My Bessie - My Sweet Ol' Bessie

In a few hours, I'll be saying goodbye to Ol' Bessie -- my 2000 Ford Taurus that I've had for the past six years. This past fall, the head gasket cracked and rendered the car, for most intents and purposes, undriveable. The engine would overheat after every trip, no matter the distance, then started uncontrollably leaking antifreeze. For the past two months, Ol' Bessie has been parked in my mother's driveway in Yorkville, 45 minutes away from me, and I've been trying to sell it for those two months. Nobody showed much interest, save for one guy who told me he'd come to look at it five times and never showed up each time. Last week, suddenly, I've been getting calls left and right. I can't even keep up with all the calls!

Tonight, one of those callers, John, is going to be taking a second look at it and probably purchasing it for the incredibly low price of $400.

I decided to do some last-minute maintenance on the car -- charging the battery, putting some gas in the tank, putting some fresh antifreeze in, vacuuming, cleaning the interior and exterior. While I was driving it down a winding country road to the nearest gas station to put some gas in the tank and buy another pack of cigarettes, I was reminded of all the times I had with Ol' Bessie; I was reminded of the roads she and I had driven, the songs we had listened to, the passengers that shared in our journeys; and, of course, I was reminded that this was the last time I'd ever be driving her. And that realization, I will admit, brought a tear to my eye.

There's something to be said about a man's relationship with his car.

Our cars, in all reality, become extensions of our own personalities. Perhaps the man becomes an extension of his car's personality. This has been true since the fifties -- the greasers drove their T-Birds, the geeks drove Yugos, the jocks drove convertibles and sports cars, the King of the Prom drove his dad's Chevy Malibu, the beach bums and surfer dudes drove woodies and the middle class guys that were just getting by drove sedans and station wagons. The same has held true throughout the years.

I, of course, represent the latter of these factions -- there's nothing special about my job, about my interests or hobbies, or, really, about my life. So, in turn, there's really nothing that special about my car. It's just an ordinary, run of the mill, four-door sedan. My Ford Taurus is about one in tens of millions of sedans exactly like it. It has scratches and dings, a weird smell and is starting to rust around the rear wheel -- again, an extension of its driver's personality.

Bessie and I had some fond memories together: road trips all over the country, long nights of country roads and soothing music, escapes and destinations. Bessie met more of my friends than my parents ever did, Bessie met girlfriends that my parents never did. Bessie experienced arguments and fights, makeups and breakups. Bessie opened her doors (quite literally) to hitchhikers, vagabonds and ragamuffins and took them wherever they needed to be. Bessie was there when I graduated high school and she was there when I graduated university.

Bessie, in all truthfulness, has been the one constant in my life for the past six years. Despite my many changes, -- relationally, personally, professionally, environmentally, socially -- she remained my blue 2000 Ford Taurus. Sure, over the years she experienced some wear and tear, but she was reliable. More reliable than my jobs, more reliable than my family and, sometimes, more reliable than my friends. When the chips were down and I needed to get away to forget about life for a while, I knew I could count on Bessie to take me wherever I needed to be.

And we always got there.

I'm going to miss that old girl. Don't get me wrong, I love my new car, Short Round (he's Japanese, small and round, so I figured naming him after the small Korean boy from Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom was befitting enough), and maybe, over time, I'll come to develop the same emotional attachment to him that I had with Bessie, but I'm still in that tough transitory period.

Will I ever learn to love again...?

In a few days, a new guy, John, will be driving Bessie to and fro. He's a good man -- a family man -- and I hope he treats her well. I hope she treats him well, too.

Maybe, someday, John will be driving Bessie and I will be driving Short Round and we'll see each other on the street. And, on that day, I hope we'll smile at one another as we pass by, on the road to our separate destinations.

My Shingles

There's really no excuse for my not posting anything here for a while -- I've had the last four days off of work, I haven't really left the house and I've been playing around on my laptop for the majority of the days. But I'm here now -- here to update you on the status of my life.

For the past week or so, now, I've had herpes zoster, or, what is more commonly known as shingles, all over the left side of my forehead and left eye.

Last Wednesday, while at work, I noticed that the headaches I've been having since I was 17 were getting more potent, more frequent and more painful. That night, while scratching the back of my neck, I discovered a lump that had never been there before -- a lump that, coincidentally, happened to be in the same region where my venous angioma is. Obviously, this was cause for great concern; I thought maybe my angioma had finally gotten bigger, burst the vein it's in and I was hemorrhaging, or maybe this lump was another tumor! Also of great concern, was the large and unsightly outbreak of, what I thought was, acne on the left side of my forehead. I haven't had acne since I was 16... There was no reason for my forehead to break out so suddenly.

At the insistence of Megan and my friends, the Leighs, I took myself to the emergency room that night for a checkup. 30 minutes of sitting in the waiting room, three minutes of actually talking to the doctor and several hundred dollars later, I was sent home. The doctor took a glance at the lump, diagnosed it as nothing more than a swollen lymphnode and it doesn't look infected, you'll be just fine. He also agreed that the sudden outbreak of acne was weird.

So I went home.

Two days later, I discovered more lumps on my jaw line and one on my neck. The headaches were getting more severe and the acne transformed from a weird outbreak to making me look like a burn victim. The sores were disgusting, swollen and dark maroon. This time, rather than to take myself to the hospital, I went to a place I knew was reliable -- the Walgreen's Take Care Clinic. When the nurse saw me, she asked, "What do we have today?" I described my headaches, I described my fatigue, my weakness, pointed out my weird acne outbreak, she took one glance at it and replied, "That's zoster. You have shingles." Unfortunately, because the shingles had spread to my eye at this point, there was nothing they could do for me, so she referred me to a doctor that is financially fair to patients with no insurance (which was my greatest concern). He concurred with the Walgreen's nurse and told me we needed to act quickly because it was spreading to my eye -- apparently shingles on the eye can lead to irreversible damage, like scarring or blindness. He prescribed some antibiotics, some steroids to maximize the antibiotics' effectiveness and some Vicodin, to deal with the pain. All in all, I spent about $200 to have the problem diagnosed and to take measures to eliminate the problem.

So I spent the weekend completely and utterly out of commission. I was of absolutely no use. The drugs made me even weaker and numb and, in all honesty, the Vicodin didn't do as much for the pain as I was hoping it would -- I still ached everywhere and the shingles still hurt like hell. It is now Tuesday and they seem to be going away, but there's still a little bit of pain to deal with and I'm betting I'm still contagious.

But I made the best of my time off -- I didn't get a chance to do any writing, but, in all honesty, I'm okay with that. I'm coming to discover that I really don't like writing as much as I once thought; I certainly don't enjoy the process. I'll say this: I enjoy having written, but I don't enjoy writing. It's such a tremendous stress and chore for me. But, instead, I spent the weekend listening to music, reading Flann O'Brien and dipping a little bit into the books that Josh brought me and watching movies.

I'm going to miss the relaxation I've had these past couple days, but I'm looking forward to getting on with life and going back to work. I've got bills to pay!!

Thank you all, for the prayers and well-wishes.

My Trip to Chicago with Megan and Morgan

Here are some pictures from my recent trip to Chicago -- words to come later:

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2037590&id=220400154&l=fef1e7be30

Our End

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

My Explanation of the Details

Okay, so here's what happened.

On Thanksgiving, I had to work 11 hours, from 8am to 7pm. My entire family were set to leave for Iowa to visit my stepdad's family for the holiday and they weren't going to be back until late the next night. So, when I came home to find an empty house, I reasoned that they all had left, and I spent the rest of the night woefully sad and alone. I took a shower, went into the office and spent the rest of the night listening to music at insanely loud volumes and watching movies.

The next night, I was in my bedroom when my stepdad walked in and asked, "Hey Andrew -- have you seen your mom?" I looked at him, confused, and asked, "No... Wasn't she with you...?" He replied, "No -- she stayed home to be with you, so you wouldn't be alone on Thanksgiving." I said, "That's odd, because I've been home alone the past two days. I haven't seen her since Wednesday morning, when I left for work." For a couple seconds, we just stared at each other and we came to the same conclusion at the same time: she spent Thanksgiving with her boyfriend.

She didn't get home that night until around one in the morning.

For the next two days, I was so pissed at her that I couldn't even stand the sight of her. I completely ignored her and disregarded her, trying my hardest to not even look in her direction. On Sunday afternoon, she finally confronted me in the garage while she was waxing her new car. She asked, "What's your deal, Andrew?" I asked, "Excuse me?" Again, she asked, "What's your deal? Why are you ignoring me?" I replied, "You know -- I really don't want to get into it, because I know I'm going to say something I'm going to regret." She said, "Spill it. What's your problem with me?" I took a deep breath, and as calmly as I could, explained, "Well, I'm pretty upset that you would leave me home alone on Thanksgiving and not even call to see how work was, or if I was having a good day. I'm even more upset that you would lie to your entire family, then abandon them." Upon hearing that, she took a few steps forward, got right in my face, pointed her finger at me and barked, "I WAS home -- YOU'RE the liar!" And, that's when I... snapped.

Let me first explain that I have years and years of bitterness and resentment toward my mother built up inside me. The amount of pain and heartache she's caused my entire family and me hasn't eased with time, and God hasn't fully taken it away just yet -- it's just been sitting inside me, becoming more and more potent. So when she got in my face and dared to accuse me of lying, everything I've ever wanted to say to her came pouring it, like an artesian well.

I shouted, "I can't BELIEVE that you would ditch your entire family just so you could go out and do whatever you happened with some other guy. I can't BELIEVE you would be so callous, so heartless and so soulless to want to have nothing to do with your husband, your youngest daughter, your only son or your granddaughter! I can't BELIEVE you would be so selfish! I can't BELIEVE it!" Over and over, she kept telling me, "I WAS home! You're a liar!" I finally said, "Mom, YOU'RE the liar. I was home that entire night and YOU weren't. I spent Thanksgiving alone, fighting every urge to find some whiskey and drink myself to sleep."

That's when she said the most hurtful and heartless thing I couldn't even imagine someone saying to a total stranger. She very coolly shifted her stance, squinted her eyes at me and retorted, "Well. It's not MY fault that you're nothing but a loser alcoholic -- just like your loser, nothing of a dad."

Now, I'll admit, even though I had already snapped before, that comment sent me into a spiraling anger that bordered along madness and insanity. I completely lost control of myself.

I called her every foul name I could think of and used every profanity that came to mind, shouted and screamed, pounded the table. What's peculiar about this entire situation, is that I've never gotten angry about anything; I get frustrated all the time, at times I get upset, but I've never been passionately angry about anything. I was always wondered what it would be like if I were to, one day, blow up at someone. On Sunday, I got my answer -- it was an absolutely terrifying experience. I was shouting as loud as I could, my voice scraping and becoming more and more hoarse, my face was hot and deep red, I even slammed my fist repeatedly on the countertop. At one point, I slammed my fist down as hard as I could while shouting that I actually thought I had broken my hand. A jolt of pain went through me and my entire arm went numb. When that happened, it was like I had an out of body experience -- I saw myself for what I had become. I saw the spit drooling down my chin, the redness of my face, my swollen fist.

After my tirade, she very coldly said to me, "You are no longer my son. I'm disowning you. I never want to see you or hear from you again. Get out of my sight, get out of my house and don't ever bother coming back."

Annnnd, so now I'm living in Saint Charles with my friends, the Nashes. I have no idea where my life will be taking me from here.

My New Home

Well, it's official -- I'm moving into my fourth new home and for the fifth time in 2009. I started in DeKalb, moved home to Yorkville, got kicked out and moved back to Sycamore, then back to Yorkville after only a couple of days, got kicked out again on Sunday and am now in Saint Charles -- a beautiful, beautiful city that, ironically, I've always to raise a family in. Could this be the start of something...?

There's obviously a lot of details I'm leaving out here, but I promise I will try to fill you all in with the details in the days to come.

Please pray for an opportunity to open up soon, so I will not become a burden on my new hosts.

My Maybe Baby

Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I've been fooling myself for the past six months. Maybe Megan isn't "the one" -- whatever that means. However, I just cannot imagine God putting the most wonderful woman in my life just to have my heart broken... again. As Tom always tells me, "It is not God's will for your heart to be dashed against the rocks."

Maybe everyone else was right. Maybe I should have paid more mind to red flags when they presented themselves. Maybe I was blinded by love. But maybe there was no love at all -- maybe I just wanted to be in a relationship so badly, I was willing to sacrifice my relational needs just to call someone "my girlfriend." Maybe she just wanted a safety net that she could fall into when she was done living out her dreams of independence.

Maybe we really did love each other. I think I truly loved her, anyway.

Maybe THIS meant to be. Maybe this is just the next stumbling block to overcome. Maybe this will only make THIS stronger. Maybe God's going to give us the strength to meet each others' needs. Maybe He's going to give us the opportunities to do so.

But maybe He won't.

Maybe this was meant to be...

Maybe I don't want to move on, because maybe I'm afraid of being burned by a woman once again. Maybe it really is time for me to give up trying to find my significant other. Maybe I'm supposed to be the next Paul -- devoting my life to my ministry. Maybe I'm just one of those people that love isn't meant for. Maybe, rather than finding my significance in a significant other, it's time for me to find my significance in God, and draw closer to Him.

But maybe Joshua Harris and all those pastors who say, "Rather than desiring romantic love, you should be desiring more of GOD'S love" are wrong -- maybe it's okay to feel alone. Maybe it's okay to pine for a mate. Maybe I'm the next Adam and, even though I commune with God daily in the Garden of Eden, I still feel helplessly alone (Genesis 2:18-20).

Maybe another woman will come along and I will fall in love with her at first sight. Maybe SHE'S the one! Maybe she and I will get married and sing together and travel to Ireland to plant churches and lead worship and have children and grow old together.

Maybe this is just a phase. Maybe my friends and family and pastor are right when they tell me, "These things just take time." Maybe I'll "move on." Maybe I'll "get over her."

Maybe this isn't. And maybe they aren't. And maybe I won't. Maybe Father Time isn't the great healer that I thought he was.

But maybe nobody else will come alone, because she was it. And maybe she's already moving on with her life and I missed the boat. Maybe, after all, it really is over.

Maybe God will change her heart. Maybe she will change her mind. Maybe we will change our plans. Maybe, in the words of Paul McCartney, "every little thing is going to turn right in the end."

Maybe, one day, I will fall asleep with her next to me. Maybe I will reach over in the night and brush her hair from her face and kiss her forehead while she's sleeping. Maybe I will wrap my arms around her, instead of the pillow I currently clutch. Maybe passion will fill our nights and her kisses will replace the tears that are streaming down my cheeks now. Even the taste of her lips, in future kisses, will always be sweeter than the whiskey I hide under my mattress now. Maybe, in the future, I will get intoxicated after drinking deep her champagne eyes all night.

Probably not. But...

Maybe.

My Lack of Friends

I was watching It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia today -- the episode where the gang decides they're going to go on a manhunt for more friends. To aid them in this adventure, they create flyers to pass out, as advertisements of themselves. At one point, Dennis says something along the lines of, "I'm in my late 20's -- where am I supposed to meet new people? These flyers do all the work themselves." Then I recalled something my friend, Jeff, told me last year: "I got married, woke up one day and realized I didn't have any friends anymore."

Well, I'm not in my late 20's -- I'm merely in my mid 20's. But already I'm discovering the truth of these statements. I'm suddenly waking up everyday and realizing "I'm going to spend this entire day by myself. I'm going to wake up alone, do my daily life stuff alone, eat dinner alone and go to bed alone."

Every night for the last two weeks I have been feeling incredibly lonely; I think this is largely due to the fact that I have spent every night of the last two weeks alone, in my basement. So, I suppose my feeling lonely is partially my fault. However, the flip side of this argument is that I have no gas in my car and no money in my bank account -- thus, I am unable to purchase the gas necessary to fuel the car that will take me all the way out to DeKalb, where the majority of my friends reside. So I guess that makes me a victim of circumstance. Could any of my DeKalb friends come to Yorkville to see me? Yes -- I suppose they could. But it seems as though unless I make the effort to invite myself over to their houses and drive up there, nothing happens. C'est la vie?

Distance and personal conflicts seem to be intruding on my relationships lately: I broke up with my girlfriend because of distance and the fact that she has no time for me (not her fault, but...); a good friend of mine, Mary, lives way down in Mississippi; my best friend, Caitlin, hasn't had time for me since the day I met her -- always, always, always busy or simply not wanting to hang out; my new friend, Amanda, is not only busy, but also recently decided to revolutionize her life by giving herself more "me time;" Josh usually only calls me if he needs me to do something for him; my friends, the Nashes, just had a baby and both work full-time, so they have no time; my friends, the Leighs, also just had a baby and are usually busy hanging out with other people...

I could keep going, but I'm depressing myself.

Now, granted, I'm probably just feeling sorry for myself. And if anybody I know even reads this shitty blog, they'll probably say, "Well YOU never call ME! YOU never visit ME!" In fact, I know that will happen (providing, of course, somebody I know reads this shitty blog -- which I doubt very much). And, yeah -- they'll be right. I suppose I COULD call them and invite myself over every single night. And I suppose I COULD spend $50+ per week on gas just to have a social life outside of my basement.

But I'm so tired of being the one that has to initiate this stuff all the time. I'm so tired of schedules and meeting times and dates -- whatever happened to spontaneity? Why can't I just call someone up and say, "Hey -- come over to my house"? Is this what being an adult is? Does adulthood suddenly mean everyone gets married and forgets all about their single friends now that they have their married friends? Does adulthood mean relationships are the first to go when embracing "responsibilities"?

If so, I say, "Fuck it." That sounds like a shit existence and I don't want anything to do with it.

My Loneliness and the Even Darker Place of Nothingness

"I’m just going to accept my loneliness. And I’m gonna go to an even darker place of nothingness from an even farther, more extreme nothingness, on my own." - Tommy Corn, I Heart Huckabees

That's a powerfully dark, strange line that has been on my heart this entire week. I watched I Heart Huckabees on Monday night and this line comes from the scene in which Tommy (Mark Wahlberg) walks in on Albert (Jason Schwartzman) and Catarine (Isabelle Huppert) after what appears to be a sexual romp in the hotel bed. Tommy, whose wife just took his daughter and left him, falls into a world of loneliness, which only intensifies when the philosopher he has clung to and invested his thoughts and emotions into has sex with his friend, Albert.

As a Christian, I know that I cannot honestly repeat this line; for one thing, I know that even when I am lonely, I am never alone. Secondly, there's no such thing as nothingness -- there is only our thoughts and emotions which devalue the meaningfulness of everything that surrounds us.

However, I can empathize with him.

For most of my life, I've been lonely. I didn't have many friends as a kid, I grew up in a cult that discouraged communication with the outside world (and that was during my awkward teenage years, which are difficult enough as they are), girls have never really been interested in me and all the friends I did (and do) have are either married or in long-term relationships. I've always been everyone's afterthought: either I was on the outskirts of society because I didn't fit in or because nobody wanted me. When I did start making friends, the "And then there's Drew" factor came with it.

The "And then there's Drew" factor is an occurrence in which a friend will invite all of their friends over and then remember "Oh! And then there's Drew!"

Always the afterthought.

Currently, I have a girlfriend that I never see and rarely speak with. For a person whose love language is quality time, this has been incredibly difficult on me, but I've pressed on and broke on through to the other side. But, lately... It's been more difficult than usual. I couldn't be there when her dad was in the hospital, I couldn't be there for her birthday, I couldn't be there any day during the summer, I can't be there now -- not because of my schedule, but because of her's. She simply does not have time for me. And, you know -- that's not necessarily her fault. But I spend my nights alone, everynight, sending text messages into the darkness.

I could hang out with friends, but I always feel weird about it, and that is for a couple of reasons: 1) all of my close friends are either married, are in long-term relationships and a) I hate being the third wheel and b) I always feel weird taking away a couple's quality time by hanging around, 2) they live far away, 3) I don't believe in "people just to hang out with" friends (we're either best friends or nothing, sorry), 4) even when I do get over my worry of being the third wheel, some of my closest friends now have babies and so they REALLY don't have time for me. The Leighs, the Nashes and the Seelingers all have children now.

So, here I am, on Saturday night, sitting in front of the computer typing up a blog, listening to my family watch a movie in the other room, arguing with my girlfriend via text message and wondering what the hell happened to my life that made me this way? What events transpired in my personal history that made me endure this overwhelming feeling of loneliness and why is so easy for me to fall into this trap of loneliness?

I could blame my parents for leaving me home alone when I was a little kid and I had to fend for myself. I could blame a couple of my exes for cheating on me. I could blame my girlfriend for never spending time with me. I could blame the UPC for not allowing me to hang out with people outside the church. I could blame my stepmom for picking and choosing who I could and couldn't hang out with. I could blame kids in my adolescent years for thinking I was a weirdo and ignoring me. I could blame the worship leaders I've played with for never valuing my input. I could blame everyone who never thanked me for the times I bent over backwards for them.

I could blame anyone I want, but in the end, it always boils down to me.

I feel lonely because I don't love myself. I feel neglected because I neglect myself. I feel rejected because I reject myself.

I'm a mess of a self-saboteur.

My New Song

For the past four months, I have been wanting to write a song for Megan. I finally did it, but it was a long, painful process. I've discovered that writing a song FOR someone is a lot different than writing a song ABOUT someone, or even TO someone.

The most obvious reason is that when you're writing a song FOR someone, you want the song to be its absolute best for the person you are writing it for. You're giving that person your song as a gift, so you want it to be its best and as meaningful as possible (as is the case with Elton John's "Your Song"). When you're writing a song ABOUT someone, all you're really doing is using lyrics to describe the person's attitude or behaviour or your feelings towards the person. You're not really writing to impress anyone, except maybe your audience, because you don't really care what the person you're writing about thinks about your song (as is the case with Peter Gabriel's "Biko"). Then there's writing a song TO someone (which can be mistaken for writing a song for someone) -- the key difference between these two prepositions, TO and FOR, is that one is simply an address and the other implies a gifting. When you're writing a song TO someone, you're just making sure they got the message -- you're not trying to impress or please or shame them, you're just sending them a message (as is the case with Graham Nash's "Immigration Man").

I really wanted to impress Megan with this song that I wanted to write for her, but I struggled all the way through it. In fact, in an effort to write a meaningful song for her, I squeaked out a poppy ukulele song simply called "I Like You" -- deep, sentimental, meaningful? Probably not. Fun, upbeat and catchy? Most definitely.

So, for four months, this song became my labor of love. I sweated and toiled over it day and night, using alternate tunings and rhyming dictionaries and a thesaurus to come up with the most beautiful song ever written. Then I listened to Ben Folds' "The Luckiest" one day and after paying more attention to the lyrics than I ever have before, I realized that sometimes the most beautiful songs can be the simplest and most straightforward -- that maybe I didn't need to use a lot of flash and pizzazz; that maybe I could just say how I feel.

I asked myself "What do you really want to say to Megan? How do you really feel about her?" And the only answer I could come up with was "I want her to be near me."

And so I wrote "Champagne Eyes:"

I wish you here with me
I wish you by my side
And even if you can't be
I wish you to be my bride

How long will it take?
How long will you stay far from me?
How long must I wait?
How long will I be without you?

So, lay here by my side
And I'll watch the sun rise in your champagne eyes

I wish you here with me
I wish you by my side
And even if you can't be
I wish you to share my life

How long will it take?
How long will you stay far from me?
How long must I wait?
How long will I be without you?

Although the song isn't completely finished (I'd like to add drums), the demo is available for download at www.myspace.com/drewmoodymusic.

My Self Worth

Monday morning, I woke up in a mood.

I felt worthless and defeated and frustrated with life. Megan sent me a text around noon that she was lined up for this amazing job opportunity that would entail her going to France every summer for free. As happy as I was for her (and I genuinely was), I was also a little discouraged that my ship has yet to come in.

Then I felt even more worthless. And the whole reason I was feeling so worthless was because I don't have a well-paying job.

How sad.

I was at my friend, Josh's, house and he was at work, so I didn't really have anything to do. As I sat on the couch, staring out the window in pure dejection, Josh's dog pawed at it and yipped, letting me know he wanted to go outside. So I did.

I sat in the back yard, watching him run around, chasing butterflies and rolling around in the grass. I watched the limbs of trees across the pond dance in the breeze and the clouds above me, scurrying by. I laid in the grass, folded my arms beneath my head, closed my eyes and felt the warmth of the sun on my face. I played tug of war with the dog and let him jump all over me and lick my face and ears and nip at my fingers. I grabbed my guitar and played a couple worship songs and even prayed for a bit.

I spent five hours in the backyard doing, for all intents and purposes, nothing.

And my troubles all seemed to melt away.

And I couldn't help but wonder, that maybe this was what we actually were created to do -- to live in communion with God and to enjoy His creation. That maybe work and jobs and careers shouldn't be my primary concern, that maybe loving and living with God should be.

Mixtape #7 -- Recovery: Songs of Healing

Here is the final track listing for my latest mixtape, Recovery: Songs of Healing. I'd like to dedicate this mix to Megan's father and wish him nothing but the best.

Slainte.




1) Getting Better - The Beatles
2) Recovery - New Buffalo
3) Reason to Believe - Bruce Springsteen
4) Don't Let It Bring You Down - Neil Young
5) With a Little Help from My Friends - Joe Cocker
6) Today Will Be Better, I Swear! - Stars
7) Still All Right - Adam Merrin
8) Living Life - Eels
9) Hold On Hope - Guided By Voices
10) Life Is Long - David Byrne
11) Sun Is Shining - Paul McCartney
12) Gold In Them Hills - Ron Sexsmith
13) Flowers In the Window - Travis
14) Everything's Not Lost - Coldplay
15) I'll Go Crazy If I Don't Go Crazy Tonight - U2
16) Either Way - Wilco
17) And the Healing Has Begun - Van Morrison
18) Today - Smashing Pumpkins

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.

A Bubble Maker's Dream

Lately, it seems as though my life is a bubble maker's dream; everyday, something shifts, something changes, something is moved by the winds of anything. There are times that I genuinely feel that my life no longer has any direction, that I'm just floating on the breeze and going where it takes me; "nobody knows from whence it comes or to where it goes."

Last Tuesday, my mom kicked me out of the house and I had to move to Josh Riley's apartment in DeKalb. Then, he talked me into signing a lease with him for a crazy expensive apartment in Sycamore. Then, he told me that his little brother would still be living with him (thus, since the new place has only two bedrooms, he wouldn't have much room for me). Then, my mom apologized and asked me to move home. Then, on Saturday night, my stepdad drove to DeKalb to repack all of my things and I am now, once again, living at home.

For how long?, who knows.

Notwithstanding my current homelessness, the horizon seems hopeful. I'm really hoping I can get some serious coin saved up so I can take my Eurotrips in the Spring and the Fall of 2010 -- 2-3 months in Ireland in the Spring, teaching English as a second language in the Fall for six months. I'm also hoping that the substitute teaching gig will fall into place; maybe I can get a night/weekend job as a waiter to supplement my income.

Who knows -- maybe Daddy's Day Magazine is going to be successful, so I can get wildly rich and never work again. I can't wait to be The Man.

The sun also rises.

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.

Hills and Valleys

I have some good news and some bad news.

THE GOOD NEWS:

Things are going well right now -- a little too well, perhaps. I keep waiting for something to go wrong, because it doesn't seem entirely natural to me that life is meant to be this... okay.

Megan and I are doing wonderfully. For those of you who may not remember, I mentioned her a few weeks ago (about a month ago actually) in a blog about going to Columbus, Ohio, but haven't really touched on her since. Our semi-pseudo-relationship couldn't possibly be any better than it is right now. Well... If we lived a bit closer to each other, that would make things better. But besides that, we couldn't be better. Albeit true, we have hit a couple really rough patches very early on in our relationship, we are pressing through, staying the course, a thousand points of light.

A thousand points of light...? That doesn't make any sense.

In the words of a dear friend of mine, we are laying low the mountains and filling in the valleys so that we may walk a straighter, more level path.

THE BAD NEWS:

I really don't know what this woman sees in me. This is probably just some self-esteem issue that I need to work out on my own; I'm probably a really great guy with a world of promise to offer. But, when I look in the mirror, I don't see that guy. I don't see the man she describes as "cute," "funny" or "sweet." I don't see the man that she claims to love.

When I look in the mirror, I see a derelict. I look at my shaggy hair and my unkempt beard and I wonder "Only a mother gorilla could love a face like this." I argue that the only reason she even remotely likes me is because we haven't seen each other in a long time -- "You have no idea what I look like now!" (as if I could change so much in one month)

It astounds me that a beautiful, talented woman like her could see anything in a guy like me. It astounds me that ANY girl could see anything in a guy like me. I marvel at the fact that there have been women in my life that have genuinely liked me. I marvel! In fact, there have been two occasions when I've had a girlfriend and it bothered me so much that she liked me that I freaked out and broke up with her. Is this normal behavior?? I'm not so sure it is. I even told Megan the other day, "You should probably end everything with me, move to France and marry a wealthy Parisian who'll bake baguettes for you and drink coffee on Les Champs-Elysees with you everyday." Megan should be with someone who has something to offer -- not me.

It just doesn't make sense to me.

Maybe I'm being a little harsh on myself. Again, this is probably a self-esteem issue that I need to work out for myself.

Maybe.

MORE GOOD NEWS:

I really love my job. This summer, just like the summers of the two years previous to this one, I am working at the swimming pool at Courtyards Village West Apartments in North Aurora. That's right -- I'm the poolboy.

Okay, it's true -- this picture was taken two years ago, when I was still moderately attractive, but there's not much different about this job today than the way it was two years ago. I still sit around with awesome sunglasses, working on a tan and reading. So far, this summer, in only five days at the pool, I've started and finished three books. The best part of all, is that I actually get paid for this! And I get paid well! I really shouldn't be making more than minimum wage for the work I do there, in all honesty.

MORE BAD NEWS:

I need help, everyone.

I need prayer. I need grace. I need motivation.

As you all know, I just moved home to Yorkville and, already, I am itching to get out of here. Living here is going to be such a trial and I'm going to need to have such an enormous amount of motivation to keep myself going without getting bogged or dragged down.

My mom and stepdad, Bob, hate each other -- a lot. They have both filed for divorce from each other numerous times, but, for some reason, stay together and keep hating each other. My sister, Morgan, is always caught in the middle of it and I pity her.

My mother is an egomaniacal, self-centered, self-serving, sociopathic woman. In spite of her marriage -- a holy vow of loyalty to one spouse made before God Himself (which she has now made four times) -- she has a handful of boyfriends on the side that I know about and who knows how many others that I don't know about. She's not ashamed of her extramarital love life at all -- the other day, she even let me listen to a voicemail that one of her suitors left while he was drunk. "Hey baby -- give me a call back sometime." Why the hell is my mom showing me this??

Last night, I came home from my best friend's, the Jorays, house around 12:30 only to find Mom in the living room, on the phone to one of her boyfriends while her husband was sound asleep upstairs. There are times that she leaves in the middle of the night and doesn't come home until 6 or 7 the next morning.

Then there's Bob -- a lazy, lazy, lazy man who does nothing to help and nothing to better himself. He comes home from work, plops down in his easy chair, reclines it and watches television for the rest of the night. And he doesn't move. He falls asleep in that chair around midnight (with the television still on), wakes up at 7, then watches whatever show is on the channel he fell asleep to until he has to go to work. I leave the house, he is watching TV. I come home and he is still watching TV.

I cannot stay in this toxic environment much longer. If I stay here longer than the summer, I am going to implode. This behaviour is going to chip away and chip away at me until I am reduced to a pile of dust that is whisked away by the faintest wind.

Where Was My Welcome Committee?

Today is my first day back home. I just spent the last three days on a road trip that sent Josh, Sam, Aaron and I through Indiana, into Ohio and back again. This trip was designed to allow Josh the opportunity to visit his brother and sister-in-law and for him to explore the possibility of attending seminary at Ashland University (www.ashland.edu/seminary). On the way home, I was going to get the chance to meet Megan -- a young lady I've been conversing with over the past few weeks. For all of us, the trip was meant to be eye-opening, revealing and an opportunity to find our callings, our destinations and, ultimately, ourselves.

Until I talked to Megan about the possibility of meeting on Friday, on our way home, I was just going to tag along for the ride -- I don't have anything better to do since I don't have a job and the friends I hang out with the most were going on this trip. So the first two days of the trip, I reasoned, had little to nothing to do with me -- I'm not interested in going to seminary, I'm not really too interested in moving to Ohio and I can't even find a job in Illinois, let alone one in Ohio!

I did manage, though, to find a hint of direction for my life in those first two days.

Visiting Ashland Seminary was an incredible experience. The staff and faculty -- particularly Eric and Glenn -- that helped us out were some of the coolest people I've met. Since that particular day was reserved for counseling majors, and since Josh isn't interested in counseling, there wasn't much for the two of us to do. Realizing that, Glenn and Eric stepped up to the plate to show us around the campus themselves, giving us a personalized tour. Glenn took us out for coffee, paying for our drinks from his own pocket, then walked us around the Ashland University campus and explained what services would be available to us as students. He also showed us the chapel that the church he pastors meets in.

After that, we took part in one of the seminary's chapel services. Josh and I both had a profound spiritual experience in that place. At eleven in the morning. On Thursday.

It just goes to show you that the Spirit is always available. Always.

During lunch, Glenn and Eric both sat with us and we discussed television and music and movies and comedians and politics; we even discussed the possibility of the school adding a new concentration (creative writing) to their Masters of Divinity degree -- very real things. These two people stripped themselves of their recruiter roles and became very real people.

After lunch, Eric took Josh and I to their archaeology museum. And by that, I mean "Eric broke into the archaeology museum for us."

There's a part of me that kinda wants to go to seminary after that experience. Perhaps I will blog on this later.

The next day, we went to Columbus and had an amazing time in an amazing city. There's a big part of me that would like to move there someday. Perhaps I will blog on this later too.

For me, meeting Megan was the highlight of the trip. I will definitely blog on this later.

I hated coming home. "Home." Home to a town I can't stand, to a house I can't stand, to a neighborhood I can't stand. "Home." Home to a place I've been wanting to leave since the moment I got here.

And where was my welcoming committee? All my friends knew I was in Ohio, or at least had plenty of resources available to find out I was in Ohio. I updated my Twitter several times, I even talked to some of them while on the road. Megan was the only one to ask me how my trip was when I got back. My welcoming committee was a hundred drunk NIU students milling about in the streets, partying and holding up traffic.

Don't hear me wrong -- I'm not complaining about my friends or anything like that. I'm not throwing myself a pity party here. What I am saying, though, is that in my mind, all of the events of the past three days are incredibly indicative of what I should be doing with my life. It could very well be time to move and Columbus, Ohio could very well be the place to move.

I'll be counting on a miracle to make that a reality, but I serve a great, big God Who specializes in the miraculous.

I'm not worried.

* * *

Be on the lookout for another couple of blogs, chronicling the events of the past three days.