Remove the Fear, then what?

Yesterday was an odd day. I enjoyed by morning walk with Jesus, two large servings of coffee, and emotionally prepared to go to an engagement party. I also washed, dried, and folded my clothes, wrote a blog, created two new works of art, cleaned the bathrooms, and took all the trash out of the house. 

Communed with Jesus? check

Created? check

Cleaned? check

Productive? check

I even found time to play Sim City 4 and joke around with my roommate. 

Another way of looking at it is, I busied myself. I was conflicted to go to the engagement party. There was a chance, however small, she would be there. Part of me wanted to see her, to move beyond the awkward public setting encounter, to enjoy being in the same space. And the other part of me just didn’t want to go to the party regardless of the guest list. 

None of it seemed to matter by 6pm. I was physically exhausted, like take a long solid nap, can barely keep my eyes open tired. WTF?! Where did this come from? (My honest thought is I drank double the coffee I normally do and then crashed. Not sure.) 

I began to argue with myself about the party. I need to go. I am working to help the guy launch his clothing company, and I like him and his fiance. I need to go because if she goes and I’m not there she might think I was trying to avoid her.

All of it was bullshit, of course, and fear based. I prayed for wisdom and received my favorite response “remove the fear, if you aren’t afraid of what anyone will think, what do you want to do?” Just like that I knew what to do. I texted my friend, gave him a brief explanation of my situation and gracefully bowed out of the festivities. 

As for her? A) I don’t even know if she made it to the party. That’s not my concern. And B) I know I’m not afraid of her. in fact I look forward to seeing her again, when ever it happens. I don’t owe her an explanation, or if she’d even want one. 

Onward. 

My Tortured Relationship With Being a Creator

This is not the vision in my head. It is very imperfect. Looks like a high schooler did it. Just give up. You suck. 

I can barely type letters. Even the mental/emotional exploration of this topic is fraught with heart ache. I am, at the moment, sitting leg-crossed on my bed with tears rolling down my cheeks, snorting snot down the back of my throat. 

I envy…sit in awe of…and find inspiration in those who put their creative heart on display for the public to ridicule- even worse, to nothing it. No response, no emotion or consideration. Blank stares and the eventual movement onto their next moment in life. 

I don’t want to be a nobody, the kind of nobody most people quickly wonder over. Can’t help but know, deep down, this stems from my need to be validated- my self-destructive desire to have others recognize my (in this case) artistic greatness. 

My thoughts are drifting to two separate but valid points: 

1) A new friend started painting ten months ago. I believe he dabbled a bit in various arts before settling on painting. In all honesty, his work was childish eight months ago, six months ago, five months ago, but now he’s evolving. His colors and techniques are better. His style is similar to Jackson Pollack, quick and chaotic. He churns out five to six paintings a session, every week.  

And he’s getting better. I’m excited to see where he’ll be next year, in three years, in ten years. 

My point, and why I mention him, is he proves the theory of determination. Hudson is the type of guy who does shit regardless of what other people think. And he does care about the criticism of his work, but he doesn’t let it stop him. 

2) My approach to painting or sculpture is often experimental and in a series. I don’t think of a single work or concept, I think of series of works to demonstrate an intricate and usually very nuanced idea. One piece isn’t designed to stand alone, but be part of a larger community of pieces- my eternal belief we are all connected. Nothing is alone: actions, thoughts, feelings, and consequences. 

So…

What stopped me from pursuing creative endeavors is not the fear of failure, but the fear of being overlooked and passed over. I don’t know how Van Gogh did it. He barely sold any of his work in his lifetime. 

Given my current position in life- attacking all the fears- I do declare now is a a great moment to go after a very deep longing to create. I acknowledge my deficient skills and talents. I also recognize the rule of determination and self-love. I need to do this. 

My commitment is to continue the technique, material, and color study I started today with oil pastels and drawing paper. I will create 40 pieces a month. I did two today. Each month will be a single work. The month of August is “Confronting Rejection and Imperfection.” I plan to have 12 pieces of work consisting of 40 smaller works each, for a total of 480 works. 

The main goal is to do something everyday. Let it be. And keep going the next day. 

The Unexpected Joy

Over the last two months I prayed the following nearly everyday,”I let go of (insert name.)” And the thing is, I did’t want to let go. Every time I utter that phrase it was done while enduring a sharp moment of grief. 

Today, I hit a wall. A wall that said I can’t keep dragging faint hopes around like an anchor to my ass. You can’t keep your heart open to the past, of an image that isn’t real. If you want something new, close the tab on the old. 

So today, I meant it, and I felt more sad than ever- the loss of something I believed in and wanted. Then I thought about her with another guy. A specific guy, who I don’t think she’ll actually date. I felt angry and somehow betrayed (over my fake scenario), and then something amazing happened…

I felt peace and comfort. No angst. No pain. Just happiness for her good destiny. I’d be happy if she dated that guy. He’s a good dude. 

What happened to me?

I felt the same thing earlier in the week when I was told “we went with someone else” after a job interview. I asked who they chose, and the interviewer told me. I wasn’t mad. I was happy for the person. Like genuinely happy. They deserve it and I hope they crush it. 

Where the fuck did this random joy come from? God is so good I’m happy for people now? Not like ceremoniously happy, but authentic joy for their good fortune, happy for them? WOW. I’ll take it. I’ll take all the joy in all the various form it manifest. I would much rather live life unthreatened by the success of others, and to rejoice in their wins.  

Thank you Lord for whatever this new cheerfulness is. I want more of that. I want to hope for the best for people, and celebrate it. 

Amen. 

The Blah of Life

It’s one of those days, caught between sad and happy where nothing seems to move the emotional lever up or down. This is why best practices are in fact best. I’ve taken care of myself today despite the lack of motivation. I’m definitely not depressed, but I’m not slap happy. Here’s my rub today:

How do I know when I’ve heard the voice of God? Especially when I want something? It is very often a frustrating experience.

I had a quick vision of a thing last September. Nothing I wanted in the moment, but a picture I embraced. I quickly told the Lord,”if that’s going to happen, it’s on You.” I went on living my life. 

Almost a year later, it seems as though that vision is dead. So what gives? Why does this happen? 

Jesus, help me understand. I want to believe You speak to me, and I can hear Your voice. So why does this happen? I didn’t ask for that moment, a clear vision of my future. I know I can hear Your voice for other people, but I’m having a hard time hearing for myself, especially when it involves my heart. 

I don’t want to hear what I want to hear. I want our truth, grace, and love. Everything You have for me is good. I do not fear disappointment. I fear placing my expectations in the wrong place, standing in faith on the sand, instead of your Rocks. 

My heart knows, regardless of outcome or circumstance, you are good. I’m good. I am afraid.

I am afraid. 

I am afraid.

But that’s this walk isn’t it. Having faith to say to the mountain “get up and go”, and if the mountain stays put, there is a bigger plan at work. It’s not me. 

You’ve carefully held my head and heart. I see your hands. And I know this: Disappointment isn’t the problem. My interpretation of disappointment is problem. When what I’ve held in my heart falls into shards of a broken dream, it doesn’t mean I fucked up. 

I can’t use a misinterpretation of failure as a reason to stop listening and believing. So, sweet baby Jesus, keep speaking. Keep casting Your visions. 

Amen. 

What is Good is Eternal

We love the past, at least what our memory doesn’t edit from view. (And we always discover our open wounds when we begin to move those muscles.) It’s settled and predictable. We hate the present so full of pain and uncertainty. But tomorrow, that’s when our fantasy will come true. Tomorrow all we be well. 

This is how we make it through each day. In tension between a glossy past and the un-lived fairy tale future. We don’t see the tragic promises we believe in for the fuzzy cuddly bears they are. In the end, they claw us to death. The wild promises we knew would complete us are our enemies. 

What is Good is eternal. 

In His presence, in the same time and space with Jesus, there is no need. The past is finally behind me, friendships are blessings, and joy is so tangible I can feel it in my finger tips. 

This life isn’t about accomplishment or trophies. It’s about being reunited to the Heart who made us. His glory is ongoing and evident in all things- the storm, the fire, the newborn, and the wrinkled faces of the aged. And in the mountains and paintings of mountains. A delicious bowl of pho and fresh picked blackberries. A chorus of nested birds and the whimsy of a child’s song. 

 We are glorious extension of Him, the last work of art on this wondrous planet.  Our destiny is now. 

Your Will Be Done, and He Did

How often have I prayed a prayer and ended with “Lord, do you your will in me.” Those prayers were often prayers laced with longings for things I didn’t possess. And many times, those prayers came back void. 

For twenty years I prayed for my circumstances to change, my bank account to grow, relationships to recognize my greatness, and for less porn-related sin in my life. I prayed for my universe to evolve into a place I thought would give me peace and joy. And none of it came, not in the dramatic display I hoped to experience. 

And how often have I prayed a prayer which included the words “teach me to love as you love, and remove anything from me blocking my path.” Those prayers were an earnest desire to be loving and kind. I have seen that prayer answered many times. 

2020 might be a year many remember as difficult and full of pain. I will not. I will forever remember it as the year I laid down my fears and let the Lord love me, the year I let go of anxiety and control to truly sink into His arms. 

It all seems so simple on this side it. I thought by fixing my environment, I’d fix myself. If everything just went my way. The Lord, ever wise and eternal, knows better. If Nik isn’t at peace with himself, doesn’t love himself, believe in himself, none of the rest will be enough. Never enough money or affirmation, never enough success. 

I don’t have a plan, but I do possess an aim. To be me. Vulnerable. Strong. Brave. Me. Lord’s will be done. 

Amen.

I Will Not Regret or Consider Myself Cursed

I wrote the title of this blog post as the ending of a poem. 

I have, until recently, often wrestled with regret or considered myself cursed with women. In my 20′s, I avoided dating, mostly because I had some sort of Mother-Mary-playboy-bunny mash up of a fantasy in mind. My complete lack of self-confidence kept me from really pursuing anyone. Transition into my early 30′s, when I pronounced myself “ready to date.” I then picked a series of insecure ladies to court culminating in an abusive drug addict. I desperately tried to save her. If you should wonder, no. Do not try to save the drug addict.

Despite the wretched humiliation of dating a drug addict, it was during that relationship I finally started to learn about mental health, boundaries, and looking for what I want and need. Over the last few disappointing relationships, I’ve been able to separate the fruit from the flies. I no longer see the failures as mistakes or personal rebukes. I’m glad none of them “worked out.” 

Usually when a relationship ends, I run and hide from the overwhelming shame and self-judgement. Not this time. I’m not ashamed of loving her or letting her go. The last few weeks of our relationship were gut wrenching. We were stuck, and something had to change. 

I believe in me more than ever- my good future, an awesome marriage, and walking in the fullness of whatever Jesus has for me. So…if that’s true, can’t I stand in hope she will come back to me? I want her, but I don’t need her. Why not? She is worth hoping for.

I genuinely miss her everyday, but I’m not holding up my life or sitting by the phone. I’ve got a life to live, and I’ll keep the door open with hope she wonders back through it. If she doesn’t, someone else eventually will. 

I will have no regrets or see myself as cursed. I will be proud I didn’t give into shame or disappointment, that I loved her to the very end. 

What Happens When the Self Hate Stops

This week I’ve had moments, long stretches of time, where I didn’t feel anxious or sluggish. At times my thoughts were simple and clear. I gave myself permission to enjoy the landscape of the rocky mountains and the thick forests surrounding them. I was at peace. 

Last night I went to pray in my spot, as I do each night. I wasn’t full of angst or sadness- yes I still miss her, but I’ve learned to live in the tension. And this morning when I went for my morning walk and talk (I literally go for a 2-3 mile walk and prayer session everyday) I didn’t feel emotionally drained, in fact I felt a bit arrogant. I even admitted as much to the Lord. 

(I’ve seen this happen in my life before. My life starts to improve and I suddenly develop an abnormal confidence ultimately leading to some stupid decisions, which tear me down, and I end up back in the self-pity pit.) 

Because my motivation has changed, I see people in a different light. No longer are they powerless or in need of me. I don’t feel a need to fix everything or have the right answer. The real crux of the moment is I longer desire their approval and affirmation. 

Was this always my motivation to love people before now? For them to love me back? To win their approval? I can confidently say no, not always. My life isn’t that binary, but it is a mix. So for some, yes. I wanted them to love me back, and for others no. I love my mom and dad, my good friend Blake, and I love her,  because I love them. I don’t need a reason. Hell, I love my sister, and she continually offers a buffet of reasons not to love her. 

I’ve asked the Lord to see people as He sees them. To love like He loves. And now it’s different. I prayed that same prayer last night. What I realize today, even as I’m typing these words is this: Until recently I wanted to love people well so they would approve of me and value me and love me back. But now, I just want to love people and point them to Jesus. I don’t want to be the source and I don’t need their praise. 

It’s a new world when I don’t hate yourself. 

Being Know is not What I Think It Is

Jesus gave. He performed miracles, raised the dead, and healed the sick. He preached the Gospel of Hope. He poured himself into his disciples and faced his critics head on. And when they came to seize him in the Garden of Gethsemane, the horde of the chief priest and elders brought swords and clubs. Jesus, almost comically, addressed the show of force,”Day after day I sat in the Temple teaching, and you never so much as lifted a hand against me.”*

Jesus did not hold his heart in a secret drawer. He did not protect Himself. He wept over Lazarus, and was often triggered by compassion. He berated the cities of Chorazin, Bethsaida and Capernaum for being like spoiled children. He felt anxiety in the Garden before his arrest. And he often went away to be in solitude.

My human experience says ultimately, Jesus believed in Himself, that no matter what the response was from the people, Pharisees, Sadducees, or Priests, He didn’t stop. He risked being know to the world…and they crucified Him for it. That’s not the the kind of result any of us want. I certainly don’t want to be crucified for being myself. 

Yes. I’m comparing myself to Jesus. He’s my example, not my unattainable-mythical-super-hero-figure God. He made promises, and I believe He’ll keep them. 

The major flaw in my belief in being know is that it comes with acceptance and comfort.That being know is safe. But that’s not true. It can be true. I can talk about my struggle with body image or suicide to a close friend, and reasonably expect to be assured. But what about you internet? What about the seven billion other people our planet? 

Today, right now, I’m starting to believe being known- being honest and open and authentic- is not about how people respond. It’s about walking in the truth of who I am as much as I am able. Everyday. 

Yesterday, I was in my car for seven hours on a drive from Oregon to Redding. At one point, I called to chat with my mom. As we chatted I drove by Mount Shasta in all its glory. A flash of thought over took me as I beheld the beautiful mountain landscape. How uncovered and naked it looked, but also powerful and strong. Then- as if on cue- my mom asked about my holiday plans. Tears leaked down my face as I told her I hadn’t thought about it. Then I paused for a moment. Do I tell her the whole truth? Yes. Be vulnerable. I didn’t run from the question and how it affected me. How I planned to be with someone else during the Holidays, but now I had to consider other alternatives.  

We talked for another 20 minutes on the subject. I’m still sad about it. I still miss her everyday, and I know I’ve got to continue onward. I’m comfortable in the tension. God meets me every morning and sustains me. 

I want to be uncovered and unguarded, strong and powerful. I think what the church taught us kids- protect your heart- is a load of bullshit. The only sure way to have a healthy heart is to use it, give it space to grow and learn, and be who it is. 

My days of waiting for a safe space to be me are at an end. 

Lay Your Heart on the Line

My most powerful moments come when I feel the weakest, when I let people see inside my raw heart. The weakness is my insecurity parading as meekness. It is more accurate to say I struggle to believe in the value of what I am and what I possess. Regardless of my struggle, my heart is good and full. 

(I have struggled to believe in the value of what I am and what I possess. So I take a small break to affirm the past tense. My course shifted toward life and faith, and I refuse to go back into the pity pit. Nope, not gonna do it. Wouldn’t be prudent.)

For this writing thing to be a thing worth being a thing, I’ve got write from my raw and vulnerable position. It’s called courage, I believe. Courage to be me. To make mistakes. To let the letters fall from my fingers and press Post even if my brain says no. 

Most of my life, I hid my heart in a damp cave of shame, scared to be honest or openly emotional. I’ve got forty years of hiding, and that shit don’t work. 

I’m here now, and I’m ready. Heart out in front. 

Just Write Nik

I judge my writing. Every day. Am I descriptive enough, engaging enough, raw enough, polished enough? That sentence is poorly worded. Do I sound like a douche? Do I even have a voice?

Who is reading this? Does any of this time and energy amount to anything valuable? 

I want to be a good writer. I want to share my life experience. I want to help people avoid mental and emotional traps, know they are loved, and continue to chase their greatness. So…I’m in the right place. Right? 

The point, I believe, is to keep going. Where will I be in a year if I write everyday for a year? It’s good to process like this- hidden in the open. 

I detest the phrase “s/he is a born (fill in the blank.)” I think that’s bullshit. I reckon some people are born with certain genetic attributes which make them more suitable for a task than others. I do not deny this fact. But what if Lebron James had grown up in a house without sports? What if his mother had given him books about computers and software languages? 

Maybe I’m not born to write, and maybe I am. Maybe this is the process of going from shit to gold. I’m indifferent to what I lack at this stage in life. I’m only interested in what brings me life, what sits well in my heart. 

My real problem with writing is the public response. There’s the truth. 

I reckon the only was to get somewhere is keep moving. Keep writing Nik. 

Love over Shame, Everyday

I woke up Sunday morning and thought thoughts I’d rather not think. My emotions started to run down a mud path as my mind rummaged for answers. How do I make them see me? Value me? How do I make it happen? It’s a bullshit trap, where the true answer is to stop asking the questions. The premise is wrong. 

Still I tried to give myself permission to stay under the covers rather than start my day the healthy way. It’s Sunday. Take the day off. Your legs are sore. You’ve been good. But I didn’t listen. I battled back. It’s just walking Nik. A few miles. You can walk a few miles. It won’t be hard. You’ll be proud of yourself tomorrow.

I flung my comforter against the wall as I swung my feet to the ground. If I lay here I’m going to sink. And I love myself, so I refuse to sink. I need time with Jesus. I’m going for a walk. 

I didn’t know how twisted my motivations were until this year. I didn’t understand how much anxiety and shame played into my decision making. (Not in every decision. Some decisions I made because I thought it was the right thing to do, and some because it’s what I truly wanted. Earlier this year I dated a woman for the mere fact that I liked her and really enjoyed being with her- no fear or shame present in that moment.)

One area of life long contention is my body image. More aptly said, I worried about what some think my body said about me when they met me. Obese people are often seen as lazy or unable to control their habits- any number of undesirable judgements. I often saw myself in those terms: lazy, unambitious, undisciplined. When an interview went poorly or a woman gave me the cold shoulder I’d instantly begin to hate myself for being fat.   

Consequently, every diet I tried was motivated by my attempt to transform myself into a more acceptable human. I’m not good enough for the job or the girl, but I could be in 50 pounds. And so I would lose weight for a while. Then hit a stall. The pounds would stop dropping, and I didn’t love myself enough to say no to lasagna and a beer and slice of pie. The pounds start to come back like old friends, and the stigma is reinforced. I am lazy and undisciplined. I don’t deserve better.

What I’ve finally discovered in 2020 is I was never going to be a healthy me from a place of shame and self-pity. But if I actively choose to love and affirm myself, I create room for imperfection and lags. When I believe and trust the Lord, it’s ok when I get my heart broken, because I believe the best is yet to come. It’s self-fulfilling prophecy. 

I find self care and love is much more affective form of motivation. It doesn’t allow my feelings or internal narrative to make decisions. It looks for creative answers and hopes all things. It’s patient and kind, always gracious and loving. 

New habits are still forming, but I’m excited by the results. I’m worth loving. My body isn’t a shack. It’s a testimony to the Lord’s faithfulness and endurance. 

Thank you Lord for teaching me to love myself. 

Amen.