Of God and Fluff

I realized my problem.

Approximately two years ago I begged God to just let me be human.  I'd lived my entire life living, breathing, emanating His every word, every will (okay, a good chunk of it, at least I tried to be obedient....).  At times people said I literally glowed.  I was zealous, adamant, stubborn, passionate.  I didn't just talk Christian, I WAS Christian.

But the thing is, I felt so isolated.  So....weird.  I read the Bible when I was bored, and not the "awwww look at all the sheep cute little David is watching in the barren desert we assume all of the Holy Land is" parts of the Bible.  I read EVERYTHING.  Lot getting drunk and sleeping with his daughters after the annihilation of Sodom and Gomorrah....Jehu's wicked-awesome aim with his bow just plowing through army after army killing evil kings....Jezebel getting shoved from a tower and falling to her death only to be trampled so thoroughly her blood spattered the walls and dogs ate her in a matter of hours.....you know, the good stuff.  The Bible that recorded ALL of history and not just the short stories that seem to make everyone God has ever spoken to, perfect.  And in this I was isolated from my peers in Sunday School for being a know-it-all, Catholic schoolmates called me "holy", and when I reached the lovely teen years it took a while to dawn on me just how much people expected out of me.  The good one.  The "holy" one.  She-who-would-not-sleep-around.

College time came and I was surrounded by people worse off than me.  I mean, it's one thing to be a Christian.  It's a major problem when you're a Christian doing nothing but disputing scholarly texts, going on expensive 2-week mission trips and generally assuming you're just this much better than the other 7 billion on the planet because "I have the Light of Christ in me and they don't".

About a week before I left college to pursue my endeavors to be a normal human, I sat up in a class discussion, my chest contracted and breath just this short of heaving.  I was so....so....frustrated with the absolutely ridiculous notions I was hearing.  We only know God through writings?  Who wrote what about where?  Finally, I had to say what no one was even thinking, save for maybe the girl on the other side of the class who looked as worried and concerned as I felt.

"When you're staring demons in the eye, and I don't mean metaphorically," I began, speaking slowly so I would speak instead of scream what I needed to say, "what you know doesn't matter.  When you are face-to-face in the most literal, tangible sense with a group of actual demons who want nothing more than to devour your very being, it doesn't matter WHICH author you agree with!  They don't want to know who you've been reading.  They couldn't give a flying flip about which church you go to, how much you tithe, how much communion wine you drank at the last service....what matters is your IDENTITY.  Who are you?  If you know God, actually know Him personally and have a great relationship with Him on a one-on-one basis, nothing can touch you.  THAT'S what matters!"

Our professor was smiling.  My fellow classmates starting a rebuttal about how we get to know God through texts, and I slid down in my seat.  Oh.  My.  Freaking.  Goshen.  "If you want to get to know God, then just ask Him!  It's not rocket science!  You don't know someone by reading about them, you know them by talking with them and LISTENING." I shut up after that, since any following words would have been akin to that of St. Stephen who, as we all recall in Catholic school and any church that reads that passage before sermon, was stoned to death for calling the religious leaders "stiff-necked hypocrites" (modern-day translation: stubborn, stupid assholes).  That same professor was the only teacher I spoke to of my official exit, and he understood my reasons.  I think, in the silence, was the understanding of where I stood amongst "the throng" of Wheatonites.

Fast-forward 2 years, and one giant messy hell, later....

Me:  Hey, God....I know it's been a while....we haven't talked a lot....because, um...I'm dumb...and stuff....so, ah, would it be possible to get a little help with all this?  Because I'm really stuck, frustrated, and have NO way out.

God:  Are you done "being human" yet?  Or am I still on the side-lines?

Me:  Touche.....Yeah, I'm kind of sick of being human.  I miss the way things were with us.  You know, the whole 24/7 awesomeness.

God:  Great!  So you know what you have to do.

Me: *stares at my vices and groans*  But it's sooooo haaaarrrrddddd.......

God:  Yes it is.  And you know I am always here to help you, but you've got to put in the effort.  I'm not your magic genie.  I'm God.  I'm your Father.

Me: *sighs*  I dunno.....

God:  Okay, well when you do decide to return to Me, the door is always open.

What exactly do I have to do to return to better-than-just-human-status?  Reverse everything.  Meaning, resist the pull.  There are things that seem great at the moment in which I want them, but literally feel worse than a stomachache afterwards.  It's like detoxing from drugs.  Baby steps, and nothing gets accomplished unless you put in the effort.

Going to church...well, that's where this blog entry comes in.  Worship used to be a time to vent out the burdens in me, a sort of ebb and flow of "energy"....out with the bad, in with the good.  Now all I hear from the "stage" is "listen to me, I sing so pretty, fluffy fluffy blah blah blah".  Before, and after, services, it's all Christianese: "washed by the blood,"  "God has restored me from that car wreck, praise Jesus," "amen, mmhhmmm," "he/she has an evil spirit clutching to him/her,"  "I'll pray for you, brother/sister"......

GIVE.

ME.

A.

BREAK.

Whatever happened to reality?  I suddenly understand some of my late uncle's cynicism ( he was a soldier in Vietnam).  "How are you doing?"  "How am I doing? Well, let me tell you.  Life effing sucks."

"Aw, honey, I'll pray for you."  That's great.  Thank you.  Because we all know very well that 90% of "pray for yous" result in complete loss of memory over the subject.  In the rare case that someone actually follows through with the prayer, good things do happen!

The hardest part about returning to church is all the nasty little things I remember about nearly everyone in leadership.  Not that I ever wanted to know.  But they expected me to be a "true leader", and with leadership comes a good amount of gossip, guilt and confrontations.  It's difficult to sit still and listen to someone fluff about how God is good, everything is peachy, look at the colorful powerpoint slides with special effects.... when I so clearly remember the things they did.  How this leader abandoned and threw out students who needed God more than they needed Vicadin....how this other leader broke every promise he ever made....how she never smiles and only bitches, then sings about love and community like she's the star of the show that's SUPPOSED to be church....

Mom says church can always use one more hypocrite.  True, true.  But my biggest concern....where is God in all this?

God is not fluffy.  God is not the church bulletin, nor is he the color-by-number we give our kids (I once colored a page in Sunday School that said Jesus definitely rode dinosaurs in the ancient days.  No lie.  15 years later, a good friend from college found that same coloring page and posted it on Facebook!)

God is....He is power, might, virtue, strength, truth, love, forgiveness, mercy, wisdom, unchanging, unceasing, unending in His love for a species that continues to shove Him away.  When He works through you, oh man do you feel it!  Jesus isn't some lovey-dovey nice guy speaking on behalf of God.  He is God as a human, as one of us.  He didn't just walk the walk in everyday life as an average joe, He was flogged, beaten, whipped, stripped, falsely accused, spit on, kicked, punched, ridiculed, abused, and STILL lifted the instrument of His own extremely human death that weighed nearly 200 pounds and carried it through an entire city only to be nailed to it and die of an exploding heart (if not asphyxiation, hypothermia, or blood loss).  Then three days after being sealed in a no-returns-possible cave, He walked around smiling like He totally hadn't just died.  Very alive, very real, very true.

Not fluffy.

Destiny

After much careful consideration, I realized that stopping this blog because some people just loooovvvveeee drama is bad journalism.

I haven't spoken with, or seen, Tristan in quite a long while.  I turn 22 this coming Sunday, and in old times a birthday meant movie, flowers, good dinner, maybe some insane idea to go running through the woods... but times change, as do people.  Obviously the Tristan Keller who I once knew is not currently the Tristan Keller who deems it necessary to avoid me, per his therapist's advice (according to him).  Just another change in the winds.

Man, have I changed.  Physically, I mean, with the added benefit of some wisdom and insight that comes with aging (blech).  One day I woke up and decided, I'm going to lose weight.  I found a website that somehow just miraculously inspired me to actually do it, and 3 weeks later I'm minus 16 lbs!  I actually ran 3 miles yesterday, all at once, which impressed my cut-like-marble friend Luke.  He hates running, says he's too lazy and just swims, and I hate running even more.  So the fact that I outdid him in that department only boosted my mood even more!

I remember the visions people had about my destiny.  Tristan has mentioned "the seers", "oracles", or whatever the group of people who have visions that help the Organization before, and my own foresight has been measured and compared to theirs.  But they aren't every single person who has the ability.  Be it God's Will or be it coincidence, most if not all of my friends in high school were seers in one way or another.  And all of them had at least one dream/vision about my future, always the same event, always the same description and outcome, just different symbols per the individual's understanding.

Continuing on this path of physical improvement, especially to the goal I've had for years, means I'm ever nearer to destiny.  They all saw me slimmer, healthier, about 22 years old....  I know there's a chinese restaurant involved, some bitch who thinks she has a right to try to prevent it all from happening, and all in all just a fantastic ending to my lifelong wait.

I'm 22 on Sunday.  I'm dropping weight like crazy.  My own visions, and their repeated emphasis on timelines, are coming to pass.

Almost.  Almost there.

Until Further Notice

Due to certain secretive readers who have recently made themselves known, I will not be writing for a long while.

It seems that no one can be trusted.  In one person's anger, he tried to get his ex-boyfriend in trouble, which led to both pointing fingers at me, which led to an interrogation by Tristan who doesn't believe I had nothing to do with it.  Well, I did, in that I wrote this blog which was his idea to begin with.  And yes, I accept full responsibility in that I didn't HAVE to write it.

Tristan, Jake, whoever the hell is supposed to be my mate, I'M NOT OKAY.  Yes, I clearly remember the part of every vision, dream, premonition and peer-led warning where you won't show up until I'm curled up in the fetal position guarding "our child", whatever that means, screaming for you to save us.

Well guess what?  I'm assuming the position!  I'm tired of being under attack all the freaking time!  I get blamed for being a traitor and yet where is everyone, huh?  Tristan is always soooo quick to believe I'm behind anything I get indicated for.  Jake left without warning and never told me the truth!  And mutual friends I thought we could finally trust slithered around and stabbed me in the back and for what?  Because of their own private drama?

I'm sorry!  I'm sorry for everything!  I don't know what the hell I'm doing in this world and every time I try to do things right, I always end up doing it all completely wrong!  What am I supposed to do?  What am I supposed to say?  All I want, all I've EVER wanted, was just to be with the one who loves me.  That's it.  I don't care about big weddings, fancy baby announcements, white picket fences..... I just want to be with my mate.  I just want to be happy.

But there is no one coming to save the day.  I've begged and pleaded with God to bring Jake back, but he remains in the wind.  Just when I think maybe Tristan and I can be friends again, confidantes again, someone I can go to and talk with and trust, something happens and I'm his #1 enemy.

I remember the first dream I had about all this.  Clutching my daughter to my chest, crawling under the kitchen table as the men in black shadows banged and splintered the doors and windows, screaming to the intercom I knew he was listening to that I'm sorry, that if he won't save me then save my daughter, our daughter.... I remember so vividly the absolute terror of feeling death at the door, of screaming at the top of my lungs as hands covered in black gloves lunged at me.....

Doesn't anyone hear me screaming now?

Hush

I had a dream last night.

What I remember is being with "Tristan", as in the same room and talking "with", and it didn't take me long to inwardly figure out that it wasn't the real Tristan but in fact Jake.  I think.  He sure didn't act like Tristan (moody, demanding and generally unpleasant company) and reminded me more of Jake's behavior (warm, pleasant, caring, not that Tristan isn't these things but Jake just wore them on his sleeve a lot more).  Anyhow, there was some sort of debate on whether he was staying, going, my role in all of this, it was confusing to me but I do know I had something to do with his trepidation.

We sought out a man he knew, this guy who I assumed was a member of his band?  Imagine a cross between Kurt Cobain and.....actually, Tristan's sister's fiance.  Weird, now that I think of it.  I'm pretty sure it WAS Tristan's soon-to-be brother-in-law.  Whoever this guy was, he told us to join hands and the three of us sat around a table in a circle, holding each other's hands.  The man told Tristan-Jake to repeat after him, and the words went something like this:

Man: "I promise to be here"
T-J: I promise to be here
Man: "I forever bind myself to Mira"
T-J: [swallows hard and looks at me] I forever bind myself to Mira
Man: "I will never leave"
T-J: I will never leave
Man: "I bind myself to her, heart and soul, for all eternity"
T-J: I bind myself to her, heart and- wait

I looked at him, worried, terrified actually that this was going to end the same way it always does in real life (I was half-aware that what I was seeing wasn't actually happening) with him getting cold feet and me left "at the altar".  In fact, it happens a lot in my dreams, mainly with the persona assumed to be Tristan.  But this was different.

Tristan-Jake looked at me and then the man, and squeezed my hand reassuringly.  "It's not that I don't love here, I do, a LOT, but if I stay here she'll be in danger and I don't know if I can put her through that-"

The man held up a hand and looked at him sternly.  "This has to be done.  You can't leave her alone.  Again."

I cleared my throat and tried to help.  "No, I understand what he's saying, [name I forget], it has been very dangerous for both of us to even be together in the simplest of ways."

"To bind her to me and visa versa for all eternity," T-J quickly added, "means she'll always be in danger."  The look he gave me was so vivid, so...filled with terror.  "Mira," he said quietly, "I'm scared."

I felt the emotion of pure fear as strongly as anyone would in real life.  It was the most tangible thing in the dream, and somehow I knew it wasn't my own I was feeling, but his.  I gave him a soft smile and some part of my mind started to attempt a sort of "connection" with his real-life mind as I said, "I'm terrified.  I really am.  But I need you with me so we can face this together."







When I woke up, reality hit me like a truck.  Whatever the hell that dream meant, I knew one thing for certain: I'd never truly examined the screamingly obvious that's been in front of me for 2 years.

When Jake was around and we were together, it was a constant dodge of bullets, ducking of knives, hiding from men in black uniforms....he protected me and trained me to be able to survive the harshest environments in case he wasn't around and I was stranded somewhere in the wilderness.  Death threats were written on my bathroom mirror, I can't count on one hand how many times I've cleaned up his blood from knives, wounds and floors shortly after emerging from whatever closet/basement/car he shoved me into prior to the silent but intense confrontation.  Assassins emerged, my college narrowly escaped a massacre (unfortunately only by misinformation via tampered intelligence....another campus paid dearly for it), all in all the three years we were together were intense.  The powers-that-be did NOT want us together.

Jake left, Tristan came "home", and suddenly things are very, very quiet.  Only once did I get shoved into an attic but by another of his doubles, a man we knew as Derek.  Ah, Derek, I would say that I miss you, but Tristan is ssooooooooo much like you that it's like you live on through his general unpleasantness.  Derek was very much a by-the-book, get-er-done kind of guy, who confided with Jake that I started out as just an assignment and somehow became like a little sister he had to protect.

From the journal I used to keep:

I woke up at 8:30am this morning, and to my surprise Tristan still slept.  He was usually awake by now, maybe not out of bed but definitely in the waking up stages.  He continued to sleep, and so did I once I fell back asleep, for about an hour and a half.  Finally I figured it was breakfast time, and I rolled over and smiled at him.  He folded his arms behind his head and stared at the ceiling.

I peeked over his arm and flashed him a cute smile.  "Hi."

Tristan rolled his eyes, and that struck me as a bit strange.  He usually loves my cuteness.  I stroked his arm for a bit, playing connect-the-dots with his freckles, then lay my head on his chest.  Usually he would put one of his arms around me and stroke my hair.  This time he only sighed and didn't move.  I figured he may be in a mood so I asked him what he wanted for breakfast, he asked me what we had, and then decided none of our many options sounded good.  So with a shrug and a quick kiss on his lips (which he did not return) I rolled out of bed to get an orange for my breakfast.

As I started peeling my blood orange, Tristan got up and paced around in the kitchen for a bit, and at one point picked up a large knife and began rubbing it against his shorts.  Immediately I knew something was up and he didn't want to worry me.  "So, um, what's with the knife?" I casually asked.

He shrugged.  "It was a bit sticky on the sides."  He put it down on the stove, then came around and wrapped his arms around my chest.

"I need you to do something for me."

"Okay, what?"  I shuffled backwards as he led me back towards the microwave, where a bundle of neckties lay.  Tristan picked up the ugly silver paisley tie and played it in his fingers for a moment.  "Hmmm, interesting tie," he said.

I furrowed my brow.  This was strange.  "Um, yeah, I thought you bought it."

"Oh yeah," he mumbled.   He took the tie in both his hands, which were still in front of me, and began wrapping each end around his hands. 

I took this opportunity to gently but firmly pull myself out of his hold and turn around, but he did not let go of me.  He held onto my arm as I, with a playful smile, worked the necktie from his hands just like this was some new game we were playing.  It was then he lifted my hand and wiggled the ring on my finger.

"Nice ring."

That answered enough questions for me to know this was not right.  "Thanks, you gave it to me."

In that moment I think the unspoken message was sent, and we both knew this was going to be interesting. 

"I need you to do something for me," he said again, working one of my arms behind my back.  I swung around just enough to look at him with my playful grin and alert eyes.

"Jake taught me to never make a deal without the details," I reminded him with a hint of warning in my voice.  He scoffed just a bit, then pulled me close to him, rather forcefully I might add, and put my hands behind my back.  I twisted around and kept my feet planted in the fighting stance I had learned in my early teens in kickboxing, and  tensed up to silently let him know I was not going to make this easy.  Again he pulled me close but this time his hand clamped down hard over my mouth and most of my face.

"Shhhhhh, shhhhh," he whispered.  I couldn't help but raise a brow at him, for I hadn't uttered a sound.

"Cooom you bweez memoov ur thumb fum my eye?" I said against his hand.  He moved his thumb down, and I blinked a few times until  I was comfy again.  "Famk you."

"I need you to do something for me," he repeated.

"Yeff, I godd dat."

Again we moved back towards the neckties, but I resisted just enough that we were closer to the stove.  I saw the knife, and I think he saw me see the knife, for instantly we both lunged a hand towards the hilt and our fingers did a little dance until mine wrapped around the hilt and I gripped it tight.  For a fleeting moment I felt like I had done this before, as my mother almost, and in my mind's eye I saw my 2 year-old self standing in the bedroom doorway.  I dismissed that, and kept myself poised to attack, just as Jake had taught me only a few years ago.

Neither of us moved.  "I need you to go into the attic, and stay there until I come get you," he said, still calm, but I knew he was watching my arm that wielded the 7-inch blade.  I mumbled my agreement into his hand, and we shuffled our way towards the attic door.

"Dood, mm nod gonna skweem oh nnyting." I rolled my eyes again, and he let me go.

"You can get your shoes, I suggest you wear them up there."

I slipped my tennis shoes on and shoved my cell phone into my hoodie pocket, still gripping that knife and ready for any false moves.

"And I mean all the way up in the attic, not just on the stairs."

"Ugh, fine, whatever."  I slowly made my way up those dirty, most likely rotting stairs, tense for anything or anyone who could jump out at me at any moment.  "Keep going," he urged behind me in that annoying scolding voice.  I got to the very top of the stairs, took one step off the landing, and he closed the attic door behind me.

I could hear thumps, and footsteps, then more thumps.  At one point it sounded like someone, or two people, were rolling around.  Silence.  More thumps.  Footsteps drawing closer, then the front door opened, and I could hear someone running down the stairs.  Then back up.  This went on in circles for a good 10 minutes, and I had my phone on silent in case there WERE others here.  The only other time I had ever been put into a hiding place was with Jake, when men came into the church where we were and attacked him.  He had hid me in a closet office and promised to come back for me when it was over, and here in the attic I reminded myself that wasn't so bad.  I prayed, I asked God to protect Tristan and myself, and I waited.  It became quiet for a bit, maybe a slight scurrying over the roof just above me, but mostly silent.  Then I heard footsteps running up the stairs to the foyer, and someone walking around. 

I checked my phone, and Tristan was calling me.  Was it finally safe? "Hello?" I answered in a half-whisper.

"Mira? Where are you?"

It was Tristan's voice.  I felt a knot in my stomach.  "What do you mean, where am I?" And I quickly hung up, knowing more than 30 seconds and anyone could track my location.  He kept trying to call me, then he sent me a text message that read, "Where are you? You need to come Home [sic]!"

I heard footsteps near the attic door, and it opened, and I watched the shadow slowly inch up the stairs until Tristan's head popped around the corner, and then his whole body.

He was wearing completely different clothes.  He was in his uniform.

"Mira!"  Tristan sighed with relief and stabbed the knife he was holding into the wood stair.  But then he saw what I was holding in my own hand and froze. "What are you doing with a knife?"

"What are YOU doing with a knife?" I retorted, pointing at him with my blade.

"Okay, Mira, just…put the knife down and come down here."  Tristan spoke slowly and gestured with his hand that it was okay for me to lower my weapon, but I was not about to succumb so easily.

"What is something only Tristan would know?"

He sighed and shook his head.  "Like what?"

"I don't know.  How do I know who you are? Whoever you are?"

It was all making sense to me, but I didn't want to give in only to be ambushed.  "I will come down, but I am not letting go of my knife."  This was good enough for him, and he backed up and let me out of the attic.  We went into the kitchen, me staring at him the entire time intently and swallowing hard.  "You put me up there," I said slowly.

Tristan looked in my eyes, and I knew he wasn't lying.  "Mira, I haven't been home all morning."

.....

"Are you okay?" The real Tristan, my Tristan, asked me.  I nodded, and he pulled me into his arms and held me close, and I could smell the sweat on his body that told me he had indeed been out all morning doing who knows what with his group.  I set my knife down and just held him as he held me.  "I'm glad you're okay," he muttered into my hair.

I told him what happened, and he sighed and mumbled a few colorful words under his breath.  "I left around 1am this morning," he said as we shared stories in the kitchen.  "Then about half an hour ago they told me to go home and get you."

"What exactly was said?"

He laughed a bit.  Of course I would press for details. "My certain individuals just said, 'Derek's there', and I knew where they meant, so I got a ride home and ran up here.  I couldn't find you anywhere, and you weren't answering my calls, which worried me like heck!"

"Sorry," I blushed and told him why.  He just smiled and continued "So I thought of the one place anyone would be hiding, and grabbed a knife and went up there."

We talked some more, and lay down on our bed and just held each other.  I listened to his heartbeat as he stroked my hair, and for a while I propped myself up on my elbows just so I could study his face.  "I'm proud of you," he said as he twirled a strand of my hair in his fingers.  That made me smile even more, and I kissed him lovingly and purred inside as I felt him kiss me back.

Ah yes, the good old days before Tristan decided he can't stand spending more than 5 minutes with me.....

Anyhow, that whole scenario was the one and only time Tristan and I ever had to worry about anything or anyone directly attacking us.  Sure, we hurriedly fled to the west when he thought people were after us, but it was nothing as up-close-and-personal as things were with Jake around.

Which leads to my question:  what I Tristan NOT telling me about Jake?

Let's recap: 

Tristan: young, exiled prince of an intergalactic nation that is in charge of interaction and relations between the ancient civilizations and Earth.  Powerful, skilled, riddled with special abilities and great mental capacity, destined to become the ruling elder of the most ancient human civilization in our solar system if not the universe.  On Earth, vulnerable, and for all intents and purposes, raving mad.  

Jake: young Marine, orphaned, disfigured from an explosion somewhere in the Middle East, genuinely sweet demeanor, identity erased, for all intents and purposes, nothing of incredible value insofar as to be used in the game of world politics.  

So why the hell does everyone go on a death-to-all rampage while Tristan is AWAY and stop when he returns and Jake leaves?

I'm going to have a chat with Tristan.  I am so done with all these secrets.