Through the Valley of Pain

Fear.  The nameless "it" which haunts my waking thoughts, always lurking in the shadows of my mind, waiting to paralyze me.  Fear of rejection.  Fear of losing friends.  Fear of being misunderstood.  Fear of being maligned.  Fear of hurting others.  Fear of being hurt.  Fear of disappointing my parents.  Fear of failing God.  Fear of failing others.  Fear of pain.  Fear of living.  Fear of being afraid. 

I read a blog by my wife's friend yesterday.  She said some things which were triggers for me, triggers I did not know I had.  I found anger and frustration welling up inside, and it spilled over onto paper.  Without realizing what I was doing, I found that I was engaged in HeartChange Tool Kit tool #9: Letter Writing.  I had written a response to her blog, but I could not post it.  I could not click the button.  I allowed a level of timidity to prevent me.  But I will face it here.  I will roar my challenge, and I will stand my ground.  It's time to face the source of my fear - pain.

I have a lot missing from my early memories.  Almost nothing before age 5, which is probably normal.  Not much for several years after, which may be less normal.  I just noticed that have pockets of memories missing throughout my life.  I suspect nothing horrific in most, if not all of them.  Most of them are probably there to shield me from whatever pain I was feeling inwardly.

I have minimal memory of 3rd grade, however.  I know a lot of what I know simply because I was told about it years later.  Let me tell you what I do know of that year.  I was the only white boy in a school of 969 Japanese kids.  Funny how I can remember the exact number of students that year but I can't remember much else.  I remember the teacher's name, a Mr. Susumu Yamashita.  I can remember getting coal with other classmates for the coal furnace which heated the classroom - down two flights of stairs, turn left, go the end of the hall, turn right just before the gymnasium, go a little ways and turn left, turn left again and go down another flight of stairs leading below the gymnasium stage,  and there before us in large piles were tons and tons of coal.  I remember some friends.  I remember doing some things that I wish I never had.  I remember the occasional 5th/6th grader, or small pack of them, knocking me around, trying to force me to speak English.  What I don't remember is that this bullying took place on a nearly daily basis, or that I had been beaten up by groups of boys numbering up to 10, or that I feared to go to school because they were waiting for me, both before and after.  I do remember hanging around the school for longer than I needed to after class, then taking any number of longer but different ways home to confound the boys that were waiting for me.  Also I was forgetting English, so my mom insisted on teaching me English at home right after school.  I lost quite a few friends because I could not play after school.  I was not permitted even though I had promised to play and they were waiting outside.  To them I became known as a liar. Yeah.  I guess it's a good thing that most of 3rd grade is missing from my memory.  

For the next six years I was home schooled, up until I began teaching my mom Algebra in 9th grade, and I had never had it before.  I was with some other missionary kids for a year or two.  They were friends, but not always good friends.  They got me into stuff that has haunted me since.  Then I was alone for several years.  Completely alone, or so it felt.  No friends.  In some respects my growth was retarded, in other respects it seems to have accelerated some.  I remember still playing with GI Joes (the little 4 inch ones) and Transformers until I was at least 14.  They were my friends.  Even now, I freak out at the idea of parting with them.  The Joes, I can part with those.  The Transformers, don't even think about it.  They are with me, even now, in my office.  Though inanimate, they were always there for me when I needed them.  Some other missionaries came during my last year or so at home, but their kids were messed up a lot worse than I was, and I don't consider myself really messed up.  I can call them playmates, but not really friends.  It may be a good thing that there are holes in my memory from this period of my life.

In 10th through 12th grade I went to a Christian school in South Carolina and graduated with honors.  I respected my friends because once they found out that I wasn't going to budge on obeying my parents, they never more asked me if I wanted to go do things with them that I wouldn't have been allowed to do, such as go to the movies.  It would have been nice to have been asked on occasion, even though I would have had to say "no."  At least I would have known I was being thought of.  I've always felt socially awkward, anyway.  In any gathering of people I felt like the albatross around the mariner's neck.  And then came senior trip.  Some of my high school classmates said they hated our senior trip, and other aspects of our senior year.  I loved it.  I remember being at a low point in my life one particular evening after our day's tour. We had a general assembly, with our school administrator conducting the meeting.  I don't remember what was discussed, probably a word from Holy Writ, and we were encouraged to share.  I remember saying that I had trouble accepting myself.  Never before had I felt accepted like I did that night as classmate after classmate gave me words of encouragement and acceptance.  That one moment has done more to sustain me over the following years than any other single event.  It stands as a beacon of God's love in an otherwise foggy night of walking barefoot on a path with sharp rocks at irregular intervals.

And then I went to Bible college, where I learned how to truly fake Christianity.  In class after class, we were taught that real Christians do not listen to music with a back beat.  Real Christian men do not "drink, smoke, cuss, or chew, or go with the girls that do."  For God's people there is no room for divorce no matter how bad the abuse gets.  Godly Christians do not do C D F or G, and never ever H, but they also must do W X Y and Z, and occasionally they can get by without doing W, but don't push it.  If at any point in his life, even prior to salvation, if a man has done M, then he is bared forever from the ministry.  Or, should he happen to marry a woman who has done L M or N, then likewise he is bared from serving God in a formal capacity.  He might be allowed to teach an adult Sunday school class, but that is to be evaluated on a case by case basis.  These people over here are OK to hang out with, but do not associate with those over there because they hang with people who hang out with people who hang out with people who associate loosely with people we don't associate with. I could go on and on.

Then started the attacks as kids from "good and proper" churches who could not handle someone who thought differently than they did challenged my beliefs on the doctrine of election (I'm a Five Pointer all the way) and on the KJV (it is only a translation, nothing more).  Then came the personal attacks as I shut each one down because none of my opponents could make a coherent argument because none of them had ever bothered to research the issues for themselves. They only parroted their infallible pastors (I'm not kidding. These kids actually believed that everything their pastor said was Truth).  Then came the rude shout-downs as they would attack my position verbally, loudly, in a crowd of people but refuse to let me speak in my defense.  Then came the rumors, the slander, the malignment as they sought their vengeance, spreading lies about what I believed, destroying my reputation.  After four years, I left without graduating, sick of the lies, the gossip, the double standards, the fake Christians, the obvious favoritism among the staff, and the nauseating self-righteousness of many of my peers.


I then moved back to the Greenville, South Carolina, area where I found a job and tried to find a good church to go to.  I only found what I left at Bible college, only more of it.  In one church, the singles' class all but shunned me because I did not graduate from their school.  At another I was made painfully aware that I was not wanted because I looked and dressed different than them - I wore a beard, a wide brimmed Australian hat, and a duster.  At a different church not only did I experience the first two, but also I was further hated and maligned because on an outing, I dared to talk and spend some time with a fellow missionary girl who was mostly by herself who few others seemed to be talking to.  Come to find out somebody in the group liked her, so the rumor was that I was trying to steal his girlfriend - news to her (and me), since she hardly even knew the guy.  So, the petty factions united against me because I was supposedly engaged in an unwritten taboo.

During this period I would spend months at a time not attending any church because all attempts ended in pain.  Some people told me that I needed to be in church, to keep looking for a good church to go to.  The problem was that these WERE the good churches, according to standards I believed in, good and proper Independent Fundamental Baptist churches.  They had the best pastors, the best music, the best ministries, the best people (supposedly).  Among the adults I was accepted and welcomed, but my peers rejected me with the exception of two, one of which moved away quickly thereafter.  Oh, there were other churches I could have attended, but they all used the "wrong music" in church, or their dress standards were "loose" or substandard (i.e. the women wore slacks to church, and some men wore jeans and T-shirts)," or what have you.


So, let me ask you.  Whether right or wrong, is it realistic to expect someone to continue to subject himself to pain and rejection simply to satisfy the mandate placed on him by others to "be in church?"  You see, the conventional wisdom among IFBs (Independent Fundamental Baptists) is that if the doors of the church are open, then a person should make every effort to be there.  Also, there is never a good excuse to not be in church, so even if you suffer hurt in your church, you need to be there, because it is not about you.  It is about honoring God.  Besides, you can still get something from the message.  

Oh, really?  Let me ask you another one.  How am I supposed to get anything out of the message when all I feel are my wounds throbbing?  I tried the "be in church because it honors God" route.  All I got were more wounds from people in a church from which God had long since departed.  Is it honoring to God for me to deliberately subject myself to hurt for His name's sake in a church He wouldn't even attend?  I've been told to "suck it up" and keep doing what I know is right, because to do otherwise is sin.  So, which is right?  To protect myself from hurt from people who claim to be God's own, or to go to church so that I can let "God's own" carve me up?  I felt as if I were expected to be a masochist. Others would tell me to hang in there because I am being persecuted for the sake of Christ.  Really?  Was I really being persecuted for Jesus' sake?  Or was I just being bullied?  Again?  If I had even an inkling that maybe I was being persecuted, I would have felt a hundred times better about going to church.  At least I would have known that my sufferings were not in vain.


Let me ask another.  Isn't church, the gathering of God's people, supposed to be a time of encouragement, renewal, and healing?  Am I supposed to prepare for the pain I will face in the world by being stabbed by those I am supposed to trust?  Was this God's intent for the church?  HELL NO!!!!!  Does it happen? Unfortunately, yes.  And it seems to happen most among IFB churches.  IFBs seem to be the only ones that love to shoot their wounded, then go out of their way to look for the weak among them to destroy.  Hurting people in IFB churches generally do not allow anyone to know their hurt because they know they will be either dismissed or attacked.  Yeah, I had the old "it's just in your head" handed to me a few times.  I've been told to "take these verses, wash them down with prayer, and call me in the morning if you don't feel better."  I know many who have been attacked, run out of church, yanked from their ministries, all because they dared to expose their hurts or struggles and simply wanted prayer.

I know that not all of them are like that.  I have been in a couple in my life that I would say try hard to be a proper New Testament church.  I know that there are others out there.  There have to be.  God has always saved for himself a remnant.  Unfortunately, I am finding more churches outside the IFBs that try to be as God's heart would have them be.  

The pain is there.  I have it, and it goes deep.  I hurt.  I still hurt.  These memories are painful.  But, I have a choice.  I can live in my past and wallow in my suffering, or I can chose to hand everything over to Jesus and grow in His grace.  Several HeartChange tools from their magnificent Tool Kit are in play here on this blog.  Here are the ones that I see applying:

• #4:  Negative Tapes - the way I feel now about myself is usually the result of something in my past which I keep replaying in my mind, something I am believing which keeps me defeated.  My past influences how I see myself and how I expect God to be seeing me.
• #5:  Victim/Choice/Accountability - I have the power to choose how I will respond to my circumstances. I can either repent and receive forgiveness, or I can forgive and bless, depending on the circumstances.
• #9:  Letter Writing - this blog turned into an open letter of sorts, not addressed to anyone in particular.  By writing, I am able to bring to the surface much of my pain which has kept me from thriving in Jesus as I should be able to.
• #16: The Waterfall of Grace - God's grace is available to me in the shape of my need.  I chose to step into it.
• #20: Blessings - I will consistently think and speak encouragement from God to myself and to others.

I choose not to play the tapes anymore.  They are part of who and what I am, but they don't have to define me or influence me anymore.  I choose to forgive those who wronged me, the older kids when I was in school, and my peers in college and afterword.  I sincerely desire God's blessings upon them all, and if possible, the very blessings of HeartChange.  I do not blame my parents for everything they tried to do to help me.  How could they know that the very thing they did to try to help me was the very thing that caused me more hurt?  How could I, who could no longer formulate a simple sentence in English, adequately communicate with them who had to work hard to formulate a sentence in Japanese?  We had developed a language barrier.  No, I do not blame them for anything they lovingly tried to do for me.  I choose now to step into the waterfall of His grace, and I will allow God to fill the holes I have, to salve my wounds, and to hold me close.  And when the negative tapes begin to play, I will remember my dagger, and I will remember the blessings spoken to me at HeartChange.

I am blessed, and I am at peace.

Being Real

The ancient Greeks loved to philosophize.  They tried to explain the universe they lived in by observing, thinking, formulating ideas, and debating those ideas.  One premise which surfaced nearly five centuries before Christ stated that for something to be considered real, it had to be constant, or unchanging.  This postulation led to a plethora of ideas, going from "different" to "just plain weird."  One philosopher, some time removed from when the premise originated, said that it is never possible to step into the same river twice, because when the traveler returns, erosion has changed the river in some minute way, and thus it is no longer the same river, and thus the river is not real and does not exist.  Another philosopher, some years later, decided that it is not possible to step into the same river even once, because it is changing as one is placing his foot into it, therefore the river cannot be real or even exist.  Still others went on to say that because everything changes, nothing is real and nothing can exist.

They reasoned on this premise for centuries, and these ancient thinkers could never reconcile their intellect with their observations. Some dismissed their observations as false.  Some recognized a flaw somewhere and tried to figure out where they went wrong.  A few probably even went mad trying to figure it all out.  But they never questioned the premise.  They never realized that the very foundation of their thinking was flawed, and so their conclusions were flawed.

Like the Greek philosophers of old  I, too, lived my life on a false premise. I lived my life believing that by conforming myself, even in some small degrees, to the expectations or standards of others, that I was not only doing myself a favor, but I was also honoring them.  I thought I was practicing deference.  This lead to a duality in my life which could not be sustained.  Consider the following graphic:

It summarizes well my dilemma.  I stood in the middle, and I had to try to balance who I was in private with who I was in the presence of others.  I am not saying that I deliberately hid aspects of my life, though I dare say that there is not a person alive who does not have or had at least one skeleton lurking in a forgotten closet, plastered over and blissfully out of sight and mind.  Instead of hiding my life, per se, I simply did not bring up certain topics, or I did not include myself in certain conversations.  Hiding tends to involve deception, and to my knowledge I never deliberately deceived.  If asked a point blank question, I did not shy from giving a point blank answer.  It just so happened that most people just weren't curious or obnoxious enough to ask.

For a person to keep growing, and to even be able to stand firm in his convictions, he must not be afraid to question himself and his beliefs.  But just questioning will tend to make one goofy in his thinking.  The questioner must have a standard against which he can question, and this standard is the inerrant and divine Word of God.

I have questioned the existence of God, and He has mightily shown Himself to exist.  I have questioned the authenticity of the Bible, and God has demonstrated its full truthfulness.  I have questioned my reason for being, and God has shown that He has a purpose, though I do not know what that is as of yet.  I have questioned my beliefs, and some I have amended, others I have abandoned.  I have questioned authority, and God has shown me that I must obey it, starting with Him, and then human authority so long it does not conflict with God's, and that blind allegiance to human authority is wrong.  I have questioned my standards of personal conduct, and some I have amended, and others I have abandoned.

This brings me to the point of my blog.  I have changed over the years, but some elements of my change I have been very guarded over.  That stops now.  There are some who read this blog who may be saddened by what they read.  Others will smile.  Others will be shocked.  Others may even rejoice.  A few may feel betrayed.  Some may even see this as an opportunity to try to destroy me. Am I worried?  To answer this question, I will quote from a much maligned Disney film, the Lion King - "Hakuna Matata" (it's Swahili meaning " There are no worries."  Imagine that . . .).  Why no worries?  It's all been handed over to God. 

Why am I doing this? HeartChange Tool Kit - Rule #15: Truth vs. My Reality.  Do you remember, from my last blog entry, that I had received a new name, even if it was for a day?  I was White Washed Tomb.  To not expose myself now is to hide behind the veneer of my carefully constructed and decorated shell.  By exposing myself, by being real, and letting you see who I really am, I am shattering that wall from within, and I am declaring that I will live by Grace and not by the dictates of men.  I will not be enslaved to what I believe others expect of me, nor to conventional norms.  To expose myself means to surrender my pride, something of which I am in no danger of running out of any time soon.  The most important reason for doing this, though, is because I believe it is honoring to God, and that this is what He desires me to do.  So, without further ado, I will open my trench coat (so you can see my superhero shorts and saintly body, completely clothed from the knees up, of course).

First of all, I listen to wild music.  Oh, I do enjoy the whole spectrum of what is loosely termed "classical."  I also enjoy a variety of very conservative Christian music.  But I must confess I have a weakness for hard rock/metal.  I love ZZ Top (Blues - I know), and I especially delight over Petra.  I am warming up to Sovereign Grace Music, along with Chris Tomlin and others like him.  I have heard music I like from various CCM musicians in recent months.  I really enjoy the music of Sarah Brightman, and I love the music of Nightwish, a Finnish operetic/symphonic metal band (they have quite an amazing female vocalist).

Second, I will be getting a tattoo.  It's not a question of "if," but rather when and which one and where.  I found a tribal lion I really like.  I am also considering a large serpentine oriental dragon coiling its way around my arm from my left shoulder down to my left elbow.  I do want something on the back of my right shoulder which looks like a product label which reads "Made in Japan," perhaps with a bar-code that will scan to display my birthday.  On my right upper arm I am considering a cherry blossom pattern on a field of bright blue.  Who knows.  I may even go really wild and pierce an ear and wear a big gold earring like a pirate. :)

Third, I have no problem with lighting up a pipe or a cigar.  (Ever hear of C.H. Spurgeon?)

Fourth, I have no problem with the temperate use of alcohol.  I don't have a problem with downing a beer.  So far, I have only had non-alcoholic beer.  I don't intend to drink hard liquor, not because I believe it is evil, but because I am afraid of it.  I do not wish to open the gates to potential abuse.  Having said that, though, I am warming up to the idea of a mild nightcap (again, C.H. Spurgeon).

Fifth, I have no problem with gambling.  I buy the occasional  lottery ticket.  I like playing poker (though I do not enjoy betting money or using chips - I would rather play with M&Ms or Skittles) and Black Jack.  Even slot machines I consider to be just fine.  I like dice.  Most games are a waste of time and/or money.  But, as you can see, there are a few I like.

Sixth, I have no problem going to our local movie theater.

Seventh, I have no problem eating a meal in a tavern.


That may be enough for now.  Honestly I am unable to think of anything else to put down.  Besides, I've put enough to give the average Independent Baptist a fit of sputters and high blood pressure.

There may be elements I exposed here which may not be right.  Others may not be wise.  I am simply telling you who I am right now, at this moment in time, one life to another, heart to heart.  Judge me if you wish.  Release me from your friendship if you must.  Curse me if you feel so led.  I do not care.  My God is my sufficiency, and I embrace His grace.  He will protect me and fight for me.  He will correct me and lead others to me to encourage me in the way I should go.

I am at peace.

HeartChange

Welcome to Thoughts Beyond Time.

A new friend of mine recently stated that he had misunderstood his existence.  He thought he was a physical being having a spiritual experience, when in reality he was a spiritual being having a physical experience.  I agree.  We are spiritual beings, and though our present and physical existence is linear, our spirits are eternal, and one day we will transcend the boundaries of space and time when we return to the feet of our Creator.

I met this friend, now a brother-in-arms, at HeartChange.  In Oregon.  Eastern Oregon.  FAR eastern Oregon.  I live in North Dakota, roughly 1000 miles away.

So, what would posses me to make a 2000+ mile round trip in mid November to Oregon in an '98 Chevy Silverado K1500?  Well, simply put, HeartChange.  You can find them here: www.heartchange.org 

I wasn't thrilled about participating.  I really didn't want to be there.  My wife needed help.  But why would I need any?  After all, I grew up in church.  I've been learning theology ever since I can remember.  I knew all the answers.  I can parse out and coherently argue nit-picky details with the best theology professors on the planet.  If anyone needed help, it would not be me.  The Holy Spirit would use my vast knowledge and show me where I needed to change.

. . . . Did anyone notice a common thread in that last paragraph?  Did you notice how many times the first person pronouns were used?  13 instances in that short paragraph. I needed HeartChange.  I didn't know it because I had too much of a preoccupation with how great and smart I was.  In short, I was proud, exulting in my own glory and greatness, happy to worship myself and pay lip-service to God.  I needed HeartChange.  The Holy Spirit couldn't fill me and help me because I was too full of myself.  I had to be broken so that I would be spilled out completely.  Then the Holy Spirit could mend me and fill me with His presence.  I needed HeartChange.

What can I say?  HeartChange was an incredible experience.  I want everyone to go, and from the sounds of it, many want to go.  They have a waiting list half a mile long of people who want to experience what I experienced, to be able to walk a new journey with Creator God and call Him "Daddy," and to be filled with such a wonder and awe to not only know that God loves them but also to feel that He loves them.  Broken hearts begin to mend, and wounds of the heart long left festering or bleeding begin to heal.


At some point on the second day I was given a new name.  I became White Washed Tomb.  The people of HeartChange have incredible insight.  I could not believe that they saw right through me.  My new name exposed me for what I truly was.

Until the end of the next day I remained White Washed Tomb.  We went through various processes over those days to help us confront our deepest shames and darkest haunts.

At the end of the second day, we went through a process in which we named the various components of the wall that we had built up around our hearts, and used various sized boxes to build a physical representation of them.  I had a wall nearly six feet high.  For the crowning brick I took off my name tag and placed it on top. I wanted to be rid of who and what I had become.  My small group leader, Brent (totally awesome dude), asked me if I wanted to break it down.  I thought for a moment, then asked him to do it in my stead.  All of my life, insofar as I can remember, I have tried to do things in my own power, and consequently sank myself to newer and lower lows, making a mess of my life.  I requested Brent to step in, and in a physical representation of the working of the Holy Spirit, he smashed my wall asunder.

That same night we had to formulate a "dagger."  A dagger, in this context, is a statement, a tool that we can use to remember the work God did in our hearts.  It states concisely how God views each person individually, and it is something that can be and is intended to be used when we fall under spiritual attack and are faced with temptation.  Mine is as follows:

"I am a warrior, forged in adversity by my Lord and Captain, unfettered and at peace."

Later on the third night I received a new name - Lion of Peace.  I have embraced my name, and it is now my blog signature.

The whole experience, though difficult at first, beyond question encompassed some of the greatest moments of my life to date, the undisputed first and greatest being the very day of my salvation - Friday, April 19, 1996, 17:15 PM Central Time.

May God be with you.