Johnny #2

Megan often gets mad at me in our serious talks because I'm not serious enough. You see, I'm completely capable of having a serious conversation while making handpuppets. No, really, I'm just that talented. Well, art has imitated life and Megan got upset that my first blog post included monkeys and stuff (though I was forgiven after she read it), so I'm going to try and keep this monkeyless. Although, with the inclusion of the word "monkeyless" and the veiled poop joke in the title, I'm not sure that's still possible.

Crap, I did it again. Actual monkey photo (above).

Well, with that out of the way, I'll get to what was really on my mind. I went to Mike Maxell's funeral today. It was a beautiful service. But, funerals are always bittersweet, and they're difficult for anyone to go to. That said, it wasn't helpful with my recent struggle to not be pissed off at God. But, in the way only someone much stronger in faith could do, Mike passed on some great wisdom in his passing.

>If Mike never gave up, who am I to even think about it?

With nothing working out like we even half expected, it's natural to ask myself why I should even keep going. It's said that only a fool will keep trying the same thing over again and expect a different outcome each time. Two years after moving down here, I'm feeling like a fool. I find myself questioning if I was *really* hearing God's call to come down here. But I know I can't give up, and the only way Mike dealt with it was, as he said, "God is 911." Like Mike, I'll never make it without leaning on Him. I'm not the first person who's had to learn this, but God loves me enough to put stronger people in front of me to model that strength.

Before I moved down here, when I was in college and rediscovering the Lord, I asked Him to give me wisdom. I had the lottery-winning Solomaic model in mind: I ask for wisdom, and God would make me the wisest, richest, pimpingest man on earth. I think he's answering my prayer, but not in the way I had hoped.

In good news, it looks like we have a door opened to stay down in So Cal even if we don't have the money to make rent in January. Brent has offered to let us stay in the house he's fixing up. It sounds like a win-win. We get a free place to live in, and there will be plenty of paint fumes around to help us mellow out (sometimes a win-win means you win twice, it's not necessarily a mutual victory).

Let's see what happens.

Bonus faith

I was talking with some beautiful people last night and I had a mini-epiphany. So here it is: We have much more faith than I thought we did.

I really thought we were just running on empty with not really any faith to speak of. But as I was talking to aforementioned beautiful people, I realized that if we didn't believe in a God that provides, we'd be packing right now.

I mean, really, there's just no *earthly* way we're going to make our rent for January. And from the looks of things, we're definitely moving back up north. But we've somehow managed to have enough faith to not pack yet. We're still holding out hope that God will provide us with a way to stay down here.

It's a good feeling to realize that. Kinda like finding a $20 bill in your pocket. Go faith. Now if only I could find enough bills to pay that rent...

Johnny weighs in

Alright, now that we're using this blog we registered forever ago the wife totally wants me to contribute. I guess I don't have much else to do. No, really, last night Megan and I spent three hours untangling a gigantic yarn knot. It probably saved us about 70¢. That should tell you what our time:money ratio looks like right now.

I'm not sure what to write. I occasionally update a myspace blog. The last three posts were:

1. How much I want a hamster-person (i.e., pygmy marmoset)
2. The time my mom made me think she had an unrealistically large french-fry and I cried when she ate it (I was much younger)
3. A drunken post about how I have a lot of street cred for a white boy. Yes, I'm one wacky cracker!

That's me kicking it (proverbially) with my crew (crew is also used figuratively). I'm on the left.

Unsure what to write about, or even how to write seriously, Megan suggests I should talk about the Advent reading we did last Sunday. For those of you who don't know what Advent reading is, I'm sorry, I couldn't tell you. I've never had it explained to me either, but it seems to be lighting candles at Christmas time and talking about what they represent.

Izzy asked us to read about joy. This is probably the worst topic for me to talk about right now. I'm unemployed, recently got in a car accident, can't afford gifts for any of my loved ones, just got over the flu, and don't even know where I'll be living two weeks from now. And the worst part, Mike Maxell passed last Saturday. I love Mike, and I as I'm up there reading about joy I can only think about how much more everyone in that room must have loved him, having known him for years. We'll miss you buddy.

I don't know if I was feeling irrationally cynical, but I couldn't bring myself to agree with the Advent reading. Especially so the description of peace, which read:

"Peace is like sitting down in your favorite chair after a hard day of work. In your hand is a hot mug of coca, in the background, soft Christmas music is playing. As you begin to doze off, you just know God is in control of everything. In a similar way 'Jesus is our peace'."

I understand the need to draw an image of peacefulness, but this isn't the Peace that Christ came to give us. Even unbelievers know and feel this peace (many of them much more often than I do)! But the Peace that Jesus offers is so much more than that. The Peace He gives us is knowing Mike Maxell is in a better place, and that we'll see him again soon. Peace means that although life is a storm right now, I'm with the One who the wind and the waves obey. Peace means knowning that even if I didn't have my family and friends right now, I still wouldn't be going through this alone.

This life-being-hard thing is pretty new to me. I grew up with parents who do well for themselves. I went to a private university to study music. I got out, started a business with a friend and we soon found ourselves brokering large securities and fringe investments. Most of you probably don't know this, but we had a very substantial gold deal that came within a hair's breath of closing. It would have made us multi-millionaires.

You know, I think if that would have happened, I would've had the "music and coca" view of peace and could've gone my whole life without understanding real peace. For what it's worth, I'm glad I understand this and have a fresh perspective. I'm sure my understanding is still shallow and narrow, but at least it's a start. I wanted that gold deal to fund so I could help people with the income. Now I actually understand what it is to need help. Maybe that's the gold I got out of it.

Learning a lesson can suck.

Maybe I'm going through this so that someday (hopefully soon!) I can be a conspicuous example to the world of God's never-failing power to overcome. He has been good to us, and He will continue to be good to us--just you watch!

The roots of hope

So to continue the conversation...

The reason I feel that I don't have what it takes to commit suicide is because I have hope. The difference between those that follow through and those that just think about it is hope. As long as you have even the slightest shred of hope to hold on to, it will be okay.

And even now, I believe that the reason God brought me to that brink of hopelessness is so that I could empathize with those that are falling over the edge. That shred of hope that I still have is leading me to believe that there will be a future in which this intimate knowledge will serve me in my job as a counselor and that someone will be saved from that fate because God saved me from mine.

After going to church today, I feel overwhelmed by the love of our church family. It really is a family and I'm consistently blown away by the realness with which they love and live.

As I was listening to Pastor Larry preach a sermon that spoke to my soul, I wrote this:

"When I lost my faith and couldn't see the face of God, when I didn't know how to pray, when I was just pissed - and because anger is never a primary emotion, by pissed I mean scared and disappointed and confused and heartbroken....

When all of that was where I was, I was still able to have faith in my church family. I was barely hanging on to my last thread of hope, but my hope began to take root when I knew that people like Lisa Race and David Heno were praying for us. I couldn't see or feel God, but I could see Katy's face. I could feel the warmth and support of a hug from Audrey. I could believe in the concern I saw on Danny's face. I could hang on tight to the confidence Izzy had in a better future."

It's written in past tense because I'm starting to trust that there will be a happy ending to this chapter of our lives, and soon. That just as Job cried out to God a big "WHAT THE HELL?!" right when he couldn't take it anymore, God answered with the authority of heaven. He put Job in his place, let him know that if he didn't know how thunder was created or how to summon the fury of the ocean that he would just have to sit back and trust. And then God blessed him beyond his wildest imagination.

See, I don't know how to summon the ocean's fury. So I'm working on sitting back and trusting. And not being a pissed off, bratty child of God while I'm doing it.

Sweet relief

So I write this because writing has always helped me to process. And because I want everyone and nobody to see it at once. Because I feel frustrated with the lack of depth some people possess and like a selfish, spoiled, brat for indulging in even thinking what I'm going through is remotely hard.

But it is. For me. And I recognize in the grand scheme of things that it's minuscule. So there's my prelude and disclaimer. Here goes...

I moved to LA with my husband 2 years, 3 months, and 1 day ago. It was a scary/exciting move. We didn't have jobs or even a place to live, really. We signed the lease with the U-Haul sitting outside the apartment office. We came down on a whim and mostly a prayer, hoping to find our success here. My dreams of grad school, mainly John's dreams of music industry domination.

But here we are. Approximately 821 days from the beginning of our journey and it looks like we've failed at our mission. We've worked hard. Prayed harder. And really... NOTHING.

No. Not nothing. A whole lot.

We've been witness to murder and poverty and social injustice from an uncomfortably close vantage point. And I don't mean to separate ourselves because while I recognize the privilege we've come down here with, we've been just as broke and desperate as our neighbors in the ghetto. I've caught myself behaving like an animal after being treated like one by the slumlords that manage our complex.

It's hard to rise above when you're wading through this much bullshit.

At the moment, we're both unemployed with no prospects to pay rent for January. Each day it's looking more and more like we'll have to move back in with our parents and hope for better luck in the top half of the state. Shitty prospects, but not tragic by any means. I know our choices have gotten us to this point, but I guess I was hoping that our intelligence, hard work, and prayers would have made those choices have a much different outcome.

And here's the heartbreaking revelation that I've recently come to: there is no giving up in life. Lord knows I've wanted to. But even if I gave up - if I just sat down and refused to move - life would continue to happen to me. I would still be a participant in life and the progression of time no matter how much I scream that I just want out.

And there's the crux of it - suicide is the only way out. The only way to get sweet relief from the relentless pursuit of survival. I don't think I actually have what it takes to go through with it, but I've recently started thinking about it with an entirely different perspective. I've begun to really understand the feeling that people who do it must have. It's not really about attention (although for some I'm sure it is), it's just an aching for that sweet relief. Sure, it's selfish. But I get it now.