Our End

I honestly didn't see it coming this time. More to come later.

My True Love

It is always unpleasantly surprising how willing I am to push aside my true love for menial, meaningless things. I get so wrapped up in the woes, travails, joys and drivel of my own life and completely disregard the one thing that has always gotten me through everything -- writing.

Lately, I've been full of regret, thinking back to a well-publicized time of my life (and by that, I mean that most everyone knows about it). A few years ago, during one of my last semesters of university, I had a pretty massive nervous breakdown in which I was sure that nothing I could do would ever be meaningful; nothing I could do would ever have any sort of impact on anyone, including myself. So, I threw away everything I created -- all my drawings, all my sketches, my paintings, my songs, my poems, all of the essays I had written for class -- everything. A few charcoal drawings survived the breakdown, but only because they were at my dad's house. Now, of course, I cherish those couple of drawings -- one of them even hangs in a frame -- because it reminds me of a time when I truly believed in what I did.

It's a drawing I titled "Spirit," maybe for obvious reasons. It's a constant reminder that, once upon a time, I allowed the spirit to move in me and, with its help, created.

I suppose it's a true statement that familiarity breeds complacency. I had been published a few times for poetry and photography, I won a couple poetry competitions, I had been told over and over again that my writings were of above average quality -- all of that affirmation gave me a pillow to rest on, and that pillow created a comfort about my work that I never should have allowed for. That pillow led me to become lax, lethargic and complacent about my work -- particularly my writing. And when I lost my zeal for writing, I lost my zeal for life -- my raison d'etre.

And I always come up with these feckless goals and resolutions, like "I'm going to write everyday. I'm going to write at least SOMETHING every single day." I go strong for about five minutes, then pick up a book or pop a Scrubs DVD in and sit in front of the television for the rest of the night. How much more could I get done if it weren't for these stupid, little things that, in reality, don't mean much of anything to me?

My Former Self

I picked up the new Derek Webb album, Stockholm Syndrome, this past weekend. I absolutely love Derek Webb and have ever since he left Caedmon's Call; his lyrics are so passionate, so challenging and, musically speaking, he has been a bit of a chameleon with every album. There was the jangly roots music of She Must and Shall Go Free, the stark, atmospheric darkness of I See Things Upside Down, the stripped-down acoustic guitar work on Mockingbird and a bit of 1960's Brit-pop revival on The Ringing Bell. For his latest release, he has left the majority of his instruments at home, save for an acoustic guitar on a couple tracks, and opted for a more digital approach. The entire album is dominated by drums, keyboards and computers. It's actually kind of reminiscent of if Moby were doing more upbeat stuff.

There's been a lot of controversy surrounding Stockholm Syndrome in the music industry since the time it was supposed to be released (in May) up until now. Of course, Derek Webb always stirs things up with every release and I've always wondered just how long it would take for his record label to say "enough is enough." Apparently, he's finally done it.

The original statement the record label, INO, released stated that the lyrics on the new album were too harsh and too risque for Christian audiences, so they wouldn't be releasing it unless he changed the lyrics (particularly for one song). Now, Derek Webb is a man who will not back down when he believes in something and so he refused to change the lyrics. According to him, that one song that is getting the most heat is the most important song on the album, so he was even more adamant about keeping it as is. Deliberation ensued over the entire summer and the compromise reached was INO agreed to release a censored version of the album that didn't include that one song. However, Webb could make an uncensored version of the album available to his fans on his website.

"That one song" is entitled "What Matters More."

So I downloaded the uncensored version (obviously) and wasn't surprised when I felt that I had been slapped in the face many, many times over with each song (some songs even slapped me more than once!). And it wasn't an offensive slap in the face, I don't think. A lot of Christians will be listening to the lyrics on this album and they will be incredibly offended (and they should be -- Webb is ruthless this time around!), but I wasn't. My slaps in the face were more like wake-up slaps; like "get with the program" slaps.

The song "What Matters More" was the biggest slap of all.

This song has served in my life as a call to arms. It awakened ancient feelings inside of me, stirred up emotions and passions that have been docile for a long, long time. But, before I continue, perhaps I should write down the lyrics for all of you so you can have perspective of what I'm talking about here...



You say you always treat people like you like to be
I guess you love being hated for your sexuality
You love when people put words in your mouth
'Bout what you believe, make you sound like a freak

'Cause if you really believe what you say you believe
You wouldn't be so damn reckless with the words you speak
Wouldn't silently conceal when the liars speak
Denyin' all the dyin' of the remedy

Tell me, brother, what matters more to you?
Tell me, sister, what matters more to you?

If I can tell what's in your heart by what comes out of your mouth
Then it sure looks to me like being straight is all it's about
It looks like being hated for all the wrong things
Like chasin' the wind while the pendulum swings

'Cause we can talk and debate until we're blue in the face
About the language and tradition that he's comin' to save
Meanwhile we sit just like we don't give a shit
About 50,000 people who are dyin' today

Tell me, brother, what matters more to you?
Tell me, sister, what matters more to you?

Intense, right? Especially for a Christian artist! I applaud Derek Webb for his ability to step up to the microphone and let it fly. It takes a lot of courage to be able to preach Truth to a bunch of Christians who definitely don't have their hearts in the right place.

It is an undeniable fact that for the past, let's say 30, years, the two main issues on the average evangelical's agenda have been abortion and homosexuality. If there's one thing I can say about evangelicals over the past couple decades, it's that we have our eyes on the wrong things. Not only that, but we're proud of it! We flaunt it! There's another Derek Webb song that spoofs the old hymn, "They'll Know We Are Christians By Our Love" -- his version is called "They'll Know Us By Our T-Shirts." We hold up big signs, form picket lines, firebomb abortion clinics, wear t-shirts with outrageously cheesy things written on them (like "My boss is a Jewish carpenter" or "In case of rapture, you may have this shirt").

But where is the LOVE?

That's the point Derek Webb is driving at in this song -- he's not just trying to ruffle feathers, he's asking "Why are you so concerned with condemning homosexuals and forsaking LOVE?"

Another thing I appreciate about the song (and this is a subtle thing) is his use of the words "damn" and "shit." Here are some of the comments people had about it on YouTube. First, the negativity:

AMP27890: I find it interesting how people try to excuse his use of vulgar words. If this is the state that Christian music is sinking to, I don't want it.

funglu: Derek Webb is becoming synonymous with cheap publicity stunt. This is creative? Really? He needs to credit his sources. He isn't the first nor the last to cuss for affect and try to appear clever.

swiftyguitar: First of all, "let no unwholesome talk come out of your mouth", and "everything you do, do for the glory of God". Will these word choices profit the church? Not for me to judge.... But sidenote, weird style for Derek Webb.

cropfield77: in my opinion...derek webb was wrong when he used two vulgar words that are labeled as foul words by our culture...because..as JESUS commands it...we should not cause anyone to stumble from their christian faith...but i have no problem with derek webb's message of love towards everyone...no matter how 'sinful' they are...because in the end...we are all sinful...in need of saving grace

TheCartercrew: "hate what is evil; love what is good"...if we are going to hate the evil that exists in our churches regarding the selective loving...then we must also hate the use of profanity as well. both evils get thrown into the same pot. love d.w. just think that we shouldn't put sins on a scale. unholiness is unholiness! "be innocent in evil and wise in what is good." innocent in ALL evil...wise in all things that are good...the Lord doesn't even want us to know those words, much less use them.

Now, the positivity:

brahimdrunk: I love the fact that so many Christians are taking the bait that Derek Webb sets. What matters more to you: the fact that 50,000 people are dying every day due to malnutrition/starvation or the fact that I said shit?

coconut888: AMP27890 and sportzguy1984 have missed the point... completely. it would seem they care more about using "shit" over tens of thousands of people dying without Christ. and that's exactly what he wants us to think about. just as believers would "love our neighbors" in treating gays by harassing them for their sin instead of grieving over their own. is it not God who changes people through the gospel? let the message do its work. btw, the bible has even more controversial words than the song.

xkerchx: I enjoy the Tony Campolo allusion: "I have three things I'd like to say today. First, while you were sleeping last night, 30,000 kids died of starvation or diseases related to malnutrition. Second, most of you don't give a shit. What's worse is that you're more upset with the fact that I said shit than the fact that 30,000 kids died last night." - Tony Campolo

parksj1: Paul used a lot of language that some considered offensive. Jesus did too, even if it was the truth behind the words and not the words themselves that offended people. What's funny is that he juxtaposed the word "shit" with 50,000 people dying just to make the point that "shit" would be more controversial than 50,000 people dying. And he was right. I haven't heard one person say "What?! Why are all those people dying??" But tons have talked about the use of the word "shit."

And my personal favorite...

jw1453: I don't believe D.W. was wrong in his choice of words. I actually believe he was right on. I've been in ministry for 13yrs. and I see what he talks about in this song everyday. Granted, his approach is extreme, but these are extreme times. As christians, we've become so apathetic in our faith that it sometimes takes an extreme point of view to stir our souls again. If this song causes you to stumble, ask yourself why. Just because something is labeled socially taboo doesn't make it wrong.

I'd like to personally thank jw1453 for saying, "As Christians, we've become so apathetic in our faith that it sometimes takes an extreme point of view to stir our souls again." I never thought my personal walk with God would come to this, but I've been very, very apathetic in my faith. I've become selfish, self-centered and stagnant in my faith.

The reason I love this song so much is that it stirs up a memory of my former self. This song reminds me of a time when I cared about something, when I was passionate about something. I used to live for change and social justice. I used to go to protests and volunteer at soup kitchens and blog about my ideals and opinions and hold signs in Chicago that said "FREE HUGS!" and pray with random people walking around NIU. There was a time when I watched the news and saw reports of starving people, and terrorist attacks, and wars, and famines, and natural disasters and I would WEEP -- just break down in tears in front of the television screen -- because my heart was so broken for those people. There was a time when I loved people passionately.

And I was very outward with my love and passion. This wasn't just an internal thing for me, the externals definitely displayed my zeal as well. In high school, I was voted by my peers as "Most Likely to Impact the World." In college, I was president of a ministry group on campus that generated a lot of heat for things we said and did. Everyone around me knew I was ready to help change the world. I wanted to be put on the front lines.

Now, people are surprised when I say, "Hey, I'm Christian too!" Their eyes open wide and they ask, "Really!? I had no idea!" What a sad state my walk with God has sunk to. If the hymn is right (and I believe it to be so), everyone should know I am a Christian by my love. So, why is it so surprising when people find out that I'm Christian?

Her

What would I say when I saw her?

I spent the better part of three days wondering that; it was, for the most part, the only thing on my mind. What would I say when I saw her? As my friends, the Rileys, and I drove my car, Ol' Bessie, east to Columbus, Ohio, I rehearsed some lines of dialogue in my head: cheesy one-liners, smooth words, wistful, sweet nothings.

Megan, charming smile, it's such a pleasure to finally meet you.

Wow, the stars are dancing in your eyes tonight.

Hands in pockets, shoulders a little shrugged, head cocked slightly to the left, big, puppy eyes and a sheepish smile... Hi.

The words, the looks -- these fantasies dominated my thoughts for a week.

But, let me backtrack.

I almost hate to say it, but we met online. I don't know why I feel that's something to be ashamed of, but I redden with embarrassment every time I mention it. When those words, "We met online," come out of my mouth, it feels like the person I'm talking to is taken aback a little. "Oh," they reply. "Well, that's certainly... Something."

She lives four hours away from me, in central Indiana, so meeting would prove to be difficult. Luckily, Joshua needed to go to Columbus to visit a seminary and invited me along for the ride; I needed a vacation anyway, but I really wanted to meet Megan -- driving to Columbus would provide me the opportunity to do so. So I went.

All the way there, the four of us had different things on our minds, different goals, different intentions. Joshua was visiting the seminary his oldest brother attended and was deciding whether or not to pursue ministry; his wife, Sam, was eager to move out of DeKalb and start over; Aaron, Sam's younger brother, was excited at the prospect of meeting new people and leaving his troubled past behind; I was head over heels for a girl I hardly knew and wanted nothing more than to meet her.

We were in Ohio for three days, from Wednesday to Friday. When we left that Friday afternoon, the plan was to stop in Indianapolis on the way home, have dinner with Megan, then head back to DeKalb.

I had never done anything like this before, so I didn't know what to expect. I had never met someone that I've already met, if that makes any sense. What was I supposed to say? What was I supposed to do? How was I supposed to act?

So I rehearsed. I prepared.

Around 7:30pm or so, that night, I got a text message from her: "I'm here!" Suddenly, my nerves, which were very apparent the minute before I received the text, went below the surface and I was, suddenly, very calm. I responded, "We're pulling off the interstate now -- we're going to park, then we'll find you." She told me she was standing next to a fountain and that she'd wait for me there.

After parking, I got out of the car and my legs gave up from under me and I was suddenly very terrified. Josh managed to calm me down just enough to walk me into the men's room at Nordstrom's. Or maybe it was Macy's. Either way, it was a fairly high-end department store. I locked myself in a stall and just... sat there for about 10 minutes. My mind was a blank -- all of the dialogue that I had rehearsed for so many days was gone -- and I was terrified. I pulled myself together, walked over to the sink and splashed cold water in my face, stared into my own eyes in the mirror and tried not to panic.

Josh came in to, again, calm me down. "Joshua, I think I'm going to finish the remainder of my life with this woman. What am I supposed to do if I can't figure out a way to start?" He wrapped his arms around me, gave me a bear hug and replied, "You just do it."

We walked outside and the fresh air, stroking my cheeks, did me good. It restored a bit of confidence. The streets were relatively empty -- certainly more empty than the streets of Chicago. I was relieved, because the emptiness helped me to concentrate on simply putting one foot in front of the other. Step, step, step, step, homeless guy, step, step, step. There we go, Drew. This is going to be okay. My rehearsed lines even started coming back to me.

I called her, so that she could guide me in her direction. It was a delight to hear her voice and it was, somehow, soothing. This is going to be okay. You're just fine.

And then I saw her.

It was from a distance, but I saw her. We were still on the phone, and she didn't see me just yet because of the awkward angle and the fact that her back was turned to me. But I saw her. My entire body turned to a leaf, and I felt the wind propel me in her direction at an alarming rate -- I quickened my steps, leaving the Rileys far behind me when they were, just seconds before, walking right alongside me.

I saw her and I couldn't force away the giant, idiotic smile that consumed my face. I told her where I was, walking up behind her and laughed a little as I watched her turn frantically from side to side to find me, but to no avail.

I saw her and she was standing only a hundred or so feet from me. I stopped dead in my tracks for a second, just to take a deep breath. Inhale. Exhale. In. Out. Close my eyes to gather myself. She turns around.

Then she saw me.

We hang up simultaneously, pause for a moment, then walk towards each other. She smiled at me from a distance and we both exchanged "hello's." Then, we were standing two feet from each other. That's when she smiled and every fiber of my being surrendered to her beauty.

I opened my mouth and wasn't surprised when my nerves reached out of the grave I buried them in and strangled me. The only thing that came out from the pit of my soul was, "Uhhhh..."

I looked into her eyes and melted. They were like champagne and I wanted nothing more than to cry, just to release a small amount of the mixed emotions that were bubbling up inside of me. Instead we reached for each other and embraced. We hugged for a little under half of a minute, but I didn't want to let go. Ever. It felt perfect, our bodies pressed against each other, so close, so well fitted.

I stepped back from her, breathed her in with my eyes and said, "Your picture doesn't do you any justice at all."

What? That wasn't part of the rehearsals, Drew! Stick to the script!

The rest of the night, from that moment to the one where I got into my car and drove away, was a blur of bad jokes, awkward glances, dinner in a loud restaurant, uneasiness, a homeless man on the corner who did his best to pretend he was satisfied with the leftover nachos I gave him and one more magnificent hug that didn't last nearly long enough. I can't even remember what happened, because her mere presence was so intoxicating. I drank her in, became wonderfully inebriated and have been hung over ever since.

The Librarian

As is indicative by the picture, I am quite sleepy. Today was the day from hell, and here I was thinking it was going to be wonderful.

I stayed up late with Megan last night, discussing the state of our relationship. Don't worry, everyone -- all is well and all will be better. But, every now and then, couples need to have that conversation, just to make sure both parties are heading towards the same destination. We both have issues we need to work on, and last night's conversation was a good way to highlight some of said issues.

I went to bed feeling good about what the next day would bring, but was in for a surprise.

To preface this story, I need to backtrack a bit further than my conversation with Megan: last night, I went to Jeff and Meggie's house for dinner and pipes and conversation. While there, Meggie started protesting the fact that she wouldn't be able to apply for a job the next day because she wouldn't have enough time to get all of the appropriate materials together. I asked her what job she was talking about, and she told me that Naperville Public Library is hiring for a shelving supervisor, but has an application deadline of 5pm on July 22. I reasoned that I would apply for that job.

That brings us up to speed.

So, this morning, I sat down at Lappy and spent the better part of four hours retyping my resume and cover letter so that it would be customized specifically for this job. I got everything together and, when trying to print all my materials up, realized that my printer wasn't working. Frustrating, but not a big deal -- I could save everything to a flash drive and have it printed up at a printer. Guess what -- can't find my flash drive anywhere. A little frustration builds, but not biggie -- I could save the three files (my resume, cover letter and reference sheet) to a DVD.

Mission accomplished.

The next step was gathering it all together, putting it in order and taking it to the library to apply in person. Now, one of the other materials required for this position was proof of highest level of education. So, since I graduated college with a BA, I either needed my diploma or transcripts. I went downstairs to my bedroom to find my diploma and, guess what -- I can't find it anywhere. It is nowhere to be found. At this point, I am getting really frustrated -- it's closing in on 1:30pm and I don't have ANY of the materials put together yet! After searching for 45 minutes, I freak out and give up. Of course, that happened after one of the dogs ran away. I spent another 15 minutes getting him back into the house.

Awesome. Time is just slipping away.

My only option was to drive all the way to DeKalb, have a copy of my transcript printed up, go to Copy Service and print my resume materials up, then drive all the way out to Naperville. It was 1:45 when I left Yorkville and all this driving added up to be around three and a half hours on the road.

There was no way in hell I was going to get everything turned in on time.

But here's the miraculous part -- I did get everything turned in on time. I hit every green light on the way there, I sped on I-88 and the police pulled over the people in front and back of me and there were no lines at Copy Service or at Williston Hall.

On the way to Naperville, I called the library's human resources department to make sure I had everything I needed organized and was informed that I still needed to fill out the library's application. That, according to the woman I spoke with, was probably the most important document of the bunch. But she informed that I could download the application from the library's website, fill it out and fax everything directly to her.

Mazel tov!

So, everything worked out. Megan coached me through the whole ordeal and kept encouraging me that everything would be fine. Sometimes, I need to hear the simplest words of wisdom to keep my cool, and she provided that. Mmmm. I really like that girl.

Now, a lot of you may be thinking that this seems like a lot of work just for a job. But, 1) I need a job, 2) in today's economy, I need to do whatever it takes to get a job, and 3) I want this particular job more than I've ever wanted any other job in my life.

I love books. I have a passion for books. I was an English major at NIU because I wanted to spend the rest of my life working with books, whether I was printing them, editing them, writing them, teaching from them or shelving them in a store or a library. Books are my utmost passion. You should see my personal collection sometime if you don't believe me!

My Weekend

What a long weekend. What a long, strange, exhausting weekend.

Saturday morning: I wake up right on time to get ready for work, which starts at 10. I am surprised at my timely rise as I was up until all hours of the night on Friday and didn't get much sleep. What doesn't surprise me, however, was that I fell asleep for 30 minutes while showering. That, of course, made me 15 minutes late for work. When I did eventually get to work, I was surprised to find my mom in the office with, once again, her boyfriend. Now, I've been getting worked up about this for a long time as it is; I've been extremely aggravated with my mom's stupid actions and irresponsibility. I was hoping things were going to get better after she and my stepdad, apparently, decided to work things out. She even told the entire family, "I am through with Hector -- he is no more." So, one can imagine my chagrin -- nay, rage -- when I found them having a laugh in the office. Again. I walked into the office, saw them, made a quick left turn for the men's room so that I could get into the pumphouse (my office) and proceeded to trash the place with a lead pipe while shouting every obscenity in my vocabulary. My Irish blood was boiling. After a good 10 minutes, I tired myself out, collapsed in a chair and held back tears. I didn't see what good crying would've done me, but I also didn't see what bad not crying would've done me.

Saturday noon: I sat at my post, reading my Umberto Eco book, smoking cigarette after cigarette and fantasizing the things I would do to Hector with that lead pipe were he to come anywhere near me. Or look at me. I kept the pipe within reaching distance, hidden by the leg of my table, just to my right.

Saturday afternoon: Mom clocked out and went home at 3. Surprisingly, she went straight home. She tells us that Hector is, now, just a friend and that they're not having sex anymore. I'm still skeptical, but she's gone straight home three nights in a row, so that's something I guess. I supposed Hector stayed at the apartments, so I kept the pipe within reach, just in case. I've never dreamed of violence in my life; up until this situation, I've been the poster boy for pacifism. Now, I'm having daydreams about smashing a guy's face in with a lead pipe. That's troubling. I spend the rest of the afternoon shooting the shit with a couple friends at the apartments.

Saturday evening: Here was the plan -- I'd get off work at 9, then drive to Sycamore to have an all-night jam session with Josh, Ian and Corey. Joel, however, sends me a text around 8 that said his wife had just gone into labor. I relay this information to Josh and he proposes that we still hang out and, possibly, stay up all night -- sort of a "watch night," as it were. If Mandi were to give birth in the middle of the night, we were prepared to drive out to the hospital to congratulate them.

Saturday night: I drive to Sycamore and said jam session occurs. Josh's new townhouse is fantastic. We laugh, we sing, we play guitars, we watch picnicface.com. Corey goes home, then Ian falls asleep on the couch.

Midnight: Josh and I decide that if we're going to stay up, we need coffee. So we drive over to Steak 'n' Shake and talk about a myriad of things. Creepy DeKalb townies come into the restaurant, so we leave. We drive his car all over Sycamore, Maple Park, Elburn, Cortland, St. Charles and we just talk. We talked mostly about relationships -- mine with Megan and his with his wife. It was so refreshing to finally be able to talk with a friend about the significant life events that are taking place all at once in my life. I've met with Pastor Tom the last two Fridays and I think that's going to become a weekly thing, which is good and well, but as much as he's a friend, he's ultimately my pastor. It's an entirely different situation to discuss life and spirituality with a friend -- someone who's on the same level as you; not someone who speaks authoritatively into your life, but someone who helps to point you in the right direction and even sympathize with you. I miss that about DeKalb -- I don't have anyone in Yorkville that I can do that with.

Early Sunday morning: At five in the morning, after not hearing from the Nashes, I drove back to the pool to sleep on the couch in the clubhouse. I figured I could sleep at Josh's, on the floor, and get about four hours of sleep, or I could sleep on the couch at the clubhouse and get about five hours of sleep. I slept on the couch at the clubhouse and got about two hours of sleep. I did, though, get to watch the sunrise while driving there. I was hoping the sunrise would be symbolic of a new dawn in my life, but I doubt it was; the sun's rising is just an illusion caused by the world's rotation. There isn't much hope in that.

Sunday morning: The Nashes text me around 7:30 to inform that their daughter, Taylor Anne Nash, was born. I sent a brief reply and tried to fall asleep again, but it was of no use. I was excited for the Nashes, I was too tired to sleep, the sun was shining directly into my eyes and people were starting to walk around the clubhouse. I opted to just open the pool early and get back to reading Eco. I fell asleep, with the book in my hands, in the lawn chair I was sitting in by the pool. I didn't wake up again until 10:45, when I finally got my first swimmer.



Sunday afternoon: Since I run the joint and, essentially, make my own rules, I decided to leave in the middle of the day to go to the hospital for an hour or so to visit the Nashes and catch a glimpse of baby Taylor. She's a beautiful, beautiful baby and Joel and Mandi make for beautiful, beautiful parents. I'm very happy for them, very proud of them -- I know they're going to be wonderful parents for Taylor and she is going to grow up with a solid family. It is my prayer that she will be fully aware of just how blessed she is to have Joel and Mandi as her parents.

Sunday evening: I watch the Cubs split their Sunday double header and their four game series with the Cardinals. That is exactly what I did not need as my weekend's nightcap.

Sunday night: I come home for the first time since Friday night. I'm still so mad at my mom, I can't even look at her. I decided to write a blog.

And, now, I am going to bed.

Distance

Over the past two weeks, I have noticed a considerably sized chasm between my loved ones and myself. Everyone, really. I noticed it most this afternoon, whilst vacuuming the pool.

My mom sat at one of the tables, doing some paperwork, and the entire time she was sitting there, I just kept thinking to myself how little patience I have for her mere presence right now. Then I thought back to this morning's goings on, when I lent my stepdad an ear for the better part of five hours and listened to him drone on and on about how miserable he is. Then I thought back to the last conversation I had with my sister, when she told me about a whole slew of things I never knew about my mom.

And the more I thought about all of this stuff, the more frustrated I became. I just got more anxious, more testy, more angsty, more pissed off.

That's when it occurred to me: there is a battle raging and I am fighting this thing alone. And that's when I felt it--this great divide, this great chasm, this great distance that is separating me from my loved ones.

A couple weeks ago, I described my situation to my friend Joel and he said, "My God -- you are cut off from community and you are dying." The moment he said it, I realized it was true. And, at that point, I had only been away from my community, my people, for half of a week.

I'm not going to lie: there is a strange part of me that misses DeKalb. I take that back -- there is no part of me that misses DeKalb. It would be more apropos for me to say that I miss some of the people there.

When I lost my job in January and felt like I was at the end of my rope and even considering reverting back to my days of alcoholism, there were a handful of people that God had swoop into my life to help me pick up the pieces and carry on. He sent me some dear friends that I communed with on a daily basis; if I wasn't hanging out with one friend, I was with another. I spent afternoons with one person and evenings with another. I got used to constantly having someone there that cared about me and would call me, even if I hadn't called them in a couple days. I got used to having someone there would encourage me and laugh with me. That's become especially true with a dear, dear friend of mine who shall remain nameless -- I've gotten so used to hearing this person constantly reminding me of their love for me that, if a day goes by and I don't hear those words, "I love you," (I admit it), I feel a little empty inside. I feel a little hollow. I feel a little...

Cut off.

Now that I'm back in Yorkville, I feel like a stranger in a strange land. It's a shadow of something Jesus told his disciples: "Only in his hometown, among his relatives, and in his own house is a prophet without honor."

Granted, I do have a couple friends here: there's Little Bretty Poo, who lives down the street, and Jeff and Meggie, who live down the street in the other direction. I hardly ever see these people, though. It's nobody's fault and I'm not casting blame -- we're all busy people. Jeff and Meggie are married and should enjoy each other's company, Little Bretty Poo is home from college, just for the summer, and can't squeeze me into his itinerary without two weeks notice. Besides, he is now dating and should enjoy the company of his lady. Besides, I work every single day except for Monday. On the weekends, when everyone else is off work, I work two double shifts in a row (24 hours in two days!).

But, because of our commitments, I'm out of my element.

I was hoping my Love would be able to rescue me, even if it's just a simple phone call -- just so I would have some sort of contact with the outside world to make sure I wasn't actually totally alone. Our lines of communication, though, seem to have been cut.

I need to find a community here in Yorkville. I need to find a group of people that will remind me everyday that fighting the good fight of faith is worth it. I need that encouragement. I'm not the loner I thought I was.

At least I'm not anymore.

I Think I'm In Love

I think I'm in love but it makes me kind of nervous to say so.