Deserter

From Jan to Dean, upon a very bad night of arguments.
Rough draft #2

We knew the war was looming off in the distance
Under a blood-tinted sunset.
We knew it was inevitable--we would have to fight.
Neither of us are skilled warriors in this kind of battle--
The kind where you fight those who know you
The kind where you can lose more than you could ever gain
The kind where hiding until the rage storm blows over is more desirable than ever.

Afraid and hopeful that there would come a new solution
A way to avoid the war
To escape unscathed
We worked hard behind the lines
Prayed
And kept our silence.

There comes a time, though,
When the enemy senses your position;
Keeping still and silent will not save you from being surrounded
And with anger, they confront your fearful heart.

I stepped out of the shadows and began to fight
Trying for peace all along
But knowing it wouldn't come until after great struggle and pain.
You were not caught as I
And instead of joining me,
You hid.
You left me alone.

Abandoned, I cried for you
I begged you to come
Begged you to let me run to you.
Together, we are stronger--
Or so I thought

You knew my precarious position
The sharp weapons thrust at me
The wounds already etched into my skin.
A dagger pierced through part of my heart.
My will would keep me in strength for only so long.
Still, you ignored my calls,
Licking your own wounds in a cave of your own making
Barring the door to my entry
And leaving me to the mercy of my foes.

Didn't you understand my vulnerability?
Didn't you see that our bond might be broken?
Didn't you care that I might die?

I survived the night
With God and a few brief moments of comfort
From friends who heard and responded to my cry
Despite their own battles, struggles, and needs.
But they were not my partner,
They were not my teammate.
They tried to take your place,
But no one can fill that spot shaped as you.

I needed you wild at heart
Timid, you left me.
My pain increases
My tears course down swollen cheeks
I cry out to God and run to Him
He comforts me
He didn't leave me

You cried out to me, so
I comforted you,
Cheered your shaken spirit
After my words of warning brought the war to your door.
You revived and began business as usual,
But you didn't note my bloody clothes
Dark skin marking my struggle
And still kept me at a distance
Where I could tend you
But I was left to fend for myself.

I understand why you ran
I still hate that you did
I understand why you didn't see my pain
I still hate that you didn't think to care
I understand your wounds
I still hate that you dismissed mine

Forgiveness will come
But the trust is cracked

The war will not end tomorrow
But before I again engage the enemy
I need to know--
Should I surrender now, let you be alone and accept my fate;
Or will you come rescue me
Fight beside me
And be who I need you to be:
Someone who pursues God's will,
Puts me first (as I do you),
And lets promises be kept
Even in the face of foul fear?

If you want us to continue
If you want me, at all...

Don't leave me again.

This Chocolate Bar is not a Lifesaving Device

My security has been threatened recently from many fronts. My job situation in the spring is up in the air with no safety nets surviving the storm of economics and my insane schedule. My health has thrown me a few curve balls that I'm somewhat managing. "Bob" is probably getting annoyed with my emotional swings, although he's being quite the trooper about it. I was shown some very powerful examples of how I may not be the personality type I thought I was--which may not mean anything to most people, but when it places me in a category that I don't find flattering in people, it was rather shattering. Add in the usual stress of two jobs, big projects lying uncompleted, and a cat who apparently feels a little abandoned himself, and I'm reeling.

Losing my good grip on my identity was probably the hardest blow. It's helping to illuminate some issues I've been having with adjusting to being with Bob, so that does have a solid benefit. My independent and co-dependent issues have been clashing hard. I work very well on my own--the flexibility of having little "overhead direction" allows my creative side the room it needs to roam about and still get things done, even if they are done differently than other people would do them. Being part of a couple, adjusting to nearly constant compromise, collaboration, and teamwork, has been very challenging. I love having someone to share things with, who can and will help, but it's hard dealing with not having as much "creative license" as I'm used to. It's hard to figure out when I need to push for more equality and when I need to just pick up the slack (because it's usually me who perceives there is slack, anyway, whether there is or not). It goes back to the issue of before--having needs and wants, not sharing them, and then getting upset/angry/worried/scared when they're not met.

When I'm feeling insecure, though, what do I do? Lately, eat chocolate, cry on people, and contemplate ways I can escape from everything and be safe (albeit alone and lonely). After a little while, I get distracted, the feelings fade, and I'm back to pushing through the week, encounter high stress...and then the cycle starts all over again.

What I'm doing is literally insane. I'm doing the same thing, treading water, and expecting it to eventually solve the problem (considering the currents I'm caught in, that's not going to happen). I'm subjecting the people around me to torrents of emotion that probably make less sense than a week of severe PMS (and no, I'm not hormonal that I know of). This is not a recipe for anything more than mere survival and testing the perseverence of the people around me.

My big problem is that I am avoiding the giant lifesaver in front of me, one I've known about this whole time, that has been willing and able to carry me through the seas and onto dry land again. Why I've avoided it, I'm not exactly sure. Maybe because it's not as tangible as the sea I know so well. Maybe because I'm stubbornly believing I can get through this through dry humor and patience; I don't want to admit I need more help after everything I've already taken. Maybe because I'm afraid of what it'll cost to take the way out. I may be forced to change, to give up some things I want so badly to stay in my life.

Could I still make it through the next two months without the lifesaver? It's possible, but given where I'm at, I'm not sure I can last that long. I'm almost positive my friends and family won't last that long. It's time for me to swallow my pride (that I can survive anything), take a chance on the safest bet around, and let God save me again. He made me. He gets it. He doesn't mind my insanity. He'll listen and give me peace again.

So, okay, God. Stick on the water wings. I'll wear them with pride. My Daddy bought them for me. :)

Honesty Part II: Masking the Appearance of Trouble

While in worship at the ACFW conference, I heard slight whispers in the crowd.

"Look at her--she's really into it!"
"I think she's one of those pentacostals or something."
"The song must really be speaking to her."

I know these ladies never meant for me to hear them. After all, by all appearances, I was completely wrapped up in the moments of worship. My hands were raised, albeit only at the elbow--I usually extend them higher during powerful songs, my face was uplifted, my body swayed side-to-side and trembled slightly, and tears rolled down my cheeks before splashing onto my blouse. As a singer on my Baptist church's worship team, I do often do all of the above (tears are pretty unusual, though) when the moment is strong and I'm enveloped in the world of praising and praying to my God. I stop caring that my Pentacostal roots are showing and that I'm probably moving too much for the comfort of my congregation. I just do as I'm led to do.

My appearance of being lost in a moment with God during the conference wasn't reflecting the truth. I wasn't that into the song--it was one that, while it was nice, wasn't truly affecting me. One hand braced around my middle, the other raised from the elbow, I was beseeching God for something other than worship. I was desperately seeking help. I was in serious, extreme pain.

Is she praying...or struggling with a migraine? How can you tell?

Living with fibromyalgia is a challenge beyond any other--random flares of pain, some of them intense enough to make me stop breathing or double over into a ball, happen without warning. I already knew my disease was going to be an issue due to the long hours in a car to travel to Indianapolis, sleeping in a new bed, not getting much sleep due to activities, and a lot of sitting throughout the day. The intense flare in the middle of worship, however, caught me off-guard. It was the strongest one I had had in over a year. The tears and shaking proved it.

Since it's incurable, I've accepted my fibromyalgia as my thorn in my side (a la apostle Paul). Since preventative medications don't work on my system, and I avoid pills as much as possible due to the risks of addiction and damaging internal organs, I'm left with pushing through the pain with the determination of a soon-to-be mother. It also means that I try to mask my pain as much as possible. There's not much anyone can do besides maybe put pressure on a trigger point or massage a cramped muscle into submission. There are very few people I know who would be willing to do this even if I had the gall to ask--and there are very few public situations where this wouldn't attract unwanted attention. Letting others know when I'm hurting gives me a label of "weak" or "delicate"...not the labels I want if I want to be able to serve in the ways I was made to do. No one asks a weak woman to babysit their children. No one asks a fragile person to cook a three-course Mexican dinner for a Bible study. No one allows her to play softball or help move furniture or carry in instruments or renovate a nursery. I can do these things, even if occasionally I pay for it with a flare or two. My life is a chance game, but I refuse to play it safe and let my malfunctioning nervous system win. So I hide the truth from even the people I love and who love me.

This is where the bigger problem comes in. While flares rarely reach a 13-14 on the 10-point scale (ACFW conference was a 14), I do have 9s or 10s occasionally. I had one during a church service while sitting next to my boyfriend. I hid it for the ten minutes it lasted, gritting my teeth, regulating my breathing, clenching my fists, and praying hard. After the service, my boyfriend mentioned that he was really touched by how emotionally moved I was during the prayer--he had felt me shaking. Exhausted, I told him nonchalantly what really happened. The next day, he called to say that I am to notify him in some way any time I have a flare around him--using code words, whispering in his ear, something. The request confused me. "Most of the time there's nothing you can do, and knowing I'm in pain will only hurt you as well, so why do you want to know?" His answer came with a strong "duh" tone. "Uh, so I can be concerned?"

Knowing someone you love is hurting and being powerless to do anything about it is one of the most hopeless and devastating situations to be in, at least in my opinion. Being honest about how my body's torturing me makes me less of a friend/partner and more of a burden. If there is something he can do, I can understand telling him, but all the time? Does he even understand how often I go through these flares and pains? Isn't it enough that my fibromyalgia makes my life difficult--does it have to affect him and other people as well? I'm not opposed to letting people know I have the disease necessarily, but exposing the realities as they occur...that's terrifying.

I'm still struggling with my strong sense of independence on this one. I really don't know if I'll be able to go through with whispering his selected code word into his ear the next time my back spasms. I really don't know if I'll be able to reveal to others when I'm not shaking due to the movements of God or low blood sugar (a nice excuse, really, because you usually get chocolate out of the deal) but rather due to muscles tightening past normal limits. I really don't know if I'll be able to show the fear and anxiety in my eyes instead of closing them when I realize I'm not able to breathe for a few seconds. The answer to where boundary lines belong with this disease is out there, somewhere. I hope I find it soon. Before the next flare around my boyfriend, anyway.

Honesty 101

As someone who works at a highly-regarded university in the Midwest in the Communications department, you would think that I'm a fairly good communicator. Like I teach my students when we cover the communication cycle, there is always interference (otherwise known as "noise") that makes messages garbled, misunderstood, or just plain nonsensical. One form of interference that I have to deal with daily is my poor hearing. I often rhyme out words I hear and it's especially difficult for me to hear well in crowded/noisy rooms. Not being able to understand others, especially when the people around me seem to be doing just fine, annoys me to no end--and I get discouraged, uncomfortable, and tend to withdraw from the group. My problem-solving skills tend to focus on what I can change about myself to work with others, not have others shift to work around me. After all, we're supposed to love our brothers (and sisters) more than ourselves...so wouldn't that mean just dealing with the problems and only focusing on them?

Not exactly. By not communicating my needs, especially ones that aren't that big of an issue (for the most part, no one would begrudge me asking for us to move to a quieter spot. After all, if I can better listen to them, then I can minister to them more--it becomes a win-win situation for all.), I'm only hurting myself and my friends/family. Ignoring my needs and emotions will only poison my time with these wonderful people and make me less of a good support for them. I have to be brave enough to ask for help and prayer with my own issues...and be honest about what's really going on.

The big issue? Fear. I'm afraid I'll lose my friends, my family, because I'm too needy or demanding or something like that. After all, it's happened before. By not being honest, though, I'm not encouraging a real relationship with these people--just empty or superficial shells of friendship and fellowship where I can't trust the person (and maybe the God within) with my vulnerabilities. A recent two-day talk with a very close friend about some serious miscommunications really drove this point home. I was so afraid of hurting her (because I knew how sensitive she was) so I didn't confront her appropriately with the results of some of her actions. Instead, I hid the pain and the discomfort, pretending to be my usual bubbly self. When I got to the point where I couldn't hide anymore, I nearly washed my hands of the relationship and ran away. Part of it was because I couldn't bear to witness the effects of my words on her. Part of it was because I didn't know how to tell her that I was angry and felt like I couldn't trust her sometimes. She meant (and still does mean) so much to me that I didn't want to risk losing her, but as I've learned recently, it's not a bad thing to be angry. Anger is a positive emotion--it's what you do with it (kill, vandalize, hide in the corner) that makes it a negative thing. After all, even the only perfect man who ever lived got angry (John 2:13-22). We did talk things out, and while I never expressed my feelings of betrayal, I think she got the point. If she didn't...I'll soon know.

Jesus commanded us to love one another (John 13:34). Part of love is being honest (1 Cor. 13:6). We can't hide behind fear and think our silence and crossed fingers will make everything better eventually. We have to be brave.

Run Away...

A week from today, I'll be packing for one of the biggest events of my year--the ACFW conference. I've been to conferences before, some absolutely huge (try MLA--Modern Language Association--for starters). I've presented my writing at the College English Association conference, several local university-based conferences, and even in front of semi-drunk people at a open mic night. I've invested well over a thousand dollars of hard-earned money into this conference. I've lined up roommates for hotel rooms, carpoolers to split fuel costs, and even a few author friends to try to meet up with for lunch sometime. I've done extremely heavy revisions on my novel and I know (by English professor standards) that it's in pretty good shape. It seems like everything is falling into place perfectly.

And I'm terrified.

I do get nervous before big events where I'll be the center or part of the center of attention. This is different. I'm having massive doubts. I look at my novel and think, "You're a nonfictionist. You have no formal training in fiction, at least not at the college level. There's probably still a handful of head-jumping moments in there. The writers or high-level readers you've asked to read the book have never gotten through it. You'll never be able to sell this thing! No one is going to want to read this! Who are you kidding?"

Yeah, pretty brutal. What's worse is that it's partially true. The few people with good writing skills haven't finished the book--although they have also been extraordinarily busy lately. I didn't take any specialized fiction courses in college. I know there are still aspects of fiction that I need to learn, more that I need to read, more that I need to study. I know I don't manage my time nearly well enough to accommodate three jobs, a church family, a boyfriend, my own family, and my writing. With the economy, I know first-time authors are a dime a dozen and my chances are naturally slim. If it wasn't for all the promises I made, arrangements settled, and money invested, I'd be highly tempted to hide out and make excuses for not following through.

Seriously? You can still see me? Dude...need new hiding place, like now!

A Daughter's Heart is not in perfect condition. I know that. It's probably not the best novel I'll ever write (I think my trilogy in the works already is shaping up better). But it is a good story. It does have real issues with trust and faith to be worked out. It does have good grammar and syntax (I am a professor, after all). It does have great potential. As much as I wish it could be better, I'm also proud of my novel baby. Not everyone actually finishes a novel...and not to toot my own horn, but not everyone can piece a story together well. I'm not saying I'm superb at this, but it's better than a lot of things I've read.

Still the fear and anxiety niggle at me constantly. What if no one likes it? What if no one gives me a chance? What if I get so nervous I pick the wrong words to speak? What if I completely ruin my career as an author before I even start? Is the fact that I have a completed manuscript enough to begin marketing it, or should I wait until I'm more advanced as a fiction writer?

If your questions and doubts have gotten so big that not only do they make a fairly comfortable sitting place but you are also hard-pressed to figure out how to get down without twisting an ankle...it's time to do something about it.

I can hear the twisted logic in my fears and questions, but that doesn't soothe the anxiety much. I want so badly to be published, to start this next chapter in my life (insert pun-groan here). Right now I could use a good dose of courage and strength...the real stuff, not the kind mixed into chocolate and other sugar-happy food that I so depend on.

Although there are limits as to how brave chocolate can make you...

So I'm off to pray, to hand God my worries and concerns and fears. I'll stop being somewhat of a hypocrite and practice what I preach--God is in control, not me, and it's better off that way.

A request you can't deny

A prayer I pray a lot, especially lately, is "God, show me what you want me to do." Note the word choice there--show me. Yes, I'm from Missouri, which indicates one of two things depending on which story you believe about the origin of our state motto: I am either slow on the uptake and need to be shown everything to understand it, or I want proof before I will act on something. In my prayer life, it's a little of both. I admit to being a bit dense sometimes when it comes to making decisions. For instance, I was battling with a particularly sticky situation when a friend came in and, with common sense, parted the murky waters I was wandering lost in. The light bulb indicating my EUREKA! moments is apparently more of a flickering candle than, say, an incandesent wonder.

Not all of us can be like the Centennial light and keep burning nonstop for 109 years...but who wants to be right and wise every single time for that long?

So I keep asking God to show me paths I'm supposed to take. Just show me the way, God, and I'll go. No questions, no hesitations--just go. Big words for a fallible human. You see, I already know a destination God has for me (or at least, I believe it's one). He has laid a particular writing project on my heart. It's not a fiction piece or a really cool poetry project. It's nonfiction. You would think that writing creative non-fiction wouldn't be such a difficult task for me. I specialized in it in college. I love writing in this genre. It's rather what the project is about that has me balking. A year ago, I accepted the charge and knew I was being called to write this massive project. I had already a few small pieces to form a base with. I was strong in my faith and several years past the harrowing sections of my past that would feature in this book. I had perspective. I had praise for a God Who had brought me out of such darkness.

I also had intense fear. My conversations with God were more like desperate arguments than prayers.

Um, I'll write Your book, God. Sure. Just not today.
It's really emotionally intense, God. I'm stressed right now and can't risk it.
I can't publish that. It could keep me from getting published in other arenas.
I can't put my name on that. It'd be linked on my resume.
What college will offer me a full-time position knowing that part of my past?
You've given me a way to minister to people through my current church. If they find out about my dark past, they may not allow me into their lives. I could be ostracized like I was before in different places. Are You wanting me to risk Your will with this book?

I love how I try to point out logical fallacies in God when doing so is so incredibly illogical in and of itself. Fighting God is a completely pointless thing. All I am doing is hurting myself.

A bum hip is only one tragic excuse away...

God knows I need to put this part of my past finally to rest. Writing about it will let me do that, allow me to move from victim to victor. Writing about it will allow me to touch other people who are suffering with the same problems I was, give them hope, let them know that there is light at the end of the tunnel (and it's not a train). Writing about it will allow me to educate others who don't understand the types of darkness that we humans can become so rolled up in that we do things that we would never do otherwise. Writing about it will allow me to see the truth in myself and come to terms that I did make mistakes, I did learn things, and it's ok to be a person who "used to be" severely messed up. I can let go of the anger and the shame by putting words on a page.

I know all of this. I'm still afraid, still ashamed, still trying to protect myself from being so vulnerable.

This is where--did you see it coming?--faith comes in. If God is the One Who gave me this mission, it's not for my destruction. It's for me to have a future, to have hope, to find him (Jeremiah 29:11-14). God's not going to put me on a path, give me a sense of purpose to do something for Him, and then let me be completely ravaged. Yes, I'll face spiritual warfare again. Yes, there will be consequences. I may lose some friends. I may lose some opportunities. I may even lose jobs. In the long run, though, I know God isn't going to abandon me. I know what I do for His glory, to further His kingdom, will be successful. I don't have to worry.

I need to be brave and expose my heart. I need to remember Who is in control and submit to His authority. To do otherwise is to insist I know better than God. I may be crazy, but I'm not that insane.

Americans have given their lives in response to an ad from a fictional character. How can we expect any less from a request from a very real God?

Awkward Steps...

I'm going to date myself with this post. Prepare yourself.



Remember that Sesame Street game, the one with the cool song, "One of these things is not like the others...one of these things is just not the same..."? The object was for children to notice patterns, develop cognitive skills. Since they personify practically everything from shoes to goldfish to cupcakes, I wonder if the writers for this show ever thought about what it's like to be that one out-of-place item.

It's a feeling I think everyone experiences from time to time, but one that I struggle with a lot. Satan knows it's an easy button to push for me. When I feel awkward or uncomfortable, my extroverted personality does a 180 and I either try to fade into the background (hard to do when you are over six feet tall) or withdraw, even to the point of leaving/running away.

Hey, it's not easy blending in with spiral-print purple vinyl!

Knowing that I "don't belong" is just one tiny step away from rejection, or so Satan tells me. That these are lies doesn't always sink in...and my pattern of behavior holds.

Just yesterday I "escaped" from the church I've been attending since January. I've talked about this issue of feeling as though at any moment some preschooler will walk up to me and point, "That's the one who doesn't belong!" (Ok, maybe not anything quite that dramatic, but the point's valid.) I looked around the sanctuary of visiting people and couldn't think of a thing to say to anyone or any way to join in on a conversation. I felt lost and craved the safety of being alone, in my car, listening to an audiobook or thinking through the scenes I wanted to write for my new novel. In my fantasy worlds, I control things. I'm never awkward. I never say the wrong thing--or if I do, I can rewind and try again with no penalties. There's no one to accidentally offend, no one who can really hurt me, no one to give me a pity smile as they try to understand what on earth I'm talking about. In a way, I'm God. It's a powerful place...and ultimately a lonely and empty one.

Apparently this girl is not only lonely, but also double-jointed (or about to realize her back HURTS).

My fantasies are good in that they become Christ-driven stories for me to write, but escaping into them too much just takes me away from the blessings I could be receiving from the people I love. It'll take time for me to completely trust my new church family, but so far, they've accepted me. I've found ways to help them...and the rewards for getting involved and taking risks have been incredible. Why did I do the Magic Schoolbus thing and "take chances, make mistakes, get messy!" with such fallible people? At those times, I was trusting God to love, protect, and guide me. Ouch. Guess what I wasn't doing last night. Ouch again.

Hey, Bob? We're going to need the industrial-sized version for this boo-boo.

It's amazing that, with such an awesome, powerful, sovereign God, I have such problems letting Him take over all the time. It's not like I ever do a better job than He does. I suppose letting go, even to Someone you trust and love, is not a one-time decision but a daily--or even hourly--decision.

So...here goes trying for a stronger faith first in my God, one step at a time. God, guide me, and help me remember just how much I trust You.

Although I may not have scored high on the trust meter with God, I just earned massive cool points by posting a pic of Indiana Jones on my blog. Go me.

Stolen--or is it?

Over the past few weeks, there are several moments (days, even) that, if pressed to describe, I would say that "it feels like my joy, my happiness, is just...gone." Some of these moments have definite causes. I feel criticized for things I cannot help or sincerely cannot see anything wrong with (such as the way I eat beef jerky...that was a weird conversation). I had to follow a driver who was doing a poor job and made me have to swerve or slam on my brakes multiple times to avoid an accident. Over the past few days especially, I've had encounters with a large amount of very rude people...something that instantly gets under my skin on even the brightest of days.

Even as a child, Stephanie Tanner had a good grasp of the situation.

I've "dealt" with these situations and moved on from each specific occurrence, but there still seems to be something--or someone--keeping me from being the bubbly person I normally am. Instead of laughing and smiling all the time, I'm getting a little mopey and have even burst into tears a couple of times for no reason. No, it's not PMS (and shame on you for thinking so...hehehe). The blue fog fades after a few minutes or hours...and then I'll be busy with one of my jobs, projects, or listening to my Christian fantasy novels on my iPod. The joy returns.

A close friend told me that it sounded like a spiritual attack--Satan was stealing my joy, putting obstacles in my way, because he's scared of me and the wonderful work I'm doing for God. It made (and still does make) a lot of sense. All of my jobs are service-oriented. My writing is primarily Christian or from Christian perspective. The music and books I listen to are almost all Christian as well. My sports and singing work, the goodies I bake...all are tied to my church. When I'm serving God, I'm joyful again. The more I work, the more joyful I am...and the more I encounter these periods of blue funk. Hmmm. Doesn't take a genius to start connecting these dots.

What is really striking about these attacks is how they are resolved. I do something, whether it's praying, serving someone, singing, worshiping, reading something inspiring, or using the talent God gave me for writing and creating a new blog entry or advancing a fiction novel to the next level. Satan may know exactly what buttons to push to drain out the stores of joy I've built up, but there's a problem with his plumbing pranks. He's stealing a renewable resource. Every time I turn back to my faith, turn back to the path that God has me on, I'm given joy unspeakable and full of glory (to paraphrase that old song). I will never run out of joy provided that I never stop choosing God over the darkness.

Just one of many daily occurrences as a Christian...although I don't look *this* fantastic in draped fabric.

I will still have bad days. I will still have moments where I doubt myself or God when I truly know better than that (just like I know better than to walk down the candy aisle at Wal-Mart....). I will still struggle sometimes and need friends and God to help push me back to where I need to be. The difference between the woman I was six years ago who fell to the brink of no return and woman I am now is mostly my relationship with God. It's not a perfect relationship by any means--I want it to be a closer, stronger one. I need it to be.

I still find great comfort in knowing that God's got my back. With Him for me, who can really be against me? I have faith in that no matter how I feel or what is going on, God will NEVER give me more than what I can handle. He will ALWAYS keep me, love me, and protect me in his infinite wisdom and power. It's like ADT...only a billion times better with an unbreakable guarantee.

A supernatural security plan is more available than you might think....

A Christian Walk(through)

While I've never been very "into" video games, computer games have been a part of my life for over a decade. Things have changed a lot since the simplistic MS-DOS adventures--now there are complicated adventure, arcade, and strategy games to tickle my fancy. While most of the time I enjoy bumbling my way around these virtual worlds, figuring out puzzles and discovering the elusive paths to rewards, there are many times when I lose patience or am just a little too eager to reach the end of the game and find out "the ending." It's similar to my impulse I try to control when reading suspense novels--I want to flip to the back and find out whodunit. (Now, when I exercise enough restraint to keep plowing through the book instead, I often end up skimming the reading and staying up all hours of the night until I'm done. Not exactly a better option, although it depends on how you look at it.)

Enter the wonderful invention of walkthroughs. These are postings, sometimes with uber-helpful illustrations (screen captures) that describe, step by step, how to progress through the game. If I can't figure out just the right combination to the secret safe, the answer is just a google away. Annoyed that this "boss" won't keel over so I can rescue the cute, imprisoned kitty? A walkthrough will give me suggestions that usually work perfectly. My anxieties are over, and I can progress confidently, knowing that any future sticking points can be easily solved once again. If only real life could be this simple.

In real life, I'm often worried, confused, frustrated, and even scared. I've been constantly asking God for signs in many respects of my life. My job situation is a little shaky, thanks to the economy; I want a steady, full-time job with benefits. I don't like the insecurity that comes with working two part-time jobs that aren't permanent but rather contract-renewable. I don't like the insecurity of being in a "dating" relationship. I don't like the insecurity of being around people who don't know the meaning of "constructive criticism." I'm scared and frightened and want to flip forward in the book of my life to reassure myself that things are all going to work out. I want to know if it's worth the pain and drama of a long-distance relationship or if my current boyfriend and I are only destined to be friends. I want to know when I'm going to get that job, and if there are avenues I need to start pursuing now (like my PhD) in order to find that job. I beg God almost daily for signs, for revelations. I want concrete, undeniable (or at least certifiable) messages. Billboards would be nice. I want to google my life, find the walkthrough, and examine how to best get through this tricky maze. Then I get frustrated because nothing's popping up, which makes me more scared...and it turns into a vicious cycle.

Like most times in a game (this one being Life, and not the Hasbro version) when I can't see the way out, I realize I've been looking in the wrong place the whole time. God has given me a walkthrough, but I've been ignoring it in favor of things that I think I must do or will help me escape from the painful reality. It's the obvious answer: the Bible.

Now, I'm not saying that all the answers are explicitly in there. Nowhere does it say, "Tamara, you will be married in three years, have five children (keep the youngest away from bees--trust me on that one), be a published author after your 29th rejection, and will be a New York Times Bestselling Author on your third book." It does say a few things about my namesakes, but those two stories are...for another day. :) What the Bible does provide is exactly what I've been asking for: Revelations. Although I am an English professor and enjoy playing around with symbolism occasionally, this book is not what even I, the girl who reads the Oxford English Grammar for fun, would call a satisfying and understandable read. I get all caught up in the minutia of horns and seals and colorful horses that I forget the big picture. It's a walkthrough, and the ultimate ending is there for me to know in black-and-white: God wins. Satan loses. Enter peaceful eternity.

My "minutia" seems enormous to me, but in the scope of eternity, whether or not I get a full-time job or end up marrying my boyfriend is practially insignificant. My jobs, as my pastor says, are primarily to love God, love people, and enlarge Heaven (by leading others to Christ). If I take my focus off my problems and worries and instead focus it on God, I can find that peace and reassurance that I've been searching for. In the end, God wins. In the end, it is HIS will. In the end, He is in control. I just need to focus on what is right in front of me and let God take care of the rest. He's got it. I need to trust Him.

Collapsed Children

You commanded us to forgive
Seventy times Seven
You commanded us to love them
As we love ourselves
And yet our neighbors stand out in the cold
Waiting
For an open door

We've heard the sermons preached from
Pulpits
Desks
Doors
Remember we are sinful creatures!
Repent ye unworthy!
Remember Who must save you!
And we wonder why He would want to.

We have closed our hearts full of pains
We have closed our eyes full of tears
We have closed our minds full of fears
We have closed our hands full of chains

We fall.