...the last post for today. I think. (Because I'm going to be watching Along For The Ride here in a few, and videos or books with mentally ill people in them freak me out on a certain level because I almost always see a facet or twenty of myself in them, and who wants to feel like they're a few degrees away from crazy?)
So I didn't splurge on myself, necessarily. I actually did end up buying a book, though. It's called The Gifts of Imperfection, and it looks like it's going to be stellar.
I don't really know why I'm here... I feel like there's stuff I want to say, to unload or unclog or unwhatever, but I can't quite form the words to frame the sentiments...
I don't have to believe in God to please anyone. I feel stubborn about this, and maybe I am stubborn. But I'm also tired. I'm tired of believing because I'm supposed to. I just need to be angry and stubborn and resistant for a while. What would happen should I die tonight? I'm no more certain of where I'd go now than I was when I was trying to do it all right. I used to hope that I'd get into heaven, but I wasn't sure. And I still hope that I'll get into heaven, but my mind echoes loudly with the angry protestations I've heard so often about denying the light and being "in the truth" and all that... although I've been assured that it's much harder to be lost than to be saved.
I do wonder, though... at what point does God throw in the towel? Like, really, how far can I go before he says, "Oh, I'm sorry, you've just committed the unpardonable sin and we can't be friends anymore"? Have I already passed that line? I don't think so... God and I still talk...
Truth be told, I feel much like I did in high school. I was telling E earlier that I feel like I'm in a safe enough place that I can take down the museum art and let the real structure show. Is it such a crime to be an honest representation of myself? Presumably so, but only if the "real me" is not in alignment with the ideals put forth. Although... it was nice, being perfect, in some ways... it netted me much admiration. Now, those same people would be appalled, I'm sure... Lay on the rebukes. Bring it. I don't care anymore. I'm too tired to care. Too tired of performance art. (That's what it is, you realize?)
Do I want to care? Yes, but not about the people. I want to just genuinely care about God. I want to love God. I want this God thing to work! I want a deity to worship and serve that will guide and protect me. But... that's the rub. Apparently, the offer of protection was never extended. Guidance? Sure. But protection? Nada. You can have a whole shit-ton of horrific, unthinkable things dumped on you, and the only thing you get is that He'll be with you and somehow make it better.
I know that's supposed to be a good thing, but... it just rubs me the wrong way. Maybe it's because I never did have someone to protect me when I should have. Parents are supposed to protect you. It's their job. And mine didn't. But how can God expect something from parents that he doesn't do himself? He calls us his children, yet he leaves us hanging out there, totally vulnerable to attack and the most exquisite agony, with nothing to defend ourselves but the hope of something better, or the promise that he's there with us?
Or maybe parents aren't supposed to protect you, either. And look what happens. Bad people do bad things because they prey on the weak and exposed. Was I supposed to protect myself and I somehow missed the memo? But I did protect myself... in the best ways I knew how. And I'm still trying to protect myself... in the best ways I know how. (Because, obviously, You're not going to do it for me!)
God, I won't lie. I don't understand you. I don't understand you at all. And I'm not walking away, but I am pissed off. So maybe there's a wall there... but there's always been a wall there. I'm not sweeping stuff under the rug anymore. No more complacent platitudes for me. Let's face this sucker head on, wrestle it down, and move on with life.
Only... how long will it take? Because I feel like a total failure/renegade. Yet I can't bring myself to link back up with all these questions and issues unresolved.
I'm sorry. I'm sorry I can't just swallow the "Jesus loves you" and get on with it. I'm sorry that the great controversy isn't doing it for me. I'm sorry that the answers all seem so hollow and flimsy.
God, you're there. But why? And why am I here? What's the point of all this? Heaven? Do I really have to go through all this putrefied fecal matter to get there? (I wish that I believed that you go straight to heaven when you die... 'cause then I'd just knock myself off and call it good. Forget this junk.)
And I'm sorry that I'm enjoying freedom so much. I feel like I should feel awful, not being the Christian anymore... but mostly, I just feel relief.
So I didn't splurge on myself, necessarily. I actually did end up buying a book, though. It's called The Gifts of Imperfection, and it looks like it's going to be stellar.
I don't really know why I'm here... I feel like there's stuff I want to say, to unload or unclog or unwhatever, but I can't quite form the words to frame the sentiments...
I don't have to believe in God to please anyone. I feel stubborn about this, and maybe I am stubborn. But I'm also tired. I'm tired of believing because I'm supposed to. I just need to be angry and stubborn and resistant for a while. What would happen should I die tonight? I'm no more certain of where I'd go now than I was when I was trying to do it all right. I used to hope that I'd get into heaven, but I wasn't sure. And I still hope that I'll get into heaven, but my mind echoes loudly with the angry protestations I've heard so often about denying the light and being "in the truth" and all that... although I've been assured that it's much harder to be lost than to be saved.
I do wonder, though... at what point does God throw in the towel? Like, really, how far can I go before he says, "Oh, I'm sorry, you've just committed the unpardonable sin and we can't be friends anymore"? Have I already passed that line? I don't think so... God and I still talk...
Truth be told, I feel much like I did in high school. I was telling E earlier that I feel like I'm in a safe enough place that I can take down the museum art and let the real structure show. Is it such a crime to be an honest representation of myself? Presumably so, but only if the "real me" is not in alignment with the ideals put forth. Although... it was nice, being perfect, in some ways... it netted me much admiration. Now, those same people would be appalled, I'm sure... Lay on the rebukes. Bring it. I don't care anymore. I'm too tired to care. Too tired of performance art. (That's what it is, you realize?)
Do I want to care? Yes, but not about the people. I want to just genuinely care about God. I want to love God. I want this God thing to work! I want a deity to worship and serve that will guide and protect me. But... that's the rub. Apparently, the offer of protection was never extended. Guidance? Sure. But protection? Nada. You can have a whole shit-ton of horrific, unthinkable things dumped on you, and the only thing you get is that He'll be with you and somehow make it better.
I know that's supposed to be a good thing, but... it just rubs me the wrong way. Maybe it's because I never did have someone to protect me when I should have. Parents are supposed to protect you. It's their job. And mine didn't. But how can God expect something from parents that he doesn't do himself? He calls us his children, yet he leaves us hanging out there, totally vulnerable to attack and the most exquisite agony, with nothing to defend ourselves but the hope of something better, or the promise that he's there with us?
Or maybe parents aren't supposed to protect you, either. And look what happens. Bad people do bad things because they prey on the weak and exposed. Was I supposed to protect myself and I somehow missed the memo? But I did protect myself... in the best ways I knew how. And I'm still trying to protect myself... in the best ways I know how. (Because, obviously, You're not going to do it for me!)
God, I won't lie. I don't understand you. I don't understand you at all. And I'm not walking away, but I am pissed off. So maybe there's a wall there... but there's always been a wall there. I'm not sweeping stuff under the rug anymore. No more complacent platitudes for me. Let's face this sucker head on, wrestle it down, and move on with life.
Only... how long will it take? Because I feel like a total failure/renegade. Yet I can't bring myself to link back up with all these questions and issues unresolved.
I'm sorry. I'm sorry I can't just swallow the "Jesus loves you" and get on with it. I'm sorry that the great controversy isn't doing it for me. I'm sorry that the answers all seem so hollow and flimsy.
God, you're there. But why? And why am I here? What's the point of all this? Heaven? Do I really have to go through all this putrefied fecal matter to get there? (I wish that I believed that you go straight to heaven when you die... 'cause then I'd just knock myself off and call it good. Forget this junk.)
And I'm sorry that I'm enjoying freedom so much. I feel like I should feel awful, not being the Christian anymore... but mostly, I just feel relief.
0 thoughts: