unleash the fury

So let the fury begin:

I’ve been frantically trying to outrun pain but it still hangs in there just nipping at my heels like an annoying stray mut so instead then I’m going to stop, face it embrace it and give it the credence it deserves because I have found the paradox that if I love until it hurts there can eventually be no more hurt and only more love but why love if losing hurts so much but then again why am I still looking for answers when I have no answers myself anymore but only the life I’ve lived and so that must mean that the pain is now a part of the happiness and if that’s true then I am right to embrace the pain and burn it as fuel for the rest of my journey and then through that journey my fuel being pain will be spent up until only beauty remains but so then why do so many of us spend our whole lives running from pain with the mistaken belief that we cannot bear the pain even though we know we have already borne the pain and so as I write these words I realize that what I have not done until now is feel all I am beyond the pain and since I know that I will continue to be witness to good on this earth being stripped and evil squeezing into its clothes I have to believe the world will also be full of the overcoming of pain so then when it comes down to me standing before You at life’s end You will see my scars and I Your’s and You will know that I had my wounds and also my healing but it doesn’t change today and the pain that reaches my heart with electrical speed and beating truth to the punch but at least truth makes it to the finish line and I know this because I’ve seen how pain can bring out the best in me along with the worst because pain strips away all illusions and false expectations and pain begs for change and forces my gaze to Heaven and even though pain burned up the cushions I used to keep from hitting bottom pain also popped my clutch and shot me into the next gear but most importantly pain also made me a believer in myself, my healing, and my healer.

Inspired by: Mother Teresa Anthony Hopkins Lance Armstrong Kenji Miyazawa Pierre-Auguste Renoi Saint Bartholomew Helen Keller Rabindranath Tagore Barbara Kingsolver Barbara Brown Taylor

feel the burn

So yesterday came and went and I’m over it. I don’t understand everything. Don’t have to. If I did I wouldn’t need Faith.

I’m figuring this out, how to look at the future and envision myself in it, embracing it, living it. There’s only so much time I have left on this big ball of dirt. What can I become within that timeframe?

I’ve been hitting the gym hard, making up for lost time. It’s encouraging to regain strength where atrophy had taken over for too long.

At first, I could barely lift anything. Couldn’t do a pull-up or sit-up. Not a single one. Pretty sure Luke could’ve taken me at any time.

There’s a point in the workout where I don’t think I can do another rep. It burns, right? But then, after a while, you look forward to the burn. It’s tearing down your muscle so it can be rebuilt again. At the end of the workout, I’ve pushed myself so hard I’m literally shaking.

There was a time not too long ago I could barely walk up the incline of our 100-foot driveway. Seriously, couldn’t do it. The other day I finished my morning workout and went to put the trash out – at the top of the driveway. After rolling the trash cans up the driveway, I set them down and felt a surge of strength.

So I took off running down the neighborhood. I ran up the hill until I reached the end of the intersection, maybe 100 yards. Why? Because I’ve always been a little off.

But also because strength feels good when you haven’t had it before or been without it for too long. The hospital stays, the crutches, getting help standing up from the couch – it’s a world away from me now.

But more importantly, my guts are getting stronger. The insides – Faith. I used to hate the burn. I used to wallow in it. But why? Why would I embrace physical pain knowing it’s building muscle mass but despise spiritual pain when I know it’s only forging my soul into a precious metal? So now I’m going to face it, because I see what happens when I take it head on, wrestle with it – push through one more time. I am not the man today that I would have been without this experience, but the kind of man I am has everything to do with how I work through it.

My life isn’t hell. I’m just feeling the burn.

“By entering through faith into what God has always wanted to do for us – set us right with him, make us fit for him – we have it all together with God because of our Master Jesus. And that’s not all: We throw open our doors to God and discover at the same moment that he has already thrown open his door to us. We find ourselves standing where we always hoped we might stand – out in the wide open spaces of God’s grace and glory, standing tall and shouting our praise. There’s more to come: We continue to shout our praise even when we’re hemmed in with troubles, because we know how troubles can develop passionate patience in us, and how that patience in turn forges the tempered steel of virtue, keeping us alert for whatever God will do next.” Romans 5:1-4

91

Just when you get your feet under you, the rug gets pulled out. You want to really walk alongside then I guess this is part of it.

Psalm 91 is a passage Ryan knew well. I used to quote it every time I’d get on a plane headed overseas. I believed it, lived by it, swore by it.

And I walked out of today’s church service because of it.
In fact I’m punching these letters into my phone as I circle the building during the service.

It’s not that I’m angry at God or the pastor or anything like that. I just don’t know what I feel or think about this scripture right now.

Please don’t comment about this if it’s anything remotely close to cliche. This situation doesn’t fit inside anything I’ve known of or heard of before, so any answer that you can think of is probably not going to cut it. Just being honest here.

If there is a more righteous guy here on earth than Ryan, well I haven’t met him. God says He protects the righteous and that the righteous won’t stub their toes and the arrows won’t pierce their armor of faith.

I don’t think God makes promises He doesn’t intend on keeping. I also know that this passage doesn’t fit my reality, just like joy comes in the morning. Maybe He meant it comes in the mourning. Either way it’s a tough one to wrestle with for a lifetime.

I don’t understand it and I know I won’t this side of heaven. My life isn’t a half hour sitcom that wraps itself in a pretty, feel-good bow at the end. It’s a dissonant cord that won’t harmonize but somehow it’s supposed to make beautiful music.

I think I wrote this entry for two reasons. Even though I know the equation doesn’t have a solution I still need to process it out. And secondly I want anyone who can identify to read this and know that, while Faith is messy and confusing and hurts like mad, it’s still in our grasp. And when you grip it even in the worst situation that can be dreamed up, then it’s the truest faith of all.

Ok, my thumb is cramped. In the words of Mr. Gump, “that’s all I have to say about that.” 

indonesia

Sometimes you are met with something that stops you in your tracks and lays your soul out. Not a sucker punch, but more of a giant gasp whose exhale is so great that your very being has to catch its breath again.

That sometime was today for me.

Today’s stack of mail wasn’t the usual nondescript pile of bills. There, clipped together, was a stack of notebook paper.

The top one started, “Dear Chad, you don’t know me but I have been praying for you. My name is Zac...”. For confidentiality reasons I won’t write further what the letter said. Long story short, these were letters written by fourth graders in Indonesia. All of them encouraging. Each of them full of love and hope.

I have never felt so humbled, loved and wrecked.

I couldn’t believe that this story of a man’s incredible love could reach halfway around the world – and into the hearts of children. It’s amazing to me for an adult here in the U.S. to hear this story, stop and empathize. Sill more amazing for an adult to respond in a country halfway around the world. But to have a child hear it in Indonesia and then say, “Dear Mr. Arnold Chad, I’m sorry you lose your brother, but always we pray for you, every day. Your brother Mr. Ryan is living happily in heaven...God holds you and He has a purpose for you”....Well, that’s something else altogether.

You can probably imagine how I felt reading these words from tender, innocent hearts.

I got to thinking...this sort of reminds me of Christ’s disciples. They came into it with hopes and dreams. They followed Jesus and just wanted to be with Him wherever He went. They had no idea of the hardship that was lurking up around the corner – the cost that came with their companionship. In the end, of the twelve only John was spared his life – albeit in exile. Beheaded, speared, crucified upside-down. They couldn’t have imagined that being their end. But it was.

It was their end, but not the end. Not despite their pain but through it, the message lived beyond them, reaching into the hearts of a class of fourth graders in Indonesia.

“Someone once said that our life on earth is a time of waiting between the dreaming and coming true. Into that great expansive meantime, which makes up our lives, the Savior comes. He comes to the dry and thirsty land of the human heart in its wild and desperate struggle for survival. He comes to the wilderness of our lives, and a furrow at a time he reclaims the land, restoring something of the Paradise that has been lost. He comes to the weary heart to give it rest. To the lonely heart to give it friendships. To the wounded heart to give it healing. To the sad heart to give it joy. And if not joy, at least the companionship of someone who has known what it’s like to be sad, wounded, lonely and weary.” – Ken Gire

Today, He came by way of Indonesia. Thank you class. You know who you are. 

oh my god

I hope I can get this across like I want to. I said a while back that while I would never wish this experience, or even my life, on anyone else – I wish you could feel the force of it.

Because if you could, then you could really understand what I’m about to write about. I’ll do my best so that you can have a taste of it. It’s important that you do. I know it won’t fully translate, but I have to try.

From the second the woman’s voice over the hospital intercom said “code blue”, I’ve been tormented. I remember pulling IV lines out of my arms and ripping the straps from whatever that thing was over my legs.

When I say tormented, I mean constantly afflicted and plagued by sights and sounds no one should ever have to witness – especially when you’re a friend, a brother, a sister, a wife. Torment turns to numbness, numbness to sorrow, and sorrow to rage.

You can rage against a lot of things.

The Night.
The Machine.
Yourself.

God.

Not realizing until now, I chose the latter. It wasn’t overt, it wasn’t on purpose. But I see it now looking back through insinuations and undertones.

Here’s the part that’s hard to explain.

If I’ve gotten one question more than any other, it’s been ‘how have you kept your faith’? But I think the real question here is, “when did you receive your faith?”. There’s a hope that says, ‘Though I can’t see, still I trust”. There’s a conviction that says, “Though I suffer, still I trust”. Then there’s a desperate faith that says, “No matter what, I NEED you”.

This applies to any relationship, not just God. True repose is only found in complete faith. You can’t conjure it up. It’s there, or sadly, it isn’t. Passionate love is birthed from the memory of how that person made or makes you feel – complete serenity in the face of pain, fear or danger. Once you have a taste for it, you’ll do anything to feel it again. There’s nothing wrong in that. In fact, it’s a very beautiful thing to behold.

None of this is new to you. There is nothing here that you do not already know.

But what I think blindsides me is that I’ve thrown out the baby with the bathwater. I’ve heard about the ‘presence of God’ my whole life. And it usually comes with a handy playlist and a nice devotional booklet.

I’ve LIVED through a literal hell and I’m back where I started, staring at the Son. Only this time, there are details I didn’t notice before. And this God who many would put on trial or curse or denounce [and who I doubted during my lowest points] reveals through words and a world that seemed hidden before how much He really cares for me. Deeply cares, with blood and tears.

I’m not talking about humanity right now. I’m talking about me. Despite me, still me. Still you, despite you.

What more is there to God? If He can heal THIS scar, what kind of God is this? What more can He do? How much more can I do with Him holding me up? What can you become?

I desperately want to know. 

the turning

Over the weekend I looked back on some of the blog entries. While I’ve said I’m not a victim, I’ve sure sounded like it at times. I think, in a way, I’ve been holding on to the pain because I was afraid that if I started to look forward, I would lose my sensitivity to it. Holding on to guilt out of guilt. Classic Chad.

It’s a wonder anyone is still reading this blog after all that sniveling.

See, there are a few who have earned the right to wear the title of “victim” throughout this experience. I am not one of them. I have been given a gift paid with an incredible price. I have air in my lungs, strength in my bones, and now – a fistful of grit.

“Grit, noun, \’grit\ firmness of mind or spirit : unyielding courage in the face of hardship or danger”

In the movie, True Grit, there’s a scene where Rooster Cogburn carries young Mattie across the unforgiving prairie after she’s suffered a snake bite. Old and haggard, the old man pushes his way through the physical pain to bring Mattie to an old cabin where help can be found. Through the scene, you can see his dogged determination and relentless drive worn on his leathered face.

I watched this scene and was lost in the sheer will of this old man. In a way, it was a moment of redemption for him. He had lived dispassionately and carelessly, and now he had a chance to rewrite his tombstone.

He never looked back – only forward. I’ve been looking back while talking about looking forward. But today there’s a change happening inside me. Something is starkly different. I feel myself turning, my eyes making that transition from pain to progress, and wrestling through the guilt of moving on.

Sometimes, when I feel most guilty, I picture Ryan watching me. I can almost hear him saying, ‘Enough Chad. Get up. You can do this.” It’s time to honor him. You can argue that I already have, but I disagree. I’ve been wallowing, and that’s no life.

Yes, good has come from this blog. But there has to be more redemption to this story, and I know that this gift came at too high a price for too many for this to be it.

So if a high price has been paid, then I have to assume a high expectation is placed on my gift. You might think that’s audacious for me to say.

Eh.

I’m off to a pretty good start, but there’s much more that I need to do. I don’t know what that means. I know pieces of it, but The Thing still eludes me.

God, don’t let me miss it. You’ve brought me through much. You’ve refined a coarse soul and honed my sensitivity to what matters to you most. I know You’ll continue to shape this life of clay, but show me what now. Surely You didn’t bring me through this to simply exist. No one was created simply to subsist. Now that I’m looking forward, help me see what It is. 

to be known

There’s a familiarity you feel when you walk into your home after a long day. There’s a certain look you see in a friend’s face when you run into him or her in a store, or at a restaurant, or somewhere you wouldn’t anticipate being recognized.

That look, that ‘knowing’ is strangely comforting. It reminds you that you’re remembered, that there’s a history you can fall back on with that other – and it sustains you and reassures.

Why do we need that? Why do we struggle for it? Is that why we reach to God?

That need to be known, I think, plays a part in grief too. One who knew you is no longer – or not for now anyway. And that’s why it feels like part of you dies with them, because they knew you. Really knew.

God says He knows us. I don’t think I really believed that, or at least ‘known’ that, until recently. And harder to believe is that He knows us better than we know ourselves.

I was wrestling Jake yesterday. Standing up, I flipped him over onto my back while holding him by his ankles, so that his back rested against mine but upside down. In a flash he was scared and wanted down.

It was an awkward position so it took me some maneuvering to get him turned around and facing me again, still in my arms. He was kicking and grabbing whatever he could – which turned out to be mostly my hair and ears, and at one time my nose – which I didn’t particularly enjoy.

During the transition I said to Jake calmly (trying to get him to regain his calm), “Jake, don’t struggle. You’re just making it more difficult.”

As the words came out, I felt them sting in my chest. Or maybe it was Jake actually pulling on my chest hair. Either way, it stung and I got the message.

Life was pretty easy for me until all this happened. One day while my parents were visiting, my mom said something that stuck with me. “Chad, you don’t get to coast anymore. You’re going to do life hard.”

That stung too, but I knew it was true.

So I have a choice and, I guess, you do too. We weren’t promised easy. We were promised abundant. Somewhere in between is the marrow of life. I’ve been struggling with God, donning myself in a modern day Jacob costume.

But the truth is, unlike Jacob, there’s no angel present. When the bell started the match, God was not in the opposing corner. I’ve been fooling myself, delusional and wrestling no one but myself. God isn’t interested in wrestling. The whole time I thought I felt God’s arms trying to wrangle me to the ground, He was really trying to hold me closer, all the while saying, “Chad, why are you struggling? You’re just making it difficult on yourself.”

Life is difficult enough without adding my dose of self-pity or anger toward God in the mix. So how do I reconcile with what’s happened with all the scripture that promises God’s protection for a life lived submitted to Him, or the infamous ‘abundant life’ bit?

I don’t.
If you look at what the word “reconcile” means, you find this:

1. to cause (a person) to accept or be resigned to something not desired 2. to settle (a quarrel, dispute, etc.)
3. to bring into agreement or harmony

I won’t ever be able to ‘accept’ what’s happened and bring it to a point of harmony in my life. And I can’t reconcile, or settle, a quarrel if the other person isn’t arguing with me.

That leaves me one choice. I have to live with the pain of what’s happened -never forgetting it – and let that pain drive me toward God, not away. If I really believe what I’ve purported to be all my life, than this is the time to prove it. Not for you. Not for me even. But for Faith itself, because Faith believes even when it can’t see – so many ditch it altogether.

I can’t see how I’m supposed to live out the rest of my life full of joy and contentment. I don’t see how this is bringing me to the best version of myself.

But I don’t have to, because Faith does. 

unleash the fury 2

“But we were hoping that it was He who was going to redeem Israel. Indeed, besides all this, it is the third day since these things happened.” Luke 24:21

Am I in the third day? Feels like every day is the third day, and I’m always pointing back to Friday with an indignant finger and a blind eye to the future.

I keep looking for the ‘break’. The sign. The omen. Something to reassure me that this is all going to be ok and that God is blocking ahead for me. To slap some sort of label to all of this so it is digestible. And if not digested, at least bearable.

Sometimes I forget I’m not the quarterback. Sheez. I’m not even the running back.

So here’s where I’m at, whether you want to know or not ☺

I believe Jeremiah 29:11 – that God has a future and a hope for me. Yeah, it’s been a bitter pill to swallow, but I’ve washed it down with tears and humble pie. I also believe the first part too, that He knew me before my lungs ever welcomed their first breath.

Now, I don’t know how this new reality fits into the picture He drew on the cosmic landscape before I took my place on life’s stage. I can’t answer whether or how He saw this part of my life back then. I’m not a theologian and I wouldn’t wish that riddle on my worst enemy.

But either way, life is what it is. For me. For you. I don’t know where I’m headed or how I’ll get there. You might not know your own path either. I want to believe God knows. I think He does, whether or not it’s the contingent plan or Plan A. I have to believe He does.

Sadness is a deep darkness. It can swallow you whole without you realizing you’re the day’s meal. But Faith blindly steers us through that darkness. I’ve been hurrying my way through it, many times – as you can tell through these pages – finding myself right back where I started. But I don’t think I’m supposed to rush it. Don’t hasten the day.

When I’m in the dark, I’m forced to listen in lieu of seeing.
What I tell you in the dark, speak in the daylight... Matt 10:22 27

I’ve read past entries, and the observations made and the conclusions drawn don’t seem like they came from me. Truly, if you knew me, you would agree.

I have to reckon then, that these words did not come from me. I think I’ve just echoed them without knowing that I had heard them first. From the darkness, light.

I am only now seeing things that have always been obvious. And just as obvious, I had not been where I needed to be to see them. I’m standing with the boys in John 16:12. He still had many things to tell me, but I couldn’t handle them yet.

Maybe yet is here now.

Isaiah 49:2

God put me to work from the day I was born. The moment I entered the world he named me. He gave me speech that would cut and penetrate. He kept his hand on me to protect me.
He made me his straight arrow
and hid me in his quiver.