My God has, yet again, punched me in the gut with perspective of how much he loves me.
It has taken me a few days to decide what to write,
To let my emotions crash in and roll back out like a wave.
I took the opportunity to see my favorite poet perform live,
I'm glad I made this decision, because the days prior I had heavily thought on making the choice to just skip out.
I've been dealing with some heavy grief lately, and personally, I think that this is the first time in about two years that the anniversary of my dad's death is really hitting me. That the fact that I'm not going to see him for a while, and that he's really gone has finally sunk in. This overwhelming sadness has placed a lot of fear in me, and really just an immense amount of raw emotion that tends to blindside me without any warning.
So really, my motivation to do things has been really dim, and the choice I debated on not going to the concert was mainly for the fact that I didn't want to be seen. I personally hate this stage of grief I'm in, it causes me a lot of stress, and sadness, and anger, and frustration, and quite simply just no motivation at all for anything. So if I'm personally conflicted and hate the way that I have been acting, then surely I do not want anyone to see me in this state, I already deal with the difficulty of being at school, and in front of so many strangers having to buckle down, man up, and grit my teeth at every emotion that I wish I could express.
But I'm making efforts, I'm doing my best to really let myself grieve, and get help for it. I've been seeing a grief counselor, I regularly talk to my school counselor, and I do my best to say and let go of the stress that has been bothering me. But regardless of this effort, I feel like they have been useless, I feel like I'm lacking in my Christ-like lifestlye and that the fact that I have been failing on my attending to church, reading my bible, and just the core of relationship in Christ (that I have been taught as long as I can rememeber); has impacted what God may think of me. I feel like I lack in my Christianity and that consequently it will soon affect my faith.
I shocked myself a few days ago, I was having a really rough day, I felt frustrated and angry; I felt so much angst for every ounce of life I was living and so much apathy for the goals that I had once wanted to achieve. But then I decided to write, a free form, everything-that-came-to-mind writing session, I just put my pen down and scribbled out the first things that popped into my hand and proceeded to scribble out on paper. And as I continued to scribble, the words continued down the page and onto the backside and further on until I finished with about two full sheets of paper covered in my purging mind.
And then I read.
And I re-read,
and I continued to read until the realization of my acknowledgement sunk in.
It was all God's fault.
I was so angry and my words so full of sadness and hurt and anger, and I literally had wrote out the fact that it was his fault.
"If you're all-powerful, how could you let him die? What was your purpose?" the foundation at where my heart lay, the deep admitting to something I wanted to hide from for so long.
But I know it's not His fault, I wrote that out to Him, explaining I knew it wasn't, that I knew He had some reason that He proceeded with his plan, that He had a plan, and that I would never understand it's meaning. Because that's what faith is, to put full and complete trust, confidence, and belief into something that you don't know. Because I will never know God's plan, because that's how he works in mysterious ways, and he only has my best interest at heart.
That for whatever reason he took my dad from me, that it would be a part of my life, and a part of my steps into being polished smooth, and a part of the person I'm growing up to be.
And then He showed me, in an abundance, as to how much he loved me.
November 29, 2011. Another date to add into the history of every day that God amazes me with the amount of love He has for me.
I was having a horrible morning. Like every other morning I've been feeling for the past two months, I was filled with anger, frustration, fear, and sadness, and everything had been getting to me on a deep level. I did my best to ignore it all, run on autopilot and just be apart from the living. Until fourth period. But to keep a long story short, there was a girl, a girl who I have been striving to be nice to despite my dislike toward her selfish and rude nature. And though I realize everyone has their own tragic situations in life, she pushed me over the edge, told me she was "sick of my attitude" and all I wanted to do was tell her to shut up, grow up, and realize there is more to life than her and her stinking boyfriend. I left that class with a shaky, sick feeling in my stomach that made me want to throw up. Throw up all the indecent feelings I had, throw up in profane words to everyone around me, and just to simply throw up until I passed out.
I sat at lunch, dreading the thought of going to choir, the thought of being stuck in a room for an hour surrounded by selfish, stupid highschool girls absolutely sickened me.
So I decided that enough was enough, I didn't want to be around anyone, and I needed a means of purging all these ill feelings that I had because, I like to think, this isn't me.
So I decided to visit my counselor, a woman who helped me a lot last school year during my length of depression.
And I vented, and I cried more than I have in a long time, the kind of crying that gets uncontrollable because of fear, the same kind of crying that attacked me that night when my father passed away.
And it helped, I let the wave crash into me, I let it throw me around and toss me side to side amongst the anger, hurt, sadness, and fear that I felt. I stayed there all class period. It gave me so much relief and peace when I calmed down.
Skip to grief counseling,
I have, currently, only seen my grief counselor twice, but I feel so much relief after I speak to her, because she provides the reassurance that I'm not going crazy.
That my memory lapses, uncontrollable emotions, lack of motivation, and fear is all normal. That it's a part of this stepping on to the next steps of grieving.
And she told me she was proud of me, that everything I'm going through is so tough, and that my efforts aren't for naught. That what I'm doing, right now, is actually positive in my steps in healing.
And it brings peace to know that I am not as worthless and crazy as I think.
My God the things you provide through other people.
Fast forward to the concert,
I arrived, met up with a few friends who were going as well, and stepped inside, I was excited as anyone to see my favorite poetry band.
And he performed first, it was wonderful, the whole concert was.
But I want to skip through all of that, all of the performances all the shoving in the moshpit and the ringing in my ears.
Skip through to end.
We went to a diner afterward, went with Josh (the lead singer of the Chariot) Dan Smith (lead singer of listener) and the bassist of the Chariot, Jon.
At first, I was a little bummed out, I didn't have the luck and joy of sitting next to either Josh or Dan, I sat at the opposite end of the length of tables set up for us. Though amongst the length, I did have the privilege of sitting across the table from a man by the name of Jon Kindler.
First thought: I was bummed, I knew I would be left out of every conversation, for you see, the girl sitting next to me was beautiful. She was a charismatic, sporadic, conversational, and cute girl who would be anyone's first choice to talk to. She and him would make brief conversation as she would change from subject to subject in a nervous, fan-girl sort of way.
Once in a while, he would turn to me, asking her and I a question, I would answer, but only to be sold short as the girl sitting next to me would chatter away.
Sidenote: don't get me wrong, I love this girl. She is a talented and kind soul, who has always been very sweet to me. But so often, I get attacked by the envy that I cannot be the cute and sweet being she embodies. So I, of course, was jealous by the fact that they shared in a conversation that I wasn't apart of. I didn't have that bubbly personality to jump in and say what was on my mind, I didn't have that girlish wit to chime in a cute remark.
Back to reality: Jon turned to me, and continued on where he left off in his previous question.
I was taken aback, only by the mere assumption that I didn't think he wanted to talk to me, but he did.
Maybe it was out of pure politeness to not leave me out, or maybe it was because God gave him a push to talk to me, I'm not sure, but this man would soon provide a small happiness to me of answering questions that I had been harboring for some time.
He and I began to converse, mainly over little tidbits of viewing into our lives, what we'd been occupying our time with, past stories, and even just people we encountered.
I told him of my art teacher, a very humble and kind woman, who shared conversation with me one afternoon during a ride she had offered to give me home. I talked about the gratefulness I felt of being able to take a step out of teacher-student politeness into an actual step of relationship. I reminisced on the memory of being able to connect with her because her son had passed away, when he was ten, of leukemia, and the realization that so many people we encounter today... we have no idea what's going on with them. And I spoke of my father.
After bouncing around from related topics on our lives,
he stopped back on my dad.
And I explained it all, the long explanation of how long he had, how long he got, and all the vague details that tag along.
He told me I was brave.
Brave for being able to talk about it when some people can't.
And I never thought of myself as being brave, it meant a lot to me to know that.
Bounce through conversation.
My memory lapses are terrible, I'm having trouble remembering everything he said.
But I do remember one part of our conversation, where God used him to answer my question:
Am I really being a good Christian?
I discussed my disgust for not fully jumping into that Christian lifestyle that is so portrayed by many people around me.
"I read my Bible and got a profound message from it..."
"I prayed to God and he spoke to me..."
"I went to church and the worship was incredible.."
And I'm on the sidelines thinking,
"Well I don't feel God here,
well I don't really pick up my bible to read,
well I haven't been to church in a while.
I HAVEN'T HEARD GOD."
Am I missing out? Is Gof cutting me off from contact?
But I was reassured, (excuse me for parapphrasing,)
"Sometimes as Christians, will fill our void of Christianity WITH Christianity. We fill that emptiness with praying, reading our Bible, going to church, but there's no relationship there, and we miss the point. Dln't get me wrong, all of that is great and all, but a relationship is so much more than that. You should worship God in everything you do, because that's what it's supposed to be."
This is only a short sentence, but I hope you get my point,
that God provided the answer that EVERYDAY, I am worshipping, through the gifts he's given me, through the moments of peace he provides, through the music I listen to, and the short thoughts I give to Him.
God loves me no matter what, and I need to realize that no matter what, I am worshipping Him despite my lack of "Christian acts" through love, and compassion, and giving Him complete control, that is where my relationship stands.
He will know me completely, and I will not let my fear of abandonment rule anything out,
my relationship should be honest,
and when I'm angry, or scared, or sad, or hurt, I will tell Him.
Because He already knows and He will help me.
This is a very brief, and vague end to a long post, but really it's too much for me to write.
I'm tired today.