Further Lessons From Brokenness

As I reflect during a time of intense emotion, and resolve what I must do, I contrast what I desire, with the contents of my heart and the ailment of my body. I am now the combination of chance and choice, but mostly the latter. I believe many a thing about what inner strength is, and I am postulating that there is yet another lesson here: brokenness need not be defeat.

I believe that being vulnerable is a sign of emotional strength, and to lay one self bare does take courage; or at least for me, resolve. But to simply do that and let myself be defined by that brokenness is destructive. You do not better yourself in such action, unless it becomes the opportunity for you to fill those gaps. But no useful thing has ever been always under construction. It is built, used and repaired – all for the cycle to begin again.

Another thing: I often think of brokenness like shattered shards of jars of clay. Well perhaps the goal is not to be simply shattered and mended, but to not be a jar. Be malleable, but strong, ready to be crafted into something more than the dust from which you were wrought.

A Man Who Breaks His Own Heart

We move like swing sets
–  Talking Through Glass by Thrice

I write this, knowing full well the story isn’t over, but I suppose in my hearts of hearts, I am expecting the worst. I wonder sometimes how I do this to myself, get involved, dive in, commit myself to something as that is like a wisp of wind. Will it turn into a storm, or fade away with the rest of the air currents? Metaphors aside, I think I know the answers, and I don’t think I’m wrong for doing things the way I do them. Of course I could be, but what’s the point, if one doesn’t have a few principles?

Love – It always comes down to it. I believe it can make you the best you can be. Love will test you, push you to your limits. Love without bounds is passionate, intense, violent even. It’s open, flowing and vulnerable. Love is binding, a feeling, a promise, an emotion, a decision, a duty. Love is what I must do, at all costs. And I might be mad for thinking so, but I would rather give my all, then hold back, reservedly, with fear for my heart. To break it, to mend it… it can be done – and if that process means I will shine a light at least briefly into someone’s life; than it’s worth it. I do not want it to be said of me that I did not love, that I did not try, that I did not give what I had.

There will be pain and suffering, but there will also be beauty. If I give nothing, there will be nothing and I might as well be lost to an empty vastness. Here’s the rub: In all situations, I think love is the best I can do. I think to try as much as possible, although certainly not perfectly, to do something for someone else, give freely, and to extend oneself… its the best I can do. Sometimes, especially when I am weak and broken –  it’s all I can aspire towards.

I readily admit and I say this as a person who finds it difficult, if not impossible to love myself: The purest form of love is to live for someone else, to say that someone’s happiness becomes more important than mine and to enable them to achieve the best they can be, and become the best versions of themselves.

That’s exactly what I’ll try to do. If I can’t catch the wind, I’ll become it.

More Than Dust

“You make beautiful things, you make beautiful things out of dust.” – Beautiful Things by Gungor

Today (Oct 1st 2015 on original writing) I thought “is it possible that I am a beatuiful thing?” In my heart, I believe I shouldn’t think like that. But why? Why could I not also be a piece of the world that God has created?

Because I believe I haven’t much, or actually value. I am a machine. Either I do as I should or I fail. There shouldn’t be, in my life a reward.

But I believe in love, and I believe that I am a child of God, along with everyone else. I am in conflict with myself – to be good I must do as my faith tells me to, but broken pieces of me think that is bad. I must be different and uncommon.

I’m stupid though, and I think it’s dumb. How can I be different? I think I must listen to my friends. See myself as they see me, or see myself as I see them. What does God want from me? This is also important. Now that I am here, in a new city, what shall I do for my Lord. So many questions, so little answers.

“Du skaper vakre ting, du skaper skaper vakre ting fra støvet” – Beautiful Things by Gungor

I dag (Oct 1. 2015 når skrive jeg dette) jeg tenkte, er det mulig at jeg er vakre ting? I hjerte mi, jeg tro jeg må ikke tenk som dette. Men hvorfor? Hvorfor kan jeg ikke også bli en del av verden om Gud hadde skapt?

Fordi jeg tro jeg har ikke mye, nei… ingen “value.” jeg er en  maskiner. Jeg enten fullført hva jeg burde, eller jeg feil. Der skulle ikke bli, i dette livet min, en “reward.”

Men jeg tro i kjærlighet, og jeg tro jeg er gudsbarna sammen med alle mennesker. Jeg er i konflikt med meg selv – å bli god jeg må gjør som mine tro fortelle meg til. Men brutt deler av meg selv tenkt om det er dårlig. Jeg må være forskjellig og uvanlig.

Jeg er dum. Å tror dette er dum. Hvordan kan jeg bli forskjellig? Jeg synes jeg må lytte til vennene mine. Se meg som de se meg, eller se meg som jeg se dem. Hva vil Gud fra meg? Det er også viktig. Nå om jeg her, i en nye by, hva skal jeg gjør for herren mine? Så mange spørsmål, så litte svarer.


Back on the ol’ horse

It has been yet again a long time since I’ve written anything here, although this time it has been quite different, because it hasn’t been because I haven’t thought of anything, or because I haven’t wanted to. No, on the contrary it’s because I’ve chosen some silence, to keep my thoughts to myself. As some who happen on this may know, the ultimate objective of this blog is to keep some log of my thoughts, maybe the best, maybe the worst, maybe just what is; so that I can one day share this with my own children. However, knowing that even a few can read these words, and be privy to some of my inner monologue has detracted me from my goal, and wanting to be a person of some strength, I chose silence as a way to mask my weakness.

I would not want to sound ungrateful of this past year, for many a great thing happened, but also a few really difficult things that I had a hard time talking about. My way of living life, the combination of being a rampant work-a-holic and dealing with that by being an actual alcoholic, caught up with me, and for a moment, I was pretty sure my number was up. On the surface, I can brag about how proud I was that the doctors and nurses were absolutely stupified by the fact that I was not only alive, but on my two feet, doing what I usually do – but the reality was I was terrified. When enough people in scrubs tell you you’re a dead-man-walking it can get to you. In my heart of hearts, I have never fealt so defeated, so weak, so confused.

I had already constructed a plan to do something different with my life, before I found out I had the rage blood in me, but this was very much the last straw. I wasn’t gonna sit there, and die without having seen some of the beautiful things this world has to offer. For a time I was just angry, and I don’t know how much of that got out, but I felt like I just had to work so hard all the time, whether it was the office, or all the volunteering I usually end up getting myself involved in. But hindsight and time have made me realize that’s nobody’s fault but my own, and since I’m a big believer in choice, I chose to get the hell out of dodge.

Fast forward, and here I am now, in London, far from my native land. I hope for myself, for the sake of what this is about, that I can get some stuff written down here now and get over my fear of my friends (because if anyone reads this, it’ll be you) knowing something about what’s going on in my noggin’, and get back to writing about my reflectiongs or experiences. That said, maybe this blog will take a turn – maybe there’ll be less PC philosophy… I don’t know. I just don’t want to make excuses anymore.