Walking through the hallways of my middle school was never any fun. It was primarily brown brick and white, the residue of dingy architecture and design of the 1970's. Perhaps partially to blame for these kids nasty tempers was the fact windows were not appreciated in post disco decor.
At some point they included a courtyard -- a centrally located, glassed in courtyard that never once did I ever see anyone in. You couldn't even get into it. It had glass lined hallways on three sides and on the fourth,the cafeteria. One day at lunch, in an act of Breakfast Club inspired defiance (although I did not have any pixie sticks), I threw a piece of cheese from my hamburger on the window and there it stuck for nearly two weeks before someone found it.
Other than that, the one thing I remember about that courtyard was walking around it the year I discovered fiction -- and what a joy it was to escape people, especially mean people. People were mean and outright hateful to me. In that same cafeteria, my sister, eight years my senior, suffered through the same kind of outright abuse-- and sometimes, she'd get to leave high school to have lunch with me. I'm sure when she came to eat with me, despite the fact I felt special and so cool, inside, she probably relived the torture of her teenage years, torture inflicted on her even by those she called 'friend.'
There were those who were kind, but most of what little I remember is never pleasant or positive. I remember the days walking through the hallways, literally reading and navigating a sea of mean people, ignoring every last one of them, as I swam through the muck amongst the ever so rhythmic and descriptive tide of Poppy Z. Brite's writing.
That was the year I read Lost Souls. I still remember walking the dank hallways between classes, and being able to smell-- literally smell-- the magnolias described on the very first page. I was enthralled. It seemed magical.
I too, was lost.
There was a guy named Jeremy. I thought he was cute. I ran into him a while back and I asked him what he thought of me back in the day, when plaid, combat boots and Nirvana were popular with the misfits. Being on the outside of that group, I clung to myself in my dark and desperate longing that I thought was private and was nightly satiated by the sounds of Depeche Mode and the Cure.
His response was sobering. He said that everyday he felt inclined to ask how I was, with what little power or influence any sixth grade boy could have, because he just never knew if he'd see me the next day. He knew about the cuts -- fresh from the night before or those a week old whose scabs would sometimes catch the sleeves that covered them. Even he thought I'd be dead.
After Lost Souls, I moved on to the Anne Rice novels, in particular, the Vampire Chronicles. I simply fell in love with Marius, my favorite, the oldest vampire, a Roman citizen, friend of Botticelli, oh boy did he appeal to my then budding, Humanist heart.
When my mother would force me to church with her --on the front row-- I would read my vampire novel of choice, which was obviously my quiet way of stomping my teenage and pissed off, hurting feet.
You see, even in the midst of all that pain, He was at work. He wired me a certain way, and one of those ways was to have the verbage to explain to others the change in me-- and without my past love of Vampire novels, I do not know if I would simply have the words.
In the few weeks following my salvation, constantly I was reminded of Claudia.
And then I remembered the Lord used Anne Rice specifically to get my attention in the weeks just before my salvation. That, my friends, is how intimately God is involved in us, our passions, even when we want nothing to do with Him.
The fella I had been dating was away in Georgia for a family funeral. His uncle was finally called home after a long battle with cancer. While he was away, I simply, for some strange reason could not get enough of Anne Rice novels.
Now, I hadn't read any of them since I was in Italy. But all of a sudden, man -- I had a need for them. Voraciously I devoured these books and I did it so quickly I ran out of the few books I had in my own collection, and so to feed this absolute need, I went to the library.
Their collection was sad, to say the least. I checked out the three books they had, none of which I was particularly enthralled to read, but again, I almost can't describe it -- I needed to read these books. Two of them were vampire novels, and the third novel was Christ the Lord.
Go figure. Guess which of three books I didn't read?
I wasn't ready yet. I stared at Christ the Lord, doubtfully, out of the corner of my eye -- kind of like my bread maker I desperately wanted one year for my birthday.
This was one month before God himself marched into my living room and picked up my heart, and is why in one of the many instances in my conversion story, this song gets stuck in my head.
You see, shortly after I came to Christ, I described the change in me -- how it seemed even that I saw things, everything, differently. I cannot even watch kid's movies without getting inlaid messages in them I never ever saw before. You simply see through different lenses.
Some people ask me why I cut myself. Well, the blood is the life, right? My life sucked, and I wanted that pain out of me. And when the cuts would begin to heal, they hurt, which reminded me, in a twisted way, that I could, in fact, still feel.
What I find most endearing about this time of my life is simply this: He was there, the entire time. My bedroom at one point housed about fifty paintings, about half of which were eyeballs-- bleeding eyeballs. I love eyes, I always have. Still to this day when idle, in a class or lecture, I will still draw eyes-- plain, very pretty, (non bleeding) eyes.
Eyes are the window into the soul. As a matter of fact, that phrase is biblical. The eye is also a symbol of an all seeing God. He was there, the entire time, in my bedroom at 2am, hating myself, wishing I were dead, and cutting furiously on my wrists. He was there, and why this song, one of the first I heard at the Village had me in complete tears. That's a Godwink. He loved me enough to let me sit in my own mess, just like any good Dad does. He loved my mom enough to teach her to depend on him through her suffering, to show her he had me in His care, which far surpassed any she could ever give.
Christ gave His blood for me.
I left the dark to walk in the light. You die to the world. You die to the law. You live on forever. Seriously, right from the get go, people -- all kinds of people, Christian and non Christian, young and old, educated and not-- every one of them noticed I even looked different. Just like Claudia. How do you explain that?
I mean, the comparisons could go on an on. I somehow found the strength to literally end a co-dependant cycle raging in my home, which threw me into absolute, life changing, never before felt poverty, that God used --you see because he uses everything-- to show me just how He provides, how He can do anything. All kinds of things that in my own cunning never happened, but God! Well, He just has orchestrated all kinds of events and people in my life since July 14 2011, and much to my amazement, people like Diane and Robert, Jarrett, Matt and Mark, Jard and James who were wired in, placed before, and planned for me -- as a part of His pursuit of me.
I have been saved, yes I have. I am no longer a part of any of that darkness, yet, it is so much a part of my story. As I explained this new vision I have in a vampiric vernacular to someone recently, she knew-- she understood-- what it was I was feebly attempting to describe to her, and it was all she could do to control the tears welling up in her eyes. She was wanted that, wanting every last bit of what I was illuminating, but still was too proud to accept.
Guess what? He's in that, too.
At some point they included a courtyard -- a centrally located, glassed in courtyard that never once did I ever see anyone in. You couldn't even get into it. It had glass lined hallways on three sides and on the fourth,the cafeteria. One day at lunch, in an act of Breakfast Club inspired defiance (although I did not have any pixie sticks), I threw a piece of cheese from my hamburger on the window and there it stuck for nearly two weeks before someone found it.
There were those who were kind, but most of what little I remember is never pleasant or positive. I remember the days walking through the hallways, literally reading and navigating a sea of mean people, ignoring every last one of them, as I swam through the muck amongst the ever so rhythmic and descriptive tide of Poppy Z. Brite's writing.
That was the year I read Lost Souls. I still remember walking the dank hallways between classes, and being able to smell-- literally smell-- the magnolias described on the very first page. I was enthralled. It seemed magical.
I too, was lost.
There was a guy named Jeremy. I thought he was cute. I ran into him a while back and I asked him what he thought of me back in the day, when plaid, combat boots and Nirvana were popular with the misfits. Being on the outside of that group, I clung to myself in my dark and desperate longing that I thought was private and was nightly satiated by the sounds of Depeche Mode and the Cure.
His response was sobering. He said that everyday he felt inclined to ask how I was, with what little power or influence any sixth grade boy could have, because he just never knew if he'd see me the next day. He knew about the cuts -- fresh from the night before or those a week old whose scabs would sometimes catch the sleeves that covered them. Even he thought I'd be dead.
After Lost Souls, I moved on to the Anne Rice novels, in particular, the Vampire Chronicles. I simply fell in love with Marius, my favorite, the oldest vampire, a Roman citizen, friend of Botticelli, oh boy did he appeal to my then budding, Humanist heart.
When my mother would force me to church with her --on the front row-- I would read my vampire novel of choice, which was obviously my quiet way of stomping my teenage and pissed off, hurting feet.
You see, even in the midst of all that pain, He was at work. He wired me a certain way, and one of those ways was to have the verbage to explain to others the change in me-- and without my past love of Vampire novels, I do not know if I would simply have the words.
In the few weeks following my salvation, constantly I was reminded of Claudia.
And then I remembered the Lord used Anne Rice specifically to get my attention in the weeks just before my salvation. That, my friends, is how intimately God is involved in us, our passions, even when we want nothing to do with Him.
The fella I had been dating was away in Georgia for a family funeral. His uncle was finally called home after a long battle with cancer. While he was away, I simply, for some strange reason could not get enough of Anne Rice novels.
Now, I hadn't read any of them since I was in Italy. But all of a sudden, man -- I had a need for them. Voraciously I devoured these books and I did it so quickly I ran out of the few books I had in my own collection, and so to feed this absolute need, I went to the library.
Their collection was sad, to say the least. I checked out the three books they had, none of which I was particularly enthralled to read, but again, I almost can't describe it -- I needed to read these books. Two of them were vampire novels, and the third novel was Christ the Lord.
Go figure. Guess which of three books I didn't read?
I wasn't ready yet. I stared at Christ the Lord, doubtfully, out of the corner of my eye -- kind of like my bread maker I desperately wanted one year for my birthday.
This was one month before God himself marched into my living room and picked up my heart, and is why in one of the many instances in my conversion story, this song gets stuck in my head.
You see, shortly after I came to Christ, I described the change in me -- how it seemed even that I saw things, everything, differently. I cannot even watch kid's movies without getting inlaid messages in them I never ever saw before. You simply see through different lenses.
Some people ask me why I cut myself. Well, the blood is the life, right? My life sucked, and I wanted that pain out of me. And when the cuts would begin to heal, they hurt, which reminded me, in a twisted way, that I could, in fact, still feel.
What I find most endearing about this time of my life is simply this: He was there, the entire time. My bedroom at one point housed about fifty paintings, about half of which were eyeballs-- bleeding eyeballs. I love eyes, I always have. Still to this day when idle, in a class or lecture, I will still draw eyes-- plain, very pretty, (non bleeding) eyes.
Eyes are the window into the soul. As a matter of fact, that phrase is biblical. The eye is also a symbol of an all seeing God. He was there, the entire time, in my bedroom at 2am, hating myself, wishing I were dead, and cutting furiously on my wrists. He was there, and why this song, one of the first I heard at the Village had me in complete tears. That's a Godwink. He loved me enough to let me sit in my own mess, just like any good Dad does. He loved my mom enough to teach her to depend on him through her suffering, to show her he had me in His care, which far surpassed any she could ever give.
Christ gave His blood for me.
I left the dark to walk in the light. You die to the world. You die to the law. You live on forever. Seriously, right from the get go, people -- all kinds of people, Christian and non Christian, young and old, educated and not-- every one of them noticed I even looked different. Just like Claudia. How do you explain that?
I mean, the comparisons could go on an on. I somehow found the strength to literally end a co-dependant cycle raging in my home, which threw me into absolute, life changing, never before felt poverty, that God used --you see because he uses everything-- to show me just how He provides, how He can do anything. All kinds of things that in my own cunning never happened, but God! Well, He just has orchestrated all kinds of events and people in my life since July 14 2011, and much to my amazement, people like Diane and Robert, Jarrett, Matt and Mark, Jard and James who were wired in, placed before, and planned for me -- as a part of His pursuit of me.
I have been saved, yes I have. I am no longer a part of any of that darkness, yet, it is so much a part of my story. As I explained this new vision I have in a vampiric vernacular to someone recently, she knew-- she understood-- what it was I was feebly attempting to describe to her, and it was all she could do to control the tears welling up in her eyes. She was wanted that, wanting every last bit of what I was illuminating, but still was too proud to accept.
Guess what? He's in that, too.
No comments:
Post a Comment