LOATHING AND GRATEFULNESS

June 21, 2012 in Community, My Journey with 11 Comments

LOATHING

He was nearly finished with his pasta when I dug my spoon down into the cheesy bowl. I took my first bite and found it room temperature. I was surprised at how long winded I was with a man I only had one conversation with outside of this lunch. I must have gone on for a half hour if this bowl was already cooling down. I took my next bite and looked up at him in anticipation. He was about to give me the answer to all the problems I just shared.

In the 30 seconds of silence before he spoke I tried to guess what advice this man would give me. I had heard him lecture around 6 or 7 times and his lectures had been some of the most complex, neuron stimulating,  and inspiring teachings I had heard. Maybe you think I would take creative liberties to compare his lectures to most of the TED talks, or university lectures I’ve heard, but I’m not. They were brilliant. They were all from the bible.

I was sharing lunch with this guy. He was sitting across from me, and I had just spilled my guts Continue Reading…

THE WORST RELATIONSHIP HE EVER ENDED

June 14, 2012 in My Journey, Relationships with 19 Comments

I used to live in America. I used to enjoy the comfort of a bed with no mosquito net, and live without fear of spiders the size of my fist. Where I could drink cool water from my faucet knowing that some small critter was not about to enjoy my insides without my approval, though I don’t think I would ever approve of a small critter making his abode in my large intestine.

I left my home where I could step out of my house and within five minutes be holding one of the best americanos  around. To you coffee connoisseurs, I encourage you to be ok with breaking your commitment of only allowing exquisite coffee to enter your body. If you don’t, you won’t last in my new neighborhood.

Sunday, I slept through a large earthquake. Tuesday, pictures of Taiwanese riding inflatable whales in front of 7-eleven, due to flooding, emerged. They make inflatable whales here. I was awake for yesterday’s earthquake, and I am excited for the typhoon en route for this island. I have never been in a typhoon before, but I love the band Typhoon so it should be great. Rainy Oregon, eat your heart out.

Did I mention flying cockroaches?

I dropped everything I had in Oregon three months ago and hitched a ride to Taiwan. It was never a part of my plan. Four months ago I would have told you I was headed north to work on music, or headed south to work on writing. If you had asked me I would have also thrown in the option of installing synthetic turf fields, the ones the big leagues play on, in Guatemala. Or maybe I told you I am Portland bound to finish my undergrad.  I was a bag so full of ideas that Santa would have had trouble carrying it. Living in Taiwan was not in the bag. Working with a bunch of men and woman passionately serving the very God I had been disconnected from, for who knows how long, was never the game plan.

Three years ago I was teaching life skills to high school students in the largest slum in South Africa. I hate to use these words because of the stigma they carry, and heaven forbid a christian feel anything except melancholy, but I was full of joy, passion, and excitement.

160 days ago I woke up late for work with a wine hangover. Heavily depressed, but you would have never known, because I had maintained the “young man after God’s own heart, teaching kids in some foreign country life skills” disguise. I attribute my clever disguise to my smile and the street-cred that comes with returning home from one of the nation’s most prestigious bible colleges. My smile was paid for by my parents and two years of braces. The bible college taught me the theology of church fathers, and how to roll fantastic cigarettes. It also helped that I would play for my church on Sundays. Gotta’ keep appearance up so no one knows how jacked up I really am. I also forgot to mention that, IAM NickEdwards: Amazing at social media preservation.

Some where between Africa, and the house located in an area deemed “the Highland Hood”  in Salem, Oregon I entered into a deceptive relationship. Not a relationship with a girl, or a guy, but a relationship with God. And it took me leaving everything I knew and was comfortable with to realize just how gnarly my relationship with God had become. To look up from my boat, and realize how far down stream I had drifted.

When I packed my suitcase-and-a-half full and came to Taiwan I said goodbye to the worst relationship I was ever in. My old relationship with a god.  When I said goodbye to it, I welcomed a new relationship with God. In his mercy he took me from my own delusion, a god based on compromise, drunken nights to which I would show the condemnation police my “Grace- Get outta’ hell free” card.

Maybe you are upset to find out I was on stage with a hangover. I’ll take that. Maybe this resonates with your past. Maybe it resonates with you currently, to which I would tell you, “Get outta’ your compromised relationship with whoever you have turned God into, and enter into a relationship with the God that brings life, joy in pain, joy for the sake of joy, and salvation. And so much more.”

DEVILS TERRITORY, WHERE WE TAKE REFUGE

June 7, 2012 in Faith, Relationships with 6 Comments

Two days ago I was asked, “What do you do when you get hurt?” I fumbled my words and came up with something that sounded reverent to my Christian beliefs. It went something like, “Well, I let the Lord take my hurts. I pray. I Listen to a Sufjan Stevens song. I Have a good ol’ fashioned quiet time. Stuff every christian does.” But then again, I don’t really remember, because it was just regurgitated words I have picked up along the way from books, teachers, musicians, and friends. What I was really saying was , “The Christian way of getting over pain,” or, “Cool stuff Christians use to distract them from pain (until it goes away).”

Good thing this guy Tysen called my bluff. Better yet he told me how I (actually) handle hurt and pain. I handle hurt and pain by way of bitterness.

But calm your worrying mind, I have got it all under control. I have been training as a bitterness ninja for years. I’d most likely have a black belt in bitterness, that’s of course if ninjas actually used karate. Using my skill of bitterness I am able to turn my emotions off towards an individual, distance myself, which seamlessly helps me bypass hurt. Because if you tell yourself you are not friends with the person who causes you pain you can avoid it all together.

The devil has been inviting me into his territory for years, and as a believer I have willingly walked his ground. I entered into his territory under the deception of protection. That is what I have been promised anyway. “Nick, I will protect you from hurt and pain.” It is no surprise that we choose the path of least resistance, so who wouldn’t want protection from hurt and pain? We trek on into this deceitfully protective territory under seemingly wise guidance. Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you, when this guy gives you advice he doesn’t wear his own name tag. He’ll wear name tags like Bill, Marg, #instagram, bitterness, pornography, food, video games, drugs, sex, and rock n’ roll. He will do watever it takes to convince you to take refuge in his territory from pain and hurt. All the while he neglects to tell you that in this land you enter into isolation, depression, and spiritual atrophy. The cost is worth the protection of pain and hurt. Right?

To protect you is his election 2012 promise. My promise of protection comes through bitterness. Yours may come through keeping silent. It may come by way of anger. It may come by finding sexual intimacy with a past lover, or a new one. It may come through your late night pornography escapades. Protection may come by your body image, which is why you work out way too much  and throw up after every lunch. We each have our refuge uniquely designed for us, and we each use it to bypass pain and hurt. What we neglect to see on that big sign that says “Your place of protection,” which marks the entry of the territory, is the small subscript on the bottom right corner that adds, “where you come to lose your soul.” Just kidding, he wouldn’t risk you reading that.

I believe in Jesus, and have for years, but have allowed myself to fall under the protection of bitterness.  I am not ashamed to admit it. Infact, admitting it is my only way out, and your only way out. To admit, even as believers, that we have a problem. We take security in things other than the One who is security. We choose the path of least resistance, but no longer.

Jesus promises to protect too. It is a bit unconventional and at times we feel un-tasteful. His method of protection is allowing us to walk straight into hardship, pain, and suffering while turning his head towards us to say, “I am here. You can do it. I believe in you. You cannot fail, because I cannot fail in you.” and bring us out the other side stronger, healthier, wiser, full of life, and joy.

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Welcome to the space created to give you the monologue of my life, in hopes it creates a dialogue with yours.

OUR UNINTENTIONAL AFFAIR ON HONESTY

May 31, 2012 in Faith, Relationships with 13 Comments

“I liked it. Everyone in my house liked it.” Naphtalie responded to the question I asked her. The best kind of critique comes from your family right? Not always but in my case, the critique my sister gives is usually harsh and almost always true.

She looked at me, “Nick your writing is good, and people enjoy it, but your writing could be better.” For reasons unknown to me, I knew she was about to corner one of my biggest fears.

“You are giving the perception of honesty, without actually being honest,” she said. I remember sitting in my Anthropology class when the professor called upon me to read, for the class, an excerpt from the materiel we were currently reading. I was surprised that he knew my name, and even more surprised to be called on while I was in the middle of responding to a tweet. I had no idea where I was supposed to read from and my professor knew it. The Ol’ Dog… he caught me. What I felt in the class was close friends with what I was feeling in front of my sister.

“If you wrote honestly for honesty’s sake, instead of using honesty as a means to attract more readers, then you would be a better writer.” She realized a fear I was unwilling to admit, but had no way of escaping from. Unless, of course, I was willing to address the elephant who placed himself peculiarly in the middle of my room, threw some cool magazines, a half empty coffee cup, and my laptop on his back to give the impression he was actually my coffee table. Sir Elephant, there is no more room for you at la Casa de Edwards.

My fear is not unusual, but on the contrary, my fear is much like yours. I fear true honesty. I will be as honest with you as any another guy as long as it is within my control, but no more. The truthfully honest would show you something out of my control. The truthfully honest would reveal areas of me that need grace, and  forgiveness. The truthfully honest takes control out of my hands and puts it in into others’. But who wants to do that? Who on earth wants to reveal to those closest to them their weakness, their pride, selfishness, arrogance, lust, dirty secrets, and shameful acts? Who wants to be the one who “needs grace?” I sure don’t. I don’t want to be honest out side of my control because that would show I am flawed, and in this perfect world it is hard to find room in a church for this imperfect soul. If there is no room for this imperfect soul in church, then that leaves me no other option then to search elsewhere. My fear.

“I have reconsidered Sir Elephant, you are welcome to stay, I don’t know what I would do without a coffee table anyhow,” said selfish, unwilling to grow, Nick.

Our inability to be honest outside of our control is misplaced identity. We have put the power of grace and forgiveness into the hands of flawed people, and hinged our worth on what they choose.  Sometimes it works, most the time it does not. We took our identity out of the hands that fashioned them. Out of the hands of Jesus. In the hands of Jesus there is no shame too shameful nor dirt too dirty. In these hands you and I are new. You and I are clean.

“Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come.” – 2 Corinthians 5:17

As for our imperfect souls? I am going to tell you all about my past, present and future. It’s going to be shaky, and a little dirty, and quite unlike all the celebrity pastors I know. You should join me. I’m not there yet, but I’m on my way. And our weakness?

“My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness” – 2 Corinthians 12:9

Let us boast all the more gladly of our weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon us.

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Welcome to the space created to give you the monologue of my life, in hopes it creates a dialogue with yours.

MATHEMATICAL JESUS

May 24, 2012 in Faith, My Journey with 10 Comments

Your own personal Jesus. Thank you Johnny Cash.

Why does Jesus not fit in my box? Why is he not mathematical? These were the questions I asked myself as I ran a half marathon last Sunday.

A half marathon. It is a small feat for many, but for a guy whose last year was spent in the company of Jim Beam, American Spirits, IPA’s, Coffee, and the other folks that hang around with them, this was a big accomplishment. It was an even bigger accomplishment that I finished in a decent time considering I committed to it last minute, and I had one week to train for it.

As I ran I thought of everything I could to keep my mind off of the current stress my body was under. I played seven nation army, the DUBSTEP arrangement, over and over in my head and ran to its beats. I learned the CBA’s backwards. Then I came to lament station, where I stayed till I ended the race. I wasn’t expecting to arrive there, but it’s where (took out “the”) Jesus wanted me to be. I lamented in frustration over my last year. I lamented over friends who have walked away from Jesus because he did not fit the mold they had fashioned in their minds. I lamented over my misplaced frustrations with “my own personal Jesus.” Why he would he let them walk away? I lamented over the death of my friend’s Dad who died of cancer after we prayed for healing. He even went to a “renowned” healing room to receive healing from Jesus, like many others had received. Jesus, was it your desire or plan all along that they would walk through divorce and be fully separated? Why did I spend a year in a relationship to find out the relationship was not supposed to be? Jesus was not fulfilling the conditional paradigm I put him in: “Jesus, If I…. then you must.”

Jesus, why do you not fit in my box, and why are you not mathematical?
Why are you not an equation I can understand nor anticipate the outcome of?

Math has never been my forte. I passed my last math class with a 98%, not because of my intellectual understanding of mathematics, but because of my Sith powers of manipulation. My teacher loved economics and I happened to know enough to carry conversation with her. In return for my listening, I had no problem asking for her help during tests, which usually produced the answer I needed. I would hope I am a better person now. I like my mathematics because if I know how to solve the equation I can produce the answer. I like my Jesus Mathematical. I like to order my Jesus over easy and with a side of something I can anticipate and understand. God bless growing up in America.

Why does Jesus not act the way I have fashioned him to be?

Near the end of the race all my questions were answered. Well, more like redirected. About a month prior some one asked me after hearing some of my frustrations, “Nick, what are you not believing about the gospel?” I wrestled with the question, came up with a quick answer, and then filed it in some obscure location in the back of my mind. During the time it was filed away it underwent a transformation that only became clear to me during my run in the midst the frustration and laments. The question became the answer. All these questions I had were based out of something I did not believe about the gospel. I was not believing Jesus was good. I was not believing he was good because he was not fitting my idea of what good represents. Growing up in America has shaped what good means to me, and good means letting me be an individual who gets what he wants when he does what is required. Jesus should fit the same system, right? I follow him and do as he commands, and he makes my life better. I am a child of my culture and the harsh and beautiful reality is, I am wrong and so are you, and it’s ok. We are wrong together. The reality is Jesus does not work like an equation, nor will he ever fit into any theologian’s box, let alone ours.

Circumstances do not change the character of Jesus. When you lost your Dad to cancer after everyone prayed for him, Jesus is good. When your boyfriend or girlfriend cheated on you, Jesus is good. When you walked through that divorce, Jesus is good. When you were molested as a child by some one you trusted, Jesus is good. When your friend walked away from everything he once believed, Jesus is good. When Jesus does not fit the paradigm we have created, he is still good has been good, and will be good forevermore.

Amen.

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Welcome to the space created to give you the monologue of my life, in hopes it creates a dialogue with yours.

MY FIRST WORLD CHRISTIAN PROBLEMS

May 17, 2012 in My Journey with 12 Comments

We were skating under the bridge when my stomach so kindly told me, “Nick, the breakfast roll you ate earlier is not making friends.”  I told Tim the outreach leader I had to jet. Umbrella in hand to fend off the assaulting downpour, though it did no good for my shoes, I was in hot pursuit of a bathroom. It  would have been helpful to remember how to ask  “Where is the nearest bathroom,” in the local language (apparently Spanish doesn’t work here). I began brainstorming what I would do in the worse case scenario. None of which came to a pleasant solution. Finally I spotted the green siren, my savior singing my name, beckoning me to come inside. I was happy to answer the call. Unfortunately, even in Taiwan, you still need to buy a drink in order to get a key for the bathroom, and unfortunately I had no cash on me. Bless their hearts, they pointed me to a public bathroom a block away. Across the courtyard, through Subway into an electronic store, take a left at the digital cameras, go out the exit into the alley way and it’s the last door on the right. Great marketing strategy by Starbucks I might add. If I had had cash, it would have been as good as theirs.

Last door on the right, there it is. At last, I may bring peace to the war within me. It was a scenario that belonged only to the late night comedy series Workaholics . I opened the door to find no refuge from the rain. The rain decided to focus its forces to an area directly over the toilet. A steady stream the width of a nickel, though I didn’t measure, was pouring over the only throne in the room. This would be one degree worse had the toilet actually been what is commonly known here as a “Squatty Potty”.

(Don’t worry, I’ll spare everyone the rest of the unsavory details.)

Umbrella in hand but this time inside. Still defending myself from the downpour. The umbrella only protected the onslaught from above, but not from the sides.  I sat there and asked myself, “What on earth am I doing here?”  A part of a skate ministry. I don’t even know how to skate. Most of the demographic we are trying to reach does, but I don’t. I do know how to make a fool trying. Actually I should say I am a part of an outreach that uses embarrassment as one of its tools. I, Nick, use my inability to skate as a way to connect to a group I would otherwise have no way to associate with. But I have a skate board, and that means I’m in. This is not what I signed up for. This toilet. Being drenched. A skate outreach I had no business being a part of.

I sat there, on the throne of self-pity. Being anointed as “King of Egocentric ‘ia” by the clouds.

Then it hit me. A stroke of the bipolar. It took me from king to pauper in mere moments. I had given into  #firstworldproblems and Philippians 1:29 came to mind, “For it has been granted to you on behalf of Christ not only to believe on him, but also to suffer for him,.”  I laughed out loud, by myself, while this verse ran as a teleprompter before me. What I was going through could not be classified in the least as suffering. The retelling of this through short film would have a title that read, “Based on a true story,” and the extremely small subtitle below it would read, “loosely based on an idea of american suffrage, but still not really.”

My #firstworldproblems were a humorous joke in light of what I have been given, both as an American and as a Christian. As I sat there uncomfortably I recalled a video I had watched a few days prior of Christians in India being hunted down and beaten with wooden billy-clubs.  Yet I sat there steaming in my #firstworldproblems better yet, my #firstworldchristianproblems, being completely ungrateful. What beats my self pity? Gratefulness. What do I have to be grateful for? Everything. My family, with parents who are still happily married after 28-something-years of marriage. The opportunity to live in another country. To have the amazing privilege of being in community with some of the most humble and selfless people. But most of all knowing Jesus, and what he did for me.

I walked out of the bathroom, drenched, with a renewed mind, and a settled stomach.

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Welcome to the space created to give you the monologue of my life, in hopes it creates a dialogue with yours

GRACE, WILL YOU MARRY ME

May 10, 2012 in My Journey, Relationships with 9 Comments

I am not requesting a civil union with you. Between us, I kind of despise the idea of being two in one relationship. You fulfilling your role so I may love you, or me fulfilling mine. What I am really asking is if you would go old school with me. Before hipsters and before King David. Would you join with me? Would you become one flesh with me?
Not many people know this, but I need you.  I know a man is not supposed to say he needs anything. Right? Don’t answer, I know. But I have to confess I can’t live without you. I was never meant to live without you.

You see Grace, I have an issue. I am not perfect. Surprised right? I know we all are. Nick Edwards. Nope not perfect. If you want perfect, I have the guy for you. His name is Joel Osteen. He will take you in, shine you up, and seven steps from now you will be the best you, you could have ever imagined. If you want, perfect check him out.

Sorry, I should not be so hard on him. Don’t tell anyone I shared that with you. Hopefully  you see why I need you.

I am astonished you would wait around for a rugged man like myself, but as I grow closer to you I realize you had no intentions of ever leaving. I don’t doubt that my life has been tough for you to watch. Through countless relationships you offered your expertise. Telling me how to be soft with others, and soft with myself. You were never controlling though time after time I rejected your advice. Instead you waited patiently with arms wide open waiting for me. How could you be so forgiving? Even after the times I resented you, and laughed at your idealism. Wake up Grace, this is real life. People don’t forgive people, they move away to forget the wrongs that were done to them. I have forgiveness figured out and you should heed my advice. You forgive, but make sure you post a sticky note reading: FORGIVEN, BUT____.

You have taught me otherwise. I thought I understood forgiveness. I even teamed up with those who sounded, looked, walked, acted and #instagrammed like you, but they were not you. Fantastic imitators, but still only imitators. Your patience has brought me to my knees and you have shown me what forgiveness means. You have acted contradictory to the way I have lived and held me under no conditions. Conditions I rightfully deserved. You waited for the day I would finally expose something you already knew. That I, Nick Edwards, am not complete without you.

Grace, would you marry me?

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Welcome to the space created to give you the monologue of my life, in hopes it creates a dialogue with yours.

AN OPEN LETTER TO A PAST FRIEND

May 3, 2012 in Uncategorized with 20 Comments


I’ve out grown you nearly three years. I am older, but hesitate to say I am any wiser. Some people say I am wiser than you because I am still alive. Yeah, it’s the same people who say you need your undergrad to make any real difference. I would bet they are also the people who gave Ryan Gosling’s new flick “Drive,” two thumbs down. Which, by the way, you would love the movie. I know what you are thinking, “Really Nick? Ryan Gosling?” Trust me though, it is all you enjoyed about the Notebook but injected with a portion of Green Street Hooligans’ intensity. You taught me well. You would like it. I  forgot to mention, your undergrad does not matter anymore. If you want to make any real difference you best make it through grad school, so its ok that you didn’t finish.

It’s been over four years since we last talked. We were outside your house. You were laughing at how immature some of my relationship problems were. I am proud to tell you, I still have them, and they are still immature. I forgive you for how insensitive you would be to me when I would open up about my feelings. Really, I should thank you. You helped toughen me up. Remember whats-her-name? How we laughed when I thanked you for ultimately being the victor in our competition to win whats-her-name’s affection? Man, she played both of us. Maybe I would have won had I not been three years younger than her. I still have some pictures of you two on my hard drive, along with those 45 pictures you left on my camera of different angles of your nose. No matter what way you aimed the camera, it was still crooked. I also remember the night before the trip, where we met whats-her-name, when you made me run four miles with you, in my boxers, to a friend’s house. And the time you borrowed a varsity girls cheerleader outfit… which you some how convinced me to wear… to ask a girl to prom. Your power of persuasion was comparable to any Jedi Master. You would be proud to know I have passed the same traditions down to my younger brother at my parents’ disapproval.

The small group, rather, the group of young punks who gathered in your recreation room every Monday at 8 pm shaped my life. Years stolen by an addiction to pornography were redeemed piece by piece every week because of your openness, transparency, and walk with the Lord. You took me on as a younger brother and friend. Through example, and not always the best example, you showed me what it meant to walk as a man of God. You were rough around the edges, everyone knows that, but you loved the Lord like no one I had met. I think everyone has a story of something ridiculous you did. Like the time you punched Eddy in the face because he said you could, sarcastically of course, and you took him at his word. What about the time you laid down on your long board and held onto the underbelly of a school bus while it drove off? What the heck were you thinking? If I am not mistaken you still hold the Salem/Keizer record for the most red flags in one soccer season, and I will never forget the time you popped a guy in the face for talking about your mom.

I spent a year being jaded and bitter when you left. I remember arriving to your house shortly after I heard what had happened. It was busy with people. I headed straight up stairs to Big Mama’s room. I went in and embraced her as she laid on her bed. She held me as I cried, and I held her as she cried. I will never forget the first words she said to me, “Nick, he loved you.”  Those moments in your mom’s arms are etched into my memory. Though I was comforted by the woman you would give your life for, I was also angry and filled with deep remorse. I was angry at the God who allowed you to leave. I was filled with deep remorse because of the amount of time I made for you, the year you left. I felt robbed of your life, as did many others, and I decided I would live by the slogan, “What would Jared do?”  My problem was I adopted the slogan, and neglected the God you loved. I was pissed at the God you loved, because the God you loved allowed you to leave. I lived with crazy misplaced passion. Willing to go anywhere or try anything. Why? Because that is what you would do.

I don’t know if you saw the footage of your life’s celebration, but you would have rolled over at the sight of 1,500 plus people wearing all pink. I found a pink blazer to wear at your favorite thrift store Value Village. Your after party was catered with your choice food and beverage, banana bread and Vitamin Water. Which by the way, we all thank you for letting some one know what you wanted a few weeks before you left. It made it a more joyous occasion. You would be happy to know a handful of people gave their life to the Lord during your celebration. I hate to admit it, but I started getting mad at how many people said they were best friends with you. Some people I hardly knew would say, “oh yeah, Jared and I were so tight,” and I wouldn’t even know their name, but that was the life you lived. You were best friends with everyone. You lived richly and deeply. You lived with a zest for life only few men carry. You found your source in the Lord, and it impacted every life you came in contact with.  Jared, you were only 20 when you left, and you have inspired thousands.  An accomplishment not made by many people even after they have lived a long full life.

I am sitting in a foreign country right now, and I know you wanted to go to Scotland and church plant, but I think Analia, Naphtalie and I could have swayed you to join us here in Taiwan.  I am happy to tell you that I am more in love now with the God you love than I was when you left us.

Ill most likely kick your butt when I see you next. You are such a punk for being the first of us there.

I look forward to seeing you soon.

Love,
Nick

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Welcome to the space created to give you the monologue of my life, in hopes it creates a dialogue with yours.

SUCCESSFUL: NOT FOUND HERE

April 26, 2012 in Uncategorized with 6 Comments

or there.


Hi, My name is Nick. I live in Taiwan. I will live here for the next 8 months. I am studying the bible. I know I am supposed to be doing this, but… I have a friend who is nearly done with his undergrad, another who is in law school. My girlfriend travels around with Rodrigo y Gabriela raising money for women in Honduras. My friend Max is a successful writer, and his Lauren runs the @GoodwomanProj . I also have a ruler in my backpack that comes in handy when I need to compare the life everyone else is living with mine.

Hi, My name is Nick and I am human.

Sitting in my sixth grade humanities class day dreaming about being completely done with school. My older brother would be finished in two years, then he would be there. There: Being the place you arrive when you have achieved! Achieved what? Success? I don’t know. I remember graduating, and having one month of bliss. The bliss found in the world telling me, “You are successful! Way to go!” That was it. Then on to the next achievement. Monetarily successful. And after I’ve accomplished whats next I’ll have to accomplish whats after.

Christmas time is the worst. Everyone reunites, which is the best, and talks about all they are accomplishing, which is the worst.

“Jared! How are you? What are you up to. Man its been way to long. Tell me about your life!” Says Nick.

“Dude, so good to see you! Yeah just working on my Masters in…yarp yarp yarp” Jared goes on.

All of a sudden I have this urge to muster up my portfolio of success.

“Well Jared, if you look here… I have been working on this… Making connections here… Oh and this fall Ill be launching this..” I finished. We give a gentleman’s chuckle. I pat him on the back and walk over to where the eggnog is being served and add a little more rum to mine. We pulled out our rulers and measured each others success. He won.

I remember it taking me a few weeks to detox from all the success others were experiencing.

For those who have it together and are selfless, manly, and like Jesus: You don’t need to keep reading.

I think of myself as a fairly confident guy.

When I hear about others’ success I reach into my backpack and sift around looking for the ruler with my name on it.

The ruler I kid myself into believing will bring my some sort of acceptance and comfort.

I am a believer. There is not a thing I can do to make this guy Jesus love me anymore than he already does… but I am so human it kills me. When I hear about how you are doing and what you are doing it makes me happy. It it also tests my foundation. The parts of my foundation I put myself in charge of building. The parts of my foundation where I told Jesus, “Hey man, don’t worry! I got this section under control. Besides you are doing a lot already and I want to do some…and maybe if I help you out you can put my name on the plaque next to yours?” I am not surprised at myself or anyone else who wants their name to carry some sort of honor, weight or prestige. To look at my portfolio and have it receive the stamp of approval from this world. The stamp that reads: Successful . I won’t ever get it. At least from the world I live in.

Here is the real inconvenient truth. The one that excludes Al Gore, the polar bears, and rising tides.

No matter who you save,  how much money you get, who you marry, how many kids you have, if you have your doctorates  in ____, or if you have 55,000 #instagram followers. You will not get your stamp, or your boy scouts badge.

So you are single and successful making loads of cash,  and have many leather bound books in your new apartment that smells of rich mahogany. You won’t get your stamp, because you are not married. You are not raising a family with your lifelong partner, or leaving behind a legacy.

So you are married to your lifelong partner and family beautiful children. Your goal is to support them through life. That is actually really incredible and hard to find, but sorry you don’t get your stamp. You settled. You didn’t pursue being single and all the riches it has. Sleeping around. Climbing the business ladder. You don’t even have time to work on your masters.

There actually is no stamp to begin with and no actual rule book to reach success. We have all been duped. We have been following the imaginary rule book, trying to reach an imaginary destination.  Success should read, “Success: Not found here,” or “Success: Where ever you are not.”

I found some one who does know the key to success. He doesn’t write it in the Secret  and you won’t find it in Your Best Life Now. No, you will find it in the #bible spoken by a dude whose success was being betrayed by a friend, physically abused (least of all spit on), and nailed to a tree. If you know the story, then you know he was called a few bad names as well. I would hate that for myself, but then again I am an imperfect man. Thank God he rose again. He did it all for us. That is success.

Before he died a guy came up and asked him, “Whats the greatest commandment?”

Jesus told him, “Love the Lord with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength. And Love your neighbor as yourself. There is no other commandment greater than these.”

This redefines success.

Jesus just schooled all of us.

———

Welcome to the space created to give you the monologue of my life, in hopes it creates a dialogue with yours.

SLAPPED IN THE FACE BY KINDNESS

April 19, 2012 in My Journey with 1 Comment

This guy talks at a decibel I… can’t stand.
This food is giving me acid reflux.
The coffee scene? What coffee scene? At least they have Starbucks. Right?
Why is milk so expensive?
Class went a little over schedule today.
This guy next to me needs help, and I have plans.
Speaking of Starbucks, this song has been on repeat for the last hour, and I hate this song.

I wasted a week of my life. no don’t get me wrong I did a lot. I can put a check in the successful box on the ballot  my culture hands me, because success is measured by
“if you do a lot”…right?
I wasted a week of my life because my two friends Judgment & Ungreafullness SPELLING asked if I wanted to hold hands with them.  These two cats always look for an opportunity to pounce. This week they did. It started off as a small thing, it always does. An enticement from judgment saying, “use me just a little” to cast even the smallest bit of Judgment.

We had a little get together over pizza and some guys I really didn’t know showed up. One of the guys took the last five pieces of pizza. I only had two, and in his defense he is two times bigger than me. I was also full, but this guy thought it was ok to take five pieces. The last five pieces.  And had the audacity to forgo the standard customary American question that we must all ask: “Does anyone want more,” (please, no one say yes, because I want to finish it). I was mad. Some may call it silly, others human. I would call it both.

Leaving Sir Judgment unchecked allowed for my classes to be tainted.
Things were slightly less enjoyable and I was slightly more cranky. Each day the layer grew ever so slightly thicker.

While I was in line for my Americano, I reviewed the pizza monger, that robbed me of one more piece to food coma.
Wow that took longer than expected *sip* and these shots are awful. This day is over.
In-fact lets cancel the next few days because Kanye Nick said so.

I sat listening to the story of another friend of mine. What Jesus had done for him, what kind of drugs he was into. One of those stories that give you goose bumps… but nothing. Just me, my judgment, and this lukewarm chai. Oh and the guy spilling out his guts to me about how he has been radically transformed. I didn’t feel a thing because, by this point, I was wearing Sir Judgment as my birthday suit.

I didn’t even realize it till, yours truly, the pizza monger, depriving all men their last piece of pizza since 1985, asked me to go running with him and another guy.

This guy…
Animal.
Primal.
Inconsiderate pizza consumer.
I needed the run.

“Sure thing. How far we going?” I asked
“Not far,  Maybe to the bridge,” Pizza Monger said.

Four miles in and I realized we still had to make it to the bridge, then run back.
I’m not a runner. I like to stay fit, but I’m not a runner.
Made it to the bridge. Turned around. Made it one mile back, and the last pack of American Spirits caught up to me.

Failure.
Failure.
Weeeez.
Failure.

They went on without me.
The shameful walk of out-of-shape hit me, but as I reached the last mile and decided to run…Pizza Monger…is headed my way?
This guy finished, and ran back to get me. “Whats  up!” I said out of breath. “Nothing, just coming back to get you. Never leave a man behind.” (Yes he served out our country.)

I am a Christian, and I thought I was good at not being judgmental.

How much time do I waste? Do you waste? Being judgmental, holding grudges.

I don’t know.

But this week I was exposed. I was found out.

I wasted good time. Gods time.

And this week I got a slap in the face by kindness.

———

Welcome to the space created to give you the monologue of my life, in hopes it creates a dialogue with yours.

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