Stories

There is this song, by Switchfoot, called "Dare You to Move," which has this amazing line that I love. The line is, "maybe redemption has stories to tell." This line really speaks to me, and inspires me every day to do something that I love, which is write. Even when I'm not posting here, I'm writing stories, or poetry, or correcting paperwork to be grammatically correct while I'm at work. The only problem with me writing is that it should be meant for others to read, and also, that your experiences should tie into what you write. I have a lot of things in my life that I could draw from, and a lot of things that I've definately learned a lot from, but there's a problem with writing those down. I regret a lot. I know a lot of it was necessary to bring me where I am today, and I know God was right there next to me while I was going through it, but it's still not something I'm proud of in a lot of cases.

But, I can't keep quiet about those things. My goal in life, even before I came to God, has been to help people, and I've been gifted with a love for writing and literature. It only makes sense that those two things should go together, and that my experiences should be shared in a hope that others can possibly learn from them, or just find peace in the fact that they're not the only ones that have gone through the same things. There was a sermon I listened to this Sunday which totally helped solidify my decision to begin sharing some of these things. I almost feel bad for John, our teaching elder at church that shared this message, because there was one statement he shared that didn't make me very happy. He made eye contact with me right afterwards, and you would have thought that he slapped me in the face at that point. I folded my arms in the middle of the service, and glared at him for the audacity he had to say the very thing I needed to hear. His statement was simply, if we hold off on doing what we're called to do until we think that we're "fixed" enough to help out, we negate the need for Jesus and his redemption. So, basically, John's statement to me, and the rest of the congregation, is that we are redeemed, and that it's time to start acting. It's time for me to share my stories, whether I think I'm ready or not. There's one particular instance, straight from my journal actually, that I'd like to share.

"When I came to God, I was tripping on acid. It was a dose that I hadn’t even wanted, one or two hits that had been slipped into a brownie. I had never made it a habit to take hallucinogens, especially not on nights before I had to work at 10:30 the next day. I had only done acid once before, and it had been a terrifyingly uncomfortable experience. I did not want to trip on that particular night, but I also knew that if I didn’t start thinking positively about it, I would have a ‘bad trip’ and end up having a nightmarish time. So, my roommate at the time walked me to our duplex, all the while talking to me like I was a crazy 5 year old, since she wasn’t feeling anything. She just thought I was really stoned and didn’t know how to handle it, but I definitely knew the difference. I went straight to my room and locked the door. I wasn’t visualizing anything in particular, but the walls looked funny, and the wind outside sounded funny, and I knew that something wasn’t right. I also knew that you are never supposed to sleep when tripping, since the dreams and or nightmares will be worse than the conscious hallucinations. I curled up in my big scary bed anyways, and hid under my big scary comforter, in hopes that laying there would keep anything outside my room, anything bigger and scarier than what was already inside, outside the door. And then, I lay there, and I think I heard something. I say ‘think,’ because I’m still not really sure if I heard something or felt something, but I knew that I had hit bottom in that moment, and I felt God’s sorrow for my situation. I knew that he was asking me what I was doing, and why I was doing it, and I couldn’t answer to him. I knew that I was lost. And so, I cried out to him. I told him I was tired of running, I was tired of breaking the rules on purpose, and I wanted peace. And then, I turned off my light, lay down in bed, and began humming “Amazing Grace” until I fell asleep. And then, I had the most restful, dreamless sleep I had ever experienced. All the running I had done had brought me back into his arms.

My entire life has been running. Actually, I’m going to contradict that statement. My entire life, up to a point, has been spent in the passenger’s seat, trying to find a way to get out of the car. My entire life’s pursuits have been to find a way out of that seat and into a car of my own. I wanted no rules, no restrictions, no one telling me what to do, but my pursuit was different than most rebellious teenager’s. I wanted to run away from everything that could implicate me or expose my secrets to a place where no one knew me and could accept me. I wanted to outrun my reputation as the “weird kid with the weird parents.” I was the unpopular kid in the church youth group, which basically meant that I was the un-coolest person ever. Since in any normal high school, as I imagined it, the Christians were the ones no one liked. I was homeschooled, so my only experience I had with high schools was what I saw on TV and movies. I was the lowest of the low. I was the reject of the rejects. Along with the ‘weird-ness,’ I also had acne. It was something I hated. It made me ugly. All the stars I saw had perfect skin, and therefore were popular and pretty, and yet here I was with these ugly red spots marking me as unworthy of attention. I may have had this slim, shapely body that most girls were probably envious of, but I didn’t acknowledge that. In my head, I was a gangly little weirdo book nerd with small boobs and huge red spots on my face that still showed through the layers of concealer I had plastered on them. I was unattractive, and since I was unattractive, no one could ever love me. Even if a boy had wanted to ask me out, I wasn’t allowed to date. My parents just found millions of ways to get in the way of my potential happiness in my mind. They controlled where I went, who I was friends with, what I wore, what I listened to. I can look back on my teen years now, and see that they were just protecting me, and I’m thankful for points of that protection. I was kept from making a lot of mistakes, but at the price of my being unprepared for life out of the home. All I wanted to do was rebel, and to break every single rule anyone had ever given me."

Four years after I had moved out of my home, after I had been to college and failed, after I had been married and divorced, after I had had the chance to break every single rule anyone had ever given me, God found me, in one of my darkest points. My redemption is my story to tell, and now God is daring me to move, to do something, to go out and use it to help anyone that needs it.