My Fiery Friend

I have a sabbatical morning routine. I get up, I take my pills. I put on the coffee, heating up yesterday's leftovers if there are any. I sit in my chair and start thinking about what I want to blog. And, like clockwork, my cat Cosmo jumps up on my lap and sticks his face in mine, demanding to be petted.

This morning, I was trying to dream up some big, all-encompassing abstract talking point. And Cosmo was having none of it. He said, "Nope. You're gonna pay attention to me."

I think we need reminders like this. We get so caught up in the world drama. I know I want all the problems to be fixed, all tensions to be resolved and paradise to come. And, for whatever reason, it's not happening.

Coming from a Pentecostal background, I was taught that God is sovereign over all. And when problems come, we offer up our prayers and watch the miracle happen. The trouble is, I've never seen that. My prayers seemed to not move the needle one bit. The most poignant case in my life was the death of my daughter. I offered up all the prayers, had all the faith, did all the right things and... nothing. She still died.

And I was left with questions. What did I do wrong? Am I not good enough for a miracle? Am I unimportant? I spent several years in counseling, unpacking past wounds and growing some emotional intelligence and resiliency. To this day, Melissa and I attribute the strength of our marriage to those years in counseling.

My answer came, ironically, at a church retreat in Virginia. My friend John told me about this guy named James Jordan and his organization called Fatherheart Ministries. You can find some of his talks on YouTube. His basic message is that the church presents a poor image of God. They present him as this tyrant in the sky, keeping track of your deeds, looking for the slightest reason to punish you for stepping out of line or questioning his authority. And then you have Jesus, the meek and humble servant who took the spanking we deserve on himself.

James thinks the Christian gets stuck on Jesus. They worship him as Lord, but haven't taken the time to look at God as a father and restore that relationship. The seven days I spent in Virginia was listening to a couple of lectures that basically had to unteach me the church's message about God. The majority of the time was spent getting alone with my thoughts and trying to hear God's voice.

And he spoke in a unique way to me. (Note: I'm using the masculine pronoun because in that moment I was relating to God as a father figure. In reality, I believe God embodies both the masculine and feminine.) Not an audible voice. Just thoughts that popped into my head. I asked the question why didn't he heal my daughter and then paid attention to the thoughts that came back. The response was a question: Why did you want me to heal her?

I had never thought of that, so I had to take a moment. I worked through a chain of reasoning. "Well, the Bible says Jesus said we would do greater works than him. And he healed people, so I wanted to be like Jesus. And since Jesus said when we look at him, we see you. So I guess I wanted you to heal my daughter so I could look like you." And the immediate response that hit me like a thousand volts was quick. "But you do look like me."

He went on to lay out a chain of reasoning that I had never thought of before. I won't go into it now as it only makes sense if you're familiar with certain stories in the Bible. But, it spoke directly to me in unquestionable terms that I am a child of God and am loved inexpressible ways.

Later, the church told me some things in direct opposition to that word, which left me hurt, confused and very, VERY angry. This led to my faith deconstruction and departure from the organization.

I grew to hate pastors, but, even more, I hated that I hated pastors. I didn't like the emotions it was stirring up. They felt uncomfortable and dangerous. It's taken 8 years in the desert, regular therapy, two psychotic breaks, medication and whole bunch of self-reflection to process those emotions. They're still there, but nowhere near the intensity I felt previously.

Looking back, I can honestly say even though it was incredibly painful, there was a purpose to it. I was freed from dogma and given the opportunity to think for myself. I became much closer with friends and family outside the church institution. And I learned more about empathy. I'm still a work in progress, but that's perfect. In a way, I think that's the whole point of this life. Working to heal yourself, and by healing yourself, you heal the world.

Not to get all Emperor Palpatine on you, but think about giving into your hate. Allow yourself to truly feel your anger and frustration. But don't disperse in outward. Anger is a powerful change agent. Honor it. Be a a little selfish with it. Use it to introspect and ask the question: Why are you here, my fiery friend? What are you trying to tell me? What do you want me to do? Pay attention to the response. It will help you learn more about yourself and your place in this world.

Back to Cosmo. I have no idea why I decided to write about the Fatherheart stuff today, but petting a cat gave me enough of a pause to stop and listen. I think that's a secret. Find little moments to be still and see what comes up.

Thanks, Cosmo.