At least the Yankees are winning

I don’t know exactly where I learned it from, but I don’t talk about my problems.  Not the way I used to be able to.  I don’t know if its because I don’t have friends or support or what, but I just don’t talk about it all the way I used to.  Maybe its a skewed perspective thing.  There are others in the world who are so much worse off than I am.  With the war in the Middle East, the shooter in Norway, the violence here in my own city – why does it really matter than I’m so lonely?  Money is really tight for me right now.  I refuse to beg my parents for more money than I already am.  So I’m down to eating one meal a day, cause its about all I can afford.  I’ve run out of coffee (though I have decaf), I can’t do my laundry and I’m almost running on fumes in my car.  BUT I still pay for internet and cigarettes.  I still have a place to live.  I still can eat something every day and sleep in a safe place.  I’m not dying.  So it can’t really be all that bad for me, can it?  My issues and problems with my family are not life-threatening or even violent.  There are people in the world who don’t have a safe place to sleep at night.  Who just lost a child.  Who aren’t able to feed their families.  What the hell do I have to complain about?  I’m making bad decisions all the time.  I’m screwing up my own life left and right without being hunted down by my government or dodging terrorist bombs.  What do I have to complain about?  My perspective is a bit skewed and I’m not sure how to adjust it.
 
It has also been ingrained in me that we aren’t supposed to talk about our problems.  My family isn’t royalty or anything, but my parents were certainly leaders in their community.  As default, I was the daughter of those leaders.  We had a good life and helped others.  But we don’t need help ourselves.  We have everything together perfectly fine.  I remember one particular time at church.  I had gotten into an argument with my parents upstairs in the balcony, over what I can’t remember now.  But I was very angry and upset.  I went downstairs, really just to get away.  There were other people around, and so I had to pretend that everything was okay.  A girl in my grade said something to me about how perfect my life was and how nice it must be to have no problems or worries.  I don’t remember exactly the exchange, but I remember thinking she had no idea of what went on in my family.  Though I had no idea what went on in her family either at that time.
 
When I was away at college the first time, I was talking with a friend from high school.  He was one of the first people I said something to about going home and leaving college.  He commented that it really sounded like I was happy at the school.  I realized I had been putting up such a good facade about how fine everything was, that even this good friend of mine really didn’t know how bad things were.  I know I put up a good front.  I can pretend everything is perfectly fine, while my world is burning behind my eyes.  I’ve found people who I feel safe with, and I’ll allow the front to come down.  But it takes a long time.  I try to be open and honest with people, but even that starts to become another facade for me.  I tried to be open and honest at seminary, and it kinda blew up in my face.  I got sick of myself, how homesick and lonely and sad I was.  I didn’t want to be that person anymore.  So I put up the front again.
 
I find it easier to pretend that things are okay, than walk around constantly on the edge of tears.  Living in that state constantly just wears me out.  So I pretend things are great and wonderful.  its so much easier.  Although its not really.   Because eventually the facade becomes so real that I don’t know how to open up and talk about things.  Even here.  And this is supposed to be my safe place.  My place to work things out and be honest with the only person that really matters – me.  I’m getting there again, but its so far off.
 
Last night, my mom offered to come up here earlier from Chicago and help me… do something.  She doesn’t know exactly what she can do, but she offered.  She offered to drive around and help me drop off more resumes and talk to businesses.  She said she could just sit in the car so I don’t have to feel alone or rejected.  It was really nice, and she wasn’t pushing.  But she wants to help and doesn’t know how.  So she’s offering.  I wasn’t mad or upset by the offer; I was really touched.  But I don’t know how she can help.
 
Maybe this is my big problem right now.  I don’t know how people can help.  I don’t know how they can help me through whatever I’m going through.  I still have days where I can’t get out of bed.  I spend the entire day trying to convince myself its okay, and to get dressed.  Some days, thats all I can do.  So my pastor asks what can they do to help me through this.  Should someone be driving over here every day?  Should they be calling my family?  Should they be calling an ambulance?  He wants to help.  My friends at seminary wanted to help.  They opened up their hands and hearts and genuinely care.  But I don’t know how they can help.  I don’t know if I should be dragged into the hospital and hopped up on drugs again.  I don’t know if I need a babysitter or caretaker.  Do I need to be in a halfway house with people who will help me get dressed and out of bed and make sure I eat every day and go to work?  I honestly don’t know.  I don’t know what will help.  I don’t know how any of these people can help.  Which almost makes the whole thing that much worse.
 
Why was I so able to be okay around James and Manny and Rob and Lulorial and Mouse and Megan?  What about them let me tear down the guard and really open up to them?  In some way, they all proved (to an extent) that they weren’t going to run away or back away when things got tough.  I guess too, I never felt like I had to justify myself to them.  I never had to explain myself.  Well, yes sometimes with some of them in certain situations.  But now, they just accept me for who I am.  Faults and all.
 
"…As if I  had never sinned nor been a sinner…"
 
Thats part of the Heidelberg Catechism, one of the creeds of the CRC faith.  There’s a disconnect between those friends I mentioned and the Christian Reformed Church.  Its a division that makes people on the outside think the CRC is stuck-up, and holier than thou and all those things.  Christians strive to be a shining light in the darkness of this world.  They want to be able to reflect the beauty and majesty of Christ.  They want to be examples of good Christians, to show the world the Truth.  Yes, I do understand all those inclinations and thoughts.  We are called, as Christians, to try to be reflections of Christ.  The reality is in stark contrast.  We are sinners.  We are ALL sinners.  We are ALL headed to hell.  None of us deserves to be saved.  Only through God’s grace are we allowed entrance into heaven…  "as if I had never sinned nor been a sinner."
 
My pastor has been preaching lately on the various ways we are called to be good, little Christians.  He’s walking through the book of Ephesians.  All that is fine.  I understand the importance of it all.  And I do believe it is very important.  Except… None of us will ever be able to live up to it.  Not a single one of us.  We are all broken and imperfect.  We are all sinners.  Every single person sitting in the pews of my church on Sunday morning are sinners who are hell-bound.  It is only through God’s grace, His choice and decision, that we are saved.  This constant barrage of how we’re supposed to live, and what we’re supposed to do only reminds me of how far I fall.  How unbelievably useless and horrible I can be.  I can’t do it!  I can’t be that perfect person.  I smoke.  I curse.  I have sex.  I’m so not the perfect Christian.  Except so many people see me in that light.  So while I struggle with trying to be better, trying to improve myself, I don’t have anyone to turn to.  I don’t have anyone to confide in about my sins and failings.  If the church only knew what a horrible person I am, I would be… well, the CRC version of disrobed.  I would never be allowed to be a leader in the church.  I would never be allowed near their precious children or allowed to stand in front of church.
 
I do believe leaders are called to a higher standard. I believe the scrutiny placed on those in power and leadership is going to be a bit harder.  And thats fine!  They have power, and with that power comes responsibility.  But somewhere along the line, we expect our leaders to be perfect.  Not just in the church, but all over this country.  People point fingers at Sarah Palin because her daughter got pregnant.  She’s not perfect!  Go figure!  I think a leader who is willing to step up and admit their shortcomings and faults will be stronger for it.  That action will make the group stronger for it, not weaker.
 
There was a king who brought his people out to the ocean.  He stood on the shore and ordered the tide to go out.  The tide came in.  He was trying to show his people that although he was their leader, he was merely human.  He was not perfect and he knew his limitations.  I honestly don’t know if I’m like him or the people.  Do I know my limitations or am I too aware of them?  I honestly believe its the latter.  I don’t push myself because I’m afraid of failing.  Shoot for the moon and you’ll land among the stars.  I’ve lost that sense of self.  I’ve lost that desire to go further and do more.  I’ve lost my direction and my will to push.
 
I was watching the TV show Numb3rs last night.  It was an episode where the math genius was… I dunno how to put it – coming to terms with his age?  He was a high school senior at 13 and then college and graduate school and how amazing!  He was now in his 30s.  He was regretting his life or wondering what did he do with his life.  It wasn’t that depressing.  But he realized that all those "Wow, he’s X age and doing Y" moments were gone.  His achievements were no longer lauded and noticed because he was no longer that young.  They might still be noticed, but not the same way they were before.  I know that feeling.  I wasn’t a child prodigy nor a musical genius, but I was talented.  People used to say things like "Wow!  You’ll go so far!"  Now?  I’m decent.  I’m okay.  But I feel like I stopped growing.  I stopped learning.  Which is partly my own fault.  I can always go out and learn more.  There’s no one stopping me but me.  I could get out my instrument and start practicing again.  But… I don’t.  I don’t really know why, but I don’t.  It sits in the corner, mocking me.
 
This is where I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me.  I know what I love.  I know what I’m good at doing and what to do to work at being even better.  But instead of going for it, it sits gathering dust in the corner.  There’s something about the CRC that makes me feel so much like a failure.  Makes me feel like I’ll never be able to live up to the expectations of anybody, even myself.  I’ll never be good enough.
 
Maybe it is getting time to get out of here.  Maybe its getting time to just go for it.  Anything.  Pick a target and go.  My last few attempts at target picking have been flops or failed for whatever reason.  But I supposed its not how many times you achieve the goal that is important.  Its how many times you’re able to get up out of the dirt and keep moving.  Great.  Something else I can mark down as a failure.
 
I have to chuckle at myself and this little pity party I’m throwing.  I’m really kind of pathetic sometimes.  Oh well.  At least the Yankees are winning.