Abstract: Beliefs and Vaccines

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Every generation goes to the ground,

believing in bad ideas and destructive morals,

though most are ignorant of the fact.

Not too long ago,

entire generations of Americans knew,

blacks were stupid and primitive.

Before that,

they believed one human could own another.

People as property, subject to every form of whimsical violence available.

Backs beaten, women raped, babies bought and sold for cash.

Yes. Human history is a record of our sins,

our violence, and the views that led to them,

regardless of origin.

What is true?

Even more, once the truth is found,

what do we do with it?

A killer virus has the world by the throat,

cases and death starting to mount again,

while politicians turned the moment into theatre.

Many people will go to the ground,

believing they were pro-life,

when all they really were was anti-abortion.

To be truly pro-life is to do whatever it takes to sustain and promote life,

in-kind- refusing a vaccine isn’t a heroic stand, it’s folly.

Every unvaccinated person is at risk,

and every vaccinated person is at less risk.

A previous generation celebrated the end of polio, smallpox, and measles,

so let us remember their truth: Vaccines work.

Do whatever it takes,

the life you save could be yours.

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Vol II: #14 The 80’s Lied To Us

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The 80’s movies lied to us. Not all of them, of course, but most of the popular films are guilty. For whatever reason, most of the biggest Hollywood hits of the era are happy/feel-good movies: E.T., Karate Kid, Back to the Future, Return of the Jedi, Rocky, etc. Goonies was one of my favorites- a group of working-class kids discover a pirate’s booty. I spent hours pretending to find treasure after I saw it. Then there was Karate Kid, the story of Daniel Larusso and Mr. Miyagi. Our hero, similar to the Goonies, is from the wrong side of town. In a span of two hours, he wins the heart of a lady AND a karate tournament. It’s the dream of every straight man- beat the bad guy, then win the girl.

Almost all of these movies have a montage dedicated to the progress of the hero or heroes. These montages usually show our champion in the throws of intense practice or preparation. In the beginning, we see them fail at simple tasks or challenges. Then, over the course of three minutes and many quick cuts, they master a skill. For example, the Karate Kid had no balance as he teeters at the end of Mr. Miyagi’s rowboat. By the end of the movie, he performs his kata without a swim break. These montage moments are the lies I want to dissect moving forward.

For starters, no way Daniel LaRusso goes from karate novice to All Valley Champion in two months. That’s not real. The only way to master a skill is through years of practice or being one of the first to do it. It would’ve taken LaRusso years to catch his peers outside of the fantasies created by screenwriters and directors. He would’ve shown up to the tournament and lost promptly in his first match. That’s real life. Mr. Miyagi should’ve asked for two years.

As BSSM looms on my horizon, I’ve begun to feel the weight of uncommunicated expectations. I’m not where I want to be. I’m not as fit as I want to be or financially secure. I don’t have the career I wish I had. These are not the thoughts of a man committed to what the Lord has for him. They are the thoughts of a man concerned with approval. What if I’m not enough? Of course, I’m enough.

I’m in the middle of my montage, but I don’t have a Hollywood editing crew to make it look neat and cool. It’s messy and never a straight line. And the real truth is I will never be a finished product. I will forever own places of shame in my life- areas I dare not reveal to another soul. I will, despite my desire to the contrary, piss people off and have failed relationships. Some days will be better than others. That’s just life.

I know what path I walk and the Hand I hold. I am not aimless in the dark, rather guided by the Lord. What I find difficult and gracious to comprehend is how little perfection He demands of me. Honestly, it’s one of the hardest truths to live within. Jesus doesn’t ask for perfection*; He commanded pursuit. One is attainable; the other is not. Today, I run after Jesus, not a Hollywood ending.

*People often confuse what Jesus asked of us in Matthew 5 when He said “Be perfect as your Father in heaven is perfect.” The word “perfect” is better translated as “complete”. In this context, Jesus is asking us to love as the Father does- completely. The Father loves us, Himself, and His enemies. His love is- through this lens- complete for all people/beings. This is what it means to be complete: to love the person in front of you including the person in the mirror, your nosy neighbor, and annoying coworkers.

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Abstract: Academics and Arrogance

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For years, the press lied to the American public,

They lied about Vietnam and covered for LBJ and Richard Nixon.

They knew Bill Clinton is a sexual assault waiting to happen, (as was the last guy.)

For years, scientists and academics belittled the religious.

Decades of thick arrogance hang over every lecture hall and dean's office,

our beliefs called myths and our way of living deemed barbaric.

We, the backward Christians are not without significant flaws-

we are late to the party in regards to climate change, equal rights, and governance,

but unless history is wrong, it was us who led the fight to free the slaves,

stand with the unborn, and make babies.

Here we stand, in 2021, a hated and misunderstood community,

asked to trust a bunch of liars and academic assholes.

And, we are suffering because of it.

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Vol II: #13 The Gift of Counselors

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The first time I visited a therapist, I cried in the waiting room. Most of the people leaving the back rooms were women. The only men were student counselors, which caused me to feel like a low-life. Obviously, my inability to be a man was obvious to me; my life so broken I needed professional help. When my name was called, I managed to wipe my face and force a smile—my effort to appear less pathetic than I was proved useless moments later. After a few questions from the counselor, I resumed my blubbering.

That first visit to a counselor occurred ten years ago. I was in the middle of a terrible relationship and lived through a string of abusive moments. I entered counseling because I thought something was wrong with me. What other people seemed capable of, like steady jobs and long-term relationships, was beyond my reach. I was an ashamed shadow of a man, too afraid to be himself and unable to let go of disappointment.

It took ten years for me to understand one real but profound truth: I am not broken. What’s true is I am not very good at being someone else- a gentile southern man, task worker, or yes man. At age 40, I was set free of all that need to be something else. (Turns out, learning to be me isn’t as easy I thought, but that’s another post.) For my freedom, I have the Lord God and counseling to thank. Thank God for professionals who studied and are passionate about helping others. What a gift.

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Abstract: Internet Personality

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People forget,

how technology works,

the records it keeps,

and the data it hoards.

We are what we show on social media,

but more so our searches, cookies, and history.

Everything we do on the internets is tracked,

weighted and stored.

Our digital self, another variation,

something like us, but not.

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Vol II: #12 Real Life Shit

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I need prayer y’all.

My grieving roommate returns next week, and I’m filled with conflicting thoughts, emotions, and expectations. He left December 11th, exactly eight months from the day he will return. In that span, he buried his father, settled multiple estates, and oversaw repairs to his mother’s house. The poor guy also contracted Coronavirus and had to bury a beloved family dog. So, yeah. He’s had a shit time. I can’t deny or minimize the fire he walked through over the last year.

In my heart, I know I want to be kind and understanding to my friend. I want to be the person so many people were to me, over the last 15 months. My friends overwhelmed me with love and empathy, and no one told me to “get over it” or “man up.” They allowed me to grieve what I lost without pressure or judgment.

As I type, I see clearly what my issue is: I can’t fix him. I can’t remove the pain he feels from his father’s absence. It’s not up to me to heal his broken heart. Restoration is a work of the Holy Spirit, and my roommate has to be a present partner in the process. From what I can tell, in my conversations with him, my friend isn’t ready to walk through healing. He’s not ready to let go, or ready to look to his future with hope and expectation.

The uncertainty is what I don’t like. Selfishly, I want my roommate to put….

Well, shit.

During the composition of this blog post, my roommate texted me. The contractors he hired to repair his mother’s house are MIA, and the project is only 1/3 finished. The house is a wreck, which means he’s not coming back any time soon. Fuck. And, who am I to complain?

Lord, I am begging you for a breakthrough for my friend. Light a righteous fire under the ass of the appropriate managers and workers repairing the house. Shower him with love and peace.

Amen.

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Abstract: Dreams Come True

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I sat on the rock, as the stream rushed by,

offering its song as it passed.

Except for few powerful rays,

The redwoods blocked most of the sunlight.

It was a scene from one of my dreams,

but this was true.

Beauty comes to life,

on the southern slope of Mount Hood.

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Vol II: #11 Growing Old

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Today is August 4th, 2021. It’s been 677 days since my last haircut, and I am pondering whether or not I need a new look. The hair on top of my head is thinning faster than the hair on the sides or the back. I thought about cutting it short and using Rogaine to regrow my lost hair. But it’s a fool’s gambit. The trick to Rogaine is daily use. It must be used every day to see results. Any stop in usage will result in hair loss. Not only that, but I’d lose whatever hair I was going to lose in the first place.

No. I will not use Rogaine— regardless of what I decide. The real quandary is in relationship to the unstoppable condition on top of my head. Long, thin hair looks like bits of yarn attached to a bald head. I promised myself I wouldn’t be one of those guys. I want to embrace all of what comes with growing old. (My declining eyesight is also on the horizon of issues to face. I’m still 20/20, but I can tell my eyes aren’t what they were.)

The reason I’m writing about this is that I don’t think we embrace the aging process. For example, I watched the Friends Reunion Special on HBO+ last week. It was boring and gruesome. The entire cast is over 50 years old, yet every one of them tried to replicate to look they had at 30. They looked awful. And, Why? Oh, that’s right. They work in an industry obsessed with appearances, which is why I stopped watching the Special after twenty minutes.

I want to look good and feel good about how I look. But, I don’t want to chase youth or the appearance of it. I fought too hard to love the skin I’m in. I won’t belittle myself for the sake of vanity. My self-esteem is intact; therefore, I need an answer to the original question. What do I do about my hair? Long hair is fun and versatile. I especially like my hair after a shower, fully dry. It’s big and glorious. Multiple people told me a look like a lion when my hair is that way. Washing and drying my hair is a pain, as are all the other drawbacks to long hair. (Ladies…I feel you.)

For now, I’m going to keep my long hair. This is the most hair I will have moving forward. If I cut it now, I likely won’t have another opportunity to grow it back. What I have is what I got. Whenever I do decide to get a cut, you’ll know. I moved on into the next phase of growing old.

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Abstract: Patience

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When I was a child, skinny and unaware,

I believed patience was a mystical ability to endure the undesirable.

“Have patience,” some old person would say,

when what they meant was “it’s going to take a while.”

They reduced patience to a waiting game,

a skill to be mastered while we waited for our food.

Now that I’m a grown-ass man,

I know what patience is.

Patience is the silent partner to any worthwhile endeavor.

She ignores small defeats because she knows they are part of the task.

She embraces change because the way is not defined.

And her constant admonishment is “keep going.”

Patience isn’t waiting but a belief.

She accepts the costs because the journey is worth it.

Whatever comes.

My prayer today, and tomorrow, is to be patient,

to stare down the vision in my heart until nothing else remains.

I will fail myself and you.

Then, I will win.

Such is the blessing of the patient.

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Vol II: #10 I Know The Plan

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He said it just once, while I was in the shower. He said in a stronger yet calm voice. “You know the plan,” was all He said. And, I knew. He was right.

In the moment I described above, it was the Holy Spirit urging me onward. I spent the summer thus far circling myself. Of course, I know the plan and have known it for a while. You may wonder what I’m talking about, so I’ll explain. Last year, I decided to put all my eggs in the Lord’s basket. My choices prior to that moment led me to lay down all my plans at that moment. Following my decision, I spent months living in the moment without a clue as to what I should do.

Over the next 12 months, the Lord challenged me and revealed what’s in my heart to do. In July, I began to blog. By September, I had a vision for an art studio. A few months later, an investment strategy formed my mind. On a personal level, I spent months learning the best way for me to eat and exercise, and I developed an ability to say no to distractions. I also had several great interactions with God. He showed me the Great Cloud of Witnesses and the people in my corner.

In total, the Lord showed me how to love myself, what my purpose is, and how to go about living my life. What a year, eh? The thing is, I feel very exposed and hesitant. I judge myself because I don’t feel a sense of urgency. Every day I skip my investment lessons or drawing practice, I feel like shit. And that’s when the voices start. If you really believed in this, you’d do more often. I know I’m on the right track, but it doesn’t feel that way. I feel like a fraud. I set new goals, then fall short.

I think the key is to climb back into the saddle, no matter how many times I fail myself. I desperately want to be myself, and yet I allow myself to be distracted by TV and current events. (I’ve watched more TV the last three months than the year combined.) Regardless, today is a new day. I can’t reverse the wasted past, but I can focus on today, August, 2nd.

Just Do It.

(Damn Nike for such a great slogan.)

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Abstract: Goodbye July

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Bye-bye July,

I’ll never miss you.

You are hot and lonely,

a narrow waiting room,

where the highest hope is to make it through unscathed.

July isn’t about fun or relaxation,

not in my life.

It’s about the future.

The lack of distraction focused my thoughts and emotions,

are I am left with who I am.

(The rest of the year, I find enough people and moments to pacify my mind.)

I’ve never had a girlfriend in July,

or a job I loved.

It’s a sign of something.

Maybe, hopefully, next year will be different.

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Vol II: #10 Today, I Mourn

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2020 was the year I shed, by choice or by providence, limiting beliefs and sour relationships. I chose faith in the hardest of moments and found grace where none existed in the past. This blog is full of those stories— how I walked through my worst fears and began to love me. And, I wrote a lot about my old business partner, my ex-girlfriend too.

Last fall, I wrote two brief blogs about a sour friendship. My friend was increasingly sarcastic and bitter. Most of her texts centered on displeasure with her job and community. All of her friends were stupid or weird. Her boss was an idiot and beneath her. Daniel is so lucky to have me, she’d say. When I pressed her to make a change, she piled up excuses like a beaver building a dam. She was the queen of excuses; I can’t do that; it would embarrass them.

I met this woman 20 years ago when I was young and immature. We attended the same ministry school for a year. After that year, she moved back to Canada. And despite the distance, she maintained a relationship with a mutual friend. In the fall of 2002, the young man passed away in a car crash. I don’t believe my friend ever really recovered from it. Maybe that’s not true, but it feels like it could be. My Canadian friend doesn’t seem to have emotionally matured past what you’d expect of someone in their early 20’s. The biggest evidence of this is her relationship with her mother— where she maintains a textbook codependent child/parent relationship. Again, I’ll emphasize this is all from my point of view as an outsider.

I can positively say that her thrust of life and adventure waned significantly over the last ten years. She’s got no plan and no power. Her sarcasm and wisecracks are thick and sharp. Whenever I tried to address it with her, she deflected my criticism. Your too sensitive, she’d say. Our last blowup was over coronavirus. As hospitals in Los Angeles overflowed and people suffered, she denounced government intervention as useless. Her words dripped a bitter cold judgment—no compassion or understanding. No empathy. At that point, I couldn’t member why we were friends.

I would’ve preferred to end our friendship on a high note, like one of us getting married. But, how many friendships truly end on a high note? It’s not common. Very few of us will get the opportunity to say goodbye to someone we love at a proper and long moment. I can say I wish the ending of my friendship with Ms. Canada went better. But, how do you tell someone you don’t want to listen to them bitch about everything in their life? Given her track record of rationalization and deflections, I wasn’t surprised when she didn’t take it well.

The reason I write about her today is that I must. Here and now, I’m going to admit some hidden secrets from the Nik files. Today is the day I am admitting to God and myself some truths about me and Ms. Cananda.

To start, in 2009, I made a romantic advance toward my friend, which she rejected. (This is a not-so-secret moment. Just wait.) I moved on, and we maintained our friendship. By 2011, thanks to Whatsapp, I texted my friend every day. In fact, I know I didn’t text anyone more than her from 2011 to 2019. Because of the distance, I didn’t really talk about my pen pal to anyone else. We would chat about the Oscars or the Olympics and share pictures of daily life. We texted from sun up to sundown. At times we maintained an emotional connection beyond normal. On a few occasions, I wondered if I should make another move. As you know, I never did. In the Fall of 2014, I put away any thoughts of dating my friend. I knew her too well.

What’s funny is I’ll never really know if she thought any of that. Ms. Canada isn’t about to embarrass herself or be honest. I know for a fact she had thoughts or feelings (or something) at least once or twice. I’m not that stupid. However shallow or short, they’re were moment. Who sends a guy pictures of dead grandparents? Or texts deep into the night? That’s not normal guy/girl friendship stuff.

When our friendship ended last fall, I tried to sweep my way past it as if she was an old shoe. I didn’t cry or mourn the loss of someone dear to me. Today, the Lord shined a light on that moment last fall. Today is the day he decided to expose a blind spot in my vision. I miss my friend. She’s a good woman with a massive heart. The fear boxed her into a safe and slow march to hopelessness. I’ve got compassion for that. She didn’t consciously choose to lose hope and courage. It was beaten out of her one disappointment at a time.

I haven’t mourned many broken friendships. Again, when most friendships end, there’s no parade or memo. It just ends. But, I am mourning the loss of my friend today. I hope she’s doing ok. I pray moves past fear and doubt. If she were here, she’d tell me I’m wrong. She’s not afraid of anything, rather waiting on the Lord. That’s what people say when they are statues, and they want to be statues. To admit to fear or despair would be shameful, an admission of the damned. I don’t care. Toward the end of our friendship, she made me feel like shit. Often. I had to own my behavior, which required me to lay down boundaries. You know how that went. So, I didn’t make a mistake. It was time for the friendship to end.

Today, I mourn.

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