Apparently I have been groomed to love the lost, after being lost for so long. So meeting James in a bar, and telling him -- knowing he was a "Christian" -- he would be the one to save me makes sense. That is a Godwink. Here I was, an agnostic gal, dating a "Christian" guy, and I looked at him, straight in the eye, after knowing him only a month or so, and said, "You will be the one to save me." How could I have possibly known that? I tell you what -- I forgot about it entirely until it happened. Well, he was the instrument God used, and as we will see, in more ways than one. In the very least, I know our paths crossed, so that this day on July 13, 2011 could take place.
That was the day God himself walked into my living room.
James was on the phone with that woman for two hours. Eavesdropping and perched on the vintage cream and gold damask couch in the living room, I perked my ears as best I could to hear all that was said in the office while my jaw just dropped to the floor. This was huge.
When he finished the conversation, he even declared he couldn't believe he told that woman those things. Even then you could see the relief on his face, that sweet relief. You could tell it felt good -- not in a huge way, but rather like a big sip of iced tea from a sweaty mason jar. Then the satisfaction that comes from its coating your throat after telling a friend a long story while sitting on the front porch in the heat of the day. That kind of nice.
And for a southern boy, it seemed to sure fit the bill, and the hope -- the hope and excitement that filled the room was amazing.
At the time I thought I had just set myself free from my prison by letting go of Italy, by writing that letter. We were about to be on the same page to freedom, yes? We could marry. So the million dollar question was if James would stay or go. This was also decision day.
He said no. He said, "Even if it means I lose you, I just can't."
Boy did I get angry. All I could see was my anger. Why didn't he understand? I believed in him since the day I met him. I loved him well. I was right. I made him a book to lift him up in the desires of his heart and the pursuit of his PhD. Why didn't he want to get better? Be happy? Be happy with me? Why, why, why! Between my stomps and guttural rage and disappointment I screamed into my down pillow, a very quiet, yet clear voice simply said, "Fear."
Like that -- snap! The rage, the anger -- it was gone. Just gone. Calmly I stood up, I walked into my living room and what lovingly flew out of my mouth --I still ascertain to this very day -- was not me. These are the words as I said them -- verbatim -- and I remember them only because they were so foreign to me.
Those were the introductory words that astounded even me because I had no idea where they came from. I was no Christian! Turning my head, side to side, I looked for someone around me who could have said those things. Not me, anyone but me! It couldn't have been me. In a literal flash, I thought to myself, "What the hell? I sound like my mother." That, my friends, scared the crap outta me. Yet, as a non Christian -- my mouth opened and I continued:
This is the day I can say one thing with utmost certainty: God was preparing us both for a mighty, mighty work, that for a time, require us to go down separate paths. However long that time is, I haven't a clue. That is not for me to know.
Before I go any further, I will say I love James. I love him like my brother, my friend -- just like I love you who read this. Old Hollie loved James and James loved Hollie -- each without a servants heart. Without that heart, any love you have --even love for your own children -- will fail, because you place expectations on that person they were not made to carry. To love with one's own strength is to love no one well.
Because I love James and other people in general, my heart aches. It aches to a degree that causes me to lament (who does that anyway, and more to the point, uses that word?), quite simply because I know something they don't. I am just learning to admit my selfishness, to see it, how it's based in pride -- and listen -- even and especially in the context of this relationship I thought I stewarded so well. That being said, I cannot even rationalize this overwhelming knowing that has caused this selfish woman to weep heavy and burdened tears, tinged with both sorrow and joy for complete and total strangers. This is an example of how I am being taught to love people where they're at, just like Jesus.
It is that you are to me like a gift,
Feelings unknown and you're all alone
This day James picked up the phone. And the next day, I would make a call.
 |
| 1992-1994: some of the suicidal years |
After our return from what should have been a restful family vacation to North Carolina, it became perfectly clear our relationship could not go anywhere but over unless he got some help. James is not a bad person -- no -- not in the least. He was simply hurt, and although we had tried several means to address that hurt -- it literally crippled him and kept him from truly living. It wasn't enough. I mean, no one had ever acknowledged his hurt -- not even him. He is not alone in this. How many of you reading this know exactly what I'm describing, this "living" in the shadows? Having lived in a dank pit like this, I thought I had an answer. I loved him. I wanted to help.
At least I had years of therapy, and I knew what therapy could do, so I began to tinker with the idea he 'get help' to a degree he had never experienced, and I found the Center in Seattle. It was perfect: they focus on whole person care -- they are even Christian, which was perfect because he was a Christian too! I suggested it. He mulled over it. We talked about it. Either way you looked at it, this was good. Even his therapist agreed the benefit outweighed the risk. Two days later, that woman from the Center called to talk to him.
That was the day God himself walked into my living room.
James was on the phone with that woman for two hours. Eavesdropping and perched on the vintage cream and gold damask couch in the living room, I perked my ears as best I could to hear all that was said in the office while my jaw just dropped to the floor. This was huge.
When he finished the conversation, he even declared he couldn't believe he told that woman those things. Even then you could see the relief on his face, that sweet relief. You could tell it felt good -- not in a huge way, but rather like a big sip of iced tea from a sweaty mason jar. Then the satisfaction that comes from its coating your throat after telling a friend a long story while sitting on the front porch in the heat of the day. That kind of nice.
And for a southern boy, it seemed to sure fit the bill, and the hope -- the hope and excitement that filled the room was amazing.
At the time I thought I had just set myself free from my prison by letting go of Italy, by writing that letter. We were about to be on the same page to freedom, yes? We could marry. So the million dollar question was if James would stay or go. This was also decision day.
He said no. He said, "Even if it means I lose you, I just can't."
Boy did I get angry. All I could see was my anger. Why didn't he understand? I believed in him since the day I met him. I loved him well. I was right. I made him a book to lift him up in the desires of his heart and the pursuit of his PhD. Why didn't he want to get better? Be happy? Be happy with me? Why, why, why! Between my stomps and guttural rage and disappointment I screamed into my down pillow, a very quiet, yet clear voice simply said, "Fear."
Like that -- snap! The rage, the anger -- it was gone. Just gone. Calmly I stood up, I walked into my living room and what lovingly flew out of my mouth --I still ascertain to this very day -- was not me. These are the words as I said them -- verbatim -- and I remember them only because they were so foreign to me.
"James, the Lord goes before you and paves the way! He's talking to you and He's talking to me too for that matter and I'm not sure how I feel about it."
"He goes before you and paves the way. He has opened your mind to the possibility to receive help. He had you meet me. I made you at thirty seven get your first physical, and due to the many concerns that for years went ignored, you got health insurance and you've been paying on it long enough they will cover eighty percent of this very large tab. He went before you and gave you a mother who loves you, wants to help you, and has the means to gift you the balance. He even went before you and timed this so perfectly, you will be in Seattle not missing one day of work since you are a college professor on summer break and will return with one day to spare before the semester begins and you want to tell me you just can't?"
There is no regret in this for me. However, in His marvelous way, God used our idols and addictions to protect us in our relationship in many ways. He is still doing this work in us both, as He continually shapes us all, whether we choose to hear Him or not.
Because I love James and other people in general, my heart aches. It aches to a degree that causes me to lament (who does that anyway, and more to the point, uses that word?), quite simply because I know something they don't. I am just learning to admit my selfishness, to see it, how it's based in pride -- and listen -- even and especially in the context of this relationship I thought I stewarded so well. That being said, I cannot even rationalize this overwhelming knowing that has caused this selfish woman to weep heavy and burdened tears, tinged with both sorrow and joy for complete and total strangers. This is an example of how I am being taught to love people where they're at, just like Jesus.
Writing this, I am also reminded of a stanza in a poem James wrote for me:
It is that you are to me like a gift, that I have barely touched or opened wide
a gift that’s wrapped with gifts with gifts inside
and even now I feel a part inside me shift.
And that just goes to show what neither of us understood:
Salvation is the gift, and neither one of us is a Savior.
We are but flesh and bone.
There will come a day James will remember that phone call, see the gift in it, and his sense of self-sufficiency will be completely and most beautifully obliterated. In that, the anxiety that drives "the shift" will be replaced by peace, a peace that comes only when you let go. It will be a sweet time for him in his life -- just as it has been for me.
And that reminds me of a Depeche Mode song. There's God's sense of humor, yet again.
Violator has historically been my least favorite Depeche Mode CD simply because it is the most popular. Sweetest Perfection was my favorite song from that album. Violator came out in 1990, the year the cutting began. The Sweetest Perfection to me then was my death. I would cut myself and envision and desire my death to that song over and over and over again. I would linger in Martin Gore's voice, and slowly cut, dwelling on "the sweetest perfection to call my own... because nothing can stop me," as the blood dripped out of me. Sometimes, I would even draw pictures and write poetry in my own blood with a quill pen.
On this album, the song right after Sweetest Perfection happens to be Personal Jesus -- my least favorite song of all Depeche Mode (and that's saying something, because there's a lot). Often I would skip it.
As I bring this blog post to a close, I am simply flabberghasted at how He reconciles all things to Himself. All things. It is simply amazing. Even when my dear DJ Joe Virus at the Church Dallas would slip Personal Jesus into my faithfully requested (and faithfully played) montage of my favorite DM songs, I would feel disappointment. I'd try to dance to it, but generally didn't like it so much I would simply walk off the dance floor for a "breather." Dancing for me was serious business. It was my "therapy." Even James would get mad at me when I would drag him to the Church, because I took it so seriously. Leave me alone, do not approach me unless I approach you was my mantra. Being on the dance floor was private. It was personal. It was... prayer. And now all I can do is simply fall down in worship, praise Him, press into Him, and let Him love me -- and I don't need a dance floor to do it.
On this album, the song right after Sweetest Perfection happens to be Personal Jesus -- my least favorite song of all Depeche Mode (and that's saying something, because there's a lot). Often I would skip it.
As I bring this blog post to a close, I am simply flabberghasted at how He reconciles all things to Himself. All things. It is simply amazing. Even when my dear DJ Joe Virus at the Church Dallas would slip Personal Jesus into my faithfully requested (and faithfully played) montage of my favorite DM songs, I would feel disappointment. I'd try to dance to it, but generally didn't like it so much I would simply walk off the dance floor for a "breather." Dancing for me was serious business. It was my "therapy." Even James would get mad at me when I would drag him to the Church, because I took it so seriously. Leave me alone, do not approach me unless I approach you was my mantra. Being on the dance floor was private. It was personal. It was... prayer. And now all I can do is simply fall down in worship, praise Him, press into Him, and let Him love me -- and I don't need a dance floor to do it.
Feelings unknown and you're all alone
Flesh and bone by the telephone
lift up the receiver, I'll make you a believer.
Put me to the test
Things on your chest
you need to confess
I will deliver
You know I'm a forgiver
Reach out and touch faith.
This day James picked up the phone. And the next day, I would make a call.
wow. That's neat-o.
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