Darwin Never Had A Driver’s License

The theory of evolution states
Those unfavorable traits we carry in our genes
Will be eradicated by means of selective
Extinction by a very slow process
Of making those genes unavailable
If it doesn’t help the species flourish
It eventually dies.

I know I have a lot of unfavorable genes
Depression, anxiety, Asperger’s, and bad joints
Meds, therapists, and psychiatrists
All sort of make me feel like
My soul went shopping for its chassis and engine
And came out of the lot with a certified

I’ve had relationships.
I’ve come close to relationships, too.
They all end in similar fashions
With the girl doing the dashing
Whether I did grabbed the heart
And did the smashing
Like a football against the turf

(Even though you get a penalty
For unsportsmanlike conduct
When you spike the ball
If it ain’t yours, who cares?)

Or she tied every heart string
Around her finger like a she wanted a reminder
And when the tension got to be too much
She clenched her fist and rushed out
So fast, it took only that part of me with her
But left me living to survive with that pain.

Listen, I wonder sometimes if I
Was meant to die lonely while I watch
Everyone around me find out what it means
To at least be momentarily overjoyed
With the rings on their fingers and
Kids popping out every which woman

I am not, nor have I ever been built
To know what that is like in a sense
Other than one that is unique to me.
And if that means facing Darwin’s
Stoic perception of how traits die out
In this world then I will fight him to
Every last hair in his beard

Because as much as we agree
On certain things I don’t think
He’ll come out of this fight breathing
He is not the master of my destiny
And evolution was just a small picture
In this great landscape painting
Long before he described
The evolution of the species

Truth is, I don’t know what I’m doing
Don’t know where I’m going
Right now it seems prudent just to do
What is required to survive.

That’s hard enough most of the time.
Besides, if I had stopped my life
Every time I’d fallen in love
I’d feel even farther behind.
I only did that once
And it was the biggest waste
Of three years of my life

But sometimes, I ask God,
He being greater than Darwin
What it is I’m supposed to be doing
I don’t have a concrete answer yet
But like I learned driving from
Nebraska to Wyoming to Utah
To Nevada to California to Arizona (Fuck you)
To Kansas and back home

When you’re surrounded by open road
It’s way easier to go forward than back
Or to wait on the shoulder
For someone to save you

Fill up that tank,
Replace that tire and put miles behind you
And thank God Darwin can’t drive.


Wisdom & Pure Misanthropy


I don’t like people that much as a whole. My introverted nature drives me to secluded places regularly to escape their voices and their questions. I think people are poison most of the time, having been betrayed by people who are close to me since the day I was born. People who were supposed to love me and care about me by the definition of the roles they attained by entering my life: father, friend, girlfriend, etc. I have since developed a distrust of most people and their true motives. I have declared this before, but there is no emotion in these words, only certainty.

I am a misanthrope.

noun \mi-ˈsan(t)-thrə-pē\
: dislike or hatred of other people

The greatest gift I have to offer is wisdom. As the Preacher put it, “For in much wisdom is much vexation, and he who increases knowledge increases sorrow.” (Ecclesiastes 1:18). There is a rough road to learning this the hard way, the hard way being the only way I’m likely to learn anything practical. I have been called an old soul by many and I believe that to be true. In my short 28 years of life I have accrued more wisdom than is probably normal for someone my age. This is evidenced in the people I know who still find entertainment in getting drunk every weekend. But to have this kind of wisdom when all people will do is hear instead of listen, to look but not see, is one of the saddest, most frustrating parts of dealing with humanity I have experienced. I don’t claim to know everything but I wish some people would listen to me once in a while.

What does this have to do with misanthropy? I think addresses the very core of the misunderstanding of what misanthropy is. To hate humankind blindly and without prejudice is not only a sign of incompetence but completely unproductive. It is the misanthrope who hates the world and cages himself off from the world completely who is the fool. It is hard to find someone like this who maintains the philosophy indefinitely. It is usually a short span of time triggered by something external that will force someone into the hole of hatred of all mankind and shut himself off from the world. From time to time this has included me and I will openly admit that. But you are only committing murder in your mind when sinking to this level. It’s hard to escape but it’s toxic to the heart, soul, and mind.

Then there are misanthropes like me. I hate humanity but I do not forsake them completely. My hatred is a fuel for seeking improvement, enlightenment, and evolution in myself and people I know. I hate how ugly the world has become at the hands of mankind so I strive to believe there is some beauty to be found somewhere deep inside the cesspool I see every day. Their self-seeking, self-righteous, and self-important behavior has driven me to this point where I have to fight my judgemental side and point out the inanity of peoples’ actions. I’m just not built that way. It’s just so hard not to shut down completely some days considering how people treat each other and it’s hard to breathe the same air as others when the environment gets toxic. But I have to believe my hatred of humanity as a whole will serve as the impetus to be a force of change.

Otherwise, what’s the point?

This song has been a big encouragement:

This will read as a plea to vindicate intolerance as surely as it is written.

Contempt born of clear perception is a birthright to those who channel it toward progression.

Preserve life without loathing.
Awaken hope within hatred.
Wrest insight from outrage.

This is a birthright and obligation.

Spiteful and ill-tempered, I know the character well…
A maelstrom of weakness, and instability seething with viciousness.
I choose not to accept this;
Not into my life.
There is no hope of reform.
When pride is allied with hostility, all reason is denied.
I return the denial.

A glaring misconception of self-importance, I know the character well…
Heedless fool, so arrogant with no understanding of consequence.
I see this negligence.
I choose not to accept it;
Not into my life.
Absence of introspection neglects the outer world.
Let not the excess of lusts and comfort mislead you.
This world is not yours.

Feel the quarrel in just his presence, you know the character all too well…
A destructive man at war with his cowardice.
I detest belligerence, and choose not to accept it;
Not into my life.
Keep separate these hatreds.
Undefined animosity is a device of the spineless, the means of a fool.
Focused misanthropy is opposition for these dark hearts-
Downpours of disapproval no words could begin to express.

To distort the truth to serve itself,
To oppose understanding,
I believe in man.
Man will maintain its hostility.
Have this faith.

Conflict in the chest.
To be concerned for the needs of such heartless men.

Prayer book Blues


Prayers are like smoke and
dissipate into the heavens
There’s always someone
Though it doesn’t always feel
or seem that way.
I light candles behind my eyes
and breathe smoke to the sky
And hope it’s a pleasing
Though it feels like it falls
on deaf ears lately.
It hurts to doubt
But easy to do when the
followers wear happy, plastic

Which Mountain?

These days it seems that a lot of the people around me are living their lives “in pursuit of God” and they want to be “nearer” to him. They do all these things and they donate all of their time and the read their Bible every day as if God really says to do all these things. By the way, he does.

I had mentioned the church I go to around a coworker one day, unknowingly, so I was a bit surprised when he came over to my desk one day and asked for information about my church. Certainly, I gave it to him but that’s just not a question I get asked very often while I’m at work. Speaking of one’s faith is entirely taboo in the corporate world. I gladly gave it to him and thought he might leave since his shift was over. But he said something to me that just made me cringe instinctively. At the time I didn’t know why it bothered me but this is what he said: “I’m a Catholic. I volunteer at a Methodist [something] and a Lutheran [something else]. And you know, it has made me a better…” I was fine up to this point. I like to see brothers and sisters and Christ being the church and doing things. But the last word almost gave me fits.

“… Catholic.”

Serving like that makes him a better Catholic? Not Christian, not Christ-follower, not servant but Catholic?

There are then those people who have all sorts of funny ideas about how you can reach God. Some of them believe in a god but not the God of the Bible.  Then again, some of them just have a very mangled sense of who God is. They live their lives in according to these beliefs as best they can to the point where God is something they can’t approach or he is just something that they keep at arm’s length. The idea of God is either too abstract or too painful for them to want to come close enough to him to be in relationship with him.

I have some friends that happen to be sisters-in-law and somehow, in a discussion, the topic of God or church came up. One of these on this occasion as well as many others said that she just doesn’t do anything with church. Very rigidly would she say something to the effect that she and church-related things just don’t work. It seems as if she and church are just mutually exclusive. Admittedly, I have not worked up the courage to ask her why she feels that way. But  her sister-in-law told me in the same conversation that she believes in a God but not the one that her mother would throw at her as a quick remedy to her problems, seemingly without practical advice. She also believed that when she dies she’s coming back in some sort of reincarnated fashion and her beliefs are an amalgamation of a multitude of religions.

Reincarnation. The belief that one will come back to life as something else.

Is there truth in there somewhere?

What I’ve begun to see is that people want something tangible no matter how practical or implausible. They want a mountain to climb. Some use their idea of faith to do things. When they begin the journey up the mountain they’ve chosen they use their faith like a pick to help them feel like they’re making progress and they have to look back to see how far they’ve come. Others have to use their faith as ropes that keep them from falling, constantly looking down to see where they’ve stopped. The journey of faith is a mountain but it’s nothing like these scenarios describe.

To show us this, the writer of Hebrews describes two mountains.

First, he speaks of the idea of faith as a mountain. He introduces the idea by saying, “For you have not come to what may be touched, a blazing fire and darkness and gloom and a tempest,” (Hebrews 12:18 ESV). This introduction is strange. The writer says that what has been approached or arrived at is a place that can be touched. Earlier in our discussion we talked about people who want this faith, this hope to have some sort of tangible or tactile quality. But the writer of Hebrews quickly negates this idea. The idea is pushed even further by describing “what may be touched”.

A blazing fire.



a tempest.

All of these, to me, seem like things you wouldn’t want to lay your hands on. But the author continues to describe this mountain that is free to touch: “…and the sound of a trumpet and a voice whose words made the hearers beg that no further messages be spoken to them,(Hebrews 12:19 ESV)”. It is at this point we should begin to wonder if the writer is referencing just any mountain. If you’ve read the book of Hebrews then you know that almost certainly is not the case. The writer continues, “For they could not endure the order that was given, ‘If even a beast touches the mountain, it shall be stoned.’ Indeed, so terrifying was the sight that Moses said, ‘I tremble with fear.'” (Hebrews 12:20-21 ESV). Indeed, the writer has a specific mountain in mind and the mention of Moses is a nice tip off as to what he’s referencing.

Mt. Sinai.


It is interesting that the writer of Hebrews would tell us “you have not come to what may be touched”. From that we are then able to logically assume that what the writer is describing afterwards is an example of something that can be touched. In reading the story he’s referencing in Exodus 19 & 20, which is what the writer is quoting in Hebrews 12:20-21. Moses has lead the Hebrew people near Mt. Sinai where YHWH speaks to Moses and gives him strict instructions to make themselves clean and YHWH will speak to Moses on the top of the mountain. The people are instructed by God, through Moses, “Take care not to go up into the mountain or touch the edge of it. Whoever touches the mountain shall be put to death. No hand shall touch him, but he shall be stoned or shot; whether beast or man, he shall not live.” (Exodus 19:12-13 ESV). Notice something interesting in the first sentence? The instructions were not to go up into the mountain because only Moses was instructed to do so. But he gives strict instructions.

Hands off.

Do you see the disconnect here? The writer of Hebrews is setting up the first half of his comparison and says, essentially, that Mt. Sinai in the time of Moses where YHWH spoke to him was something that could be touched. Yet it has been made abundantly clear that if you were to climb this mountain or if you were to touch it while YHWH was at the top, you died. What is it that the people would be doing if they touched the mountain? They would be disobeying a command of YHWH. Disobedience brings instant and physical death to whoever dared to test it. Interesting only because of the content of what Moses brings back with him from the top of the mountain in Exodus 24.

The 10 commandments.


Something tangible. How do we know? Because the people become idolatrous in the time Moses is on Sinai. In a rage he smashes the tablets on which the commandments were written against the ground. The implication being that Moses had to touch them first.

The mountain that could be touched but was not to be touched brought a law that made YHWH’s commands physical.

But the writer of Hebrews doesn’t stop there.

The idea turns into the driving point of this section of scripture with the use of the conjunction. He summarizes a very long section in the book of exodus with its gloom, fire and death. It is amazing, the power of a conjunction in writing like this. The author describes what can be touched which any Jew would have know could not be touched at that time and he illustrates the Sinai treaty which is surrounded by all of this wrath and doom which would scare anyone, Greek or Jew…


“But you have come to Mount Zion and to the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem, and to innumerable angels in festal gathering,” (Hebrews 12:22 ESV).

Mount Zion is representative of a few things:
1. The presence of YHWH
2. The Old Treaty being overtaken by the new Treaty in Christ
3. Christ’s ministry as mediator and final revelation (Son 41-42)

In the verse we just brought up in Hebrews, we see two of these three things mentioned right away because the writer is saying you have come to Zion. And Zion isn’t just a mountain, it’s a city. And it’s not just a city, it’s a city of the living God and the heavenly Jerusalem. And this isn’t just a city you’ve come entered with other people. It’s a city where innumerable angels are in festal gathering. That word “festal” can also be translated as “celebration.

It’s a party.

And it gets better.

Because the writers says that you have come to where the church of the firstborn are registered or enrolled into heaven. That is, it’s a place where those who now believe have been written somewhere, they have been invited to this party that is going to happen in heaven. They have given their RSVP where they will get to be with you and with God, the perfect judge. And those who have already died, you’ve come to the same place of faith and they’re waiting with Jesus Christ, the Son of the living God. The writer calls him “the mediator of the new covenant” (Hebrews 12:24a ESV) which means that the treaty that bought you he brought to its final agreement with “the sprinkled blood that speaks a better word than the blood of Abel,” (Hebrews 12:24b ESV).


When Cain killed his brother Abel, God asks him where his brother is. Snidely, I think, he tells God he is not his brother’s keeper. And God says to him, And the LORD said, “What have you done? The voice of your brother’s blood is crying to me from the ground. And now you are cursed from the ground, which has opened its mouth to receive your brother’s blood from your hand,” (Genesis 4:10-11 ESV). The blood of Abel cried out to God because it was a result of the sin that Cain committed against his brother. That just begs the question:

How much louder, then, does Jesus’ blood cry out to point out the sin of his people that killed him?


The covenant at Mt. Sinai was that the people would follow the law given by YHWH so they could understand him. What they learned very quickly is that the law brings death. Disobedience to YHWH was a fast track to immediate death. Of all the laws written that would expand into the Levitical and Deutronomic codes, the violation of one would mean death for the transgressor. Mt. Sinai is a beautiful symbol of God’s love and a great sign of what was in the hearts of his people.

Which is why he gave us Mt. Zion: Where the law is fulfilled and a great party lies ahead.

But we’re not there.

Not completely.

Because Mt. Zion is the final resting place, the new Jerusalem for those who would believe in the saving Grace of YHWH atone for by the blood of his only Son. The mention of the firstborn enrolled in heaven would seem to say that there is a list here and you may be on it but you have not reached the top of the mountain


But there are things that we have been equipped with that are part of Mt. Zion. We have Jesus and we have God. We have the Holy Spirit to guide us up the mountain. We have approached the mountain with both the pick and the rope and we are constantly being prayed for by others on the mountain with us. That just begs the question then, something that you and I should think about constantly. Which mountain have we come to? The mountain where we have the fear of death through one simple violation? Or are we approaching Zion? The place where God dwells and will dwell for eternity is begging for us to dig in our spikes and climb with everything we have and everything we have been given. The weight of sin is lifted and our past has been forgiven. Which means one thing for certain.

We don’t


took look


Between Black&White

A man walks down the street,
watching his steps cross the
cracks in the concrete, all the while
missing the rhythm of life,
“normal life” they say, by
just a fifth of a second and
he thinks he knows things
but sometimes he’s never quiet
Well, there are times when
he clings to the vines that
hold him firm to the things
that never falter or fade.
But even then, sometimes,
he can feel his hands start to
And though he grinds his teeth
and, jawclenched, he tries
to hold on tight…
he falls.
But he continues to walk,
right in front of left, eyes
never failing to glare only at
the cracked pavement and debris
his feet walk over.
Looking neither left nor right
just onward.

And it was on this path
that he ran into me
head first into my chest as I was
busy eyeing a woman with
candy apple red hair and a black dress…
The impact was enough to
rattle my balance and in
compensating and preventing a fall
I spilled my cup of coffee down the
gutter to my left.
Anger swept over me like forest fire
madness, but I saw the kid’s eyes,
cold blue antarctica, carved out of ice,
surrounded by white, cracked red and
accented by the bags under his eyes.
They told of a great weight that sat
invisible on his hunched shoulders
I took a breath

Who are you, kid?
“Empathy and apathy, a great dichotomy.
Seeker of grace and failure of faith.”
He spoke to my shoes
What’s is this weight you seem to
“If ever there was a heart that had
grown used to breaking, I’ve got it.
With every passing moment of life,
I am the griefcarrier, the crossbearer,
the sympathy in a world where hope
is the only thing that keeps me going
sometimes. Sometimes…”
He looked me in the eyes which were blue
but in the next moment an emerald green.
” I am the envy of all the things you have
but can never be because I’m too foolish
and too hard-hearted to follow through.
I am the poison you should have drank
and the antidote for what ails you
because you, you think you’ve got it all
figured out and your rational thinking
will set you free…”
His eyes drained of color, turned to stone
and I went cold.
“But your hope for freedom are the very
chains that bind you”
Shocked, I shuddered and wondered
aloud one final question.

How is it that you know so much about me?
He laughed, sick and desperate.
“Close your eyes and shake that question
from your head.
You are so entangled in your own web of
self-absorption that you don’t even recognize your own–”
I was face to face with a man with sullen eyes
I raised my hand and he mimicked my actions
An office building, mirrored windows,
and me,
locked eye-to-eye, face to face.
Antarctica… emerald…
and now just shades of grey
between black and white.

Learning to Whisper Hope Again

She doesn’t know
She doesn’t know how
She doesn’t know how
to believe anymore.
[sharp inhale]
It was apparent that she was
one of a kind, different
a set apart creation that
washed the eyes of
standers-by clean of color
So wonderfully proper
that you’d never forget her.
She used to play the organ
at her church and sweat out
hymns to the congregation
and at the sound of her voice
you could see her wings unfurl
like two great, feathered sails
catching the breath of the air
and the pipes of the organ
as she played.
She always made sure she
was pitch-perfect and
stroking the correct keys with her
finger because
the unspoken understanding from
this homemade choir
that took their places each Sunday morning’
was that perfection was expected
but if you couldn’t get there they’d
pretend to understand.
And so she’d practice hours on end
going through the hymnal page after
page like she was poring over
holy scripture and
she’d tell me that sometimes
she’d play so hard it felt
like her fingerbones might snap
and she’d never be able to play again.
And somedays she hoped they would.

I was just your normal stock of sinner,
believing that some day the Man who saved me
was gonna come down and make
everything new again, like when we were kids.
I spent no time inside this building
where they worship themselves
and their pride gives birth to every
step of their walk down a dangerously wide path
I could hear them every Sunday,
standing outside their house of praise
only to hear her play the organ
with the only grace in that sanctuary,
every note perfect and every
note sang not a cent out of place.
And I would pray for her every time,
as my words were lifted to heaven with
the smoke from the cigarette on my lips
praying to God from this sinner that this
bird be free from her cage and
that her wings spread wide and
break these walls so all could hear
the sound of this one songbird
amongst the carrion crows lift
her head to the sky without
worry of amazing disgrace,
so that the well of love within her soul
was no longer contained within
the pipes that accompanied her throat
and she’d fly free, y’all…

I had heard that words started to fly
like daggers secretly slipped into the back
of each and every one of us outside their circle.
They learned of my association with her
and my tendencies to forget myself and
fall short of Glory and that perfect was a word
I could barely spell sometimes, let alone be.
She told me they asked why a saint such as herself
would bother to fraternize with a sinner, a wretch
like me.
And rather than sell me out and forget me like
some cheap trinket she picked up on a whim,
in a fit of fancy,
she held on to me like I was the last hymnal
she’d ever read and she sang for them
a song of forgiveness and pointed to them
their hypocrisy.
That love is not based on a balancing scale,
we are not meant to believe
we are the most holy in the land because
they were all just like me but didn’t have the eyes
to see their flaws;
their pride was far too great
that she could feel it fill the room
each Sunday as she played her organ
with open wings.

And one last time, she played and I listened outside
with prayers fervently uncoiling from my mouth
in smoke formations in front of my face
over and over, chainpraying for her strength.
But it was when I heard her miss a note on
what I found out later was a song called
“Whispering Hope” written long before
she and I ever knew.
I didn’t know the song but I caught a few
lines of the first verse:

Soft as the voice of an angel
breathing a lesson unheard
Hope with gentle persuasion
Whispers her comforting word:
Wait till the darkness is over,
Wait till the tempest is done,
Hope for the sunshine tomorrow–

And that’s as far as she got before I heard the
animals scream.
What sounded like a pack of wolves or jackals
tearing into the flesh of their noon-time meal
came from inside those brickandmortar walls.
In great panic I just stood there, waiting.
Because if this church was as perfect
as they claim, I did not want to anger God
by stepping across its doorstep.
I just keep breathing smoke and
praying that the worst-case scenarios
reeling through my head were only
projections and not the truth
and the truth would set me free from
such illusions. That my imagination
had only run away a short distance
to stretch and it was about this time
that I saw a sullen figure, blackened,
solemnly step through the glass front
doorway guarded by the awning.

It was my angel, my great-winged songbird
from whom I slowly learned the art of praise
and whose wings could span eternity while she sang.
As she walked away from there, a man
dressed sharp and nice in a suit and tie
poked his head out of the door and
told her she wasn’t perfect and she wasn’t
allowed back here no more.
She was soiling their perfect, see, and her wings
weren’t bright enough and
then he saw me.

His chest puffed out great and mighty
like he was God himself and told me
that I had ruined her now and she was no longer
allowed in this safe place he had built for
people who never sinned, never drank and
didn’t have any real problems and they liked it
just that way.
We had no place here and we needed to leave
the premises or risk bein’ chased out with force
because there were a lot of strong men in this
congregation because strong men are strong enough
not to sin.

It was then I noticed a feather on his shoulder,
and more were wafting out the space between him
and the doors.
I told her to turn around.
Her wings were gone, they’d been torn asunder by
the hands of men who had no concept of beauty
beyond their own reflection and of course their wives
if they weren’t too busy tending to the children.

Now, stripped of her glorious plumage she
cannot sing.
I’ve asked her many times on the offchance that
maybe she’d squeak out a few notes for me
and some day her wings might grow back.
The seeming futility is not lost on me but I keep
coming back at it, I am the chorus
“beg” on repeat.
Always returning to the beginning of the verse and start over
But she won’t.
Sometimes I think she can’t.

She still dresses her finest on Sundays but
doesn’t go anywhere.
She just sits at the organ
used for practice every day of every week
for as long as she can remember.
No strength to even put her hands to the keys
to pound out a few notes, she just stares at
the floor.
Her wings gone.
And I can tell she wants to believe.
She wants to believe
She hopes…
I tell her:

If, in the dusk of the twilight
dim be the region afar,
Will not the deepening darkness
Brighten the glimmering star?
Then the night is upon us,
Why should the heart sink away?
When the dark midnight is over,
Watch for the break of day

It is then that I notice tears run down from her eyes
and plummet to the hard-wood floor and pool.
I can’t see her eyes so I sit hunched like a
child on the sidewalk at the end of a parade,
hands empty, left in the aftermath.
I tell her to look me in the eyes and
tell me what’s running through her mind,
the freight train that just derailed betwixt her ears.
She slowly raises her head as if controlled by
tensile cables, pulleys and a motor and says to me

Whispering hope, oh how welcome thy voice,
Making my heart in its sorrow rejoice.

[Note from the writer: This piece was inspired by a photograph that I found whilst checking my DeviantArt account.  You can see the picture here.  The parts in italics are from the hymn “Whispering Hope” by Alice Hawthorne in 1868.]

Controlling change after the fact before it… forget it

You know, I’m happy to reconnect with people and happy to hear that they’ve decided to come back into my life or vice versa.  It’s been a joy in the last few years to go back and find people that I’ve stopped talking to for one reason or another because I used to be really good at cutting people out of my life and chalking it up to everything else in my life, rationalizing it away because that’s the thing to do when you want it to go away: rationalize it.

God designed in me one fatal problem with doing that to people.  I don’t forget people.  I can’t.  It can become almost a sick obsession to me because I just cannot let people just up and disappear.  There are people I choose to keep out of my life on a permanent basis because they are not good for me or my soul.  But most of the time I just cannot forget anyone which means, if you’re my friend and you’re reading this and you haven’t heard from me, seen me, I’m sorry.  I really am.  You’re still in my head and in my heart but there are a million and one reasons I’m giving myself to keep you away.

But anyways, I digress.  I don’t forget and sometimes the reaction of remembering is so strong that I stagger and have to shake it off.  That happened to me earlier today when I was looking at some pictures a friend had posted and one of them showed her in a picture with someone I thought was someone I hadn’t talked to in about a year for reasons I won’t even begin to describe here.  I had a straight-up panic for a second like one of those six degrees of separation moments that sent my adrenal gland and respiratory system into a flashbang burst in the pit of my stomach.  Sounds violent and it kinda is but that’s not the point.

I realized at that moment that it had been quite some time since everything went down with me and this person and I decided to look her up to see what was going on.  You know, I try to help all my friends through everything I can help them with.  It’s what I’m best at and it’s going to be a big part of my “job” when I get out of college, Lord willing.  That’s where all this sort of started and when I started looking at the way things are with her now compared to then when she was working through all these issues it’s as if nothing has changed and these were all things that were completely unhealthy at the time I was helping her deal with it.  Not only had things changed but they’ve actually intensified in ways that make me roll my eyes and ache from the folly of it all.

It’s a fundamental human trait that people will not change.  I shouldn’t fool myself with that fact and I know the real deal when it comes to major life issues.  Humans haven’t the will to change things themselves, of their own power.  It’s like the girl who gets out of a relationship where she’s treated like garbage, does good for a while, then goes back to another crappy relationship.  It’s the same as our relationship with Jesus.  We have to have the humility to admit that we can change absolutely nothing in ourselves and in that humility comes the faith that allows change to happen.

So, why am I so disappointed and frustrated when people don’t change when we’re a year removed from the situation and I left them holding fast towards what I thought was the right path?  I guess it’s a problem of humility on my part but then I ask the question of whether or not I made the right decision to let them go on their own path.  Then I realize that’s just my wanting things to go the way I want which is “good intention” veiled in a lack of faith.  When things turn out like this I can’t help but say, “I could have done something.”  There’s a whole argument that goes on my head that you really don’t want to hear and I really don’t want to attempt to type out aside from what I’ve done above.  I’m really neurotic and I’m really working on it, praying about it and talking about it.  But what it really breaks down to is a lack of faith in the sovereignty of God and that’s what I’ve learned is my blind spot some times.  And there’s nothing I can do to fix it.