God Moves

On February 14, 2009, I was stood up by one-night stand. My reaction was to get drunk and suicidal. When I woke up on February 16, this alcoholic’s desire to drink had been removed by some unseen, unexplained, unexpected cosmological force. Fast forward three years. My grandmother died yesterday, February 20. I grieved for a few moments, affirmed that she was in a better place, and set myself to being of service to someone else. Self-centered reactions like drinking or other self-destructive behaviors never entered my mind. This is just one piece of evidence that a Higher Power is working in my life.

You don’t have to believe in it to experience it. The thing about truth is that it just is, whether we recognize it or deny it. What worked for me was simply the willingness to open myself to greater possibilities. The Higher Power—which I choose to call God because I think that’s the best word in the English language to describe it—does the rest. God makes Himself known to those who are open to see and receive. It’s not dogmatic. This isn’t about religion in the institutional context. If you define religion simply as faith and belief, then I suppose it fits the description. But this matter of God isn’t about rules and ritual. God is far bigger than our human constructs. And that’s what makes the whole thing so wonderfully freeing. There’s no wrong way to do it—faith in God, that is. I know that if it worked for dead drunk like me, it can work for anyone open to it.

A Sufficient Substitute

“Have you a sufficient substitute?” We mustn’t forget this question in our efforts toward self-improvement. Whether our aim is to get out from under an addiction, break a bad habit, correct a personal shortcoming, or adopt a positive behavior, we require substitution. If we could simply make a decision and successfully follow through, we would have done so long ago. Willpower can produce immediate results, but not lasting results. After a while, we succumb to our previous state because we had neglected a key detail: need.

Cleaning the Base Boards

I am preparing for my roommate and myself to move out of our apartment. The cleaning checklist includes dusting the base boards, sweeping behind large kitchen appliances, and washing inside said appliances. As I crawled on my hands and knees with a Pledge-sprayed cloth, I thought of personal inventory.

I often think of personal inventory.

Letter to a Memory #1

There are so many times I find myself thinking that I should be sharing this experience with you. You should be here, so I can turn my head and look into your eyes and have that split-second connection where we’re reading each other’s mind, that moment when I know with absolute certainty that I am not alone and never will be alone again.

It’s hard to go back to living when the truth has become an illusion.

Inventory vs. Prayer & Meditation

I'm watching The Incredible Hulk on FX and occasionally thinking about licking all over Edward Norton. This prompted me to consider my ideals, which (of course) brought me to the subject of inventory.

The Search Begins...

I'm tired of putting band-aids on problems instead of treating the problems. I finally met with a counselor today.

I'm not sure whether I'm attempting to reinvent myself or discover myself. Either way, the place I'm at right now is confusing and lacking in form. "Any way the wind blows," sang Freddy Mercury. My ideas of who I am are constantly shifting and changing shape. The problem is that circumstances will always change, so circumstance-based self-conceptions will continue to leave me feeling like I've lived the lives of a hundred personalities, not one of them my own.

I do still cling to the vague belief that I was made for more than this. No one can survive a dozen or more narrowly-escaped-death incidents and suicide attempts, and not think that there must be a reason: a greater purpose to yet serve. Why would I be so fortunate? Why have I been spared? What am I still doing here?

I'm making the effort to keep walking toward God, toward whatever His purpose for me, toward whatever person He has intended me to be. It's long, it's hard, it's painful; and most days, I hate it. But I'm still doing it. I don't know anything else.

And From the Depths, They Came

I remember the day. A girl in my regular chatroom said that she had a journal online. I had never heard of such a thing. She convinced me to sign up for a journal of my own. Almost immediately after creating my account and posting my first entry, I received comments and words of welcome from complete strangers. I was hooked.

Over the next few years, I grew an expansive base of readers, fans, and friends through blogging communities and personal websites. I reached 60,000 hits a month. My life revolved around my perceived pseudo-fame in a virtual reality. Nothing was off-limits. I exposed myself and provoked others, I ranted and raved, I destroyed all conception that I could hold anything sacred. The only thing sacred was brutal transparency. I had pledged my allegiance to full disclosure, no matter who got hurt along the way.