie, how about I just mark off sections of the world that we won't go to, people we won't talk to, things we won't do, because I don't want to go there, no matter who's leading me there. And I know that I'm doing this. And I don't want to fix it.

Give me a church. Stick me in tower for another three years of education. Keep me in middle class America. Surely there's enough of a field there for me. And there is, I don't mean to knock anyone's calling, but there's also many other places that I am unwilling to go. I can't resolve this with God. One of us has to change. I'm pretty sure I know which one of us it'll be too. So I'm waiting on something to break, because I know it's coming. I'm sure it'll come at probably the most inopportune moment, but how do I fix this? How do you break your own arm? Because that's what bending on this is like for me. It's a beat down of a vital part of my pride, my fear and my humanity.

It's hard to see how far you've grown when you've shrunk.

I Am Understood?

Because I'm a sucker for Relient K and because I'm all about some song lyrics posting instead of creativity, here is a song that makes me happy. Enjoy.

"I Am Understood?"

Sometimes it's embarrassing to talk to you
To hold a conversation with the only one who sees right through
This version of myself
I try to hide behind
I'll bury my face because my disgrace will leave me terrified

And sometimes I'm so thankful for your loyalty
Your love regardless of
The mistakes I make will spoil me
My confidence is, in a sense, a gift you've given me
And I'm satisfied to realize you're all I'll ever need

[Chorus]
You looked into my life and never stopped
And you're thinking all my thoughts
Are so simple, but so beautiful
And you recite my words right back to me
Before I even speak
You let me know, I am understood

And sometimes I spend my time
Just trying to escape
I work so hard so desperately, in an attempt to create space
Cause I want distance from the utmost important thing I know
I see your love, then turn my back and beg for you to go

[Chorus]

You're the only one who understands completely
You're the only one knows me yet still loves completely

And sometimes the place I'm at is at a loss for words
If I think of something worthy I know that it's already yours
And through the times I've faded and you've outlined me again
You've just patiently waited, to bring me back and then

[Chorus]

The noise has broken my defense
Let me embrace salvation
Your voice has broken my defense
Let me embrace salvation

Basketball Guilt

Welcome to my morning-after. My throat is still sore and the only words that come out of my mouth come out in a raspy low register. I sit down to listen to the post-game conference and to read Adam Lucas' latest piece of wisdom and I smile and laugh because last night was wonderful. I watched my Heels play in Carmichael. I watched them win in Carmichael. I shouted the words to Victory and I swayed with pretty much complete strangers singing Hark the Sound.

Friends, let's talk about basketball a second. It should make some of you happy, seeing how the mighty have fallen. It might make you angry, knowing that the win last night was something that just happens in Carolina basketball. It's one of those games where the fans are loud, the refs are as terrible as the fans shout that they are, and the team plays until the very last second of the game. We haven't seen anything like that, not for a while. And it's good. It might not be the NCAA, but the National Invitational Tournament is still post-season play for a team that might not have started to play until after their season is over. It's a second chance, a fresh start as Marcus said. Everyone deserves a chance to fly. Again.

But, see, redemption doesn't make the rest of the season go away. They still screwed up against Duke. That stings. They still dropped the Georgia Tech game. Three times. Three times. They still lacked intensity and focus and they still drove me insane. People can still point to this season and the blemish will still be there. Even Roy is disappointed, though I think more in himself than in the team. My mom said that Dean Smith knew how to make a team a team and that just hasn't happened this year. The last thing Roy said at the press conference was something like, "It's my job to get them to play better and I just haven't done a good enough job at that this year." He was talking about the team caring, that when you play Carolina basketball, you have to have a passion for what you're doing. You have to have a passion. You, the player, the one on the court. And Roy is sure it's his fault that his players don't have a passion.

After I spent last night abusing the refs, I turned the abuse around. I gave up yelling at basketball games for Lent. Lenten vow broken. Massively. It's like giving up chocolate and then going and stealing all three of the chocolate Easter bunnies that your parents had bought for your family and eating them in one binge night with a chocolate milk shake to wash it down. Pent up basketball related things just poured out of me for hours last night, often leaking over into my description of the rest of the world. Please, if you have any kind of respect for me and don't want to loose it, stay away from me during a game. I'm a terrible person. And I carried that conception into the rest of my life.

I wonder if you know how much guilt is associated with this season? I broke a vow, that really I made in order to address the beast inside of me but was completely ineffective in that regard. I care. A lot. And I shouldn't. I don't know who this person is that screams at the television and at the court, but I can't just out of hand reject her. She's a part of my season. I just wish that she could apply her adrenalin rush to things that actually help. Not that Carolina basketball doesn't help. I think the world would be a much worse place without Dean Smith. But me yelling at a game doesn't feed anyone, it doesn't encourage anyone, it doesn't free anyone. The only positive consequence is that I get my anger out in one place so I can think about everything else, but even then, there are some things that are worth getting angry about.

I came in hoarse from the game and my roommate asked me if I had been yelling. I said some expletive and then yes. And she joked and said that Jesus died a little just then. And I said that Jesus had been dying since about the 12 minute mark of the second half.

Let's face it. Jesus has been dying my whole life.

I want to make Him live.