Drama on The Hills (The "Flint" Hills)

It was 2:00 AM. The house was cold. My parents had left the windows open and it was a crisp 60 degrees in the house. I put on some long sleeves, a sweatshirt, fleece pants, and socks and trekked downstairs to make some decaf. As I sat in the dark of my parents’ living room wrapped in a heavy blanket, holding a steaming cup of coffee and listening to the worship music flowing from my IPOD, I asked myself this question: How do I really feel about this? The answer as you can imagine (or maybe not given the lack of detail you have at this point) was a little more difficult to articulate. I’d gotten off the phone with my old roommate Jamie a few hours ago and after watching a few episodes of Gilmore Girls I’d decided that what she told me during our phone call, or more importantly how I felt about what she’d told me during our phone call, needed a bit more analysis. She’d originally called me a few days ago, but I had missed the call. Since we don’t talk very often I figured she had something specific to tell me. She’d told me, the last time we’d talked, about a boy she’d met while she was home over the summer. I’d guessed she was calling to tell me they were together now. As disdained as I was to hear about yet another one of my friends getting into a relationship amidst my singleness, I’d planed on feigning excitement when she told me. We spoke for quite a while before she mentioned a lot of drama going on in her life. Drama? Oh yes, lots of drama. I find it necessary at this point to explain the smallest amount of background possible so that you can follow along.

Jamie, Jake, Mike and I were all friends at one time. During that time, Jamie and Jake dated and broke up twice. Mike and I never actually dated but often pretended to (as long as no one else was around or paying close attention). Throw in the fact that Jamie had a thing for Mike and eventually told Jake about it, resulting in Jake and Mike hating each other, and add in my pining away for Mike despite obvious evidence to the contrary that he wasn’t pinning over me, and you pretty much have the Midwestern version of “The Hills”, or something close too it. I don’t want to make it sound trivial because it was actually very painful for all of us (expect for Mike because I’m convinced he doesn’t have any real feelings at all). Imagine the most painful, heart wrenching relationship you’ve been in and multiply it by five and that was what it was like, for me anyway. I’m sure each one of us could write a very long book about the whole ordeal.

So let’s get back to my phone call with Jamie. It turns out she isn’t in a relationship with Summer Vacation Boy but with Mike. “Well,” she says, “Nothing is official yet.” Oh . . . well then. It’s not official. Some part of me suspected that something like this would eventually happen. Last year, around Christmas time, Jake tried to convince me that there was something funny going on between Jamie and Mike. I told him (and honestly too) that I didn’t really care and he shouldn’t either. I just figured it was all being blown out of proportion (as Jake blows most things out of proportion). Next summer Mike visits Jamie in Boston where she's attening graduate school. I figured it was just a friendly visit since he was supposed to be there for some conference anyway. Jake again tried to convince me something was up. I told him again that I didn’t really care and he shouldn’t either. Apparently it was a bit more than a friendly visit. Turns out Jake and his "Jamie and Mike" conspiracy theories were right. Jamie, Mike and Jamie’s parents had all been talking about it and praying about it. They’re being cautious. She tells me that she has talked to Jake about it. I can’t imagine what those conversations were like. I also tell her that I don’t see how Mike and Jake are still living together and haven’t killed each other. I politely ask her to leave me out of the drama.

It’s at this point that she asks me how I feel about it all. Huh. How do I feel about all that? Well, I tell her, Mike did and said a lot of crappy things to me. He hurt me more than she’ll ever know. He’s selfish and self-centered, and there’s not much that I’ve seen in him since then that would convince me he’s all that different. I of course never see him anymore, nor talk to him. In fact the last time I saw him was several months ago when I ran into him at a coffee shop. We made awkward small talk. I finally tell her it really doesn’t bother me (because it really doesn’t) if they date or not. I tell her that if they get married I’ll be in their wedding and make a rather awkward toast at the reception. She’s so relieved. She also promises that the bridesmaids dresses will not be hideous. Gee, something to look forward to.

So there I sat in the dark on that couch in my parent’s living room at 2:00 AM. I thought about the whole debacle for quite a while and I finally figured out what bothered me about it. Why him? Why did she have to pick him? It wasn’t so much him but the fact that he represented a very painful time in my life. There are certain relationships in life that will always be a part of you, and his and mine was one of them. I changed a lot because of that time in my life. I changed a lot for the better, thank God. I learned a lot about myself and about God. I was broken and repaired. She was there for all of it too. She was there to hold me when I wept. She was there to pray with me when I was devastated. She stayed up with me late at night talking it through. We lived it together. If I were her in the same situation I would consider him off limits. Completely one-hundred percent off limits. A guy and a relationship that caused my friend so much pain and heart break? I would put my friend’s feelings and our friendship before this guy.

There is no way anyone can convince me that God is okay with them being together. There is no way you can convince me that God would want Mike and Jamie to completely disregard Jake’s and my feelings and our respective friendships to pursue a relationship. It reminds me of an Alpha Course video when Nicky Gumbel is talking about common sense as a means by which God guides us. A man sees a great looking woman and thinks to himself “I think God wants me to leave my wife and go after that woman.” It doesn’t take much common sense to know that is not what God wants. That's not in line with God's character. There is no reason that Mike and Jamie can’t find someone else with whom they can get married and be truly happy.

In the end, all that happened was that I cried a few tears over it and decided that my friendship with Jamie had been a bit devalued. I felt she valued her own wants and desires more than our friendship and my feelings. As Pastor Paul put it once in church, "Trust is hard to build and easy to break."

Epiphany had, I dried my tears, shut off my IPOD, and trekked back upstairs to bed. There's nothing like a good sit in the dark to straighten out your thoughts.

Happiness

I'd been thinking a lot lately about what it really means to be happy. These are the kinds of thoughts you think of course when you're depressed, or lonely, or unsatisfied with life, or all of the above. I was a little (or maybe a lot) of all those things at the time. I was driving to church on a Sunday night. The whole way there I was asking myself why I was even going. I'd abruptly left family dinner without asking to be excused. How terrible right? I'm driving through the tough streets of Overland Park beating myself up:

ME "Why are you even going?"
MYSELF "To see friends, to be with people"
ME "People who barely know you and wouldn't notice if you were there or not?"
MYSELF "It's better than sitting at home by myself"
ME "Shouldn't you be going to relate to Jesus?"
MYSELF "Yeah, because I'm such a great Christian and so in tune with Christ right now"
ME "Yeah, you're a pretty terrible Christian. Why even bother going?"
MYSELF "Yeah, why am I even bothering?"

At this point I'm debating turning the car around and just going home. I think I realize at this point that I'm looking for happiness. I'm going through a rough patch in life when I have to spend a lot of time with myself. I've found that you start to get pretty depressed and lonely when you realize you don't really like yourself that much. Obviously you're, well . . . youself, and you can't really get away from you. The only option left is to deal with yourself or myself. You get the point.

I pull up to the stoplight at 95th and Antioch and sigh to myself. I wonder to myself why I'm not happy. What would it even take to make me happy? The internal debate churns on again:

MYSELF "Would a new group of close friends like my old ones make me happy?"
ME "No. Friends come and go. Plus, think of all the drama friends are. Where are you going to find new friends anyway?"
MYSELF "What about money? Buying stuff makes anybody happy."
ME "You'll feel as empty as your bank account when the shopping is over and that nice new stuff smell has worn off."
MYSELF "Would a boyfriend make me happy? Or a husband? Surely it would, I mean girls my age whine all the time about not having a boyfriend or husband."
ME "Maybe for a while, but putting all your hopes of fulfillment and happiness on your boyfriend or husband is a fruitless, unfair venture. A man can't fill the void in your life."
MYSELF "Oh gee, I bet Christ can fill it. I bet Christ can make me happy. That's the Christian answer right?"
ME "Yeah, I guess. Do you really believe that?"
MYSELF "Sometimes, I'm not sure I do."

It seems like lately there are a lot more questions floating around in my head than answers. I decide I might as well go to church. I'm already on my way. I'm in the mood for cliché, so I decide to look to Christ to fill the "void". Have you ever been in this type of situation and one of your Christian friends says something to you like, "Have you prayed about it?" or "You know it says in 1 Corintians . . ." and you really just want to reach across the table or through the phone and slap the hell out of them? No? Maybe it's just me then.

Anyway, I get to church and worship is just starting. I walk in, drop my stuff on the floor and stand there by myself amongst a bunch of people who are supposed to be my "family" in Christ. It reminds me of a movie quote: "I can be surrounded by a sea
of people and still feel all alone." I stand there with my head bowed as the worship leader prays. I'm feeling all these feelings and they're all just churning inside me, like the inside of a volcano ready to explode. The leader says, "I don't know where you're at right now in life. Maybe you feel filthy and broken . . . " Bingo. This is when I lose it completely. I'd been trying to hold it all back. I just start crying. I can't fight it and the tears are streaming out and I can't stop it. I try to wipe away the tears with my sleeves but they just keep flowing, faster and more abundant. I feel like an idiot because I'm standing there by myself, weeping at this point into my hands, shoulders shaking, and people are probably looking at me wondering what the hell my deal is or what great sin have I commited that I'm crying so hard. I wasn't even really thinking anything the whole time. I was just crying. I wasn't praying or feeling sorry for myself or asking God to make it all okay, I was just letting it all out. I just stood there in his presence and let it all out. And then it was over. I don't remember any of my thoughts on the ride home.

What does "happy" really mean anyway? I don't think the big picture is really finding "happiness". You can't be happy all the time. Life isn't like that, even for the richest, most popular, and most glamorous. Now that I think more about it, as a linguist, I kind of hate the word "happy". It's an empty undescriptive word like, "good" or "nice".

I want to live a life of love. I want to love and be loved. In the Greek language there are three words for love: philia, eros, and agape. Philia is a kind of brotherly love, eros is a more romantic, erotic love, and agape is the kind of love that Christ had for the church, a completely self-sacrificing love. Christ dying on the cross, that's agape. I don't want to be happy, I want to love and be loved. Isn't that all God ever wanted? To be loved and cherished by his creation as he loves and cherishes it? That's what soothed me that night. The love of Christ. I was standing in his love. He let his love wash over me. That's why I didn't have to say anything, because love needs no explanations. When something terrible happens in life, what is it that makes the situation bearable? Someone trying to cheer you up and make you "happy", or someone who is simply there to love you and be with you. Love. The "happiest" people I know also happen to be the most loving. Go figure. You don't have to be a Christian to know that "love is all you need".

1 Corinthians 13:1-8

1 If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal.
2 If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing.
3 If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames, but have not love, I gain nothing.
4 Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.
5 It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.
6 Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.
7 It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.
8 Love never fails.

Here I sit . . .

So here I sit in Grandma’s hospital room, occasionally glancing up at the monitor above her bed to check her vital signs. I’ve been here for a few hours, many minutes of which I have spent staring off into space and thinking about my life. Don’t think me selfish by thinking about myself. I’ve spent many other hours this last week thinking about Grandma’s life and our lives together. Death often makes you reflect on life. At least until the pain of death wears off and we forget all those things we thought about and reflected on when death was so near to us.

It strikes me as odd how much closer we draw to God in times of crisis, heartbreak, sadness, disappointment, etc. There’s a verse, Psalm 34:18, that says “The LORD is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit”. I’ve prayed a lot this week. I’ve shaken my fist at the sky and asked, “Why?!” Haven’t we all? In the end I figure God knows what He’s doing and I don’t, and that He is much wiser than me. So I repent of my fist-shaking and just trust Him.

I don’t really know what to write next. I have all these thoughts in my head but I don’t know how to arrange them. Since I’m bearing my soul I might as well spit it all out. I met a very charming French man last week. His name is Marc. He’s not a Christian. I go to church with his brother, Chris. He’d been in town to visit Chris and see Chris and his wife Abigail’s new baby. Did I mention he’s French? He also doesn’t speak English that well. We met at my friend Holly’s party the week before last. I had dinner at Chris and Abigail’s house on Sunday. It was very nice and I got to see Marc again. Marc and I went to dinner on Wednesday and had a wonderful time. We only had to use the dictionary a few times. Mind you this is my first real date in several years, and it was absolutely wonderful and fantastic. What was I doing? Why did I even bother with this French, Non-Christian, leaving in 3 weeks guy? I don’t know. It was one of those times you say to yourself, “What the hell.” I was being selfish, and stupid.

So Grandma should have passed away last Thursday, but she didn’t. She kept holding on. She was worse Friday. On Saturday, Abigail calls me and tells me that the airlines won’t let Marc change the departure date on his ticket like they had told them he could, so now instead of staying a whole month he has to leave on Tuesday and go back to France. Great. Stupid me. Then mom calls, Grandma is doing better. Great, she’s better, she’s worse, she’s better. I feel like I’m on a rollercoaster. Mom reminds me that this is what we had to go through with Grandpa. Thanks Mom, I really want to remember all that too. I don’t have the energy, resilience, stamina, to go through this again. I shamefully wish to myself that Jesus would just take Grandma home. She’s 88, she looks terrible, she’s unconscious, she has cancer. What does she have left but a broken, aging body and the rest of her days in a nursing home with no dignity and no quality of life.

Sunday after church Marc, Chris, Abigail and I go to the Chiefs game. Afterwards we go to a really bad 3-D dinosaur movie and have dinner at a Japanese restaurant at Crown Center. I feel guilty at certain points throughout the day that I’m not at my dad and step-mom’s house in Lenexa, celebrating Grandpa Art’s birthday with the rest of the family. I was being selfish, doing what I wanted to do. After all, Marc was going back to France on Tuesday. During dinner I look at Marc and suddenly feel really depressed. I send Holly a text that says, “I have decided that the French are too stuck up and full of themselves.” But really I’m just mad at myself that I let myself get into this situation in the first place. I almost send Holly a text that says, “Why didn’t you stop me? Why didn’t you tell me what an idiot I was being”, but I don’t send it. On the drive home to Lawrence Marc pops in a CD that Abigail made, and in one of the songs she sings, “put your life, into My hands” or something like that. It’s a Christian song, so obviously the “My” is God speaking. I think, “Yes, Lord. I need to put my life in your hands. I need to surrender.” Man, how many times have I prayed that prayer? Back in Lawrence we all get coffee. After that they drop me off at my car in the church parking lot. I give Mark a hug goodbye and wish him luck. I tell him to stay out of trouble, even though I know he probably won’t. I get home and go right to bed. As I lay there, I’m too tired to cry. But not tired in a physical sense.

Now it’s Monday, and here I sit in the hospital room. I left work early because Mom called and told me that Grandma will probably make it only a few more hours. It’s now been six hours. I’ve held her hands, stroked her forehead, prayed, read psalms, even sung worship songs (hoping no one outside is listening). I’ve eaten a stale hamburger from the cafeteria. Gross. So here I sit. Contemplating life. And death. Frustrated that Marc is going back to France, that Grandma is still in the hospital, and that I can’t make sense of any of it.