Monthly Archives: August 2017

The Third Option

On Thursday night I went to confession. At the beginning of this week I gave in to the temptation I had mentioned in my post about the Bleak, but I also had a few other things to confess. The fact that I failed sucked, the fact that I had to wait to go to confession for several days sucked, and having to confess several things sucked. The priest I usually confess to is really great, though. He’s really encouraging, and when I got through my confession (which involved tears), I felt so much better. I was in an annoyingly good mood by the time I got home to harass my dad into playing with me.

I also finished writing the Bleak yesterday, and thank God for that because that was the most depressing piece of fiction I’ve ever had to write. I’ve written not-fun things before, but they’ve either been for school, or they’ve simply been tedious. The thing about my mythology is that sometimes I can write things in whatever order I want, and sometimes it simply makes sense to write things in a specific order. I’m at a point, once again, where I can finally pick whichever story I want to write next. I’m going to write the story of one of my human characters next because I’ve spent a lot of time in the other Realms of the Abyss, and it’s getting to be a bit of a head trip. A little normalcy, or familiarity at least, will do me good.

I’m working on a new song as well. I started it a while ago, but it takes me a lot longer to write songs than it does to write stories. Songs have to say more in fewer words. It’s called “Autumn Hero.” The idea for it just sort of popped into my head a few weeks ago when my mom opened the door to our deck to check on something outside and I could hear the crickets that seem to only come out, or come out more in late summer.

The first verse goes like this:

I can hear the late summer sounds
Late at night with the lights turned low
The Ghost of Beauty sings in my bones
And I can breathe I am free

This whole week, until today at least, I’ve been kind of a lunatic because I’ve felt so badly about the stuff I had to confess. After my confession I felt so free, though, and on Friday I found that I couldn’t find the words to pray. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to, and in fact, I think I was sort of praying, but this whole week I realized I’ve been doing all the talking. I finally found I could just sit because everything was okay again. I know I don’t have to earn God’s forgiveness, but at the same time, I can’t help myself. His love isn’t fair, so when I mess up, I feel really bad about it. I really want to make up for it even though I can’t.

Early this morning I had a dream that involved a pretty horrible choice. First I need to mention that I was born and raised Catholic, but I didn’t really care about being Christian, nor did I realize that I needed God until about six years ago. It wasn’t until a few months later that I embraced Catholicism for real, and it was until fairly recently that I began to understand devotion to Mary.

All that being said, the choice in the dream was a very difficult one. Jesus and his mother were about to fall to their death. I could save one, but the other would not live. I had time to think about it in the dream, but I had to choose. I finally decided to save Mary because that’s what I thought Jesus would have had me do. When I woke up, I remembered this decision, and it didn’t quite sit right with me. I’m realizing there might have been a third option that simply wasn’t obvious to me in the dream. I might have been able to take the fall myself and save them both. Whether or not I’d have the courage to do something like that in “real life,” I don’t know, but it makes me wonder.

Advertisements

My Ending

I’ve been wanting to do this for quite some time, but I haven’t entirely known how to pull it off. I’ve wanted to write the end of the Gospels in story form, in a modern, accessible way that still holds true to what happened. I’ve written it from Peter’s perspective, and I’ve taken bits and pieces from all four Gospels to construct the timeline. I have tried to be as true to the Gospels as possible while still being a bit creative. I’d love feedback. Thanks!

“Peter!” Mary entered the room so suddenly it scared me to death.
“What,” I said. I was not in the mood for any hysterics.
“He’s alive!”
“What?”
“Our teacher! Jesus! He’s alive!”
“Sure he is.” This had to be hysterics.
“Go and look if you don’t believe me!”

I was torn. I wanted to believe her, but at the same time I didn’t want to. It wasn’t possible, though realistically, I’d seen him do plenty of impossible things. I had walked on water because of him, though I wasn’t thinking of that at the moment. Finally I decided to go and see what she was talking about.

I left the house and ran to the place where he had been buried. The stone was gone. Hesitantly, I looked inside. It was empty. Nothing. There was no body. It didn’t make sense. It must be some kind of trick his enemies were playing. What more could they do to us?

“You see!” she said when I got back to the house.
“I don’t get it.”
“Peter, what don’t you get! He’s alive!”
“Mary, did you see him?”
“Yes! Peter, that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you! I talked to him! I didn’t even recognize him at first! He scared me half to death!”
“What did he say to you?”
“He just told me to come and tell you and the others.”

No one else had said a word this whole time. I’m not sure anyone wanted to. Their expressions were difficult to look at, especially his mother’s. We had been moving around over the past few days to avoid being targeted. At the moment we were at John’s place. He’d been going home a lot anyway to check on her. I always saw why Jesus liked him. He was good like that.

Finally some of the other guys started talking, just quietly. Jesus’ mom didn’t know what to do. She just broke down so John and I took her to another room to calm her down. When she was at least mostly back to normal the three of us went back to where everyone else was and I suggested we all pray about this. Mary was credible. Jesus had liked her and trusted her, so I decided I did to. I wanted to believe.

Finally when we were all eating dinner Jesus walked through the door. The shut and locked door. That was fun. Nobody knew what to do. Some of the guys actually hid behind chairs or behind other people.

“That’ll do you a lot of good,” I thought.

Admittedly, I was pretty scared, too, but I had to know what was going on.

“Guys, calm down,” Jesus said with a laugh. He walked over to me; the guy who had just walked through a closed and locked door walked over to me, and said, “Pete, look.” He held out his hand. It was scarred from where the nail had gone through when they… did what they did. “Take my hand,” he said. “Touch it.” I did, hesitantly. It was real. It was a real, human hand. I looked up. He smiled, but I noticed the marks on his forehead. He pat me on the shoulder and let go of my hand. I had wanted to hold on to him. I wanted to make sure I didn’t lose him again. It was a weird feeling.

Next he practically ran over to his mother and John and hugged them both. He went around to everyone and made sure we all knew he wasn’t some kind of hopeful illusion. What had began as a very weird, tense day quickly turned into a celebration… until he informed us that he had to go, to do what he didn’t say. He said he’d be back in a week, though, and we trusted him this time. Still, it wasn’t easy to let him go. It wasn’t until he had gone, though, that we noticed Tom hadn’t been there the whole time Jesus was. When we told him the next day, he didn’t believe us.

About a week later, Tom was with us and Jesus came back at the same time. This time he knocked. I laughed when I saw who was at the door. Tom didn’t get why. Jesus didn’t even say hi to anyone. He just walked straight over to Tom and told him to touch his hands, and he showed him the place in his side where they… did what they did. To this day I don’t like talking about it. What Tom did next was really cool.

He was speechless for a second and then he knelt down, still holding Jesus’ hand and said, “My Lord and my God.” That was powerful.

Jesus stayed with us for a little over a month after that. During that time, a lot of people who didn’t believe in him before started believing, and a lot of people who already did, believed more and grew in faith. One day a bunch of us were hanging around by the lake, one of our favorite spots, and Jesus and I snuck off a little ways. It was his idea. Everyone wanted to be around him all the time. Of course it didn’t bother him, but I could tell something was on his mind.

We just stood there, looking at the water for a minute, and then he said, “Pete,”
“Yeah, Master?”
“Do you love me?”
“Of course I do.”
He must have thought I didn’t understand the question because he asked again. “Peter, do you love me?”
“Lord Jesus, you know I do.”
“Then feed my sheep.”
This time I was a little confused, but I had meant what I said. Even so, he asked me again, which was actually kind of annoying. “Peter, do you love me?”
I said, “You know I love you, you know everything.”
“You know what you have to do then, Peter. Feed my sheep.”

I don’t know why exactly, but this seemed to change something inside of me. I have to say, by that point I was definitely willing to cry around Jesus. We stayed there for a minute, and he let me cry, and then, because I knew the other guys were close by I didn’t let myself cry any longer. It was important to get it out, though. Something had been fixed.

So much happened after that, it’s hard to remember it all, and it was mostly celebration to us. It was such a happy time. Still, we knew it wouldn’t last forever. Finally, when it was near the end of forty days, we could tell something was on Jesus’ mind again, but he didn’t tell us what. It seemed like he was happy and sad at the same time. He really was a very complicated person.

Finally he brought us together for the last time, and, since we had all been wondering the same thing for a while, I asked him, “Lord, are you going to bring your Kingdom now?”

What he said next was totally unexpected. “Guys, listen to me. I can’t tell you God’s plan. It’s not your place to know it. What I can tell you is that you’ll be given power to do great things in my name. You guys have stuck by me, and you’ll be my witnesses, first in Jerusalem, then in all of Judea, and eventually, all over the world. I know I can trust you to do this. Wait for the Holy Spirit, and you’ll know when you’ll be ready.” Then, so suddenly, he was somehow taken up and out of sight in a cloud.

All we knew to do at that moment was to worship him because our friend, who was God, was going home. After that we did what he told us to do. We stayed in Jerusalem and prayed in the Temple and told everyone what we knew to be the most important and only real Truth in the world.

Braving The Bleak

Last week we were on vacation, camping in Maine. It was mostly awesome, but my medication did still give me some issues, and it was frustrating. I had to take a lot of naps. Today I was back to work. I’m working on a rather dark story for my mythology, which isn’t exactly fun, but I’m getting through it. I’ve actually enlisted one of my friends to help me with this one. Basically, I’m describing a Realm in my universe called the Bleak, which, unlike others, is deeply connected to darker human emotions. In another story I described a Realm called the Waiting Lands, which a human could possibly get to, not just in their minds, but also in bodily form, but they would have to “brave the Bleak” first. The Waiting Lands are very strange, but also very cool.

When I’m writing, or sometimes much later than when I actually finish a story, I find myself reflecting on how my fantasy mirrors my reality in a way. Last week was kind of a Bleak for me. I had a lot of fun with my cousins, but I was dealing with issues with my meds, and on top of that, I found myself fighting a pretty difficult spiritual temptation. I am hardly ever angry at God, but I did once yell at him. I didn’t doubt him. I was just mad.

Of course God, being obnoxiously helpful like he is, decided to intervene. My dad decided shortly after my spiritual tantrum that we should cut my dose just a little bit without informing my doctor, which seems to be working, and one night when I couldn’t sleep because I had slept all afternoon, I was reading random stuff on my phone, and I found Saint Therese de Lisieux. That girl lost her mother at the age of four, she was sick quite often, and she died very young. Still, she trusted God completely. I read snippets from her autobiography, “Story of a Soul,” and it was all about how God is truly a God of love. This really moved me, and I keep coming across more and more things that emphasize the fact that God loves me and that he’s listening.

There’s a line from a Tenth Avenue North song that keeps running through my head that seems quite appropriate. “Even when we fight temptation, even when we stand accused, we know that you will defend us, we can always run to you.” I won’t lie, fighting this particular temptation has felt like an uphill battle. Last night, though, I started rereading the Gospel of Luke, really slowly, just because I wanted God to talk to me. He did, in two ways, actually.

I don’t remember how I got to it, or what the verses were that made me realize it, but somehow God spoke to me and told me that I was promised heaven. Initially I thought, “duh, I’m Christian.” But then a voice in my head said, “No, think about it.” God doesn’t break his promises, and the fact that that promise stuck out to me means that I needed a reminder. It also said to me that I haven’t lost the fight. That wasn’t where it ended, though. I had a weird dream this morning. This seems to happen a lot. I was on a weird roller coaster train, and it broke. All the passengers were literally going to die. A voice from nowhere in particular said “Love, luxury, lust.” Then a priest on some kind of flying platform started going to all the passengers. Finally he came to me, right before the train was going to fall, and he gave me my last rights. I wanted him to stay with me, but I let him go so he could get to the other passengers. Then I woke up.

The dream said to me that there was love, and there was luxury, and there was lust on that train. It didn’t matter. Jesus came to save everyone. More to the point, he came to promise heaven to everyone. Okay, there is a path we have to follow, and it gets a bit complicated, but Jesus also said that he’d stick with us no matter what. When asked why he hung out with sinners and outcasts, he said that these were the people who needed him most. He’s not afraid.

I was one of the last people the priest came to in the dream. The train was about to fall, but he got to me. I’m not sure if that says anything in particular, but it was comforting. Maybe if there is a message there it’s that God will catch me if I fall. I think I needed a reminder of that, too. There are a ┬ánumber of places in the Bible that say the Lord is “slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love.” Other translations might say “slow to anger and rich in kindness” or something similar. God is not looking to scrutinize and make us feel guilty for our every move. He’s our Father. A good father doesn’t do that. He will make sure to kindly correct us when we do something we shouldn’t, but ultimately, a good father loves his kids. That’s what it comes down to.

Today we got to see a full solar eclipse. We didn’t get the full effect in Massachusetts, but we watched it on TV, and got to see a partial effect outside, which was still pretty cool. My brother was less impressed, but I get excited. There was a bizarre sense of unity because of the eclipse today. It was all over the news, and unlike usual, the news was happy. Everyone was on the same page. While watching the full effect on TV, I couldn’t think of exactly how to express my reaction, but I thanked God because something like this is a gift. It’s definitely something you don’t see every day. I know this seems unrelated to the rest of my post, but maybe it means that I’ve braved the Bleak, or at least I’m almost through.

Because in my world guinea pigs can fly!

Who Do You Trust?

Yesterday massively sucked. Our house cleaner comes every other Tuesday, which basically means I can’t work every other Tuesday because I’m out all day doing mind-numbing errands with my mom and brother and by the time we get home I’m kind of fried. Yesterday was a house-cleaning day. Usually we’re up and out of the house pretty quickly, but for whatever reason, we took what seemed like over an hour to leave. On top of that, we had decided to go to Flat Bread Pizza for lunch, which for us is in Salem. Salem is a pretty long ride for us, and by the time we got to the restaurant I was famished. This is probably sounding like whining so far, and under normal circumstances, it probably would be.

Shortly after we got to the restaurant I started feeling sort of sick, so I just sat still and figured I’d be fine once I got some pizza in me. Flat Bread is my favorite. However, shortly after I got my first piece down, my head started spinning, I started feeling faint, and then I got sick in my plate. We left after that and went to a gas station next door where I tried to keep down some chips and some Gatorade. I couldn’t even keep down the chips, and I could keep down the Gatorade for a while until we got almost back to our house. Then I got sick again in a container of wet wipes.

I was so dizzy I could barely make it to the bathroom on the second floor of our house (which is across from my bedroom) to get cleaned up before I slept for several hours. I did finally get up around nine PM and was finally able to eat some crackers and drink some Gatorade. I was also, thankfully, able to get my epilepsy pills down, and then I slept pretty well last night.

Today I got up feeling almost back to normal. I ate a pancake and some cheese and crackers and a bit of fruit before going to get my blood drawn (to make sure I’m not, you know, dying or anything), which went swimmingly, and then I got coffee with my mom, and I just finished writing the fifteenth story in my mythology.

It kind of seems like I’ve had more weird health issues lately. I had a thought a little bit earlier today. Is a cry for help a kind of worship? I’ve learned to say, when I ask God for help that I trust him. He did get me through yesterday, and yesterday was one of the worst days I’ve had in a quite a long time. A little while after we had left the restaurant I was feeling really crappy, and I told my mom I thought I should go to the hospital. Willingly going to a hospital is like admitting the worst kind of defeat for me. I have to be almost convinced that if I don’t I’m going to die. I’m not exaggerating. My whole family (on my mom’s side, anyway) is like that. Luckily my dad talked me out of it, but I prayed to God before we got home, and I said, “I don’t want to die, but I trust you, and whatever happens, I’m ready. Just please help me.” Now reading it, it sounds absurd. I’m twenty-four, but yesterday I was ready to die if that was what it was coming to.

I suppose this needs a bit of explanation. The symptoms I was experiencing yesterday seemed to be the result of really low sodium levels. One of my epilepsy medicines does deplete my sodium, which stinks because I’m also kind of a health nut, and a lot of salty things aren’t particularly healthy. Sure enough, though, once I got some crackers and Gatorade down, I was a lot better. I should also say that I’m only a health nut in the sense that I try to eat fairly small portions and ration the amount of actual junk food I eat. I also prefer, in general, to snack on fruits and vegetables, but I certainly don’t go overboard to the point that I feel like I’m missing out on something.

Still, none of this really answers my question. Is a cry for help a kind of worship? After yesterday I’m inclined to think so. I think it depends on whether one trusts God, and if one remembers that he’s there in the good times as well as the not so good ones. I remember our priest talking about this a handful of times in church when I was younger, before I had ever even accepted Christ, really. He said it’s so easy to remember God and to call out to him when we need something, but he’s not just here to give us whatever we need or want. He seeks our worship when things are going well because he loves us and he wants us to love him back.

While I was waiting for my appointment today I was trying to work through this in my head, and ultimately I had to realize that I keep asking myself the same questions over and over, which all boiled down to one: Am I worth dying for? In the opinion of the God I worship, I am. Part of that question is: How am I, one out of millions, and nothing special, worth it, and why am I worth it? I’ve decided to stop asking, though. I told him that in the waiting room. I’m done asking, and instead I’m just going to say, “I love you, too.”

Because in my world guinea pigs can fly!