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Just be stronger?

Someone I knew wrote an “inspirational message” on their whiteboard: “Just Be Stronger.” I have a hard time not writing a response to that on their whiteboard, but first, I need to process the concept.

It makes me angry, really. Not the sentiment itself – that actually makes me really sad for him, because I know why he wrote it. He wrote it out of a sense of desperation, of needing to be stronger, but not knowing exactly how.

So who am I angry at? (Or, more properly, “At whom am I angry?” — I am a writer, you know!)

I’m angry at a lot of things. In the end, the truth is, I’m angry at God.

I’m angry at God on behalf of this person who needs an answer to what he sees as an internal weakness. I’m angry at God on my own behalf, because I have my own need for answers, for help, for succor, and I don’t know from where such aid will come.

“Succor” means “relief, or aid.” It’s probably obvious in context, just in case you don’t know what the word means. I don’t think I should use the word, really, but I’m trying not to edit what I write as part of the “500 words challenge.”

Maybe it’s selfish to assume that everyone should have a helping hand available when they really need it. To me, it’s part of the social contract: you provide aid to those who need, and the implied reward is that when you need it, aid will be there for you, if it’s doable.

This isn’t a sort of cry for help that says “Hey, Santa, give me a Mercedes.” It’s a wail – a cry that says “Someone, give me shelter from this storm.” Shelter can be easy, even if the storm is allegorical. Shelter is something you can provide by coming alongside someone, by empathizing with them, by letting them know they’re not alone, by reaching out.

And thus: I’m angry at God. He created this world; He created this person who is now crying for His help more than mine. God’s got to be infinitely better at helping him than I could ever imagine being – why does He, in his knowledge and wisdom, leave this poor fellow spinning in the wind, despite his cries for help?

Why does He leave it to us, poor and broken instruments of His Will even at our best?

If I was going to write a response to “Just be stronger,” I think I’d write: “You can be stronger. Even better, we can be stronger together than we can ever be when we are apart. I understand. I am with you in the well. You are not alone, and you will never be alone, no matter how alone you might feel right now. I will always be there with you, and I will do my best to carry you when you struggle. You are not alone. You are not alone. You are not alone.”

savage
February 11, 2016
Lifestyle
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Removing the scale

One of the things about writing day after day (after day after day) is that it has a tendency to wear down the defenses that you build up in trying to protect yourself as you write.

A couple of days ago, I saw a “How It’s Made” show on hand-axes. The blanks were formed in molds, then quenched in oil, and then a bunch of them were thrown into a tumbler for a while. The narration said that this “wore down the scale,” the rough covering that blanching and the molding process built up on the axes. (Then they were polished, ground, fitted with handles, polished again, and a bunch of other things that are relevant to axes but not really to writing.)

That wearing off of the scaling on the axes really struck a nerve with me. That’s how I feel, writing daily – I’m generally going through the motions (“What do I write about? Okay, what do I write? Is it long enough?”) and over time I’m getting tired of writing about writing, coldly and unfeelingly – and I’m trying to dig deeper into myself, such that I’m writing more about things that might just even matter to someone… including me.

That constant grind is wearing down the scale.

You find it in music, too: improvisation training takes place in short bursts, day after day, where you listen to older work (but not your most recent attempt at improvisation), such that you end up enduring a lot of repetition, even though your purpose is to avoid repetition. After a while, just like in writing, you get tired of playing the same things, even if you’re trying not to, and you start digging deeper, and start really reaching, musically. That’s when you start actually learning to improvise, when you can start finding out who you are as a musician.

I’m finding out a little more about who I am, not only as a writer, but as a person. I find that I hide well; I’m perfectly happy to throw up smokescreens about what’s important to me, and yet I want to be known and appreciated despite the camouflage.

I’m a Christian, but I tend to focus on fairly minor (secular) things, with a Christian coloration on occasion; with that said, I can occasionally reach for even Christian relevance (and hopefully achieve it.)

I’m a writer, but my writing is usually to an audience through a wall. I don’t betray anything serious, although I show what’s real – it’s filtered to hide my identity and core values. In a way, what I write is an actor’s portrayal of me.

That’s a little sad. I would hope that as a writer, Christian, and person, I continue to grow – and some day, who knows? Maybe I’ll tear down the walls I’ve built around myself and, knowing, be known as well.

Here’s hoping.

savage
February 10, 2016
Lifestyle
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The most important day of my life

I’m using a writing prompt today, because I’m exhausted; I had some ideas about what to write earlier today, but I’m so worn out that I honestly can’t remember any of them. I meant to write them down, but I was too busy.

So the prompt today is to write about “the most important day of your life.”

My first thought was my wedding day, the day I managed to convince the most important person in my daily life to weld her life to mine. She’s awesome, and I love her. I wouldn’t be half the man I am today, such that I am, without her – I’d be a shell, a mockery of who I am, if I even managed to survive this long.

But then I started thinking: what about the day I was saved? What about the day I chose to act willfully in such a way that I could be considered honorable? (In other words, I was trying to do what was right instead of hoping that what I did was right.)

What about today, without which there would be no tomorrow?

After all, the choices I make even now are eternal; suppose I chose to do something horrible, something that betrayed my values and family. (Not tempted, thank you, but just imagine…)

That might shatter my family and future. That would be a decision that made today the most important day of my life.

But then again, my salvation is still probably the winner – my conversion from Judaism, to atheism, to a questioning Judaism, to Christianity was something that affected not only my daily living, but my eternal future as well. It converted what little good I did into something of eternal significance.

It’s tempting to say “my eternal life,” and I suppose such it is – but I’m still Jewish enough that I see “eternal life” as something surreal. Some Jews – many Jews, I guess – believe in it, and the New Testament describes it… but I don’t know what it would actually be like enough to imagine it, and I don’t know that a transformed and glorified “me” would be the “me” that received the “eternal” aspect of such a life.

I guess that goes back to how I see my life in Christ – I don’t worship and glorify His Name because He’s giving me a reward, but I do those things because of who He is. If I received nothing from Him in the process – no salvation, no sanctification, no nothing – He would still be the One, He would still deserve all glory and honor, and I hope that I’d have the honor and pride enough to give it to Him. I find “believe and receive eternal life” to be superfluous – “believe” is all that matters there.

So… I can think of important days, and it’s been worthwhile to try to think of days that might have been important. But I think the cliché wins – my day of salvation was the most important day of my life, even though I have no idea what day that would have been. (It was… summer?)

savage
February 9, 2016
Lifestyle
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Desires

I went to a small group meeting yesterday, where the leader asked each person to describe what they wanted God to show them through this year. It was an interesting question, because it makes you think about what, specifically, you expect from God.

I didn’t have a good answer, not really; I don’t think mine was impressive or surprising. (It was: “aid in transitions,” because I have three young men who are getting older – two of which are actual adults at this point, and I want God to guide their steps and grant them wisdom, whether they want it or recognize it or not. And I also want peace in my own heart as I watch them go through these transitions.)

But one other person there just wanted God to restore faith, and felt like she’d let Him down by … you know, living. Living a busy life, where sometimes we don’t have time to spend lots of time doing the things that we consider visible manifestations of faith, like explicit prayer or Bible study. (She said, rather tearfully, that she liked watching Downtown Abbey, and felt terrible that she spent time watching the TV show rather than in some kind of holy living.)

It got me thinking. One of my priorities this year is to do more explicit, self-directed Bible study, and another is to try to establish a habit of prayer every day; I’m sort of an informal guy when it comes to these things myself. (I pray, but it’s very much not something that you would describe as regular. It’s sort of a daily “Hey, where am I? I probably should remember to honor the Name…” thing. I’ve been trying to make prayer something I do when I wake up, and when I lie down.) So I know exactly where my friend was coming from; I’m there myself, really.

I’m there even though I know that that’s not quite how God works. Feeling like that paints God as a vending machine: if I show this kind of faith, God will reward me – perhaps by doing that, perhaps by doing this other thing. I don’t really care how the reward is manifested; maybe the reward is ephemeral, as simple as “I know I’ve done what God wanted me to do,” and that’s fine…

… but I can’t help hoping that He will reward me by lightening the burden I bear.

Maybe He could see fit to showing me His Hand on my son, for example, or maybe even dropping me a check to pay for the various expenses that come with a newly-minted eighteen-year-old.

Or maybe He could be a little sneakier, and somehow give me a bonus check from work (can you tell I’m enjoying various financial pressures right now?) or maybe He could even just take the stress I have in my heart and disperse it. (“Peace,” I call it, even though I don’t know if I would recognize it if He gave it to me like that.)

But… it’s still not how God works. I know that, intellectually and spiritually, but it’s still very tempting to want to define God that way. And how pleasant would it be to use a reward as a measure, like a prosperity gospel? (“You are making lots of money, you must have great faith and God loves you…” except if you don’t make lots of money, the prosperity gospel implies that God’s actually in the process of smiting you, you unfaithful slacker. The prosperity gospel is a lie, folks.)

It’s just curious how tempting it is to see God through invalid lenses to make ourselves feel better.

savage
February 8, 2016
Lifestyle
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