Learning to be loved, Part 2.

I want to talk a little bit about my insanity in the terms of religion. I want to start by saying that in no way, shape, or form is this anyone’s fault. I blame no one. I’m angry with no one. I just missed it. I missed the basic, foundational truth. Missing that truth caused me to repeat the same actions, many times, expecting a different outcome. I call that insanity.

The foundational truth I missed is the foundation of relationships. The Relationship that matters more than anything else. It’s the foundation of the universe. It’s the foundation of religion. It’s the foundation of my existence. It’s the foundation, in every since of the word. It is the definition of the word. I am loved by my Creator. You are loved by your Creator. I was created out of love. You were created out of love. Every single day on this planet is a gift, based in love. Everything I endure in this life is a gift, based in love.

I bastardized religion. I offended and hurt a lot of people. I drove people away from Love. I did this with great intentions. I did it because I thought I “was supposed” to. I thought that I was “being a good Christian.” It’s really hard to tell people about the love of the Creator when I didn’t truly believe the same Creator loved me. But I tried. It’s also really hard to tell people how full the Bible is of stories of love when you’re knocking them across the head, heart, and soul with the same book. I was never able show them any type of love or compassion when that’s all I needed to extend to them. To those people, I apologize.

I thought that God’s love for me was based on how many people I “got saved.” I thought His love for me was based on how often I went to church, read the Bible, or did other “things” that a good Christian “should do.” It wasn’t until recently that the focus of my life went from a place of mistrust to a place of trust.

There have been a few times in my life that I wanted to kill myself. I didn’t see the point of life. I didn’t think it made any sense. The fact that “It’s always one more thing…” drove me crazy. I thought that happiness was a fallacy. I didn’t think it existed. It seemed to me like life was nothing but a rut. You’re born, you “grow up,” you get a job, you get married, you die. What’s the point? That was the only question I had. What’s the point?

There have been times in my life when I reached the end of my rope. I was physically, mentally, emotionally, and chemically depressed. It’s a scary place. Very scary. The last time I was at this point was in April. I was ready to die. I cried. A lot.

I guess I’ll just tell the story? Last summer, around July, I started a relationship. This girl and I have known each other for a while, lost touch, got re-connected and began a relationship. I wanted it to work. I had just gone through a year of sobriety, so surely, this would be my reward. If anyone read my blog posting about longing for fulfillment in a relationship, this is the latest, and by the grace of God, last example.

Excluding many long details, the relationship ended. This is only a small part of the problem. I had just graduated college, celebrated a year of sobriety, had job applications out, and my apartment lease was ending. All of the stars are aligning. Everything is meeting up perfectly at this point. All of these roads are merging, ending, and beginning. I thought it was all under control.

I had no idea what was coming. As far as jobs went, graduation, lease ending, and a relationship, I had no idea what was coming. I was excited. I was scared. I was depressed. I wanted to kill myself. I told my parents this. My mind was made up. I had the whole scenario planned. I was going to leave my girlfriend’s, go to my storage unit, get my shotgun, and head to the hospital.

I wanted to be at the hospital so they could harvest my organs ASAP. The last and only decision I was making, and hadn’t made yet, was whether or not I should call my parents and tell them, or let the doctor tell them. Luckily, as I was saying goodbye to my girlfriend, she picked up on it. She scared me enough to keep me alive for the day. I called my parents and headed home a few days later for a while.

When I got home, in September, I was in a pretty dark and scary place. I started seeing a psychiatrist and taking a lot of anti-depressants. Part of the reason I was so depressed is because I had stopped taking my meds about 3 months prior. I scared a lot of people. I should have checked myself in somewhere. By the grace of God, I was spared. I have since stopped taking my meds, and I’m  hoping for the best. It’s been really good.

I got home in the first part of September and it’s best thing that has happened to me. While I was home, I suffered with another serious depression in April. It’s odd how some depressions are emotional, some physical, other mental/chemical, and then, of course spiritual. The one that brought me home was physical, mental, and emotional. Not a bad combo?

The last, was of course all of them. Worse than I had ever experienced any of them. I’ve had them all separately. I’ve had two at a time, and three at a time. I’ve somehow made it through. They are all different depressions. The last was something I had never imagined. I had given up. Totally. I completely lost hope. I truly believed that God did not love me. I thought He was a sadist. I thought He chose whoever He wanted to love and, literally, to hell with the rest.

I struggled with so much guilt, self-hatred, shame, self-condemnation, and self-destruction. I can’t really explain how bad it was. I don’t think I need to. I think if anyone has been near there, they know. I think if anyone is there, they know. I think if you have NO idea what I’m talking about, you don’t need to know. It’s awesome that you don’t.

I asked, one night, as close to the end as I could get: “God. If You really love me, why do I hate myself and everything about me? Why is this life so fucking pointless? Why do I feel so guilty and ashamed?” He answered in a way only He can. He said: “Daniel. I DO love you. Why do you hate yourself so much? Why do you feel so guilty and ashamed?”

I was looking for a place of rest. I wanted a timeout. I just wanted it ALL to stop, just for a minute. I wanted the stress, fear, anxiety, self-hatred, depression, anger, rage, apathy, and hopelessness to just stop for 30 seconds. I needed a timeout and couldn’t get one. I was asking for however much faith it would take to give me rest. I didn’t care how much faith it took I just wanted a rest. I needed a break. I found it.

When He told me He loved me, and I tried, just a little bit, to believe Him, I found a little peace. It was such a brief pause, but it was there. I asked for more faith, and then I just started saying, “You love me? I’ll try to believe that. Help my unbelief. You love me. You love me!?” It was and is a constant, and daily battle to go from a place of not trusting Him to trusting Him. The more I rest in that trust, the more peace I find. The more I trust that He loves me, and the more I trust that nothing changes that, the more I realize the daily grind isn’t as bad. The more simple I keep it, the more sense it makes. He loves me. That’s all. I’m just going to believe that and hang out there. God loves me. 

It’s not about religion. It’s not about rules. It’s about trying, every day, hour, and minute to build a relationship with the One who loves me. Not because I have to. The only reason I am able to believe that He loves me, is because He loves me. That simple awareness is a gift from the bounties of His love for me. That makes things a lot easier.

It makes it a lot easier to mess up and not hate myself. It makes it a lot easier to love my family, friends, and people I meet. It makes it a lot easier to look myself in the mirror at the end of the day. I am loved. I am loved, perfectly, truly, madly, and eternally. I am loved beyond ALL reason, common sense, and justice.

I hit the end of rope because I thought I had tried everything in this life, from Bible banging, to partying, to sobriety, and everything in between. I thought I had done everything I could to drive God, family, friends, and anyone else away. I found out that I was wrong. I found out that in spite, and despite of all the destructive decisions I had made, I was still loved. I also found out what it was like to make all the decisions that I used to condemn people for making.

Now, I can look at the people in my past, and understand how I hurt them. I know what decisions feel like. I know what they look like. I learned how to empathize. I learned where and what my mistakes were. I am learning where and what they are now. I know I owe a lot of people apologies. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to extend to you the same grace that has been extended to me. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to extend any type of grace at all. I’m sorry I was a self-righteous ass hole. I’m sorry for crushing your spirit, stealing from you, and making you feel like you were anything other than loved.

I want to live at peace with myself and with others. I am able to be at peace when I simply acknowledge that my Creator loves me. Because of His love for me, I need to love other people. Because He accepts me, I need to accept other people. Because of His love and acceptance of me, I need to love and accept myself. I HAVE to trust that He loves and accepts me. I GET to trust that. I am loved. 

I forget to remember...

So. Tomorrow will mark my 6th week in Rome, Italy. That's a really long time. I have a few more to go, though. I am planning on being here for at least a year. I am thinking I will probably come home at the end of next summer? But, who knows. That's a really long time away.

This has been one of the hardest things I've ever done. I miss my family. I miss my friends. I miss home. I miss a lot of things. I also MISS a lot of things. I miss them when I become too busy. When my mind is busy, or my hands are busy, or my heart is busy. I find it easy to miss life.

I'm not talking about being lazy or sedintary all the time. I'm talking about finding a tranquil place to live life. I'm talking about finding peace in the midst of the mess. My friend has a climb he calls "Pursuit of Peace." I want to get on that "problem" when I get back to MO. But I want to get on my problem of the pursuit of peace, right now.

Another friend of mine has a song, "Dark Hotel."
"Oh, Lord, give me peace.
And put my sorry singing sad ole soul at ease.
Bring me hope, I need a little, just a little."

The Lord has given me peace. He has given me hope. It's really hard for me to remember them, and cling to them everyday. It's hard for me to keep my life at the simple place of love. It's hard for me to remember that I have a safe place. It's hard for me to reside in the house of love and peace. It's where I want to be.

I want to find the things in this life that usher me into the Presence of Peace, to the Prince of Peace. I'm trying to learn, to live, and to love. I'm trying to learn to live and I'm trying to learn to love. All the while, life happens.

DEPORT THIS!

Ok. Here's the story of my deportation threat.

I work illegally. I gather people for tours. It's a straight cash, under the table, no taxes, straight commission job. No Italians want to it. Mother-tongue English speakers are preferred. I just talk to people. I give them info about our tour, hope they sign up, and make money. I'm not supposed to be doing it. I'm "supposed" to have a work Visa. I am allowed 90 days in the EU before I get in trouble for being here. (The way around that is to go to a country that's not in the EU.)

It's NOTHING like the situation in America with Mexicans! Except for the EXACT opposite. I work for cash, do jobs citizens don't want to, send money back home, and try my best to avoid the authorities. I digress.

I usually have a pretty good idea when the cops are coming, so when they do, I take a seat. I sometimes put the flyers in my pocket and act like I'm looking at St. Peter's Basilica. No worries. Well, mid-sales pitch today a cop walks right up to me. I had a few options. I could: 

1. Run. 

2. Change my conversation mid-sentence and ask them if they know where "When In Rome Tours" is meeting, I can't find my tour guide?

3. Just keep going and take the ticket.

I opted to stand there and take it. He asked for my passport. I gave him a photocopy. Who carries their passport all day everyday? If you're smart, you don't risk losing it. He took me across the piazza. I looked around for some of my fellow gatherers to tell them to tell my boss what was happening. Immediately to my left was my boss walking with another of our gatherers. They got her too. On her birthday. Ooops. 

They sat in their little mobile station and talked for a while. They called me in (felt eerily like going into the principals office). They said if they see me again, they'll cuff me, put me in a 24-48 hour holding cell and start the deportation process. 

Here's what I really think. They were trying to scare me. I didn't even get a ticket! Let me say this, however. They scared the piss out of me!! I tried to play it off, but, yeah, I cried down my leg a little bit. I don't really think they will deport me. For a number of reasons, one of which is the simple fact that Italians are too damn lazy to fill out that paper work. Another is the fact that deporting an American, thus ending my ability to enter the EU for 8 years, for gathering for tours would probably draw some international raised eyebrows. 

All that aside, I decided to take the rest of the week off. I was having a good day today, too! I already had 6 people on a tour! In case you're wondering, that's 60 euros, tax free commission. Not a bad gig. 

I'm learning some interesting lessons. One of which is that I think I now support amnesty for Mexicans. Let's make them pay a fine, register to become citizens, put them on a probationary timeline to register and obey the law. Then, all the money they make can be taxed to go to pay for Obama's $1.5 trillion health care plan which is part of the problem "they" created by overusing our medical system without paying. Seems like a good idea to me? Let me also say, I love Mexicans! They are hard-working and good people.

Another thing I'm learning is that people are people. From every single inhabited place on this planet, people are people. There are great people out there. There are ass holes out there. There are people that I will never understand why they were created. There are people that make me grateful they were. I'm glad I'm not the Judge. I'm glad I'm not God. I'm glad He asks me try to love my fellow humans and understands when I fail. And I'm glad He has mercy on me when I fail. 

Justice Part 2?

Where justice ends, love begins. Thats the answer. At least according to Brennan Manning. "On the last day when Jesus calls me by my name, 'Come, (Daniel), blessed of my Father,' it will not be because Abba is just, but because His name is mercy."



I am loved by my Creator. Because He is love, He is able to look beyond justice. He is able to move beyond what I deserve. He pursues a relationship with my heart, soul, mind and body. Not out of justice, but out of love and kindness. He is just. He is love.



I watched a "crazy, homeless lady" dance around the street tonight. (Yeah, she winked at me. Guess I appeal to someone out there? At any rate...) God looks at her with the same caring, loving gaze He looks at me with. He desires her just as much as He desires me.

In "The Ragamuffin Gospel" Manning recounts the story of the woman caught in adultery in the New Testament. The Pharisees wanted justice when they paraded that woman, naked and scared, in front of Jesus. Jesus wanted the woman to know love and experience grace. He wants me, and you, to know love and experience grace.

I think He desires I acknowledge my brokenness. I think He desires I understand justice and what I 'deserve.' I think He wants me to EXPERIENCE grace, kindness, love, and compassion. To move past the questions and recieve His love with gratitude and joy. I want to live in a place of trust. I want to have all of my fears driven away. There is no fear in love.

I don't think He wants me to be hung up on my falleness. I don't think He wants me to hate myself because of the things I do and have done. That isn't experiencing love and grace. That isn't living a life of gratitude. Once again, life is about balance. I have to understand my weaknesses. I have to understand that I am loved in spite of them. I have to trust that He loves me. I have to trust that life is an experience. I will experience sadness and loss. I will experience joy and suffering. I WILL experience grace and love. I will express gratitude. I will recieve His love. I will be a beggar at His door of mercy.

Justice?

I was almost blown away today. Everday, I see gypsys. Literally. Rags and everything. Everyday, I see beggars. Literally. Almost everyday, I hear stories of thieves. I despise thieves. I think if they're caught stealing, they should lose a finger. I hate the way being robbed makes me feel. These are the ragamuffins Jesus loved.

He died a thieves' death. For the beggars, thieves, and gypsys, of which I am the worst. He died pleading forgiveness for me, a thief, beggar and a gypsy. I don't get it? How is that justice? Why did He die, so that I don't have to? Why did He suffer for me? He was innocent. On ALL charges. Innocent. And he died so I don't have to be judged? Is there justice in that perfect love?

I asked for compassion today. I asked for one drop of the kindness that my Creator has. I asked to look upon the "lowly" with the same love and kindness that my Creator looks at me. I don't give beggars money. I won't. I still have a really, really hard time with thieves. I hope I never catch anyone's hand in my pocket. I don't know how to extend grace and mercy to someone who takes from other people. I have no idea. But grace has been extended to me?

My Creator created everyone and He loves everyone just the same. I don't understand the justice in His perfect love? How? Knowing myself, and knowing all that I've done, I know I am still loved. I don't want to ask why or how anymore? I want to recieve that love with gratitude. I want to recieve that love like beggars recieve money. I want to believe that somehow, someway, Jesus' sacrifice was and is enough. That my Creator's love for me is perfect. I don't have to know how or why. I don't have to be perfect. I don't even have to be good. I can recieve His love with gratitude. And I can try, everyday, to say thanks for a love I will never understand.

I don't know where justice fits in? I don't know why I'll never "get what I deserve?" I don't know why He loved me enough to take the time to create me and this beautiful earth for me to enjoy? I just want to say thanks. I want to recieve it. I don't need to know why. I just need to be grateful that it is an eternal truth.

"Blessed are the poor in spirit..." God, grant me the humilty to know that I am nothing, but because of Your perfect love, I am something. I am Yours. Grant me the gratitude to say thanks. Thanks for creating me and for life-and all of its imperfections. Grant me the trust not to ask why, or how You love me anymore. The trust and faith to believe that You are love and I am loved. Grant me the compassion to love the unloveable. "...For theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven."

Cultural Differences, humility, and patience...

Italians are a very emotional people. It's really hard to tell when someone is talking to a friend or an enemy. It's hard to tell when someone is being rude. It's hard to tell when any situation could escalate. I'm not sure where the line between accepting cultural differences and standing up for myself is? 

I'm trying really hard to learn humility. For some reason, I think my opinion matters? For some reason, I think it's important, in conversations, to give my side. I work for an Italian man. He isn't the best communicator. He's fluent in 4 languages, I think, but his English and mine must not be the same?

Perhaps I was lucky enough to work for a few bosses that were able to lay out expectations clearly? Perhaps I was lucky enough to work for a few bosses that were willing to accept my feedback? Perhaps I was lucky enough to work for a few bosses that were willing to sit down and talk about the ambiguities of the job I was doing? Perhaps it's a cultural difference?

The other night, I was "called out" by my boss. I was in the middle of a conversation with a guest at the hostel, he interrupted us, and asked why I wasn't at the other building. I said I was on my way over there, but I was in the middle of a conversation. He was wrong. On about 3 different planes, he was wrong. He's my boss. I kept my mouth shut. Keeping my mouth shut ate at me for a LONG time.

My question is this: Where does humility begin and standing up for myself end? I don't like being pissed. I want to be a patient man. I want to be a humble man. I want to be an honest man. In my humble opinion, honesty means saying what I think. 

I don't like to hold on to past conversations and think what coulda, woulda, shoulda been said. It's an awful feeling. The remedy to that is to say what I think, when I think it? Doing that usually blows patience and humility out of the water. Dealing with an Italian business owner, who is loud, aggressive, and pushy is an interesting experience. Hopefully, it will be a humbling one. Humbling is NOT the same as humiliating. 

Balance. Patience. Humility. Peace.