Vol II: #42 Life in Tension

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Though the moment happened a few days ago, I can’t remember anything past the phrase I’m going to correct you. The long autumn shadows created by the line of cottonwood trees behind Phil and the cloudless sky above us, yes, I remember those details. But, my heart plugged its ears after my “friend” decided to -without invitation- inject his perspective into my pain. This stolen liberty is a repeat occurrence with Phil and requires decisive action on my part. I cannot be friends with a man unwilling to honor my vulnerable confessions, especially the sloppy confessions. I feel attacked and judged, belittled and trapped by his words too often to ignore.

I hate these moments. I hate this feeling, the lingering belief if only I would’ve said x, y, and z. Oh sure, I have a few lessons to review once I’ve properly closed the book on this short friendship, but the looming task at hand is to tell Phil I will no longer pursue this friendship. Like most students at BSSM, he is facing his issues head-on. And, it’s not my destiny to suffer his ignorance or judgment.

I hope a day is coming where I am wiser than I am today. It’s not that Phil is unworthy of relationships or love. No one is. But, I hate having, what will ultimately be, a jarring conversation. Who among us wants to be told, “I don’t want to be friends with you?” It’s a form of rejection and I loathe rejection- I’m still fighting off the last few echos of pain from my last girlfriend. And, the very thought of entering into a meaningful discussion with Phil makes me ill. So, this is where I am, caught between inflicting pain or suffering it.

The tension is real.

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Vol II: #41 Back To What I Love

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I don’t feel guilty or ashamed. And I don’t feel a need to offer an excuse or apology. I stopped writing because I was busy- with school, new friends, and processing pain and trauma. And Ben finally returned to Redding in early October. (He deserves an entry or two of his own but for now, I’ll stay focused on my inattention to blogging.)

A truth I now embrace is I love to write and its process- the way the words appear from behind a short flashing line, and suddenly on my screen is something new and alive. These are my thoughts, experiences, and opinions. None of them are more or less valid than those of other writers. But, they are and will ever be mine. And no, I’m not a savant. I’m not Shakespeare, Malcolm Gladwell, or CS Lewis, but I am one of the few willing to labor in the backwater of life, unseen and anonymous. I am willing to create and work without reward or recognition. I’m either brilliant or mad and probably a bit of both.

I’ll confess to you: I want to find my voice as a writer. Up till now, I have often tried to sound like authors I admire such as Gladwell or Anthony Bourdain. It’s what someone does when they lack the courage to be themselves. Cooks longing to become chefs recreate the glory of the masters they admire, and I, on this very website, committed the same insecure acts. I tried to imagine the voice of Anthony Bourdain narrating as I wrote. While fun, it’s in vain. I’ll never be Anthony Bourdain. Thankfully.

Recently, I was assigned a book to read. The content of the book- the power of forgiveness- was outstanding. The writing and style were God-awful. I mean, it was really bad. It’s a book no one would publish if the author didn’t have “family connections.” Fortunately, the content of a book can trump the innate talent or skills of the author. I liken it to a poorly shot YouTube video with millions of views. Without arrogance or pride, I know I’m a better writer than that guy. The thought spurred me back to these pages. This is where I want to be, even if it comes to nothing. (The reality is most Christian books are poorly written and lack creativity. I consider it a curse of 21st Century Christianity, as though story-telling is an art best left to the world…)

My goals are no longer about how many blogs I produce or how well each blog or poem is written. The volume of work is a matter of time and polish is the skill of an editor. My purpose on these pages is to write with fire and conviction. From this day forward, I make no promises. I’m going to write more on weekends- when I have time. And I’ll likely write with more passion and less finesse. My entries will likely be short, but perhaps long too. Regardless of what it looks like, I believe this is my new frontier. (Who knows? Maybe I’ll attract a few more readers than my two regulars. You know who you are and I love you.)

(I totally wrote a similar post in late October. LOLOLOLOLOL. #noshame Unlike that post, I’m ready to write again.)

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Abstract: It’s Been A While

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This pages waited, unedited and old,

without much attention from their master.

I confess my negligence and promise my repentance, an act made true,

with each keystroke.

The fury of the last four months- glory and all- pulled me from the loves that carried me to them:

expression, authoring, and naked truth-telling.

I refuse to let go of my lover and friend: Lady Goodwords.

She was good to me and gave me a home.

It was here, on my island of internet,

I poured my heart out to the few who dared to read it.

Clunky and unschooled,

I pushed past embarrassment and convention to say something, anything,

as long as it was true.

And now, I linger in the doorway,

hand on the post,

longing to be let back in.

I crave these solitary fields, my hideaway,

where I type what’s in my heart to type,

and press ‘DONE’ without hesitation.

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Vol II: #40 A Son’s Perspective on Motherhood

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Yesterday, November 16th, was my mother’s birthday. She turned 65 and toward the end of my day I gave her a perfunctory phone call. I meant to ring her earlier in the day when I knew she would be awake. My mom is a rhythm sleeper, meaning she’s robotic in her habits. Her body shuts down starting around 8 PM each day regardless of activity or excitement. Then, she drifts blissfully to sleep by 9. I believe it’s a gift. She will normally wake around 11:30 PM or midnight before settling in for a long night of slumber. My call was around 8:30 PM and I knew I might not get her to answer. Luckily, she picked up and we chatted about life and Thanksgiving plans. My mother is always happy to take my call unless she’s with my brother, or sister, or any of her grandchildren. I know my place…

Being a mother must be a difficult road to walk- pregnancy, giving birth, and raising a child. I’m always a bit miffed when people compare starting a business or new adventure as “giving birth.” I understand the metaphor but the comparison demeans a unique human experience. (I feel the same way when athletes call themselves warriors. Gimme a break bro. War is not the same as a game.) Pregnancy has to be an intense process that pulls on every part of a soul, and a mother is eternally linked to her children. Entrepreneurs know failure is part of the process, and they move on from the ruins of a failed venture. Most mothers do not have such grace. They didn’t carry a child for 40 weeks, suffer labor pain, child-rearing, and teenage drama to be indifferent to the suffering those children endure. To be a mother is to be unconditionally linked to your children.

If I could tell my mother one thing it’s this: You did well. Relax. Have fun. Do the things that bring you joy. It’s ok to enjoy life outside your family- a long walk, playing the piano, or reading a book. I love you.

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Abstract: His Lost Sheep

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I can see it in his smile,

a coerced smile meant to hide his shame.

He crossed over, to the land of nothing.

It’s a common trek of the hurting ex-Christian,

the path from Jesus to no-Jesus,

from jarring pain to the embrace of vast emptiness.

Except, it’s not nothing.

Though they surround themselves with science and facts,

the truth is hope and faith come at a price: grit and unmet expectation.

Life is easier when it’s a series of random events,

and evolutionary impulses,

and much more difficult when God doesn’t respond to our noble demands.

Most of them tried Faith.

They read the Bible and prayed the prayers,

then waited on Him to reply.

They spent nights hoping and wishing for His glory to be revealed,

so…I understand their perspective, I’ve been in their shoes too.

My heart breaks for my friends who turned atheists,

they aren’t as free as they claim.

They believe in nothing and it shows:

No children,

no hope,

nothing to live for beyond their own self-righteous glory.

There’s no such thing as the moral and noble atheist,

just people who believe lies about Who loves them.

It’s fucking sad.

I have no answers,

save the One.

Him, a real encounter with the Lover of their souls.

Whatever despair I feel,

He’s not moved.

His heart is forever unchanged,

and His song stays the same.

He Loves Them.

Oh, How He Loves Them.

The lost sheep of Jesus.

I pray He finds them, soon.

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Vol II: #39 Back At It Again

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My last post was two weeks ago, although it seems like less time has passed since then. It’s easily the longest time away from self-published writing in 16 months. And you know what? I don’t care. This blog is about my life and what I think, what I experience- right or wrong. Regardless, I’m happy to be punching the keys for you and me. I’ve got lot’s to write about.

I’m not going to hold myself to a set number of posts although I’d like to hit 100 blog posts and similar number of poems, but the number it’s the point. The desire to continue to document my life and hone my writing skills. I believe I can accomplish both without a dogmatic approach; therefore, I may post 2-3 blogs a week or perhaps several poems. The strongest desire in my heart is to keep writing and let it land where it lands.

My schedule is busy with work and school, and my roommate returned. So, I am putting some effort in connecting with him as much as possible each day. Then I have my Jesus time, which is essential. Still, this blog serves a purpose and I will that purpose.

I’m happy to be back at it, again.

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Vol II: #38 Processing is Processing

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Being messy is messy. But, being messy with the Lord is part of the healing process. And, it is a process. Healing is often a snotty, shitty mess of a process. And the Lord is there to walk us through it.

I’ve written before, how I’m not a fan of the suddenlies of God. Better said, I have seen more people change over time rather than in an instant. I don’t oppose the instantaneous supernatural power of God, far from it. However, when we count His works of time versus His instant miracles, time wins. My current theory is the Lord prefers to take His time with us to, a) keeps us close to Him, and b) teach us how to live. Our Father is not the lottery or a slot machine, though most of us act like petulant children when we don’t get a payout.

Back to processing. I have a habit of trying to skip to the end of a problem instead of sitting in with the Lord. If I feel anxious, angry, annoyed, etc- I try to skip to the part where “everything is ok.”

For example, one of my BSSM instructors said, “The goal of God is His own glory,” I wanted to vomit. Certainly, scripture talks about the glory of God. But, glorification is not God’s only goal or motivation- far from it. You only need to watch Monday Night Football and you will eventually notice a John 3:16 sign during a field goal attempt. Which, if memory serves, says, “For God so LOVED the world…” I’ve always thought of the glory of God as something more like a byproduct than a goal. Perhaps I’m wrong. But, what I will confidently write is, the God’s goal is not His own glory. At least, it’s not His only goal.

Disagreement aside, I wondered why this person would ever be given a microphone. Six weeks into school and they have yet to say anything worth noting. I hate it, and my anger is something to take to Jesus as often as it arises. It’s messy. I don’t want to be a prick or dismissive of well-intentioned people, but I am. The only way through this moment, and the remaining eight months, is to allow the processing to happen- to be angry, hurt, or sad, to cry and write, and tell the Lord about it. I can’t skip to the healthy end. Life doesn’t work that way. He doesn’t work that way.

Processing is processing. And, it’s best to let it happen.

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Abstract: Risk Is Where It’s At

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It feels safe,

to sit on the old front porch,

watching the world pass us by.

It feels secure,

to collect the check from the man,

our fate in his hands.

We love the predictable nature,

of stocked super market shelves,

and the paved roads that lead us there.

In all our safety,

there is no wonder, no faith,

and little gained.

We were made to move,

to explore,

to risk- for this is the essence of faith.

How can we trust Him,

if the lives we live require little dependence?

Greatness comes from the ability to push beyond comfort,

through fear and anxiety, to the horizon without definition.

The Father said “this is my beloved Son, in whom I am pleased.”

It wasn’t because Jesus was perfect or exuded confidence,

but rather, Jesus risked the most.

May we be like Him.

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Vol II: #37 The Importance of Ted Lasso

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In my 41 years, I have yet to watch anything like Ted Lasso. Apple+ aired the last episode of season two this week, and I’m sad it’s over. Fortunately, season three is in the works for next summer. Thank God. The show has more depth and heart than any in recent memory- at least for me, a 40-something single man trying to make the world a better place. Naturally, Ted Lasso falls outside the critics’ acceptance and praise of “good TV.” It’s not the Sopranos, Game of Thrones, or The Wire. It’s not Breaking Bad, Stranger Things, or Tiger King. It’s a show about men, for men.

You’d have to watch every episode of each season of Ted Lasso to understand what I mean. Yes, Ted Lasso was written by liberal Hollywood actors and screenwriters. Yes. They infuse their politics into it, along with a plethora of Gen-X movie and music references. But, more than anything, Ted Lasso is focused on the journeys of a handful of men, their ups and downs, their motivations, and their flaws. For the sake of this post, I will focus on one of the major themes of season two: how fathers affect their sons.

Throughout season two, we are shown the father-son relationship of four main characters: head coach Ted Lasso, assistant coach Nate Shelley, hotshot star soccer player Jamie Tartt, and a budding young star named Sam Obisanya. Each of these men is significantly impacted by their relationship with their father, and the show captures it beautifully.

Ted Lasso came to life as a hilarious and verbose American football coach, hired to lead an English football club without prior experience or knowledge of the sport. He’s a walking warm-fuzzy and coaches each player to the best of their ability. He appears to be a shinny man- without flaw or sadness. As season one winds its way to the finish, we learn about Ted’s divorce, late-night drinks, and his occasional panic attacks. In season two, we learn why. Ted’s father committed suicide in his early teens. Ted was left confused and determined to “never give up.”

I love Ted Lasso because- as he explains to a therapist- he loved his father. In one session, Ted describes his dad as a great dad. But, Ted hates him because he “gave up.” How Ted approaches life is common for a lot of us. It’s not that we don’t love our dads; rather, we don’t want to repeat their mistakes. We do the opposite of what we see, but problems leak of us all the same. It’s up to us to find a healthy way to express and manage our anger, sadness, and guilt. Our dads didn’t want to hurt anyone, but they didn’t know how to do better. The resources and culture didn’t facilitate a man saying, “I need help.” Men are supposed to deal with their problems “like a man,” which usually involves self-destructive hobbies like drinking and pornography.

Jamie Tartt, on the other hand, is introduced as a hotshot footballer. He’s handsome, talented, and rich…and a prick to women and his teammates. Tartt is the typical arrogant athlete, emboldened by an industry hellbent on winning. It’s hard to like Jamie Tartt in season one. He gave the audience so few opportunities to do so. Coach Lasso never gave up on him, despite all his prick-ish ways. Which is why- when Jamie blew his big break with Man City- he went to Ted to play for Richmond. Over the course of season two, Tartt becomes a leader and model teammate. And, we learn the source of his previous sins.

Jamie Tartt’s dad is an abusive drunk. Even as an adult, his father berates and criticizes Jamie’s performance after each match. It’s the reason Jamie refused to let Coach Lasso coach him, and why he left Man City to film a reality TV show. Jamie would rather rebel than succeed just to piss off his dad. I get that. I’ve felt unable to live up to the expectations of others- like I’m a failure no matter what I did. So why try? It’s something I still struggle to defeat in life. (My single biggest hurdle at BSSM is the feeling I’ll never measure up to what the school says is “normal Christian life.” Thankfully, at 41, I don’t care what they say. I’ve got my life to live, my calling to fulfill. I can love them without letting their expectations crush me.)

The most jarring character on Ted Lasso is Nate Shelley. He starts as a quiet but ambitious equipment manager. Over two seasons he develops into a brilliant young assistant coach, then Shakespearan villain. The story arc of Nate is hard to watch and super relatable. He’s insecure, resentful, and wants to be anyone other than who he is. When given a moment to shine as a coach, he pushed the team to a huge win. He subsequently filled his head with social media affirmation, searching for praise. How common is it for us to look for love online? Very.

Over the course of season two, Nate learns to be assertive, to be powerful but becomes increasingly arrogant. He takes Lasso’s coaching decisions as slights, and never sees himself as the equal he is. Nate needs constant affirmation because he doesn’t believe in himself. By now, you should know, his relationship with his father plays a big role in his insecurity. Nothing Nate does is good enough for his strict father. Even when his son led Richmond to a huge victory, Mr. Shelley turned his nose up at the feat. Nate feels unloved. I can’t imagine what that does to someone. Whatever my dad is or is not, I know my dad loves me.

Ultimately, Nate becomes the villain of the show. He betrayed Ted to the press and became head coach of the new rival West Ham United. When Ted asked “what’s wrong,” Nate explains,

“You made me feel like I was the most important person in the whole world. And, then you abandoned me.”

I felt that statement in my soul. How many times I sought love and continual support from people, then hated them when they failed. The truth about Nate Shelley is he hates Ted Lasso for what his father did to him. More importantly, he doesn’t value and love himself. His identity and self-esteem are based on the opinions and actions of others. Again, I know that angst, the never-ending drive to quiet the voice of rejection.

Lastly, we have sweet Sam Obisanya. He’s talented, mature, and has a loving/supportive father. It’s one of the more subtle storylines of the show, but it’s there. Sam’s father provides consistent support and cares for his son. As a result, Sam is a confident and powerful young man. When faced with big life hurdles such as unethical business associations or a move to a new club, Sam has the grace and ability to boldly stand on his own two feet. He doesn’t allow a moment or individual to define him.

Yes, of course, it’s a bit idyllic. The reality isn’t. The love and support of a father go a long way in our lives. It strengthens our resolve and confidence in the middle of the darkest storms. No wonder the world tries to destroy the truth of our Father as the good Dad and King. The enemy doesn’t want a world full of confident/mature Christians running around. Can you imagine it? This earth, full of people who believe what the Lord says about them, able to receive is love? Full of faith and joy, no matter what? I can.

It’s fair to say every father is a mixed bag of flaws and love. I choose to believe most dads want to be good dads to their sons and daughters. Unfortunately, they weren’t given a manual at our birth. All they have to go on is what was modeled to them. The brave ones, like Ted Lasso or my dad, tried to make different choices. They want something different for their kids. It’s noble and worthy of praise.

I’m one of the lucky ones. I got to witness my dad growing up as a father- watched him make mistakes, own them, then grow beyond them. I’m proud of him and the journey he took to be where he is today. Imperfect? Of course, as all men are and will be. But, he’s an amazing grandfather. And, I hope my kids get to meet him one day- God willing.

Dads matter. Good dads show up and are generous with their words. They are our source of protection and strength. We see ourselves in them. When they hurt or fail, we wonder if that will be us. The good dads teach us to grow beyond their limits, to know our shared DNA is not the predictor of our future.

Being a son is about learning to be who we are, which is always going to be a little of who our father is. Part of the journey is finding a way to forgive the mistakes and failures of our dads. In this way, we become like our Father. Love conquerors all the sins, and it’s the glory of God to do so. Patience, Kindness, Joy, and Peace will always overcome anger, rejections, shame, and abandonment. This spiritual dynamic is what makes the relationship between a father and his sons so special. Did we learn to love each other? I’m blessed to answer yes, I learned to love my dad for exactly who he is. My prayer is others do too.

However we start- as a Ted Lasso, Jamies Tartt, or Nate Shelley- we can all become a Sam Obisanya. It’s up to us to choose love, no matter what.

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Vol II: #36 Imagine There’s No Facebook

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As of this writing, Facebook, Instagram, and the messaging app WhatsApp are all offline. It’s wonderful. The outage began around 8:45 AM PST and is still ongoing as of 10:21 AM PST. For a giant tech company, that’s a long time to be down. And I, I love it.

I spent the last hour with a smile plastered to my face. Imagine it, a world without Facebook or Instagram. It wouldn’t be a world without social media as platforms like YouTube, Snapchat, and Tik Tok still exist. But, just picture it. No comparison of daily life. No misleading and/or false news stories. No Boomers glued to their Facebook feeds, consuming a million miles of bullshit. Ah, to dream, perchance to imagine a world without the most annoying and divisive technology of our lifetime.

I have a Facebook account for BSSM(I use it for school purposes as required) and an Instagram account, and this moment gave me the clarity to say: I think it’s time to delete the Instagram account. It’s a source of anxiety. I’m ready to be done with it. The main reason I kept it was to promote whatever artwork I produce. And, I genuinely believe the world is better without Facebook and Instagram. We have a variety of messaging apps and ways to share life, so Facebook is hardly a necessity.

Lord, make it permanent. Bye, Bye, Facebook.

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Vol II: #35 Both Can Be True

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Very often in life, we believe if one thing is true the opposite cannot be true. Yet, we know know this is false. The sun is always shining no matter how hard the wind blows and the rain pours. Asian cuisines such as Thai and Cantonese are notorious for sour and sweet flavors in the same dish (as well as savory, spicy, and fatty goodness.) And great men of academics, industry, or ministry are often not so great at home with their families. On an individual level, we are often left to believe the presence of doubt or shame is the absence of anointing or grace. But, that’s not true.

Over the last three weeks, I’ve sat in numerous classes and listened to same stories I heard as a child. King David is revered, because of course, he is. John the Baptist is the weirdo Old Covenant prophet who heralds the arrival of the Messiah. And, as it should be, we’ve discussed Jesus. In a very similar vein to everything I’ve been taught before, the speakers talk about how bold and confident each Biblical hero was.They did X because they knew God would provide. Jesus probably was this way because he was perfect. I call bullshit.

Matthew 26 is one of the most meaningful passages in scripture. In it, Jesus describes his anxiety regarding his coming persecution. It’s gripping and tough to read. I couldn’t be more thankful.

Then Jesus went with them to a garden called Gethsemane and told his disciples, “Stay here while I go over there and pray.” Taking along Peter and the two sons of Zebedee, he plunged into an agonizing sorrow. Then he said, “This sorrow is crushing my life out. Stay here and keep vigil with me.”

39Going a little ahead, he fell on his face, praying, “My Father, if there is any way, get me out of this. But please, not what I want. You, what do you want?”

- Matthew 26:36-39

“This sorrow is crushing the life out of me,” is how Jesus described his dread to his friends. Who hasn’t felt this away about the future? Toward marriage? Or a job? When going to a family event? I feel anxious on a daily basis, and I’m not facing anything as remotely difficult as betrayal and horrific torture or death.

Think about it for a moment. Jesus knew he was setup. He knew Judas was out to get him. And…He knew what fate befell those who crossed the Roman empire. It’s likely Jesus saw a few crucified men in his day, or watched as someone was stoned to death. (Death by stoning is brutal and intended to take a long time. It’s not quick or painless.) Jesus knew his mental, emotional, and psychological limits were about to be broken. He feared for His life. How human is that?

I also believe Jesus, in the middle of fearing the worst, held on the Father, “Not my will, but yours be done.” That’s faith too. That’s the ultimate example of what it means to be Christian for Nik Curfman. I don’t know what any of these religious professionals mean when they say people like David, Daniel, and Ruth had unwavering Faith and Confidence. I kindly and respectfully disagree. I’m willing to bet a large sum of money that Daniel was a bit worried when the Lion’s den was sealed shut. I’m also willing to bet he believed the Lord would provide an answer. BOTH can be true.

As I mentioned above, I feel some form of anxiety every day. On occasion, I feel panicked and overwhelmed. For example, the other day, I watched a new show on Netflix called Maid. It’s about a single mom and her struggle to break out of a bad relationship and cycles of poverty. I was reminded of all the people in the United States and around the world who struggle to make ends meet, and how poverty is more about ignorance than laziness. (The poorest I’ve been was also when I worked the hardest. Both can be true.) As I laid on my couch, I sunk into despair and hopelessness. I felt so small against this hurting world.

Late in the night, I raised my hand and whispered, “Lord, I trust you,” then began to practice breathing- long inhales followed by equally long exhales. (The world and ministers alike want us- the average person- to change the world. What kind of fuckery is that? None of them can do it. So who am I? None of us are called to change the world. Jesus already did that. I’m called to be me.) I felt the Lord say “I’m here,” and the panic lifted.

I’m Nik Curfman. I love to learn and explore, and create. My heart is to love people well and encourage them in the way they should go. I pride myself on being a good friend and listener. And, I have issues with anxiety. I have doubts and worries, and regularly wonder if I should do more. All of these things are true. It’s both, not either/or. The presence of my greatness does not mean I lack flaws. But, and this is important for me to know, the presence of my flaws does not erase my greatness.

I look forward to a day when I no longer suffer from anxiety, but I will continue to trust the Lord and grow in Him. It’s a tactic of the enemy to have us focus on what isn’t happening and what we fear. Our call and command is to focus on Him, the Lord of All. He’s our Hope and Provider. We were crucified with Him and Resurrected with Him too.

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Abstract: The Power of Our Story

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Write it down,

and frame it in your heart.

The moments when the Lord is good,

and His glory is evident in your life.

The time will come when the thief comes to steal your joy,

and remind you how shitty life can be.

Without His words,

and our testimony,

we can begin to slip and lose belief.

Words are power,

and none are more powerful than to recite what He’s done for you.

Because the day will come,

when the tension is high,

and waves break against you,

But you will have His grace in your heart,

as you remember,

You are not alone, and He is good.

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