There has to be a title?

I spend a lot of time at the Seattle Public Library downtown.

The building is this whacky glass cube, all oblong and edgy.  Very postmodern with lots of light; a conducive place for study.  As I was reading some challenging text for hermeneutics class I became very aware of paradox; as hinted in the text and all around me.  To my right was whom I would think a homeless woman, hauling all her owning in plastic bags.  Her odor was overwhelming.  Next to her was an elderly man whom I spied earlier from across the cube.  He seemed whimsical from afar.  Up close, it was apparent he was not mentally stable; he had an alarming vocal tic, would figet with his glasses by constantly putting them on and removing them.  He repeatedly filed through ruffled papers in manila envelopes.  I wondered if those envelopes somehow gave him structure, stablizing him.  I almost wept.

To my life was a young couple, looking the intellectual part with fashionable glasses and macs.  (Funny, that describes me.)  They were impeccably dressed.

This paradox is everywhere.  Downtown is so alarming.  High fashion windows reflecting the begging on avenues.  I’m sure every city has it, but I’ve never been so struck by it anywhere else, not in Kansas City, not even NYC.

All my professors have stressed the presence of Jesus in the marginalized, the oppressed.  I suppose I see Jesus as I never before.

I love serving people.  Even if the days get long.  Yesterday, tired and only half thru my 8 hour shift, one of my favorite regulars came in (and God forgive, I cannot recall his name).  He is openly gay, and he will let you know.  His drink is a Venti brewed with Hazelnut and 8 ice cubes on top.  (”This adorable barista made it for me once and I’ve LUVED it ever sense!!”)  I was behind the bar and asked if he wanted his regular.  He nodded, sighed, and with a gruff, too many cigarette voice, “So many men, so little time.”  After that, the rest of the shift was great.

So at a slower time of work today I got to chat with my co-worker Kenan, who is from Turkey. I was being my usual sing-songy self when he asked me if I was a singer. I said yes, that I was a voice major as an undergrad. “Really? Then why are you going to school for counseling psychology?” I proceeded to tell him that nearly two and a half years ago I went through a battle with depression and was really impacted by the men who counseled me through the time. His reply, “Oh yeah, I think every 20-something goes through a bout of depression.”

Really? Honestly, it kinda hurt. Does every 20-something go through a time where everything they ever depended on seem false, just wrong, useless? Does that happen to everyone? If so, mine reached a point where I honestly thought something must change or I was to die. Does that happen to everyone?

I guess I’m defensive b/c the upturn of that time has resulted in me learning how to be genuine with others, and more importantly God. It’s led me on a slowly revealing hunt for truth, even led me to this city for God’s sake. The suffering somehow (most likely, sinfully) makes me feel special. If that suffering is commonplace, is my now-hunt for truth less meaningful, less real?

I hope not. I desire to live in a world where the (no better way to put it) shit we trudge through in life leads to real redemption, real hope. Please, may I hope that?

Today was my first day of work. It has been about three weeks since I’ve worked as a barista, and I was a little rusty. AND, ordering is just done differently here. If you work the register (and I did) you don’t mark the cups, you yell out the order to the barista on bar. You also have a floater who works ahead of you who marks cups and gets pastries for you. It’s sounds easy enough, but it’s so different from what I’m used to. I automatically grab a sharpie when a customer approaches, and you aren’t allowed to carry one. (!) I’m used to having two or more in my pocket! This set-up creates and interesting non-verbal language between you and the barista on bar. If they are busy, you don’t call out the cup. If they are, then you mark it. Let’s just say I haven’t mastered the language quite yet. And, my register was 10 bucks over. What a way to start. Oh well, another shift, another shot to improve. My manager is super nice. Her name is Jessica and she is a Christian. I’m surprised by how many Christians I have met. I thought it would be harder, but apparently not. But when I asked her how she liked the city, her response was negative. She has found it very hard to find good friends. This is something my waiter at the Cheesecake Factory mentioned also. I’m beginning to think that this is a tough city to thrive in relationally, but I’ll have the benefit b/c of school. It’s small and community is what they’re about.

That’s my update. I’m digging it so far. Thanks for your thoughts and prayers.

I am now sitting in my top level studio writing this post.  The day to Seattle was long.  After I said goodbye to most of my family (my sister is with me for a couple of days, which is good, getting numerous needed things isn’t easy when you have no car) and boarded the plane I honestly wondered, “What the hell am I doing?”  I was kinda freaking out.  So much rushed through my mind.  By the time I connected to the next flight I felt better.  The first flight was just me flubbering to God.  The second I felt as if I was calmed.

The apartment is nice.  The manager is my age and is a student too.  Most of the tenants are around my age and appear arty/moody/sensitive, but warm.  My sister and I asked a woman the nearest place we could buy towels, pillows and blankets. (I came only with my clothes, laptop and camera.  Yeah).  Tomorrow the challenge shall be using the bus system and a visit to Target (the woman we asked said, “I love Target!” and recommended we go tomorrow, the buses times would be better during the day.)

I will look for a Starbucks re-hire later this week.  I am thankful that my sister is with me for a few days, she is great help and company.  Classes begin Sept. 4th.  Check out my school Mars Hill.  www.mhgs.edu

This past Sunday I dreamt of running the gravel roads past my parents farm.  I then took flight.  I believe God has planned this move.

Who wants to be bitter,
bitter.

Who wants to be named, Bitter
Bitter.

Would Good come and sweeten my heart.

My head.
My head.
It spins. It pulls on my heart.
My heart
my heart
it’s tugged and it’s pushed
it rests and it runs and makes my mind run
and panics, manic
yet near lies rest.
Mystery is good, good
and feels as fear
yet feels like fear
to know little (enough?)
of that which knows

“Perhaps what I do not know is how to articulate what I do know.�
St. Augustine

Psalm 131

Some words that tumbled out while writing an admitance essay for Mars Hill:

I am sad.                                           I am paradox.

I am piecred by beauty.                  I am ransomed
I am enlivened by it,                          human heart.

I am hard to it.

So I wrote this several weeks ago… I feel the poem below this entry shows some progress in my thinking, here goes…

Straight from my journal… Sorry for the rawness… and these statements are not hopeless, it’s just God showing me how I think (and how they’re false).

Lord God,
Thank You that you meet me where I’m at. Thank You for Your patience as I work through my fears. Thank You that You hold on to me, even when I feel I cannot possibly believe in You.
It’s an emotionally titanic struggle to believe in the presence of You. First, I hadn’t taken all of my meds for almost two weeks. One, zyprexa, helps control my racing thoughts and rumination over them. The days had been a struggle, but nothing too debilitating. My thoughts were, “I wonder if You will change on me.� I worried about that a lot. Friday morning I set up shop at the library to further study the nature of You when I found an audio link of a lecture by the brilliant Alister McGrath. He was presenting his arguments against acclaimed atheist Richard Dawkins and his new book, The God Delusion. Needless to say, it was very interesting. One point that surfaced multiple by times by Dawkins is that believers in God don’t even stop to examine or think about their faith. His theory is that belief in God is what he terms a “mene�: a transferable belief much like genes that make persons believe in a God that really isn’t there. Aka, the “god virus�. McGrath stated that Dawkins ideas echo those of Freud, who called belief in God an emotional delusion. (I think it was something like that.)
I took the statement of examining my faith to heart. So I questioned my belief. Again and again. Soon rumination of the questioning set in and I hit emotional overload; it felt as if my head and chest were going to explode. I could not think past those questions. And I was supposed to meet a friend soon for tea. I sort of calmed myself down, calmly thought things through and asked myself, “You really think this God thing is a delusion?� A small but pervasive part of me said “No, you can believe He’s true.� I felt calmer, but also extremely exhausted and dizzily agitated. So I decided, “It’s time for the drug.� And it helped. It did make me sleepy (it always does, that’s why I avoid it) but I had tea and dinner with two of my friends. It helped.
Saturday I awoke depressed, hopeless. I spent nearly the whole day thinking things through, if this universe and life could non-intelligently happen and our concepts and understanding of God are just a wishful product of our large, evolutionary minds.
An atheistic world-view creates rational problems for me.
A Christian world-view has emotional challenges for me.
At points I feel I’m stuck.
Yet there’s something somewhere that relays to me, “rest, believe in Me�.
I do believe, help my unbelief.

“maybe this weight was a gift/
like I had to see what I could lift�
Nada Surf, Do it Again

I was never shown that my needs led to reality.
My needs of a father were never met, so he wasn’t a reality.
So I automatically think, “Why would our human needs be met in the reality of God?�

My needs meant nothing, therefore I meant nothing. (so I easily believe)
Our needs mean nothing, therefore life means nothing.
Father, I do believe, please, help my unbelief!

To fear not damage

but trusting unknown;

knowing (even not here)

for restoration.