tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34781029138940987682024-03-13T13:33:26.616-07:00Just LivingA Blog About LifeZach Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05568042728143145778noreply@blogger.comBlogger107125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3478102913894098768.post-69989513504102967342015-04-28T21:40:00.002-07:002015-04-28T21:40:49.671-07:00In Search of Feelings<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
<br />
<br />
As I sit here late at night, looking at the clock and wondering why I haven't already gotten to bed (mind is everywhere so why bother sleeping at all?) I find myself in search of feelings. Not a single feeling, mind you, but multiple feelings ... things I simply underestimated.<br />
<br />
To recap previous entries into this space ever so briefly, I had a great week with a girl back in November, a week that went by so fast and was fun, exciting, and addicting in the best way possible. In a week's time I went from asking the girl out to lunch to kissing her (after the prerequisite arm-looping and hand-holding, of course). She initiated all the physical stuff because I'm horrible at everything in the romantic field. In writing, I'm pretty decent. In life ... I fail. So, so hard, I fail.<br />
<br />
And today is another day where I miss those feelings that were brought forth in that week. The old saying "You can't miss what you never had" is a true one because, before that week, I didn't miss the feelings. I knew they existed like someone knows an ocean exists, but it was never reality until I got there ... much like an ocean, those feelings stretched farther and wider than I ever really imagined.<br />
<br />
I miss them more some days than others. Days where I can see possibilities that stretch as far as the eye can see if only I -- or someone else -- does something different. Today is one such day where I want to do something but find myself mired in inaction. I'm considering a number of actions where I can find those feelings again, where I can access them again ... and, yet, I find myself unwilling to <i>force</i> the action.<br />
<br />
I'm great at forcing things. I force myself to do things because, if given time to think, I simply just think. I think, and think, and think. Thinking doesn't put my best foot forward, it makes both my feet stuck and I hate myself for it. I'm weary of thinking, weary of my mind and its thoughts and the choir of voices in it that all say something different.<br />
<br />
I'm not insane -- not yet, anyway -- but I am severely inexperienced in the realm of dating and romance and this, more than anything, is merely a declaration of what has already been declared multiple times before: I suck at this.<br />
<br />
In my past life as the fat guy, I never really got a run as a social being. I learned nothing about society and life in high school ... in college, I was merely satisfied with drowning in the aspects of life I wanted to acknowledge. Only after all that, after I got my health under control and took responsibility for it, did I realize how far behind I was.<br />
<br />
And I am still so very far behind. So, so very far. I feel like the kid who signs up for a race, passes out near the beginning of it, and wakes up on the side of the road sometime later unsure if the race is still being run but determined to finish it. I am dead last in this race, so far back I will never see another soul ahead of me because everyone has finished this leg of it already. I'm quite alone on the trail ... and I feel, today, that there isn't any point in running anymore.<br />
<br />
I should give up. Seek out the easy solution, give in to the temptations (not the band, though they're good) around me, drown in it till I don't feel anymore. If I don't feel, I don't have a reason to search out for the feelings I miss.<br />
<br />
Biochemical reactions aren't fair. They are such a powerful force, so powerful I want to crawl under a desk and mourn my loss of them on a day like today. I had it and now it's gone and it sucks.<br />
<br />
"Oh, it's the same old, broken record; Zach is longing for something and can't get it! BOO HOO!"<br />
<br />
I hear that. I nod along with it. It isn't any different on the surface, but if we go deeper we see that it isn't merely about missing the feelings: it's about trying to find them again.<br />
<br />
And the search is intimidating. Frightening. Confusing. I am inadequate to the task and I HATE admitting that. Why can't I be adequate? I lack experience at such a severe level it's laughable. I don't know where to start or how to start or how that week in November even came to pass ... but I have to figure out how.<br />
<br />
As much as it pains me to say so, I have to figure out how to date because the race is still going and I am being left farther and farther behind as the days go by. I can't make up the distance lost ... I will only find success if someone stops, turns around, and runs back to me.<br />
<br />
Dating is the way to find the feelings lost; yes, it's a temporary way but it's designed to help find a permanent solution. Yes, even the permanent solution (marriage) is void of the feelings at times ... but never fully void. Never completely without, not like the single life is.<br />
<br />
Is it wrong to want the feelings again? Is it wrong to seek them out? I doubt it. I don't think the search is wrong but where I'm searching may be. The Catholic in me (growing by the day, but little comparatively to the rest of me) says to seek out the feelings in God. In the faith. In good works and good people.<br />
<br />
And that helps. It mitigates it to a point and, in the same breath, it brings it into focus. I have Catholic friends who are happily married (of which I am envious). I have Catholic friends who are in relationships (of which I am also envious ... and a bit scared). I have Catholic friends who are single (of which I am understanding).<br />
<br />
I am not without my flaws. I have, in the past week, received an unprecedented amount of insight into realm of dating and what to do, how to present myself, ect. The information is staggering and overwhelming and I'm weary of having to account for so much on something that appears so simple.<br />
<br />
But I'm not the only one searching for these feelings. We are all searching for them, we are all damaged, we are all hurting and wanting and angry and sad. I, however, am not good at figuring out how to present an image where all that is minimized.<br />
<br />
I grow deathly silent sometimes. I can disappear while standing right in front of people some days. And some days I speak as though I own the room. I am not consistent, I am not good at pretense or casual.<br />
<br />
I have a cause. I have a will. I want to find a way. I want to force things, to make action where there is none for the sake of action ... for the sake of some sort of momentum.<br />
<br />
That's not a good thing. I was told some time back, by my best friend, that I like things to be tied in a nice bow or shattered into a million pieces, that I do well in the extremes and suffer in-between. It's true. I don't do well in the middle ground and that's where most people exist.<br />
<br />
I don't exist there and, I fear, the feelings I'm looking for are where I don't exist.<br />
<br />
Thanks for reading, folks. God bless. Zach Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05568042728143145778noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3478102913894098768.post-58689379833827243012015-04-07T09:37:00.000-07:002015-04-07T09:37:06.785-07:00Welcome to Catholicism<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
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<br />
<br />
Well, that was a rush of a Holy Week and Easter weekend. If you missed out on the news, I am officially Catholic now (losing my title as the unofficial-official-converting-Catholic). It's taken me to this point to be able to sort out all the various feelings involved (lots of those) but I'm ready to throw out some thoughts on it all.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>On the Easter Vigil:</b><br />
<br />
This was the big ceremony of the year from what I was told and it lived up to its billing. There was a fire pit (with fire ... and lots of lighter fluid ... and wind), there were candles, tons of incense and singing, and lots -- lots -- of people. I was given an entire pew of my own for me and my guests (assumed to be my family, but they're all in Alabama and very much NOT Catholic), which looked pretty empty for the entire four hours <i>before</i> the ceremony.<br />
<br />
I arrived there at four in the afternoon to walk off my nervous energy and just sit and contemplate. The church where this all went down is a beautiful place, with many quiet areas just to have a seat and think. Which think I did.<br />
<br />
This was the culmination of about two years of work. From my initial investigations, to meetings with my priest friend, to moves from Ohio to Virginia to Alabama to Virginia once more (just a week before) and many, many Masses inbetween. My thoughts were all about the time spent thinking about this day, wanting this day ... and here I was.<br />
<br />
It was all surreal, really. By 7:15 I was in my pew, awaiting my best friend (and sponsor) to arrive and being profoundly aware that I was the only one in a very empty pew. If you ever want to feel lonesome, sit in a pew in a Catholic church as people are starting to fill up the pews around you. Catholic families are usually on the larger side and they come in bunches -- this night was no exception.<br />
<br />
At 7:30 my best friend arrived and took a seat beside me; we just went on about many things. The two of us tend to tangent off into many subjects. I was dressed in a suit (of all things) and she thought it looked nice (which was nice to know, suits are so constraining) and she was dressed nicely, too. It was the Easter Vigil after all.<br />
<br />
Eventually our conversation turned to the event at hand: I was about to become Catholic. She asked if I was ready. I didn't exactly have an answer then, nor did I have one in the coming days (I would see her again on Sunday and Monday).<br />
<br />
Was I ready for a completely life-changing event, one that I'd been working towards for two years, one that was set in motion nearly four years before?<br />
<br />
I have an answer for that question now: yes. On the surface that looks like a rather trite answer, especially considering the gravity of the question. But I've been doing my best to live like a Catholic for a little over two years. It hasn't been easy, it's been a massive adjustment (going from Baptist to Catholic is like learning how to do everything with your left hand when you're right handed), but it's been worth it.<br />
<br />
The Catholic Church -- and Catholicism -- gives me a peace I don't have anywhere else. I frequent my church because of that peace that's there ... sure, I have the ability to go to any Catholic church in the world and receive the sacraments, but I like <i>my</i> church. It's a nice benefit though.<br />
<br />
So, yes, I'm ready to be Catholic, to live Catholic, and to function as Catholic; does that mean I'll be perfect at it all? Not in the least. Remember, this is the <i>beginning</i> for all this. The two years I spent preparing for this moment has led to joining the Church.<br />
<br />
Back to the ceremony, which was a sight to behold. I was confirmed via the profession of faith, my best friend behind/beside me, and with a pew full of my Catholic friends watching. That, in of itself, earned a variation of this once it was all done:<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
But that wasn't the moment I was most looking forward to. No, that moment would be receiving the Eucharist for the first time.<br />
<br />
For over two years, when it came time for people to get in line to receive the Eucharist, my place would be standing outside the pew, letting people pass me, and then I would take my seat back in the empty pew. I can count the number of times on one hand when I wasn't the only one in that pew.<br />
<br />
For two years I watched people get it. For two years I waited, kneeling, and had to endure being left out. I simultaneously loved Mass and hated it; loved it for what it was and hated it for what I could not experience. It just grinds you down, being denied over and over something that you want.<br />
<br />
And I did want it. Badly. On Holy Thursday, I was at the last Mass before the Easter Vigil, where we took all the things for Holy Communion out of the church and put them in an open place for people to adore it quietly till midnight. I didn't stay till midnight, but I certainly knelt down on the hard, wooden floor and stared at it.<br />
<br />
You know what I was thinking?<br />
<br />
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<br />
<i>I'll see you on Saturday. Be ready.</i><br />
<br />
I was looking so forward to it. Getting the Eucharist after all this time, after all the denial (self-inflicted, to an extent, because I could have easily gotten in line once and gotten it ... but I wasn't Catholic and that would have broken the rules and I didn't want to do that -- I had researched it, I <i>understood</i> what it meant), was the high point. I was fairly certain I was going to cry -- I nearly did thinking about it all kneeling on that floor Thursday night.<br />
<br />
We come back to the Easter Vigil, where we're now entering the familiar territory of the usual Mass. I'm in now, I'm official, but it doesn't feel like I'm in ... not quite yet. The Eucharist still awaits, the final part of this completely insane journey of mine. Arriving at the Eucharist seemed to take longer than usual, but that was likely because of how much I was looking forward to it.<br />
<br />
But we did get there. And, for the first time in over two years, I didn't have to stand outside the pew and watch people walk by me. I got to get in line. Now, I had been watching people receive the Eucharist for that time carefully, trying to figure out what I was going to do. There are multiple ways to do it -- everyone has their own little combination.<br />
<br />
I decided to keep it simple for my first time and merely knelt before receiving it.<br />
<br />
It was the best tasting thing I've ever had. <b>THE BEST</b>. <i>The best.</i> Best. Ever.<br />
<br />
Best.<br />
<br />
I've had the pleasure of knowing many great cooks in my life -- my best friend would qualify easily for this title -- and I've experienced many a great tasting thing. Cheesecake to die for, steaks to savor, bacon to break into spontaneous applause about ... and not a one of them separate or combined was as good as the Eucharist.<br />
<br />
Now, admittedly, this probably has roots psychologically and religiously; I've been looking forward to this for two years and it's been very much on my mind during Holy Week. Rationally, I understand the taste associated with it -- it was lightly sweetened, I know that much.<br />
<br />
But that doesn't lessen it in the least. I can come up with a thousand rational reasons as to why it tasted so good, but the truth is that it tasted so good because it <i>is</i> that good. It is, by its nature, good. The best good you can have.<br />
<br />
Once the Eucharist was had by all and I managed to blink away a few tears (hopefully stealth-like), we closed out the Mass and that was it. Nearly 2.5 hours after the whole show began, we had reached the conclusion. 29 of us, in total, joined the Church and, at least for me, the night will remain burned into my mind.<br />
<br />
<b>What It Means:</b><br />
<br />
The analogy I came up with is pretty straight-forward. I'm a huge Star Trek fan; I know more about that than just about anything else in my life. Joining the Catholic Church, after two years of waiting and more getting to that point, is like joining the crew of the <i>Enterprise</i> (I'll take the original, please).<br />
<br />
It's that momentous a thing, it's that big -- I worked to get here, I am here, and this is just the beginning of it all. The <i>Enterprise</i> is the best ship in the fleet, the thing that saves the universe time and time again. And the Catholic Church may not fight the Borg or prevent a whale probe from destroying Earth, but its mission -- similar to the <i>Enterprise</i> -- is to save the innocent. To foster peace and understanding, to explore strange new worlds, to be unafraid of the future, and to boldly go where no one has gone before.<br />
<br />
I just joined the best ship and crew in the fleet. I might be a lowly redshirt (maybe I'll get transferred to the science department), but I'm here.<br />
<br />
The best is yet to come.<br />
<br />
Thanks for reading folks. God Bless. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<i> </i><br />
<br />
Zach Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05568042728143145778noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3478102913894098768.post-55204656418168741332015-03-19T09:04:00.003-07:002015-03-19T20:42:45.314-07:00Why Virginia?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
<br />
"Why
Virginia?" Is the question that I've most gotten in the last few days
from those I work with. News broke Monday that I was leaving the store
and heading up to Virginia, much to chagrin of many. I've had my store
manager jokingly threaten to lock me in the store until I change my
mind, among other things. <br />
<br />
Now, as those of you who
follow my exploits regularly know, I've been wanting to get back to
Virginia since I had to leave there back in early October. It wasn't a
very graceful exit (a blown out tire, a tow, a late-night hotel
check-in, and misery will make anything less than graceful) and my
arrival back in Alabama wasn't a favorite thing of mine.<br />
<br />
But
that's all about to be done. March 28th, I'm back in the place where I
belong. This past weekend I traveled up there to close the deal on a
place I wanted to rent -- and I closed that deal. It was a fun weekend,
but a brutal drive there and back.<br />
<br />
Since I got back, I've fielded the titular question a lot. Here's why.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>1. Virginia has people I love dearly in it.</b><br />
<br />
I
have friends and family (not blood, but just as meaningful if not more)
there, and being close to them is a very good thing. It's worth just
about any price, any expense, any effort, to get back there as this
weekend proved -- it's a 12-13 hour drive up there and another 12-13 back from Alabama
and I did it just to close the deal on a place I'm RENTING.<br />
<br />
Since
I'll be nearby again, I can help out. I can show up randomly and make a
day of things. I can be a part of something I desperately love being a
part of. That's more than I can say for my time in Alabama, which isn't
bad but certainly isn't fulfilling in the same way.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>2. I'm converting to Catholicism.</b><br />
<br />
This Easter,
as a matter of fact. Doing so in Virginia, where this journey of mine
started, is absolutely crucial. It's necessary and it's completely right
to do it there. Being a Catholic in Alabama is a joke, really -- yes,
there are Catholics here and I have a decent church nearby I like, but I
don't <i>love</i> that church like I do the one where this all started.<br />
<br />
No,
that church has a special place in my heart. The people there have a
special place and this doesn't work unless I start it all off in that
place. I'm a Catholic noob and, even after my conversion goes through,
I'll still be a rookie at this. I have SO MUCH to learn and figure out
but I'll do it in the best place possible.<br />
<br />
That church
in Virginia, that place is where this started and where I want to begin
this journey. I'd like it to be my spot always, but we'll see if that's
in the cards.<br />
<br />
<b>3. I keep going back there.</b><br />
<br />
God
has made this all work, let's make that VERY clear. I didn't predict my
current job taking me back to Virginia at all when I began it -- I work
retail, after all, it's not exactly glamorous or known for mobility,
but this worked somehow. I got the money, somehow. My car didn't die,
somehow. I found a place, somehow.<br />
<br />
And that somehow
belongs strictly to God. In my six months of southern exile, I have
grown to really appreciate the way he works, even if it's frustrating.
He's answered many prayers (he's kept my best friend from suffering
serious health issues, among other things), he's given me a glimpse of
things here and there, and he's allowed me to actually trust him --
which, if you've been reading this blog for years (if you have, you are a
saint), you know how I struggled in the past and still struggle with
trusting the big guy upstairs.<br />
<br />
I'm a control freak. Trusting the all-knowing, all-powerful Father is difficult to do when I don't control things.<br />
<br />
Still,
I wouldn't be here without him. This doesn't work without God. God
keeps taking me back to Virginia and this time (I hope) it's for good.
I'm taking up every stake I have here in Alabama and moving it to
Virginia.<br />
<br />
This is my make or break play and I think I'm going to make it.<br />
<br />
<b>4. Virginia is where I'm at my best.</b><br />
<br />
The
best things I've done in my life, short and largely unspectacular as it
is, has happened in Virginia. In that state I found an adopted family
that means the world to me (actually, probably worlds). In that state, I
went Primal and began a weight loss journey which ultimately led me to
lose 133 pounds in only 11 months. In that state, I found Catholicism
and got answers to questions I've had for years.<br />
<br />
Is it a
perfect place? No, but no place is on Earth. But that place is perfect
for me I think and, for a traveler of many states (Air Force Brat), I'm
glad I found one I actually like.<br />
<br />
<br />
Are there more reasons? Oh, sure. I could be here all day typing out why I love that place. But those are the main one's above.<br />
<br />
I'm heading back and I'm excited.<br />
<br />
God bless everyone and thanks for reading. <br />
<b> </b>Zach Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05568042728143145778noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3478102913894098768.post-560139321773202292015-02-20T19:58:00.001-08:002015-02-20T19:58:30.905-08:00Lent and Other Things<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
And we find ourselves here again: Lent 2015. If you missed last year's super-exciting Lent (filled with my usual brand of strangeness) feel free to take a look back starting <a href="http://zachsjustliving.blogspot.com/2014/03/day-one-of-lent.html" target="_blank">here</a>. As for what I'm doing this year, it very much resembles what I was doing last year ... which is to say, I'm trying to use Lent to gain a better understanding of my faith (even though, like last year, I'm just as unofficially Catholic as ever) and how it applies to my life.<br />
<br />
I don't necessarily know what this Lent will bring. Last year's Lent was a strange and exciting time -- this year's Lent may be more of the same or something different, I'm not entirely sure. Whatever the case may be, this year's Lent (which began this past Wednesday) began the countdown to Easter.<br />
<br />
Easter approaches and I'm still here in Alabama. With Lent now in effect, that means I'm officially on the clock -- I have 44 days left before April 5th arrives. My grandiose plan to get out of Alabama and back to Virginia is still in effect, I have the capital now (and the longer I'm here, the more capital I accrue) but I'm stuck.<br />
<br />
The transfer from my current store to one in Virginia is frozen in limbo: it's like the other store is on a communications blackout, refusing any messages from my HR guy. That's frustrating enough, as you can imagine.<br />
<br />
Equally frustrating is my helplessness in a number of other areas, where friends back in Virginia could use a hand and I'm stuck. Here. Again. Last year I was stuck in Ohio, this year in Alabama, but I'm in far better shape on multiple levels this time around, so perhaps that will expedite the process of getting back.<br />
<br />
More than being helpless, I'm also suffering from a bit of confusion. If the court will recall, I did have one shining week in November with one shining example of a great girl; as of late, I find myself revisiting that week. Why?<br />
<br />
The answer is probably because last week was Valentine's Day. I was never so happy to have to work than that day, a day where the very fact that I'm single is looked down upon as the celebration of "we" overrode everything else. The Valentine's Day section did have cards for other things than just romance this year (an improvement, I guess), but it still didn't take the edge off.<br />
<br />
Anyway, I worked and was glad to work. Not so glad to have to work a double-shift the next day starting at 5AM (not fun) but this week has been a much easier week of work and my mind has been drifting back to that week in November.<br />
<br />
I find myself fighting the urge just to make it plain and speak my thoughts/feelings. I feel like I'm at the scene in the romantic-comedy where the male lead is at the airport terminal and he's about to confess everything to his love interest, putting it all out there because he believes there's more.<br />
<br />
Problem: I <i>do</i> believe there's more, but I'm fairly certain she doesn't. Hence, why I'm very likely not going to confess everything there is to confess, at least not at this juncture. I'm of the mindset that honesty is the best policy and that I should be honest, but she's clearly expressed her wishes (in short: NO) and I have to respect that. I have to honor that.<br />
<br />
But I definitely want to figuratively spill my guts and put it all out there, just so I can be absolutely sure that I'm not making one of those "and I regretted it for the rest of my life" mistakes. I don't want to make such a mistake.<br />
<br />
"Your experience is limited, it's not like that," you say. You're right, of course, it's not as though this girl is the only girl who'll ever show any interest in me. Odds say that there's bound to be another.<br />
<br />
But I want this girl. Not in some dishonorable, deplorable manner -- this isn't just about a physical thing (yes, I realize that's prevalent in our modern hookup culture, but when you say"hookup" to me I think "Wireless router" -- the physical aspect is not an issue here). I want her for her mind, her intellect, her personality, her wit, the Southern drawl she has, her love of classic literature, her love of Doctor Who ... I want her for her. I could go on (as anyone will testify, I can roll on and on about things), but the point remains: that has to mean something, right?<br />
<br />
It's not like she's the first. She's among a very select few, but not the first. And it's not as though she's a fantasy girl (she's quite real, even though her existence does confuse me on a number of levels). She has her flaws. I have mine and, for a week and a handful of dates, we shared those flaws and strengths for hours on end.<br />
<br />
She made going into a Goodwill fun. And a salon store. And Walmart (which, if there's ever a test, that might be it -- Walmart is retail misery personified).<br />
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But <i>what</i> does it mean? That, I don't know. I'm confused by it. I'm confused by the fact I still have feelings for a girl who was only a regular part of my life for a week. Seven great days.<br />
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I feel like there are two possible directions my life could take right now. On the right is the path that I've wanted since I got to Alabama, a return to Virginia, a return to Catholic country, a return to people I love and would love to see as often as possible. That path is somewhat illuminated, it has goal-markers, signposts, it has some semblance of guidance to it.<br />
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And then we have the path on my left, which was opened to me thanks to that one week with that one girl; it's a path that's dark, shrouded in mystery, potentially overgrown and filled with mines. It's a path that could be just as lonely -- perhaps even more lonely -- than the first one, it's a path that has no signposts or guidance. It's a path I'm unwilling to go down.<br />
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Unless I could go down it with her. I'm completely and totally willing to blow up every carefully laid idea and plan I have to give that dark and scary path a shot. I think it's worth it, I think she's worth it, and I'm not unconvinced of this even though we're nearly at the three month mark since it all came to an end.<br />
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I don't know what I'm doing here and I'm not sure there's an answer that will present itself as either right or wrong. There are merely answers, all some shade of both, and I have it within my power to choose any of those answers. I can confess my feelings, I can make an impassioned speech to win her back, I can leave it be, I can try and forget her, or I can do none of the above.<br />
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I simply can't tell which is the most right or the most wrong out of those answers. I don't know what it means.<br />
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I'm devoting this Lent to trying to solve that question ... am I wrong? Should I bury these thoughts and feelings? Is there some answer in scripture, in teaching, that I'm missing? I don't know right now. I hope to find out once Lent is over.<br />
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Where I am once Lent is over ... that's another question entirely and one, perhaps, I'll be able to answer sooner.<br />
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Thanks for reading, folks. God Bless. <br />
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<br />Zach Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05568042728143145778noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3478102913894098768.post-13717866916375636982015-02-04T18:46:00.000-08:002015-02-04T18:46:34.059-08:00Where's the Other Shoe? <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://regrounding.files.wordpress.com/2011/09/shoesdropping.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://regrounding.files.wordpress.com/2011/09/shoesdropping.jpg" width="264" /></a></div>
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I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop. I was struck today by a sense of foreboding while at work, a sense that something was coming down the pike that I might not like. I thought at first it was just my imagination but then I was told I was going to have to report to work in the morning -- despite it being the first of five straight days off. So, I lost a day off, but it's not a horrible thing as I needed the hours.<br />
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Still, the sense of foreboding remained. I was told about having to come in tomorrow earlier this morning, shortly after I arrived for my shift, and the sense of foreboding has still remained. I think I know why the sense is there: I'm in the middle of a relentlessly good streak.<br />
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In terms of personal things, I've been very blessed since the new year has rolled around. I managed to keep my job (and keep most of my hours), my best friend avoided two serious health issues, my car isn't dying, I've been writing pretty decently, I've even managed to lose a little weight (still not back to 145 but I'm sitting at 148 now -- I'm closer), and I've completed my Catechism (which means I can now officially join the Catholic Church at Easter).<br />
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And all that is good. It's really good, but all that was Phase 1 stuff. All that was the preamble to the big stuff, to the things I want to do in Phase 2 of this plan of mine. Phase 2 being, of course, getting back to Virginia. This is where the sense of foreboding comes into play, as today I made the first declaration of my intent to get back there to work. I've begun the inquiry process of transferring to a store up there; tomorrow, I get to throw my hat into the ring fully and see where the chips fall.<br />
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I'm worried, naturally, though I really shouldn't be. I didn't anticipate having this job -- or having saved as much money as I have -- so this is all gravy, right? It is, yes, and it's also an incredible stroke of luck. IF I can transfer to a store in Virginia, it'd be awesome, but I don't think that's going to happen.<br />
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And, with Easter being on April 5th this year (super-early), I don't have time to waste on a pursuit that won't net me a job that gives me the hours and pay that I need to get a place up there. We're officially at the two months (and less) to go mark.<br />
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Phase 2 requires me to: get a job in VA, get a place to stay, and do all that before Easter so I can take confirmation at the my Catholic church of choice up there. That seems like a lot to do in two months time, not because the big things are but all the little things done with that.<br />
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If I get a job up there, they'll want a date I can be there: I can't determine that for sure until I have a place to stay, so I have to find a place to stay that's not craptastic, that I can afford, and I'll likely need at least one roommate to make some of the options work. I have to investigate these places to stay from afar, meaning I'm going to have to trust others to do some scouting for me/provide key advice for this.<br />
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I'm going to be putting a lot of trust in faith in other people, people I do trust mind you, but this is a big trust here -- this is a trust that's going to determine my living arrangements for the next few months at least (probably the next year). Doing all this from Alabama is difficult, to say the least.<br />
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I don't know if I can pull Phase 2 off. I think I can -- I really think I can do it, somehow, but there's a lot of things that have to go right. And that's why I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop; so much has gone right so far.<br />
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Something has to go wrong, doesn't it?<br />
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"But the cute girl you dated for a week broke up with you! That went wrong!" you say. That happened in November -- technically, last year. It's not recent news and the wound has healed some in that time span, so it doesn't hurt as much.<br />
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Where's the bad stuff? Where's the heartbreaking loss, the knife in the back, the twist that makes me regret getting up in the morning? I can't be due for all this, I can't simply be deserving of it. I know better to think I'm deserving of anything other than bad things ... I commit far too many sins and think far too many bad thoughts to believe I deserve a good streak.<br />
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But I'm mired in the middle of one now and I desperately want it to continue. Idealistically, Phase 2 goes off without a hitch: I get the transfer to VA, I find a good place for a good price, I'm able to help out the people I care about up there, I'm able to convert up there, and I begin the process of planting roots in an area I love with people I love.<br />
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That's a beautiful sentiment, but how likely is it? Statistically, it isn't. Something won't work, a key cog will get gunked up and I'll have to scramble. I'll have to find a workaround, I'll have to make a bet and hope it pays off.<br />
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My mind is running in circles and I can feel the stress digging into me. I know, I know, I should trust in God's plan -- I have issues with that, admittedly, so don't hate me for worrying over it. I'm a control freak.<br />
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I just need to remember to breathe and breathe I will. But I worry and I want this to work, as Phase 2 is the most important phase. It's the foundation being laid. Phase 1 was the prep work, Phase 2 is where the actual work begins.<br />
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I hope I'm ready for it.<br />
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Thanks for reading. God Bless, folks. Zach Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05568042728143145778noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3478102913894098768.post-72040194190008948572015-01-12T21:06:00.000-08:002015-01-12T21:06:34.047-08:00Is Natural Family Planning Bearing a Cross or Hell on Earth?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://allpartoflifesrichpageant.files.wordpress.com/2013/01/frustrated-couple-in-bed-fuse-e1299005809913.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="187" src="https://allpartoflifesrichpageant.files.wordpress.com/2013/01/frustrated-couple-in-bed-fuse-e1299005809913.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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It's not often I do two posts in one day, but it's not often I get such extremely varied accounts on a subject. Not only is the internet full of accounts for or against NFP, but my initial concerns on this matter seem to have been justified.<br />
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Not only does NFP appear to be something that places the onus on the women in marriage, it also appears to have significant emotional, mental, and physical effects upon the two individuals in the marriage.<br />
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Clearly, my understanding of this is limited -- and it appears the understanding of it is just as limited in the hierarchy of the Church. The imagery alone speaks volumes. We have the one above, and then we have this one below (sourced from the archdioceses of LA:<br />
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<a href="http://www.la-archdiocese.org/org/familylife/images/ADLAnfp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://www.la-archdiocese.org/org/familylife/images/ADLAnfp.jpg" /></a></div>
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We have heartwrenching blog posts like <a href="http://womenintheology.org/2012/02/25/women-speak-about-natural-family-planning-gss-story/" target="_blank">this one</a> (and more, I encourage you to read the series of them) which says, in part, the following:<br />
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<i>After #6 was born, my husband—who had never, ever in all our years of
marriage suggested using any form of artificial contraception–told me
he was going to have a vasectomy. I was shocked. I told him he needed
to be very, very sure. That I would NEVER ask him to do such a thing.
But that I also was afraid to have a tubal ligation because of my health
problems and because if a tubal fails, I could end up with an ectopic
pregnancy, and I would morally have a hard time with the thought of a
baby of ours not being able to grow to term and having to be removed
from my body because of something I had done to my body by choice. He
was sure, and I felt nothing but gratitude to him and awe that he loved
me enough to do something that was clearly a sacrifice to him. He told
me enough was enough; he had seen the damage and the toll all those
pregnancies had taken on me, both physically and psychologically, and
that God had blessed us with six healthy children for which he was
eternally grateful.</i><br />
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</i><br />
<i>I cried the night before he had it done. It was so final. I asked
him repeatedly if he was sure, absolutely sure, that I didn’t want him
to ever feel pressured or forced into it in any way. We talked about
the morality of it. He basically decided he would do it, he would
confess it, and it would be a done deal. Isn’t that the sin of
presumption? He said it was simply being hopeful in the mercy and
understanding of an ever-loving God. He went through with it. We both
confessed it—I was completely and totally honest with the priest, told
him the only reason I had any real contrition for it was that I was
afraid of burning for all eternity. He absolved me anyway and told me
to be at peace.</i><br />
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That series of blog posts is an eye-opener if there ever was one. But, for every heartwrenching story like that, there's a take <a href="https://allpartoflifesrichpageant.wordpress.com/tag/nfp/" target="_blank">like this</a> (which I also encourage you to read fully) that acknowledges the difficultly of NFP, but also the beauty of it:<br />
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<i><a href="https://allpartoflifesrichpageant.wordpress.com/" rel="home" title="Life's Rich Pageant">
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<article class="post-67 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-sex tag-catholic tag-contraception tag-fam tag-fertility-awareness tag-follow-up tag-marriage tag-nfp tag-sex-2" id="post-67"><div class="entry-content">
<i>As for Natural Family Planning, which involves complete abstinence
during the fertile period, there are some things I really like about it.</i><br />
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</i><i>I agree with the philosophy behind natural family planning. No, it’s
not because I am afraid of going to hell for using a condom or think
that the best sex advice comes from a celibate man.</i><br />
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</i><br />
<em>I agree with this philosophy because it speaks about the nature of
sex. Sex is designed to be unitive and procreative. It is designed for
making love and making babies. Not every sex act leads to conception, in
fact, frequently conception is impossible. The problem is with actively removing the procreative element from sex. Because when you remove the procreative element, you change sex, meaning that also lose much of the unitive element as well.</em><br />
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<em>In cases of natural infertility, such as during pregnancy and
postpartum, after menopause, and during the infertile part of the cycle,
sex is as it is: Nothing is removed from sex and nothing is </em>changed<em>.</em><br />
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Which is right?<br />
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<b>"Wait, why do YOU care?! You're a guy! This has <i>nothing</i> to do with you!"</b><br />
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And that thinking is <i>exactly</i> the reason why I'm researching this as in-depth as I am, why I'm writing about this, why I'm putting it out there. The teachings of the Church don't really say much -- that I'm finding so far -- about the man's role in this other than "abstaining from sex."<br />
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But the toll that takes on both people in the marriage, even ones who have been Catholic all their lives (unlike I, a soon-to-be convert), is great. And further, there's some <a href="http://youngadultcatholics-blog.com/2012/08/14/nfp-and-the-elephant-or-the-babies-in-the-room/" target="_blank">serious misconceptions</a> out there about it what the Church says vs. reality.<br />
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All of this reading, all of this research has led me to one conclusion so far: there's not enough discussion or education on this <i>prior</i> to marriage for men. That's an issue because, from what I'd reading (and what I can speak of due to accounts given to me by others), NFP <i>does</i> have detrimental effects on the marriage -- specifically the relationship between husband and wife -- that are going unaddressed, at least in a real way, by the teachings of the Church.<br />
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Wives feel guilty about preventing their husbands from making love to them because it's during their fertile period. Husbands feel guilty asking their wives to make love when they're not in the mood. Schedules don't align, pressure builds up, physical intimacy evaporates and is replaced by terror at an unplanned pregnancy.<br />
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That is absolutely <i>not</i> how marriage is intended to be. It can't be. Nothing I've read on the subject -- which is admittedly not as much as many -- says that marriage is supposed to be like that. The Church holds up marriage as a vocation of great joy, but one with many crosses to bear.<br />
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<b>"This must be one of those, right?"</b> <br />
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Yes and no. Yes, in the sense that there will be times when the husband and wife must abstain from sex in marriage. No, in the sense that living in fear of something, instilling guilt and hatred into the relationship between husband and wife, breeding resentment, is <i>not</i> the way marriage is.<br />
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It is a vocation. It is tough. But it's not meant to be filled with so many negative things, to drown a marriage in misery because a husband and wife can't be physically together.<br />
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The teachings of the Church gloss over or over-simplify too much of this. The large majority of the work is placed on the women, which is simply wrong. But what's the solution? Where's the answer?<br />
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I have a few thoughts.<br />
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<b>1. Natural Family Planning should be taught much sooner than Pre-Cana.</b><br />
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As great a thing as it can be, in practice is seems to result in far more misery than it does in holiness. If it <i>is</i> the solution to the problem of contraceptives, than it shouldn't just be taught in Pre-Cana. It needs to have it's own classes geared not towards just people preparing for marriage (or already married) but towards the younger -- teenagers entering puberty, probably, and to <i>both</i> boys and girls.<br />
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There's a severe lack of understanding from the view of the males with NFP. From everything I'm getting, it seems to them like a denial. It's "No" when they want "Yes" and though some may understand at first, I'd wager the repeated denials build resentment -- towards NFP, the Church, and then the wife.<br />
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Knowledge is power. If males are taught about NFP earlier on, helping to understand why it's so important, some of these issues will be prevented. Not all, for sure, but some.<br />
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Yes, that's asking a lot of the teachers -- it's daunting to teach teenage boys anything, let alone how a woman's body works. But if you want to weed out who's going into the vocation of marriage or the priesthood, this would do it I think. <br />
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<b>2. The Church needs to have a serious discussion about this across the board.</b><br />
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This should not be limited to the corners of the internet. This shouldn't be something women/men feel ashamed of talking about. An open discussion needs to be had by all parties -- from the congregation, to the priests, to the bishops, to the cardinals, and to the Pope. This is being ignored -- the Church is pushing NFP with all these pretty ads and great stats, but it's ignoring the REAL accounts of the people who follow it.<br />
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Ignorance isn't bless. Trust me, I know, it only leads to a hard fall.<br />
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<b>3. Married couples should be able to decide for themselves what to do. </b><br />
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This last one I'm most conflicted about, but it's happening anyway. The Church should allow each couple to decide for themselves what is right for them. The picture below is my main point:<br />
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<a href="http://www.pnfpn.org/LOGO2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://www.pnfpn.org/LOGO2.JPG" height="320" width="288" /></a></div>
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There seems to be a double-standard on this very simple thing. The Church says that God will provide for the needs of married couple, even if they have a large family, if they trust in God.<br />
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But what if they trust in God and, through prayer, discern that NFP isn't for them? That it'll simply put too much strain on the marriage for either of them to be anything other than miserable? What's their option?<br />
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The only option would be contraception, of some form. Whether that be a vasectomy, condoms, or something else, those would be the immediate options. And those options are condemned by the Catholic Church. What then?<br />
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It leaves married couples in a very tough place, one that the Catholic Church is failing to address from all accounts on the matter. I simply don't know how they'd address it, but at least an attempt is required.<br />
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I don't know if NFP will be the way to go for me and my theoretical-hypothetical-future wife. By Church teaching, it must be. By practical reality, will it be possible? Will she have the type of fertility cycle that's easy to chart? Will the measurements be accurate?<br />
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All of this leaves me feeling powerless. No matter how much knowledge I have, no matter how much I study the Church's teachings, there doesn't seem to be much I can do.<br />
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But I can bring awareness. I can ask questions. I can learn. I don't think that's even remotely enough, but it's a start.<br />
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Thanks for reading everyone. God Bless. <br />
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</section><i> </i>Zach Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05568042728143145778noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3478102913894098768.post-89675901626230662752015-01-12T16:32:00.000-08:002015-01-12T16:32:01.094-08:00The Sarcament of Marriage OR The Single Scariest Thing You Can Possibly Do<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Today's lesson in the Catechism was one that I've been looking forward to for many, many months; it was about the Sacrament of Marriage. Now, to recap, I've been dancing around the idea of marriage for many years now on this blog -- what it means to me, what I see it means to others, but I've never had the opportunity to approach it from a faith-based standpoint.<br />
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That is, until today. Lesson 35 of the Catechism didn't tell me anything that surprised me, but it only reinforced the things that I had always thought about marriage: that it calls those in it to sacrifice and be faithful to one another, to provide for their children (if they are so blessed to have them), and to honor the laws of God in their marriage.<br />
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That was pretty cut and dry. What I hadn't expected was the realization that marriage is the ultimate "All-in" thing for one overarching reason. <br /><br /><b>1. You're putting all your trust in God. </b><br />
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Human beings aren't particularly trusting individuals, at least when it comes to things that we can't see or touch. As Catholics, we're called to put our trust in God that we'll get the special graces we need to bear the many crosses of marriage. We're called to surrender ourselves to God's plan.<br />
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And, in marriage, God's plan may be children. Catholicism calls all Catholics to be "open to life." We're called to embrace fertility, to have faith in God if we -- as a married couple -- are blessed with a large family.<br />
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It is here, when children are concerned, where I think the trust factor plays the biggest role. In the lead-up to marriage there is some element of control in our lives about how things are going; we're dating someone, we're evaluating if they'd make suitable partners, we're juggling our feelings, our jobs, our lives separate from one another, our lives together: it's a hectic, hot mess sometimes but it's <i>our</i> mess.<br />
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But when you take the Sacrament of Marriage, God goes from taking a bit of a backseat to being a big part of what's going on between you and your spouse. No longer are you keeping the option of ending things in your back pocket, you're in all the way. You're saying to the Church, to the people in your life, to your spouse, and to God "I accept the duties and responsibilities of marriage, I accept the crosses and blessings you will bestow on me, and I accept that you, Lord, are in control of everything."<br />
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What's included in that everything is life; specifically, the life that may be brought forth due to the union of man and woman. One of the questions at the end of the Catechism lesson asked, "Why should married people not worry about whether they will be able to support their children if God sends them a large family?"<br />
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The answer to that is this: God will provide. He guarantees married people all the material things they need as long as they keep His laws in marriage, trust Him, and pray for their needs.<br />
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Yet, that HUGE trust in God -- and it is huge -- is something that is difficult for some to acknowledge. Some couples use contraception (which is forbidden in the Catholic Church, by law), and others use Natural Family Planning (Church approved method of planning out a family without the use of chemicals/hormones/preventive methods), which is actually <a href="http://www.cnn.com/2015/01/08/health/fertility-awareness-methods/index.html" target="_blank">catching on in the mainstream</a>.<br />
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For myself, I know contraception isn't the way I would go (unless exceptional circumstances demanded it, I wouldn't do it). The "use a condom, have sex, and don't worry about the consequences!" mantra of our culture is one of the reasons why marriage and healthy relationships are crumbling around us.<br />
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I wouldn't want my theoretical-hypothetical-future-wife to use contraception either, because the chemicals that are in birth control pills and other birth control methods are just horrid for the body. It doesn't do good things (as the linked article above from CNN details a bit).<br />
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So, is NFP the way to go? As far as Church approved methods go, yes. But it places a lot of the onus on the women in the marriage. From the website of the United States Conference of Catholic Bishops comes this explanation on NFP:<br />
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<strong><strong>Natural Family Planning</strong> is an umbrella term for certain methods used to <strong>achieve and avoid
pregnancies.</strong> These methods are based on observation of the <strong>naturally
occurring signs and symptoms</strong> of the fertile and infertile phases of a
woman's menstrual cycle. Couples using NFP to avoid pregnancy abstain
from intercourse and genital contact during the fertile phase of the
woman's cycle. No drugs, devices, or surgical procedures are used to
avoid pregnancy.</strong><br /><br /><strong>NFP reflects the <strong>dignity of the human person</strong> within the context of
marriage and family life, promotes <strong>openness to life,</strong> and recognizes the
<strong>value of the child.</strong> By respecting the love-giving and life-giving
natures of marriage, NFP can enrich the bond between husband and wife.</strong> (<em>Standards for Diocesan Natural Family Planning Ministry</em>, p. 23)<br />
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These "methods of observation" are, almost always, performed by the women (as it probably should be), but it's a lot of work. From everything I read there are a lot of measurements, a lot of charting, a lot of data tracking ... all things which I fully endorse (I like doing those things) but it seems very one-sided.<br />
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"But wait, the couple has to <i>abstain</i> from intercourse during the fertile period! That's basically saying the guy can't get any during that time, that's a sacrifice on the man's part!" you say. To which I agree with, partially, but really being chaste shouldn't be <i>that</i> much of a sacrifice.<br />
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As Catholics, we're called to be chaste until marriage. That basically means a minimum of two decades without sex. I myself am a virgin, have never gotten close to having sex, and will very likely never be put in a situation before marriage where I am close to that. So, as far as this concerns me, being chaste during the fertile phase doesn't seem like a big deal.<br />
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Of course, I also haven't had sex so sex doesn't seem like a big deal. I imagine my stance on this will probably change should I be married in the future.<br />
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But the point of all this is to say that the women in the marriage seem to do the majority of the work in NFP and I know, from various accounts over the last four years, how difficult and demanding NFP can be.<br />
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As a matter of fact, NFP and how it's used by Catholics was one of the first deep conversations I had about Catholicism. I was of the opinion, at the time, that NFP was basically contraception in effect, if not in name. But the other two Catholics in the room, both female, told me that wasn't so.<br />
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Here we are now and I'm in agreement -- it isn't so. The biggest thing about NFP is that it "promotes openness to life" and that's something that contraception simply can't claim; contraception, by it's nature, is a prevention/destruction of the possibility of life. There's no way around that.<br />
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Even if you do NFP and do it in such a way that you avoid pregnancy, there's no guarantee that it'll work -- success rates are high, if you go by the stats, but I'm wary of going by just the stats alone. Stats can be made to reflect almost anything. Personal testimonies could be twisted ... so I'm on the fence at just how viable it is.<br />
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There's more that I need to research on it, no doubt, but NFP -- and the potential of children in the first place -- is where the biggest trust factor in God's plan comes in. You're not just trusting him with your life, the life of your wife, the life of your marriage, but also the lives of your possible children ... and that's a lot of control to give up.<br />
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I think that's the main reason why things are so tough for married folks today; it's that some of them don't realize that they have to give up control. They have to give it up fully to God and that's scary.<br />
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But I think this sums up perfectly why I and others shouldn't be so scared.<br />
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Thanks for reading, folks. God Bless.<br />
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Zach Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05568042728143145778noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3478102913894098768.post-22181659386299987652015-01-06T23:14:00.002-08:002015-01-06T23:14:54.693-08:00Moms Do Too Much Work<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Is there a more thankless job in society, in life, and in the family than being a mom? Anyone? Bueller?<br />
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As I was cruising the store tonight, knocking out some meager duties, I stumbled upon a thought that surprised me. Maybe it was just because I wasn't looking for it or maybe it was because I've had similar thoughts in the past, but never quite encompassed it all in one singular phrase.<br />
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Moms do too much work. That's it. It's there.<br />
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"That's brilliant, Zach! Did you discover the sky is blue, too?" you say. Okay, admittedly, it's not a wholly original thought. There are countless posts on the Internet about moms being overworked, under-appreciated, ect. And those posts are right to varying degrees, but my main point has a few sub-points to it -- which, in my opinion, makes this whole venture a different beast.<br />
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I'm not here to talk exclusively about how much work moms do. They do too much and the problem is <i>we let them</i>. We don't let them out of the graciousness of our hearts but, rather, we let them because we'd rather <i>someone else</i> do it, but not us. We're lazy. We're incredibly lazy, as a society, and yet we expect the mothers in our society to ...<br />
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<b>Look like supermodels (you can't be a fat mom anymore, you have to be a thin and trim mom! Don't you dare <i>not</i> workout and get back to your pre-baby weight!), work at home and outside the home (no, you're not allowed to choose one, you have to do both, you need the income to support your family!), go shopping for the food (you're the cook, you have to pick up the ingredients, too!), cook the food (who else is doing that? The children are too young and the husband is tired!), do the housechores (yes, this has to be done in order to keep things looking good for unexpected guests and to keep your family safe from falling avalanches of laundry and dishes!), be a taxi driver (kids can't drive themselves!), keep the pets alive (children need companions, even if you're doing all the work, at least the kids are happy!), find the time to be an active parent in the school/church community (you have time for that! You can't <i>not</i> be part of your kids lives in the school, they need you there, too!), keep the husband happy (you <i>better</i> look like a supermodel and you <i>better </i>stay on top of the housechores, that way your husband doesn't leave you for someone younger and thinner! You have to keep his interest in the bedroom and outside it, take up a new hobby for him if you need to!), and be the number-one option for all holiday/vacation planning and packing (no one else can do it, it's just you!). </b><br />
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All that barely scratches the surface. Does anyone else feel overwhelmed? Is it any wonder mothers in our society just seem to burn out?<br />
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Notice something about all that I listed above; everything the mom was doing was <i>for</i> someone else. Not a thing in there was directly related to herself. Being a mom, you have no time for yourself in today's world. None. And if you try to make time for yourself, you're categorized as a selfish person.<br />
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Moms have an absolutely <i>insane</i> amount of things to do and exactly who steps up to help them?<br />
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"The children do when they get old enough!" you say. True point, but when exactly is "old enough"? Seven? Eight? Nine? Ten? It's unfair moms are waiting that long for aid.<br />
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Meanwhile, the husband is chilling in the living room, feet propped up, tea in hand, and he's complaining about not being able to find the remote.<br />
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The husband is where the help needs to come from. The husband is <i>called</i> to help. But it's like the husband gets a free pass here and I can't really understand why. The husband goes to work, comes home, and relaxes. Apparently, that's perfectly fine for the husband to do, even <i>with</i> children in the mix.<br />
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But the wives, the moms? They get no such luxury. "Look sexy, cook great food, shop, take care of the kids, clean the house, plan our social life, DON'T SCREW UP OR WE'RE DOOMED!" Society screams. The messages to moms basically boils down to "Do everything or nothing gets done" and moms step up, take the burden, and do.<br />
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Amazingly, they do. But we're killing them. We're killing them as individuals, as people who existed <i>before</i> being a mom, before being a wife, and we're taking that individuality, locking it in a dark room, and starving it to death. Slowly. Achingly.<br />
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We are failing our moms. Husbands -- men, males, guys, boys, dudes -- are <i>failing</i> the moms in our lives, whether that be our wives or own mothers. What exactly is our excuse?<br />
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"We work --" Yeah, so do the moms.<br />
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"We're tired --" Yeah, so are the moms.<br />
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"We have other things --" Yeah, the moms have other things to do, too!<br />
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It's failure, across the board. We demand SO MUCH from the moms and virtually nothing from the fathers. Society has given the green-light for guys to just kick back and let the women do the work.<br />
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And it's wrong. And I absolutely, positively, swear to the Internet (and the moms in my life, past, present and future) that I won't continue this trend. The workload for a mom is absolutely crushing and hardly anyone steps up. And, when someone does, the mom either feels relief (followed by guilt that they couldn't do it themselves) or frustration with herself for being less.<br />
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The mom is not less. And the father, the husband, should be <i>much</i> more.<br />
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Speaking from a religious point of view (since I've converting to Catholicism and all), marriage is a vocation -- a sacred duty. It's not easy, it's tough. It's two people working to build a life together with God as a very important component. It's here, in marriage, where children come about and the miracle of motherhood shows up.<br />
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"Yeah, and?" you say.<br />
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The father should do <i>more</i> than just contribute his genetic material to the whole thing, right? Sure, the father protects and takes care of the wife during the pregnancy period (and after it as well, one can easily argue) but it seems that, as the father, the male just kinda takes a hands-off approach when it's all said and done.<br />
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And that simply isn't the way things were intended. Christ and the Church are married, in a sense -- Christ is the groom and the Church is his Bride. Christ is present in the Church always; as Catholics, we are called to model ourselves after Christ.<br />
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We certainly can't be present in the lives of our wives/moms all the time (we're not divine beings, after all) but we <i>certainly</i> can strive to be more present in the lives of our wives/moms and to help them as Christ helps the Church.<br />
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"Well, what if I don't care about the religious stuff?" you say. Fine, junk that if you want to: are you telling me the 95/5 split that society has placed on the mother/father dynamic is right? That's 95 percent of the work is done by the mom and 5 percent by the father -- maybe a tad over-dramatic an estimate (probably closer to 90/10 or 80/20) but the large majority of the work in the family is done by the mom.<br />
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Why is that right? I don't understand why. As I sit here and type I just got off a seven-hour shift. I spent my day off yesterday cleaning out the garage, working out, and playing football. I spent this morning doing some studying (Catechism Lesson 27), troubleshooting some tech for my brother, and attempting to find a gift for an upcoming birthday (no success as of yet).<br />
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I am 26. I am a male. I work 30+ hours a week, usually. November and December killed my social life (little there was to kill). I do work, I do chores around the house, I do things outside the house that I don't <i>have</i> to do. I have <i>plenty</i> of energy (evidenced by this very post at this very hour). Why is it that I can do these things now but, if/when I get married and if/when I am blessed with children, my abilities will falter?<br />
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"You'll be older. Life will take it out of you by that point," you say. Granted, a possibility, but I'm in the best shape of my life. I've been in the best shape of my life every year since I turned 24. I don't plan on going back to this.<br />
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I will <i>never</i> be that again. It's dead and gone. I will, quite literally, <i>die</i> first before going back to that. Quote me on that. Hold me to that. Count it as fact.<br />
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I don't plan on being one of those fathers who kick back and get large when kids enter the picture. I'm going to stay in shape. I'm going to stay fit and healthy, I'm going to <i>get</i> better as I go along. I'm aiming to age like fine wine.<br />
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That said, I won't be a husband who lets his wife do all the work. I'm not that. I can't be that and I challenge all the guys out there to <i>not</i> be that. Don't let her do all the work, don't let her drown under the crushing weight of it all fellas, we're <i>better</i> than that. We've been designed to be better than that but society and our own inherent laziness has made it easy to just shrug.<br />
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I promise the following (and Internet, hold me to this -- you know how I like being held accountable, wouldn't be here if I wasn't held accountable before):<br />
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1. I'm not going to let my wife do all the work. I'm aiming for a 50/50 split, ideally, and, really, I could probably do 70/30 of it and be fine -- I just plug away at chores and stuff, and adding the madness of children won't kill me. I thrive on madness.<br />
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2. If I get so lucky to have kids, I will encourage them to follow my example -- you put in your share of work and don't be lazy. It's easier said than done, I grant you, but I won't be the father who comes home, kicks back, and watches the mom do everything. I <i>can</i> do things and I <i>will</i>.<br />
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3. I'm going to preach this as often as opportunity allows. Gentlemen, there needs to be a reality check amongst the males of the species. We're placing far too much on the shoulders of the moms and not enough on the fathers. The split is skewed, society is allowing it to skew, the guys aren't correcting the skew, and it's <i>wrong</i>. Spread the word: Moms do too much work.<br />
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That's it for me. Thanks for reading and God Bless.<br />
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Zach Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05568042728143145778noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3478102913894098768.post-53601984543195456272015-01-04T17:35:00.000-08:002015-01-04T17:35:53.378-08:00What's the Point of Being Honorable?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />When I think of honor, I think of one man (well, Klingon): that would be Worf. Worf, if you're unfamiliar with him, is from <b>Star Trek: The Next Generation</b> and also later starred in <b>Star Trek: Deep Space Nine</b>. If you need a quick brush up on why he was awesome, this video will get you up to speed.<br />
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Now, with out of the way, let's get to the meat of this: is there really any point in being honorable in this day and age?<br />
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I ask the question simply because, over the last few days, I've wondered myself if there was. This all spawned late one night as I was talking with my best friend on the phone. Many references were made and many things were said, but one of the things she said stuck with me: she said it was a good thing that I wanted to keep my promises to people.<br />
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And, after the call ended, I kept revisiting that and the thought occurred to me that not only was it a good thing, but it was an <i>honorable</i> thing and that it was something Worf would totally do.<br />
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In the intervening days, I've been studying the Catechism and the word "honor" has appeared a lot in it of late. As Catholics, we're called to honor God. We're called to honor Mary and the Holy Family. We're called to honor Christ and to honor our parents. We're called to honor our husbands and wives (depending on which you have). We're called, in some respects, to honor our neighbors.<br />
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That's a lot of honor. But, all added up, I find myself comparing "being honorable" to something else: "being a nice guy."<br />
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As everyone knows, "being a nice guy" is a death knell. Whatever follows that phrase is almost always <i>not</i> something you want to hear. Is "being honorable" actually "being a nice guy?" Being "honorable" isn't exactly a popular thing. Honor, as defined in the Catechism, is "to praise or show respect and courtesy for someone." <br />
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It's tough for me to come to the conclusion that that's happening a lot in this day and age, especially in the realm of dating/marriage. I work in retail, so I see plenty of couples go through the store, and there just doesn't seem to be a lot of that going around. Are the couples nice enough? Usually. But it's the little actions that get me -- whether it's the guy sneaking a look at another attractive girl nearby or the girl ignoring the guy for something on her phone, it just doesn't seem like "honor" is in great supply or demand.<br />
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Yet, everything I read tells me that "honor" is desired in multiple facets of our lives, including (but not limited to) dating. But I have to ask, is it really desired at all? It seems like it's an optional requirement.<br />
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I mean, if the people who aren't "honorable" are getting all these things they want, what's the point, right? You can just act like a jerk and you get what you want. No need for pretense or trying to be a better person, you just do as you do and stuff happens to you that's good. <br />
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Again, if "being honorable" is in the same category as "being the nice guy" than shouldn't we just avoid that all together? "Being the nice guy" is not a great thing to be in the world. You don't get much credit and you get taken advantage of sometimes.<br />
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It seems like "being honorable" will only result in being hurt.<br />
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But, there's Worf. Worf was an honorable dude; he was honorable to the core. His honor resulted in many great successes and -- sadly -- many great tragedies. He lost not only one woman he loved, but two. He had a strained relationship with his people (the Klingons) and his son. He was a man of strict moral code whom, when it came down to it, defaulted to that code, even though it resulted in at least one significant career setback.<br />
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Worf had a tough go of it. His honor required something else that "being the nice guy" doesn't: it required sacrifice.<br />
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And here is where Star Trek and Catholicism cross paths. Worf was honorable to a fault and he sacrificed a lot for that honor. As Catholics, we are also called to sacrifice for those we honor -- whether it is God, our parents, or our spouses. Sacrifice is part of the requirements for this way of life. Sacrifice is the defining characteristic in all things that are great.<br />
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You can't achieve greatness without sacrifice -- it's a historical fact.<br />
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It's no secret what I want in life. It's sprayed across this blog and other corners of the Internet: I want a wife, a family (if it's in God's plan), I want to <i>build</i> something. And you know what? That requires sacrifice. It's going to require me to sacrifice time, money, effort, and only God knows what else. But it'll require sacrifice.<br />
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Which is why "being honorable" isn't "being a nice guy." Being nice doesn't require sacrifice -- it requires human decency and the ability not to be a jerk, but it doesn't require sacrifice (maybe sacrificing your more primal human tendencies, but that's debatable).<br />
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So, that said, does being honorable have a point? I will say it does. Being honorable is something that is above us. It's beyond us in a lot of respects because to be honorable we have to be able to sacrifice, we have to be selfless, and we have to be willing to suffer. As Catholics, we are called to do that.<br />
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And, though technically I am the unofficial-official-converting-Catholic, I'm called to do that. Being honorable teaches us how to think, just a little, like God. It's a tiny sliver into his thought process, but it's a very important sliver. The point of being honorable is to teach us how to treat those we love in life -- like those we are dating or those we are married to.<br />
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It's a point that's being missed a lot, I think. It's tough to learn. It's tough to do. It's tough to hold yourself accountable to. But is it worth it? I would say it is, just based on limited observation. Even though there are certainly days where I wish I could suspend my own moral code and just reap the rewards everyone else seems to reap, I know that there are better things.<br />
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Those so-called rewards that everyone else is reaping aren't really rewards -- they're teases, tastes of things that those people will never be able to fully enjoy (I think).<br />
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Honor is required to fully enjoy them and, though it's certainly easy to confuse "being honorable" with "being a nice guy", don't: the two are different things. Honor is worth it, I think. At the end of the day, at the very least, it'll keep your soul in good shape and that's probably the most important benefit of honor there is.<br />
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Thanks for reading, folks. God Bless. <br />
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<br />Zach Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05568042728143145778noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3478102913894098768.post-15999296787122158042014-12-30T21:07:00.000-08:002014-12-30T21:12:30.557-08:00No Longer a Hopeless Romantic <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I've watched, over the years, as many of my friends in high school and college got into relationships and, later, out of them. Some high school friends of mine remained together and married. Some college friends of mine did the same. But the large majority of them found someone, was with them for a few months or a few years, and then found out it wasn't going to work.<br />
A relationship is a lot of work. It's an emotional investment, a physical one (the level of which is totally dependent on how both parties feel), and a time-consuming one. I wasn't ready for such an investment in high school or college, for multiple reasons -- whether that would be my lack of confidence due to how I was the fat guy or my own personal questions about my faith or my own personal demons, I just wasn't there.<br />
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I wasn't there when I lost the weight over two years ago. I wasn't there this time last year, even though I tried.<br />
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It wasn't for lack of wanting -- oh, I wanted plenty of things -- but I simply didn't <i>understand</i> fully what I was asking. There was a key cog that wasn't there or a neuron misfiring or a thought process that got hung up. Something was missing. I don't know what, but, whatever it was, it just simply didn't exist. <br />
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Up until this November I considered myself a hopeless romantic because of my past. A card carrying, lifelong member of a fraternity of fools who believed that love was more important than anything and that it would conquer all. That belief isn't wrong, but the hopeless part? That was wrong. That's the wrong starting point.<br />
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Let me explain. During that crazy month of November I was hired at the job I currently work at (seasonal job at Target with decent hours). I dated an intelligent, witty, cute girl who, by all statistical measurements, should have turned me down on the first date. But she didn't and, in a week's time, she taught me a lot.<br />
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And then she broke it off. But something she said to me, the night before she broke it off, has stuck with me since. She told me not to be a hopeless romantic but, rather, to be "hopeful." That didn't mean much to me then, but it stuck in my craw after the break up.<br />
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Since the break up, I've thrown myself into the Catechism and in that, one thing has been reaffirmed to me over and over and over.<br />
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God loves us and, with his love, there is <i>always</i> hope.<br />
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That's a tough truth to swallow for me, not because I find it inherently false but because I find it hard to believe that there's hope for me. Hope and I ... we don't get along well. I tend to hope for things but don't get them. I think this is a fallacy on my part as I'm mistaking "hope" for "want" and when I don't get what I want, I feel burned.<br />
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For a week, brief as it was, I had hope and it was an absolutely beautiful feeling. It was a feeling of warmth that I hadn't had in many, many years. I can honestly say that, for that week, I was happy. I had forgotten what happy was.<br />
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And, as I continue to read the Catechism and learn, I find that there's hope for me in Christ. Yes, it's a trite phrase, isn't it? Sounds like I'm reading out of a pamphlet but something was proven to me in that one week; there <i>was</i> hope for me.<br />
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I have become more convinced of this the more I read and learn about the faith I'm calling my own. I am the unofficial-official-converting-Catholic and I'm not going to be unofficial after this Easter. I will, officially, be Catholic.<br />
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Right now, my lessons in the Catechism are focusing on the sacraments and their applications to the lives of Catholics. The Catechism, up to this point, has put off diving into full explanations of the sacraments because there's a lot there that needs to be built up before you attempt to understand it.<br />
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But I'm there now and, quickly, an explanation of the one sacrament I want the most is approaching: the sacrament of Matrimony.<br />
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It's no secret that I firmly believe -- and want -- to be married one day. I think it's my vocation, I think it's what I'm called to do. Realizing that hasn't been hard -- figuring out how to do it has been the issue. And, for what it's worth, I think I have arrived at some conclusions.<br />
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Surprisingly, these conclusions seem to be supported by Catholic teachings.<br />
<br />
<b>1. There's no need to rush.</b><br />
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Catholicism -- and other faiths -- throw out this word. It's "discernment". In short, it's the process one uses to come to a decision, taking into account the spiritual side of things, as well as the practical side of things, and looking to the faith (and God) for an answer.<br />
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The point of dating is to find the one you're to be married to (which the cute girl I dated for a week in November pointed out as well). Well, if you're going to be dating someone you <i>might</i> marry, you should take time to consider it. By my nature I like to analyze (and overanalyze) things, so this isn't a problem for me. I waited a few weeks before asking the cute girl out and it turned out all right.<br />
<b> </b><br />
<b>2. Don't obsess. </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
This one is easier said than done for me. I like to obsess. I like to overanalyze because it's just how I work, so <i>not</i> obsessing is tough, but as my best friend recently pointed out to me, the best things are unexpected. The last few years of my life prove this and my brief dating relationship in November also proved this. I wasn't actively, obsessively looking for a relationship -- I didn't want to be in Alabama in the first place, I wanted to get out as soon as possible. Yet, I found a girl that I liked and she liked me back. And it was random.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>3. Pray.</b><br />
<br />
It's seems stupid, especially to the logical side of me. Offering up prayers to a God about something like this. This isn't a practice I've done for more than a few days now and, yes, it feels weird. It's not like God and I dish on relationship gossip -- he's all knowing and such, so why does he need me to <i>tell</i> him what's going on when he's got a pay-per-view feed into my life 24/7?<br />
<br />
Yet, the Catechism has driven home in the last few lessons how important prayer is. And, through various articles and comments I've read from <a href="http://chastityproject.com/" target="_blank">this website</a>, the idea that I should be in prayer over this <i>very</i> important issue doesn't seem so foreign to me. I pray about other <i>very</i> important things in my life -- the health of those I care for, the strength to make good decisions, the state of my soul ... why <i>not</i> pray for my hypothetical-future-theoretical-wife?<br />
<br />
"It's presumptuous, for one," you say. Okay, I don't disagree with that -- it presumes that I do have a wife out there, somewhere and, yes, it presumes that we'll find each other in this life. Lots of presumptions, I grant this.<br />
<br />
But, BUT, if I'm right -- which, being that I've had it in my head since 10 that I should be married, I think I am -- shouldn't I be devoting some time to this?<br />
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Yes, it's crazy sounding. It's weird to think and to utter aloud. Part of me feels like it's really dumb, but when is prayer ever a <i>bad</i> idea? I have days when I think that my prayers do more harm than good, I admit that, but even my doubt has to give way to reality: the reality, as I was unexpectedly informed the other night by a friend, was that people are praying <i>for</i> me just as I pray for them.<br />
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I was told I was being prayed for. Not just by my friend, but my friends friends (whom happen to be priests) and by their friends. Strangers I don't know and have never met are praying for me.<br />
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If they can do that for me, I can do that for someone that may only exist hypothetically.<br />
<br />
<b>4. Be Honest.</b><br />
<br />
I'm not good at romance, let's be frank. In the one week experience I had in November, I was forgiven <i>a lot</i> for my shortcomings in that department. But I didn't try to be suave or overly confident -- I was honest with her that I didn't know what I was doing and I was a complete noob (and, as we all know, being a noob sucks).<br />
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And you know what? She didn't hate me for it. In fact, I think it was a good choice even if part of me doubts that (the part of me that says, "If only you'd been better at the romantic stuff you'd still be together!" and some days that part of me is hard to shut up).<br />
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Honest is the best policy and it's hammered home, repeatedly in the Catechism and in various online sites, that honesty is very necessary for a good relationship. It's a virtue and, going forward, I'm going to strive to continue to grow that virtue. Maybe it'll result in failure and, if that's the case, so be it. I can fail as many times as I need to at this. It's important enough that multiple failures isn't a bad thing to me -- it's not a desirable thing, but it's not bad.<br />
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<b>5. Take a Shot.</b><br />
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I took a shot with that girl and it worked. It shouldn't have worked. It shouldn't have done anything except result in failure but it worked and I'm just as shocked as the rest of the world that it did. It was a risky proposition, one that should have resulted in an immediate failure and, instead, it gave me something that I will cherish.<br />
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I'm risk averse by nature, so I needed proof. I got that proof. I'm fairly certain that was God's way of saying, "See, Zach? You can put yourself out there and have success, you just have to try." It won't always work, of course, but I needed a success here. I got one. I don't think it was a reward so much as a bit of evidence to prod me into being less of a coward.<br />
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It worked.<br />
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<b>6. God Has to Come First</b><br />
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I saved the biggest one for last and that's for the simplest reason there is: God is the source of all love. He started it, it's all his doing, from beginning to end. He showed us the <i>ultimate</i> love and that truth has been abundant in my life of late. Heck, it's been abundant in my life since I hit the low-point of desperation over three years ago. Every day since it has been abundant, it has been abundant in the forgiveness others grant me, in the trust others place in me, and in the love that is shown for me.<br />
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And all that love starts with him. I lose track of that a lot. It's so easy to say, "Well, person-x loves me" when that capacity to love, that ability, is granted from God.<br />
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The Catholic faith is based on love. The Bible is a story about love. Not a love that we can comprehend, mind you -- we try, we put it into words, but our understanding of it is minimal at best. Our expressions of love in this mortal life pale in comparison to God's expression of love he showed for us from day one.<br />
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And, so, God has to be at the center of it all. He doesn't have to be in neon lights, shining down from the sky. Your car, bed, room, ect doesn't need to scream "GOD" in big, bold letters that shower sparks and glow in the dark.<br />
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God doesn't have to be loud. He doesn't need to be. He works just as well in the quiet corners of our life. He works on us, little by little, day after day. You need to acknowledge him, yes. You need to remember him, yes. You need to honor him, yes. You should do your best to do all these things, yes.<br />
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You will fail to do him justice, just as I will and every mortal being before or since, yes. And God will forgive us for that failure because he loves us. His forgiveness is infinite. It doesn't mean we should take advantage of it and go wild, but we shouldn't think we're doomed when we sin.<br />
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We sin all the time. It's, unfortunately, our nature.<br />
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And, even in a relationship, that has to be acknowledged. But, in the same breath, you have to acknowledge that God will forgive. His is the ultimate expression of love and, as human beings, we are commanded to model ourselves after that ultimate expression. We will fail more often than not.<br />
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We are commanded to get up and try again. We are commanded to love as God loves and show a love of God to those in our lives, especially the ones we're involved with. Especially our spouses.<br />
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How can we show that kind of love without studying it? Without acknowledging it? Without letting God's example guide us?<br />
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Simply put, we can't. So, God has to come first. It doesn't mean you walk around with a shirt that says, "GOD FIRST" or that you constantly quote scripture or Church teachings to back every decision you make.<br />
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It does mean that you consider what the Lord would do in your stead, what the Lord would say or think. It does mean you look to God and say, "Hey, what would you do?"<br />
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And sometimes you'll get a hard answer. Jesus got a hard answer when God said, "You have to die in the most painful way imaginable." And we'll have days when we get hard answers.<br />
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Like Jesus, we'll have to accept those answers and trust.<br />
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Trust in God's plan. Trust in God's mercy. But, most importantly, trust in God's love.<br />
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Thanks for reading, folks. God Bless. <br />
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<b> </b> Zach Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05568042728143145778noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3478102913894098768.post-84408371902045907142014-12-29T10:31:00.002-08:002014-12-29T10:31:43.080-08:00Closing the Distance<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Distance is a strange thing. It doesn't just apply in a physical sense, it can apply also in an intangible sense too. Right now, tangibly and intangibly, I've got quite a bit of distance between me and my goals, but not as much as where I was nearly three months ago.<br />
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If you recall, I was sent packing, tail between my legs, from my preferred location in Northern Virginia back to Alabama. It wasn't a pleasing experience on multiple levels -- the leaving, the turning in of my house key (I still miss the jingle), the tire blow out in Tennessee (and subsequent unscheduled overnight stay), the repairs to my car ... the list goes on. Circumstances dictated my exit, circumstances out of my control and out of control of those around me.<br />
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I ended up back in the Catholic deadzone that is the South and I was certain I would follow the same path everyone follows when they end up back here: stuck. Central Alabama has a way of doing that to people, though why I'm not sure.<br />
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But I'm not stuck and yesterday at work, after doing a bit of math, I realized I had secured the minimum seed money I needed to get out of the South. I had done it in two months time (as opposed to the three I estimated). I had done that while diving into the Catechism, while making a few more repairs to my car, and while not stressing out of my mind.<br />
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I've managed that and, over the past two days, I've been reminded that there are people waiting for me back in Northern VA. Family and friends who haven't forgotten my existence (and even a few children whom I was sure wouldn't miss me all but they remember me, too). <br />
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It doesn't seem so far as I sit here today. It seemed like a chasm was between me and my goals when I got back here in October, a chasm that just couldn't be crossed -- my car was limping around, my pride was wounded, and my bank account was hurting. Now, I can see the other side.<br />
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And, as I look at the other side, I have to question a few assumptions I made when this journey started (and my journey is infinitely more exciting than the Hobbit's, I'm sorry to say -- Peter Jackson, take a break from Middle-Earth).<br />
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<b>1. I'll make a good Catholic. </b><br />
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Diving into the Catechism as I have has shed some light on things that I do that simply shouldn't be done when I become a Catholic. Quite frankly, I commit a lot of mortal sins on a daily basis and I'm only aware of a few of them. I question whether or not there is such a thing as a "good" but I definitely don't qualify as it stands right now.<br />
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For one, I'm poor at remembering all the Holy Days of Obligation -- I should have gone to Mass on Christmas but I was focused on just getting to the celebration my family was having in Florida (and the three hour drive to get there). I tend to forget to do some of the things in Mass (like kneeling before getting into the pew or the thing you do when the priest reads the gospel).<br />
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That's not to say I won't get better at it -- I will. I will absolutely get better at it because I'm better at it than I was when I started this over two years ago (good gracious it's been a long time) but I don't know if I'd make a "good" Catholic. I think my starting point is decent and I should work my way up from there.<br />
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<b>2. That I'm not clueless about relationships.</b><br />
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I am totally and completely clueless. It's a fact. I had a brief, awesome week where I was involved with a great girl that showed how clueless I was. No amount of research or observation could have prepared me for how good (and right) that week felt.<br />
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This was probably an assumption I should have junked as soon as possible, but I thought I could do decently based on everything I'd researched and observed over the years. Not true.<br />
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Still, it was a learning experience (I hate to just call it that but it was, at the minimum, that) and I picked up some things that I hope should be applicable during my next relationship.<br />
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<b>3. That I'm a lost cause.</b><br />
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I'm not, actually, and you're probably just as surprised as I am. I set forth goals and they were ambitious to say the least. I wanted to get back to Northern VA, I wanted to stay there, I wanted to be Catholic, and I wanted all that done by Easter. It's a pretty steep list of things when you consider how I failed to stay in Northern VA despite being there on three separate occasions, how I've missed being confirmed last Easter, how I keep missing opportunities in general.<br />
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But here I am, within sight of the goals set forth. It doesn't mean I'll accomplish them by the date given, life can throw a curveball my way and wreck all this -- I still need to find a place to live up there and still need to find a job up there, both things that will be challenging to do (especially during the early part of this upcoming year, where jobs that were around for the holiday season disappear in a puff of smoke).<br />
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Even more than that, I was lucky enough to have a pretty girl by my side for a week in November (and she liked me for being ... me!) and I proved that I <i>can</i> be in a relationship and not completely fail at it (even if the sample size was for only a week).<br />
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So, I'm not a lost cause. It's refreshing to know for once.<br />
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<b>4. That I'm forgotten.</b><br />
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It's easy to feel forgotten, even in this digital age we live in where I can call/text/Facebook/Email anytime I want. But distance is distance, even with the Internet bridging the gap, and the people I care for in Northern VA feel worlds away from me some days. But over the last two, I've been reminded that I exist to them.<br />
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I like to exist. As much as I don't like the spotlight, it's still nice to know that I'm remembered and people are thinking about me, even if it's only a mention here and there. No one wants to be forgotten and it's especially difficult to feel not forgotten during the holiday season.<br />
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<br />****<br />
<br />
In conclusion, I'm not far away from getting back to where I want to be. I'm coming back. The dreaded fourthquel is approaching but, like Star Trek IV, I'll blow expectations out of the water (come on, let's be serious, who thought a movie about whales and without an <i>Enterprise</i> would really do that well?).<br />
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I'm studying. I'm preparing. I'm working at it.<br />
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It's all I can do right now and that's just fine. <br />
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Zach Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05568042728143145778noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3478102913894098768.post-46243849450598307992014-12-22T18:24:00.002-08:002014-12-22T18:24:48.597-08:00Suiting Up<br />
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So, today I went to get a new suit. This has been on my "to do" list for about two and a half years. Ever since I lost a 133 pounds and went from fat me to thin me (still weird to think that way and be referred to that). The last time I wore a suit I was in a size 40 at the time (in suit pants, anyway. I was still in 36 with jeans).<br />
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That suit can't possibly fit me anymore, so I went down to where I grabbed this suit in the first place -- the store is in a new building now, and it's run by different people, but it still has a great selection of suits at rather modest prices. </div>
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Upon entering the store, I was greeted by the sales guy, and I promptly explained to him that I had no idea what I was doing as far suits were concerned. We tried on jackets first, just to determine what looked good, and I told him what was suggested to me and what I was looking for. </div>
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I really, really wanted to grab something like this, just because it'd be awesome to have it. </div>
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Sure, pinstripes were suggested as something I <i>shouldn't</i> get, but David Tennant pulled it off and, blast it, I think I can too. We weren't able to find a suit that quite looked like that or the blue one that Tennant always wore, but we were able to come up with a silvery one with pinstripes that I really, really took to. </div>
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I spent nearly two hours trying on suits, trying to decide what style I liked and what things I wanted. </div>
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But the most interesting part of this adventure wasn't getting the suit, but the older gentlemen that was getting his suit tailored. The gentlemen, upon seeing me try on many suits and asking many questions, offered his hand and introduced himself. </div>
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His name was George and, upon shaking his hand, George told me this. "I can tell by your handshake that women take advantage of you and men push you around." He smiled at me and then added, "But I can also tell you have a lot of integrity and a vitality for life. You just need to push back a bit, toughen up."</div>
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Not an introduction you get very often, right? George is in his late 50s, is a Navy veteran, and just recently lost 82 pounds thanks to karate. George and I hit it off (even if I was a bit stunned by his proclamations about me). I told him that I lost over 100 pounds about two years ago, and he was super-pleased by that.</div>
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George was a big fan of fist bumping; he did that a lot.</div>
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Anyway, George advised that I take karate from his instructor and told me that I just needed to be less kind; that it was okay to push back, it was good for people and good for me. I countered that I wasn't a push-over (at least I didn't think so), and that I was accommodating, but George was adamant that it was the same thing. </div>
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George was impressed that I had a job (even if it was Target, he told me it was good that I was working and not unemployed -- any job is better than no job), that I had lost over 100 pounds, and he told me he looked forward to seeing the change in me a year from now. We exchanged phone numbers (because when a random stranger introduces himself and reads you from a handshake you just do that, right?) but I don't expect to actually hear from him again. </div>
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But his words were strange to me. I was there to buy two suits, things that looked good (or at least decent), hopefully to use at events in the future. Hell, maybe even to wear on a nice date (holding breath ... now). </div>
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George's words made me think, though. Am I too accommodating? Is George right and I need to "toughen up" and "push back"? I'm not sure. It's never been in my nature to be the "bad guy". I'm not a hardass. Do I stress about things? Sure. But I try to make sure the people around me are good and taken care of. </div>
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I don't see this as a bad thing. I don't necessarily think that being "nice" is a bad thing. I've never gotten the impression that "women take advantage of me" and "men push me around". I can be a stubborn SOB when I want to be. </div>
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I wonder, though, if I <i>should</i> be tougher. Would me being tougher be more attractive to women? I don't know. Me being me worked for about a week in November with a pretty girl I liked. It ended, but it ended on good terms, but me being me worked. </div>
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I think George made some sweeping assumptions. I don't see my kindness as a weakness or something that is lacking. But it's interesting to know what someone else thinks from the outside, even if it is a bit unflattering. </div>
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Zach Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05568042728143145778noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3478102913894098768.post-24033098417179523432014-11-13T19:35:00.003-08:002014-11-13T19:35:34.065-08:00Can Writing Help Save Your Soul?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I'm participating in <a href="http://nanowrimo.org/participants/zach-johnson/buddies" target="_blank">NaNoWriMo 2014</a>, and since last Sunday I've been killing it. I nixed the project I originally started working on (a sci-fi story that was a bit like Star Trek) and jumped back into my original fantasy fiction project, something I've been trying to complete for over three years.<br />
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I've made a lot of progress on it (up to 18K), but an observation has occurred to me as I've written: I'm making pretty good decisions. Not just in-story but in life.<br />
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And so I'm forced to ask: Can writing help save your soul? I struggle, like everyone else, with making good decisions on a daily basis. I'm human so my natural inclination is to screw up repeatedly, blame someone else, and keep screwing up. We're all wired that way.<br />
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I make an effort NOT to blame others for my mistakes and blame myself, which isn't a great thing all the time (it has drawbacks as a strategy, I grant this) but I feel like these last five days, I've been hitting things right. Doing things right.<br />
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And, on reflection, I feel like this is a trend and not a random occurrence. I've had other times when I've been on ridiculous writing tears (that one time when I stayed up for two days straight to write down 22K worth of material for a project that will never see the light of day but made me happy all the same) and, while writing, my decisions just seem to be better.<br />
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I'm wondering if that's a common thing or just a me thing (the possibility of it being a me thing is high). When I'm writing as I am, knocking out at least a chapter a day and developing characters (and backstories -- I have an addiction), I just tackle life. Work has been going good, my food choices have been good (the scale shows progress, finally), my personal decision making has been good, my soul feels good.<br />
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I realize I'm human and have been sinning every day over the last five days, but I don't feel like I've <i>chosen</i> to sin as often. I don't feel like I've made a choice to disregard what I know is right to do what I know is wrong, just for the short-term benefits.<br />
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I just want to get done with work, chores, bills, life, and get back to writing. I hold that up as my carrot and it's worked pretty well so far.<br />
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My other thought on this is as follows: if writing can help save your soul, maybe that's why the saints did so much writing. It seems like every saint did some writing and maybe this is why, maybe there's something inherently good to it, I don't know.<br />
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I just know that, while writing I feel good about the decisions I make, seem to think with a clearer head, and just seem to be "in the zone" so to speak.<br />
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Let me know what you think. Thanks for reading.<br />
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Zach Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05568042728143145778noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3478102913894098768.post-14387987154072126202014-11-07T22:46:00.000-08:002014-11-07T22:46:04.811-08:00Swimsuits, Sad Balloons, and Wedding Nights<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<i><b>*Brutally honest post follows. Be forewarned.* </b></i><br />
<br />
I hate wearing swimsuits and I was remind why when I had one of those "Holy crap, what happened here?" moments as I was looking at myself in the mirror this morning.<br />
<br />
I start every morning the same way, without reprieve. I can't not do it (even on vacation). I wake up, use the bathroom, and weight myself on my scale. Yes, the same scale I bought (at $40) when I originally began my weight loss journey back in July of 2011. It's been over three years since and my scale has had a few scares (notably a time where I thought it died in February of 2012) but it's still around. It's seen me at my highest weight (273+) and my lowest weight (138) and it sees me now.<br />
<br />
This morning I woke up, stripped down, and analyzed myself. As I do every morning, probably compulsively. It's probably horrible for me, but I like to keep track of the data. I keep a tally in my head, I reflect on images in my mind, I even take pictures with my phone if I find something that stands out and needs to be compared down the line.<br />
<br />
The analysis of this morning wasn't favorable: I started a new job a little over a week ago and, predictably, my weight has shot up a bit. I'm a little over 150 as opposed to being a bit under it (in the 147-149 range) before my job. I chalk that up to poor food choices (store discounts are the devil) and a new sleep pattern (which is erratic due to the hours). Things are out of whack on my end.<br />
<br />
And this morning was the first morning where I saw my stomach and thought to myself "That looks worse" in quite awhile. I saw it and immediately felt hatred and repulsion.<br />
<br />
I put those feelings down quickly, though, and instead focused on what was different. I skipped dinner the night before in an effort to undo some of the damage from earlier in the week, but the results were not as good as I expected. I was disappointed by that, disappointed in myself.<br />
<br />
I'm slipping. I can feel it, just a little, and it's the worst time of the year to slip. I've <i>got</i> to be in control during the holiday season. The three worst food holidays are near: Thanksgiving (gorge yourself to sleep day), Christmas (presents and cookies!), and New Year's (I swear I'll work this off <i>after</i> today).<br />
<br />
I slipped up last year. And the year before. It seems inevitable and my weight has crept up to where it is now after my low point of 140ish. Now, some have told me I look better and that it's a good weight for me.<br />
<br />
Personally, I don't like it. I'd rather be under 145 than above it, and I'd <i>certainly</i> rather be under 150 than above it (even slightly so now). My clothes still all fit fine but <i>I</i> see the difference, I feel it. I hate it.<br />
<br />
Over the summer I attempted to lose more weight in a last ditch effort to get rid of the sad sack of loose skin that sits around my stomach. I wanted to get to 128 where, by my calculations, my body fat percentage would have been low enough to finally tighten up that area. But that effort met with failure as I was unable to drop below 145, my body having gotten used to that weight thanks to my previous holiday failures.<br />
<br />
And, this morning, I was confronted with the reality that there was no way, at my current weight, that I'd get rid of it. That reality was confirmed in early October in a frank conversation with my closest friend and I'm still not okay with that. I'm a little okay with it, but not all the way.<br />
<br />
The above illustration is a perfect summation of my day as I've been hovering around this issue in my mind, from my own feelings about myself, to a character's feelings about herself, to the feelings of others about themselves (at work and in my own life).<br />
<br />
I've blogged about it in the past <a href="http://zachsjustliving.blogspot.com/2014/06/summer-of-skin.html" target="_blank">here</a> and<a href="http://zachsjustliving.blogspot.com/2014/01/on-body-image.html" target="_blank"> here</a>. They basically say similar things.<br />
<br />
And this post will probably be in that vein. But the subject matter is important to me because I want a solution: not just for myself, but for everyone I know who wishes their body was something better. Who, because it's out of their control, can't change their body to what they want. Fate or circumstance or God conspires against them.<br />
<br />
I can make no such claims, sadly. I did this to myself. I became a giant fatass, I lost the weight really fast, I caused my body to react the way it did. I didn't listen to others, I pressed on stubbornly, and my reminder of all this stares at me in the mirror every day.<br />
<br />
It sucks, I won't lie. It sucks worse when I try to do a pushup and watch as the skin hangs like a sad balloon. It's horrible looking and I'm worried; scratch that, <i>terrified</i> of what a woman might think seeing it.<br />
<br />
It hangs there and that's going to be an issue when sex comes into the equation. I'm a virgin (at 26 ... only 14 years away from 40 ... I terrified of that, too) and have so little experience with women that a third grader likely has more. I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know when I ever will (or if it's even possible).<br />
<br />
But, theoretically, hypothetically when I do meet that woman who is able to see past my numerous flaws and put up with me, we'll get married.<br />
<br />
But what happens on the wedding night?<br />
<br />
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I won't be winning, that's for sure. Sex, as I understand it, is the physical/emotional connect of a man and woman. And that physical side of it can be done in a number of ways (Kama Sutra anyone?) but, as I understand it (and correct me if I'm wrong) there's the basic it "One atop and one on bottom" positioning.<br />
<br />
Right?<br />
<br />
So, if I end up on top ... well, we get sad balloon hanging down.<br />
<br />
*headdesk*<br />
<br />
Okay, so it's not a great thing to think about and it's WAY in the future (I hope?) but it's still a consideration that has to be made and, as it stands right now, it's ugly. I've spoken to people who have had surgery for the loose skin such as mine, and the results are not as I hoped: it solves the literal problem, but there's still scarring there (unless you pay for SUPER good surgery which, as one would expect, costs a ton).<br />
<br />
So ... surgery is out of the picture and it's just me and my loose skin right now.<br />
<br />
And I don't know what to do. I want to try and lose more weight, get skinnier in a vain attempt to kill it. If I can do that, maybe it finally tightens ... maybe it finally dies.<br />
<br />
But that's fantasy, not reality. Working out has strengthened the muscles under it, but not to the point where the loose skin goes away: it only hangs slightly less.<br />
<br />
What on God's green Earth is a woman going to think about it when she sees it?<br />
<br />
"Hold on Zach, if this theoretical woman is your wife than she's going to love you no matter what," you say. True point ... idealistically. But, is that <i>really</i> the truth? I've admitted that, should I find a wife, I'd like her to care about her health and take care of herself. The body is a temple, remember?<br />
<br />
At the same time, I have to hold myself to that standard.<br />
<br />
"So, you'd judge her harshly if she had the loose skin issue like you?" you ask.<br />
<br />
And to that I say ... no. I'd <i>get</i> it if that was the case but here's the thing: so few people have done what I've done and most who have are married or in long-term relationships and did it partly <i>for</i> their partners.<br />
<br />
I did it for myself and I did it as a last-ditch effort with desperation fully in play. Losing weight <i>wasn't</i> a noble thing for me, it was a very selfish thing and I really want to say that, because I lost the weight, I have used my physical improvements to improve the lives of others but I <i>can't</i> be sure that's the case.<br />
<br />
The point is, if <i>I</i> were a woman in this situation, I'd be a bit repulsed by sad balloon loose skin.<br />
<br />
I know I'm repulsed by it, so why wouldn't a woman be? We're physical creatures, us humans, for better and worse. We interact with our world and each other physically and I can't for the life of me justify <i>anyone</i> interacting with me in a sexual fashion with my hanging loose skin. It's just ... ugly.<br />
<br />
Which is why I want a solution so badly and why I'll desperately attempt this weekend to lose weight and try to reach that supposed solution, even if it's a total fantasy that borders on delusion. What else can I do? What other actions are there to take?<br />
<br />
I <i>understand</i> what this is and what it represents ... and I hate that I understand it, I wish I could naively believe that a woman would see past it and not care but how can you <i>not</i> care about something that's going to be so very apparent on a wedding night?<br />
<br />
Maybe it's too deep a question to put out on the Internet. Maybe it's too deep a question to even ask aloud but I want to know, I <i>want</i> it out there because the solution may be out there. Someone may have it.<br />
<br />
I don't and I'm sorry I don't.<br />
<br />Thanks for reading. God Bless. Zach Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05568042728143145778noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3478102913894098768.post-1151739765354533092014-09-10T15:11:00.002-07:002014-09-10T15:11:13.753-07:00What September 11th Means to Me<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
<i>(This is my recounting of 9/11 and what it means to me, in great detail. Possible triggry things here.) </i><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
September 11th, 2001. It was a Tuesday. The day before had been parent-teacher conference day, my first one in my 7th grade year. In January of 2001, my family and I had moved to Alabama from Mississippi, the supposed "last stop" of my father's Air Force career. Mississippi had been the "last stop" too until it wasn't. I was a skeptical 12-year-old (soon to be 13) preteen.<br />
<br />
Parent-teacher conference day was a boring and embarrassing affair. My mother went and took me along with her (as that was policy in Alabama for some reason). I had to sit there and listen to my teachers talk about me in the third-person, even though I was sitting right across from them. They didn't have anything bad to say about me, in fact they were very pleased with my performance so far.<br />
<br />
It was still embarrassing to have to hear it, though. After we got done, my mother and I returned home. To celebrate my good grades and reviews I got a Sonic milkshake -- vanilla. It's funny how the little details stick with you.<br />
<br />
Tuesday was any other day. I woke up that morning and had my breakfast, a bowl of Quaker's cinnamon oatmeal. I read the sports section while simultaneously criticizing my first little brother on his poor math scores. I proceeded to be a grade-A dick to him by asking him math questions he wouldn't have an answer to, which frustrated him.<br />
<br />
I got chewed out by my mother when she finally made her way downstairs after dressing my two youngest siblings (my four-year-old little brother and nearly two-year-old little sister). I rolled my eyes and shut my mouth, my mother dropped us off at the bus stop and then we rode to school. Our mornings started at 6:15 those days and none of my family (minus my father) are morning people. As much as I wanted to sleep on the bus, I refused the urge. I had an English test I didn't <i>have</i> to study for but my English teacher, Mrs. Eutsey, glowed about me: she was notoriously difficult to impress according to everyone in my school, so I didn't want to slide in her eyes.<br />
<br />
I got to my junior high around 7:30 that morning. I headed to my first class, Civics with Mrs. Mays (that woman who could tell a yarn that would last all class period -- and we let her because we did virtually no work as she spun her tale). The junior high was old -- really old. It had originally been the <i>new</i> high school built in the mid-1940s. The junior high was ancient, hallways and everything, but each classroom had TVs hooked into the wall. Admittedly, the only thing we ever watched was some stupid news program produced by children which had a budget less than anything on PBS (and one annoyingly high-pitched girl who was the main anchor. Her voice absolutely killed my ears.).<br />
<br />
We got other channels, but it was against school policy to turn the better channels; I half-suspect that the a few of the teachers had been caught watching ESPN (notably the sports coaches who taught science) and the policy had been enacted because of them.<br />
<br />
Whatever the case, Mrs. Mays' class began like any other day: she took the chalk, scrawled in her nearly illegible writing our assignments on the board, sat down in her chair, and then we tried to bait her into telling a story within the first five minutes of class: if we could, we'd be guaranteed virtually no work. If not, we'd complete our minimal assignments pretty quickly. We operated on a seven-block schedule, so it wasn't as though we had to sit in any one class too long, but getting out of work was always preferable.<br />
<br />
It was around 7:50 that things got weird. Mrs. Mays tended to keep her door shut during class but an office-aid came in and delivered her a handwritten note: usually this meant someone was getting sent to the office, but no one got sent anywhere. Instead, Mrs. Mays propped her door open. There was some hustle and bustle in the hallways, Mrs. Mays stepped out to talk with our principal (who later that year would resign from his position) and then, around 8:00, she turned on the TV.<br />
<br />
She turned it to CNN. The image of the World Trade Center, with dark smoke billows coming out of it, came on the old CRT TV. I could read -- we all could -- and the bottom line of CNN confirmed what we were seeing. Now, the only reason I knew what the World Trade Center was at this point came from <i>Godzilla </i>(1998 version); the newscaster in that movie compared the destruction Godzilla was wreaking to the World Trade Center bombings some years past. The Twin Towers held no more meaning to me than that before 9/11.<br />
<br />
We watched, in silence, as the bottom line scrolled and witnesses came on the air to describe what they saw. By all accounts, it seemed like a tragic accident. Who would fly a plane into a building on purpose? No one, that's who. It didn't make any sense otherwise.<br />
<br />
And then the second plane hit. I don't know if the other stations figured out that the second plane hit quicker than CNN, but for a few minutes after the second explosion occurred CNN was saying that a part of the first plane, buried in the tower from the impact, had ignited and exploded. But we all were watching the TV and we all saw a second plane fly towards the towers before the video cut out briefly, then an explosion.<br />
<br />
<i>(The entire CNN broadcast of that day in on Youtube. I could link, minute by minute, what we were seeing, but I certainly won't.)</i><br />
<br />
CNN figured it out after those first few minutes that it was a second plane. They kept saying it could be a navigation error, that something had to have gone wrong. Hopes, that's all those were.<br />
<br />
We didn't get any more work done in that class. 8:45 rolled around and we transitioned to our next class: for me, it was English. Mrs. Eutsey declared our test postponed, CNN above her. I went to the library to return my book, as it would be overdue the next day. It was Black Beauty. I was on a horse kick for some reason. I dropped it off, came back, and found everyone staring up at the screen still.<br />
<br />
It was about 9 when the first tower dropped. There was a guy on the roof, with the twin towers in the background. I have no idea who he was, still don't know to this day, not even sure he still works there. But he was on the roof, with the twin towers smoking behind his left shoulder. By that point CNN was saying it was no accident, that it was a terrorist attack more than likely, and he began referencing the OKC bombing, as well as the previous terrorist attack on the World Trade Center.<br />
<br />
They cut to the Pentagon, showing it damaged and smoking. Then as the reporter there was telling what was going on he was interrupted; CNN cut back to New York and where the second tower was now there was only huge plumes of smoke and a new round of sirens screaming through the air. Thirty minutes later watched, live, as the North Tower collapsed. "Good Lord," the reporter exclaimed. Up to that point he'd been calm, collected, he'd been doing his job ... and then that.<br />
<br />
That was when I knew. When it hit. This was going to get worse. There were audible gasps in class. Tears from my teacher and a few others. I was standing in front of her desk, trying to get clarification on a grammar question. I'm pretty sure I was the only one trying to do work at that point. I'm not sure why.<br />
<br />
Lunch was silent that day. The cafeteria was separate from the school, built behind it. We walked there in silence. We ate in silence. Few conversations were even attempted as everyone was watching the TV in the cafeteria. Eyes glued. We were in the middle of Alabama, a bunch of preteen punks, and even we knew what we were watching was every kind of bad that it could be. Nothing got better. CNN just kept giving us worse and worse news.<br />
<br />
<br />
The TVs were turned on for the rest of the day, in every
class. It was the only time I can ever remember every door, to every
class, being open. Everyone looking up at the screen and no work being
done.<br />
<br />
When my brother and I returned from school, the TV was on Fox News at home. My mother was there watching it quietly as my little sister napped on the couch right next to her. My little brother was painting on the table, something he was very messy about and usually would have my mother supervising him. Not today.<br />
<br />
I chucked off my backpack and stood behind the couch, reading the bottom line, listening to the reports, watching the constant replaying of everything that had happened so far. My father got home early, around 4PM and he sat down in his blue armchair, didn't even bother getting out of his uniform (which would normally be the first thing he'd do when he got home). We didn't really talk much. What was there to say?<br />
<br />
I asked who would do this. My father simply said, "No one good."<br />
<br />
We had leftovers for dinner. Roast beef from the previous Sunday.<br />
<br />
****<br />
<br />
The next day is really more of a blur than anything else. It was already a weird week, since Monday we had off and the day before was the first school day for that week, except on a Tuesday. The TVs remained on, but muted. It was eerily quiet all morning. The only thing you heard, really, were footsteps. By lunch people began to talk again and the guys I ate lunch with were all in agreement that if another country had done this it meant it was time for all-out war. They were a bunch of rednecks who liked shooting guns, so it wasn't exactly a profound statement on their part, but it never occurred to me.<br />
<br />
War. The word is small but means so much. My father was in the Air Force. He had avoided the Gulf War the first time around. Would he be able to avoid this one? This would be the one fear I carried for years past 9/11, up until he retired in 2006. Before I worried whether or not my father would come home with news about us moving. After 9/11, I worried about him coming home with news that he was being shipped out.<br />
<br />
Was it irrational, possibly unfounded? In retrospect, probably. My father's back and knees were not in great shape and what he did wasn't exactly "go to war" material: he was, and still is, a computer geek for the Air Force. He analyzes and evaluates software for various different tasks, does some coding, runs numbers: not exactly conducive to being shipped overseas.<br />
<br />
But at the time, I was pretty worried.<br />
<br />
The immediate aftermath of 9/11 was stunned acceptance of the reality that my world was unsafe; that it was dangerous, that it could end in a fiery explosion, that our military -- impenetrable, unbeatable, the best there ever was -- could be beaten. Not by a nuclear bomb or ships, not by a great war but by people on weaponless planes.<br />
<br />
Things changed by the beginning of 2002 for my school life. The junior high, run-down and slated for destruction in the near-future (so the school board kept saying) had security cameras installed. Two new security officers were hired. School board polices were enacted that made us have see-through/mesh book-bags.<br />
<br />
The nearby Air Force bases saw massive defensive construction begin; barriers were erected, multiple checkpoints were installed, ID card checks were longer and more rigorous. It would take years before all the changes were completed, nearly a full decade, but they were started very quickly after 9/11.<br />
<br />
When I reached high school in the fall of 2003, it wasn't much different from the junior high. Same polices, same security cameras, more security officers. By that point, though, it had been nearly a full-two years since 9/11. The school let us get away with some things, mainly the use of book-bags that weren't clear or mesh.<br />
<br />
In the summer of 2005 I got a chance to visit New York with my church youth group. It was a big event and my first time ever flying on a plane. Airport security was a pain but the flying was fun. I was the official trip videographer and I did an absolute horrible job at it.<br />
<br />
I was 16 and full of myself. I hadn't yet learned the golden law of camera work, which basically boils down to "Shut up and keep the camera on the action". No, I was self-important and liked to hear the sound of my own voice (which sounds a lot worse on tape). I was a dumb, teenage punk.<br />
<br />
But I visited Ground Zero. Tried to sound self-important there, too. If I could, I'd punch myself from 2005 and I'd make it hurt. As it is, the video below summarizes my thoughts on 9/11 then. The church in the video, after Ground Zero, was absolutely beautiful. No idea what type of church it was or even what its name is, but the place was ... serene. That's stuck with me since.<br />
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****<br />
<br />
9/11 was the Pearl Harbor of our modern world. In the years after, the day has taken on a mournful, sad tone. It's deserved. For the nearly 3,000 people who died and many more who suffered directly/indirectly due to the attacks, the day will never be anything but one of anguish.<br />
<br />
It was -- and still is -- that for me to a certain extent. For the last few years, since I discovered it on Youtube, I've watched the CNN coverage of that day. I don't need to. I remember it very well. Out of all the days in my life to remember, that one is the one I'll likely never forget. I watch the videos of 9/11 and I cry. I don't cry at many things, but I cry at that.<br />
<br />
But in recent years 9/11 hasn't just been about the sadness, the anguish, the grief. It hasn't been just about all the bad that has happened since. In my life, at least, good things have come from it.<br />
<br />
I know, it's probably blasphemy of the worst kind to say that. Much like Pearl Harbor, all anyone tends to remember about 9/11 is the war, death, and the cultural shift that came after. None of those things are viewed in a good light and none of them deserve to be. Our wars in Afghanistan and Iraq have done more harm than good, one could argue -- and it wouldn't be an argument I'd oppose. The number of people that have died because of those wars, because of the people who perished on the planes, in the towers, those first-responders, those who were harmed by the debris and fallout, those families that were left alone, those kids that never knew their parents ... it staggers the mind considering just how far-reaching 9/11 was. We will feel the effects of that day for the next 100 years, easily.<br />
<br />
But 9/11 isn't about what did happen for me: I can't deny what happened. No one can (even the loon conspiracy theorists). It's about what <i>didn't</i> happen for me.<br />
<br />
In 2001 I wouldn't know that my best friend would just narrowly avoid being on one of those flights. I wouldn't know the amazing things her friendship would bring into my life. I wouldn't be able to call her family my own, even if we're not blood (and even if some people have issues with that).<br />
<br />
Without her, I would guarantee you I wouldn't be here today. She served as my example, my motivation, in getting control of my health and losing all 133 pounds of me that I didn't need. She was, and is, an inspiration to me.<br />
<br />
She's still here and because she's here, so is her family. 9/11 didn't take her away from me and, though it's incredibly selfish, I'm very thankful for that. I wasn't deprived of her life-changing friendship and I could have been.<br />
<br />
I'm thankful that 9/11 didn't send my father off to war. No matter how likely or unlikely it could have been, it was still a possibility. I could be without my father today, like many I know, because of the wars that followed 9/11. I am not.<br />
<br />
9/11 opened my eyes to the world and the dangers it holds and, strange as it sounds, I'm thankful for that too. Yes, the last of childlike innocence disappeared that day like many things in the USA. But it was necessary to teach me how <i>valuable</i> that innocence is and how <i>precious</i> it should be to all.<br />
<br />
As selfish as it is for me to find a sliver of a silver lining in that day, I can't help but be grateful for what didn't happen. Maybe that makes me a bad person (which wouldn't surprise me) or maybe I'm beginning to realize how much more that day can mean. I'm not sure.<br />
<br />
****<br />
<br />
We're coming up on 13 years now; half my life almost. I remember what the world was like before 9/11, at least my small world. My youngest siblings do not. The day is a day that lives for them in the memories of those older, in the depths of the Internet (where it'll forever be), and in history books. 9/11 is a sad day but it's not a personal sadness for them, but merely a shared sadness amongst a group; like when a friend loses a cat on Facebook.<br />
<br />
You feel bad for them, you don't want it to happen to you, but you don't feel it personally (unless you've lost a cat yourself, but for this example let's say you haven't). It's hard to empathize when you don't have a frame of reference. My siblings don't have that and their generation doesn't, really. Their classmates/friends have no idea what that day was like.<br />
<br />
The children I know that were born post 9/11 treat the day like it's part of a distant past, like it's something you see only in old movies. As I played war games when I was a kid and pretended to storm beaches and shoot Nazis, some of them pretend the same with 9/11. It's shocking, saddening, infuriating, horrifying, and distraught-inducing all wrapped into one.<br />
<br />
It's just a date to them, it didn't even happen in their lifetimes. Much like Pearl Harbor didn't happen in ours.<br />
<br />
As a country, as a people, we made a mistake with Pearl Harbor. Dec. 7th, 1941 means nothing to a lot of people in the modern age. But to the generation that was around for it? It was their 9/11. And we forgot it. We made it a date in the history books, we made it fodder for Hollywood, we made it into a set piece to be moved around.<br />
<br />
Why isn't Pearl Harbor a national holiday? A day of remembrance? I don't know the answer to that. It's always bugged me, especially after 9/11. Some have told me that it's because Pearl Harbor was a military base and so what happened that day gets lumped into Memorial Day/Veterans Day. But that's not really fair I feel; civilians died as well, people suffered that receive no recognition.<br />
<br />
9/11 is heading down a similar path. It deserves to be a national holiday, one of remembrance. Unlike Pearl Harbor, we won't have the luxury of forgetting about it; the Internet will forever exist and hold that day in a time capsule for us. We have, much like Pearl Harbor, devoted ample space and time to honoring those lost with memorials. With museums. With testimonials of their courage and bravery.<br />
<br />
We've also turned that day into Hollywood fodder, something that took many years post-Pearl Harbor for that era's America to do. Not so much for us. Turning something into a movie isn't necessarily a bad thing, but movies are primarily vehicles for entertainment; I find nothing entertaining about 9/11 or Pearl Harbor, but if there wasn't a market for the product it wouldn't have been made.<br />
<br />
It's probably too late to get Dec. 7th made into a national holiday and, really, it isn't about getting the day off from work. But I feel like this is what national holidays are best served doing; allowing a nation to collective reflect on life-changing events. Much like my thoughts on <a href="http://zachsjustliving.blogspot.com/2014/05/on-memorial-day.html" target="_blank">Arlington</a>, I feel as though Lincoln, Washington, and MLK would gladly do away with their holidays to pay proper respect to those lost on 9/11 and Pearl Harbor.<br />
<br />
I don't know how best to communicate to future generations what 9/11 meant to us. What it signified. Words seem small and inadequate (despite how many I'm pouring out here), video seems too distant without context (a context they can't possibly possess because they don't remember what it was like before) and erecting museums/memorials, though noble in intention, will only result in them becoming tourist attractions and school field trips.<br />
<br />
It's only been 13 years and we can't even figure out how to explain to those that have come since what happened. For all the technology and knowledge we have, the biggest news of this week isn't going to be 9/11. It's going to be about Apple's new smartwatch and their bigger smartphone. It's going to be about the NFL's negligent actions in the Ray Rice matter. The week isn't over yet and more things will come up, more things will overshadow 9/11.<br />
<br />
Already it's becoming a date in a history book despite how many of us are left to tell.<br />
<br />
**** <br />
<br />
I think, more than anything, that's the biggest obstacle about 9/11; our reluctance to share it with those who weren't there. It's a collective wound that everyone who was around, who remembers, has. We're all hurting still. We were hurting when we came together immediately afterwards, when we put aside our differences and united as this country hadn't since Pearl Harbor.<br />
<br />
And eventually the hurt won out. We separated, not long after we came together, and things became divisive. That's the biggest difference between 9/11 and Pearl Harbor; the 1940s didn't allow every citizen of the country to express their individual thoughts and feelings at a moment's notice. In the 1940s, people exchanged those thoughts and feelings in smaller settings, at dinner tables, churches, work, bars, and similarly smaller community-ish places.<br />
<br />
Our differences in beliefs, in actions, tore us asunder and made our hurt worse. Now we can't just share it with others who were there; now we can only share it with those who were there and feel similarly to how we feel. Our perceptions of all the things that happened after 9/11 have affected how we talk about that day.<br />
<br />
For all the victories we've achieved since 9/11, from the eventual justice brought to the madmen that orchestrated it to the freedom we fought hard to win in countries far away, we still have yet to overcome the hurt. We've yet to figure out the way share it with those who have no idea what happened and we've willingly cut ourselves off from those that don't agree with us about the actions that were taken by our country in the aftermath.<br />
<br />
We suffered as one country and we can only heal as one country, in my opinion. But such a healing process has yet to take shape and I doubt it will for many more years. We've all dug our bunkers now, we've fortified our walls, and we're content to try and fix things with the group/groups we identify with first before reaching out to the other side.<br />
<br />
I wish that wasn't the case.<br />
<br />
****<br />
<br />
I don't know where the future will take us as a country. Right now it seems like we're on the verge of tearing apart and the world seems to be on the verge of doing the same. Things seemed simpler before 9/11 and they were, to an extent. The veil that was draped over the nation's eyes about worldwide affairs was collectively lifted after that Tuesday and never will we have a veil over our eyes again.<br />
<br />
I can't begin to fathom how to explain to my possible future children what this day is. I'm at a loss as to how to describe to them everything that ended when the sun set on September 11th, 2001. I don't think anyone was fully aware at how many things just stopped being after that. We couldn't have known.<br />
<br />
All I know is that, right now and probably for the foreseeable future years, 9/11 will be a day of profound sadness on my part. It will also be a day of gratefulness for the people and things I didn't lose.<br />
<br />
To those that have lost and suffer still, I can only offer my sympathizes and my ability to listen. We're all hurting on some level, some more than others, and there simply isn't any way to undo that. There isn't any way to magically make it disappear or to forget. We remember. We know.<br />
<br />
It is that memory and that pain that we all share. I hope one day we can use it to bring us together and to heal one another.<br />
<br />
Until then, God Bless. Thanks for reading. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Zach Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05568042728143145778noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3478102913894098768.post-3231976386806293132014-08-12T18:55:00.000-07:002014-08-12T18:55:29.033-07:00The Year is Nearly Over ... And there's only about four months left. But there's so much to do. If anything has been drilled home to me over the course of this summer, it's that my timetable for things never goes according to plan. Here's what I have left to do and my thoughts on it before the year is out.<br />
<br />
<b>1. Convert to Catholicism</b><br />
<br />
"Still?" you ask. Yes, still. I'm in the process of, actually going through RCIA as we speak. It's slow. It's methodical and frustratingly so. The book given to me to study and work out of is so small and I can blaze through that puppy in a day. Instead, I'm going lesson by lesson at a crawl.<br />
<br />
I wish it was faster but I understand why the pace is slow. It's a lot to learn, even if the book is small, and the deeper insights are where the real work is done. I get it but I'm frustrated. Nevertheless, I'm taking the opportunity presented to me through the RCIA process to dive in to other Catholic practices, putting them into action with other Catholics my age.<br />
<br />
But then there's communion, where I continue to be among the few, if not the only one, to sit in my pew as just about everyone else around me goes forward. That, by far, is THE most frustrating thing out of all of it. I realize I'm not Catholic and don't qualify for it, but every time it happens I feel like the guy in the room that's highlighted. That's the biggest turn off of my "put things into practice" method ... but that's the way it is.<br />
<br />
<b>2. Lose Weight</b><br />
<br />
"Still?!" Yes, still. The summer has been kind to me and I'm back down to last summer's weight of 145. Am I glad? Absolutely. It's nice not to see the scale in the 150s anymore after a long winter of woe. But I've run the numbers and seen, first hand, what a lower weight on a similar (to myself) body looks like and it looks WAY better than what I'm at.<br />
<br />
The new goal is 128 pounds, which means I have a little over 17 pounds to lose. I'd like to get this done before the month is out but that's unlikely. My self-control has been okay but not great, especially with how social I've been these past few weekends. I've failed to adhere to things but haven't paid horribly, thankfully.<br />
<br />
But in order to knock my body fat percentage down to 12 percent and try one more time to get rid of the unsightly loose skin, I must go this far. It's not terribly low, but it is lower than my initial projection of 130. Whether I can succeed in this endeavor at all is a valid question, as seeing I've never been able to get my weight lower than 138 (two summer's ago) and that seems an awfully long way from 128.<br />
<br />
Still, I have to make the attempt.<br />
<br />
<b>3. Learn Etiquette</b><br />
<br />
It has come to my attention that I look uneducated at the dinner table with the way I do things. From my utensil usage to my body posture, I come across as a slob. I'm pissed about it, no doubt, because it's yet another flaw in the long list of flaws that I need to correct in order to be even a remotely decent human being, but this one is going to be a hard flaw to correct.<br />
<br />
Much like losing the 133 pounds I did prior, this flaw has a long history and is built into me. I really, really don't care about it that much as it pertains to me. But I do care how others perceive myself.<br />
<br />
Still, there needs to be real consequences attached to this and I can only come up with one strategy to successfully teach myself how to do right: by putting the meal on the line.<br />
<br />
I've decided to embark on a simplistic "three strikes and you're out" system to teach myself how to do this. At every meal I will judge myself (and have others judge me if they so wish) on proper table etiquette and my performance therein. If I mess up three times, whether by holding a fork incorrectly, misusing a knife, propping my elbows on the table, or leaning over the table, then I lose my right to eat.<br />
<br />
Essentially, I either perform correctly at the table or I don't eat. With a meal on the line, I should quickly be able to develop better habits. If not, I lose the right to eat, in which case that'll help my weight loss cause.<br />
<br />
It's a win-win situation, really. It may not be pretty in the early goings, but it'll be effective.<br />
<br />
4. Learn How to Dress<br />
<br />
Men's fashion is a lost cause with me, perhaps. I've been attempting to try and work out some way to figure out what works for me and what doesn't, and I feel I have a decent grasp on it, but I'm not where I should be and my wardrobe is rather limited. My fashion sense is more like an inkling mixed with a guess.<br />
<br />
I've stuck this one lowest on the priority list for, depending on my success in losing weight, the needs for it might change. As it stands, I'm satisfied that I'm okay with it, but as seeing that I'm lacking in other areas, I can't justify the effort to be better at it.<br />
<br />
Zach Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05568042728143145778noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3478102913894098768.post-12333430160799674342014-06-11T19:34:00.001-07:002014-06-11T19:34:20.622-07:00Summer of SkinToday I spent the majority of the day disassembling someone else's room and rearranging it to be my own. Part of me felt then, and still feels now, that this is some strange form of trespassing. Part of me believes that this is is going to karmatically bite me in the tail at some point in the future.<br />
<br />
But this was a necessary move and, for the first time in years, I'm sleeping on a bed tonight that isn't a twin. It's a full and, my goodness, did I forget how big beds are. Or maybe the bed seems so big because I haven't slept in one this size since I was 273 pounds. I used to sleep in a queen then and it seemed small.<br />
<br />
The full I'm laying on now? Like a freakin' wide swath of land. I have no idea what to do with most of it, but like many things, I imagine I'll get used to it. In the midst of all my moving and hustling up and down the stairs, I realized I had misplaced something.<br />
<br />
My swimsuit.<br />
<br />
I only possess one to my name at this point. I'll probably never have a large collection, not because I don't like to swim (I do, a lot), but because they seem to last a long time. Then again I used to always have to upgrade to a new swimsuit every other year due my increasing girth, but that's not an issue anymore.<br />
<br />
Well, it sorta is. Leading up to the beginning of this summer I was attempting to lose weight again, to get back down to 145 but in truth to aim for 130. That seems to be the magic number for saying goodbye to the loose skin that still bunches up around my stomach. It's unsightly. It's ugly. And it absolutely shouldn't be seen by anyone in my view. <br />
<br />
My best friend recommended to me a few months back to get a surfshirt. Something to throw over myself and to hide my loose skin until I can deal with it. But I don't like the idea, simply because it seems wrong. This is summer and it's the absolute worst time of the year for any insecurities about one's body.<br />
<br />
We all have them. I do. You do. Everyone I know does. No matter how flawless or amazing someone's body seems to be, they hate theirs like you hate yours some days. It's a fact of life and one that we all too readily deny. I deny it because that's the way it works.<br />
<br />
It's summer and it's time to put ourselves on display. The surfshirt thing feels like a cop out, not because it's an illegitimate solution, but because it's just not fair. Everyone else -- especially women -- are pressured to show off their bodies during this time of year. Bikinis are worn up and down the beach, at the pool, at the lake, wherever and we guys can get away with just tossing on a pair of swimshorts and a surfshirt and be fine.<br />
<br />
It's wrong. If we expected all men to wear speedoes during the summer and thought it was all right for women to wear whatever we wanted, would us guys be all right with it? Hell no. It wouldn't happen. You'd never see commercials with men in speedoes for big retail stores, you wouldn't see men in speedoes posted on billboards driving into towns, you wouldn't see them on magazines or parading about in public ... no.<br />
<br />
We make it okay to objectify women because ... why? Profit? A cultural understanding? It's so ingrained in our culture at this point that women objectify <i>each other</i> now (and perhaps they always have to a certain degree but I feel it's just ridiculous now with the ads everywhere).<br />
<br />
And all this brings me back to ... well, me. And my weight. Because it's at 152 and has been for weeks now. Just doesn't want to budge it seems though I'm trying. I've upped my sleep, cut back on my fluids, slightly upped my carbs, I'm exercising more, and generally playing as smart as I can. And I'm still stuck.<br />
<br />
I want to be back at 145 at least before this month is over with, but the month has roughly two weeks left now. Last night, as I was restlessly tossing and turning, the dreaded thought came over me that maybe this won't happen by <i>the end</i> of the summer. That I'll still be here. That I'll still be staring at the horror of a past life in the mirror every day.<br />
<br />
And it dawned on me as I was looking for my swimsuit today, nearly freaking out because I couldn't find it, that this must be -- in some ways -- what women feel like during this time of year as they try to achieve personal goals to make themselves look better. For whom, I wonder?<br />
<br />
For myself, I'm doing it to kill the loose skin. Even though I know it very likely won't and I'll very likely be crushed when I fail, I'm doing it primarily for that. Secondarily, I'm doing it so I can look good in a swimsuit, so I don't have to feel like a reject as I do stuff in it.<br />
<br />
It was told to me, this past month, that after a certain age women become irrelevant. That they <i>have</i> to work on themselves and their bodies in order to maintain any relevance. I had no counter argument, for the woman who was telling me this was right. Personally, will she lose her relevance to me ever? No. Never. She'll be at least as amazing (and likely more) as we our friendship continues years down the road.<br />
<br />
But will she be irrelevant to society? Yes. The world will move onto something younger. Something "hotter" or "sexier" or "thinner". You don't have a long lifespan if you're a woman in this world in that way.<br />
<br />
But I'm a guy. I get to matter forever. You can sit there and rattle off multiple names of men in their 50s, 60s, 70s that are still considered "hot" or "sexy". There's a significant gap in terms of relevant lifespan and there shouldn't be.<br />
<br />
I'm in the prime of my life. I'm absolutely in the best shape of my life (despite my higher weight, I still fit into all my clothes and do it well) and only getting better in my view.<br />
<br />
But I will never be hot or sexy. I don't think I have the face for that or the build or really even the potentiality. I am distinctly lacking in that area and part of me is very disappointed by that. As a guy, you want to be seen as attractive to the opposite sex.<br />
<br />
I can honestly say I'm probably not (really want to say I'm absolutely not but I'll bet there's an outlier somewhere).<br />
<br />
But I fear what others think of my body. I hate what I have to see. I actively try and change it.<br />
<br />
I will not hide it under a surfshirt. I will not hide it anymore at all. (Don't scroll down if you don't want to see).<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj45IuXuj3qhiXiSSJ8JdoardaJjjxlE1VU0jpUCpJ-v5HjRx8Ne9MIVQfQjybc0DDblX68nV9EQCTa6IPyBui5rxLvjofocm70WLEOFNkq0uJcEhCCGPsSWiQ5W1GgI62mOg9Bu79-Na19/s1600/20140611_221533.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj45IuXuj3qhiXiSSJ8JdoardaJjjxlE1VU0jpUCpJ-v5HjRx8Ne9MIVQfQjybc0DDblX68nV9EQCTa6IPyBui5rxLvjofocm70WLEOFNkq0uJcEhCCGPsSWiQ5W1GgI62mOg9Bu79-Na19/s1600/20140611_221533.jpg" height="360" width="640" /></a></div>
There's me. Apologies, but a visual representation was needed. As you can see, it's not pretty. That's what I'm trying to kill and that's what I refuse to hide. If it's acceptable to judge people during the summer, women especially, on their bodies then I can't try to skirt around the rules.<br />
<br />
My stretch marks are clear. My belly-button is deep, my skin has a roll and hangs sadly there. It's ugly. But it shouldn't and won't be hidden. That same right isn't afforded anyone else, so it should not be afforded to me.<br />
<br />
Thanks for reading. Hope the rambling made some sense. God Bless.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Zach Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05568042728143145778noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3478102913894098768.post-5354330088261292452014-05-29T16:47:00.000-07:002014-05-29T16:47:41.757-07:00Relationships Are LifeI've been thinking a lot over the last four nights. Sleep hasn't come easy or well. I got five hours one night over the last four days and that's been the max so far this week. My mind's stuck in multiple debates, none with any easy answers (or perhaps any answers at all) and I'm struggling to identify where the answers <i>might</i> be.<br />
<br />
I know what set me off: Arlington. I visited that hallowed ground Sunday and witnessed some profound grief from those who were there to visit their friends and loved ones. So often in life we're reminded of what we take for granted in comparison of what someone else has lost.<br />
<br />
In my case, I was reminded how easily I accept the relationships I have in my life and how easily they could come to an end. It doesn't take much to snuff out a human life. For all our technological and medical advances, we still don't understand death. We still don't understand why it occurs or what purpose it serves in the cosmic scheme of things. Sure, we understand <i>how</i> people died: finding the cause isn't the issue.<br />
<br />
The issue is <i>why </i>did they die. What's the point?<br />
<br />
I've been wrestling with this for days and I have come no closer to any definite conclusion. I've reached out to my favorite priest (though, admittedly, he's only one of three I know so it's not like it's a honorable title or anything) but he's been wicked busy this week and I don't foresee us meeting up so I can ask him questions.<br />
<br />
I've turned to Catholic teaching, which there is plenty of on the Internet, but that has left me equally unfulfilled. The answer I'm looking for doesn't exist in this life.<br />
<br />
But what does exist is our relationships with other people. Friends. Family. Boyfriends, Girlfriends, Husbands, Wives. I think, out of anything else on this planet (including ham and cheese, as well as cheesecake) I will miss that in the afterlife (whether heaven or hell or purgatory). I don't think the rules we know will all apply in the afterlife.<br />
<br />
Certainly I don't think I'll be able to look down from heaven, drink wine, and snark with my best friend as we watch college-aged kids do college-aged kids stuff. Pretty sure that's not there.<br />
<br />
So, with my mind obsessing over relationships and the many different ones that exist, the question came up (quite early on) about which one is the best. What's the best relationship you can have? For as many people as you ask this question, you'll probably get just as many answers.<br />
<br />
But for me the answer is quite simple: a relationship between yourself and someone you're in love with (and who loves you in return). That is the founding principle on the greatest and toughest of things in this life, that of marriage (again, all of this is my opinion, but bear with me).<br />
<br />
I'm not discounting other relationships as being less, but human beings want companionship and they want it in the form of a significant other/spouse. Being best friends with a person is one thing, but there are some barriers that cannot be crossed in that role. There are things I can't do (despite being confident I <i>could</i> do them) and aren't my place to do in my role as a friend.<br />
<br />
But in one's role as a significant other/spouse, the barriers are practically nonexistent. I'm not nor have I ever been either of those things, so I don't know for sure what the key is or where the permission is given to exceed those barriers. I just know, from observation and the experiences relayed to me by others, that such barriers don't really exist.<br />
<br />
Out of all the relationships that can exist, that kind has the fewest limits. You can go the distance and dive into another person at a level that can't be matched anywhere else. That's what makes it so appealing and so demanding. Becoming involved with a person in that manner is a commitment of significant resources on multiple fronts.<br />
<br />
Which is why, I think, Arlington so messed me up. Those people there who looked upon the graves of their loved ones, a lot of them lost a significant other/spouse and I absolutely can't imagine how devastating that is. To give yourself so fully to another person and to have them do the same, only to lose them to never see them again ... it's inhuman in a lot of ways. To ask someone to carry on like that when such a large part of themselves is missing is hard.<br />
<br />
I'll be the first to admit that I'm probably the most inexperienced person you could ask about this. But what I lack in experience I make up for, a little, in observation. I've seen relationships between significant others/spouses break down and end. Sometimes quickly, others time slowly and almost always badly.<br />
<br />
Just two days ago a friend of mine, who had just gotten into another relationship after having her last one end badly after many years, posted <a href="http://elitedaily.com/dating/gentlemen/7-things-every-guy-can-do-to-be-perfect-for-her/" target="_blank">this article</a> on Facebook. I read it and came away surprised that these things had to even be said ... but then again, with the way people treat these types of relationships nowadays, maybe these things really needed to be restated again.<br />
<br />
I'll list the qualities here and my thoughts on them (and how the qualities apply to myself) as we go along, but a lot of this seems fairly "no duh" to me.<br />
<br />
<b>1. Honesty -- but not too much of it.</b><br />
<br />
Basically, be honest about everything in your life to your girl, except appearances (which the article recommends you just let lie about cause we all look horrible sometimes and I completely agree with this).<br />
<br />
I don't know why <i>lying</i> to your girlfriend/wife ever seems like a good idea but it's more commonplace than I'd like to admit with my male peers. Somewhere along the line, fiction supplanted the truth as the thing to tell the person you're involved with. Not sure why, honestly, but lying to someone you're in a relationship with is the quickest way to wreck things, IMO.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>2. Understanding -- that way she doesn't feel the need to explain herself.</b><br />
<br />
Strive to understand her. I feel like this one is probably one that needs to be repeated more often and loudly. I know a lot of guys who are involved with their girls and don't have nearly the understanding of said girls that I do. Whether that speaks more to me and how observant I am, or to the guys and how clueless they are, I don't know. Some guys just don't want to put forth the effort to understand women because women are amazingly complicated.<br />
<br />
That's what makes them so amazing to be around, IMO. Simple isn't sexy. More men need to put forth the effort to understand the ladies they're involved with. I think a lack of understanding, a lack of a deeper connection on an emotional level, is what ultimately brings down relationships involving significant others/spouses. <br />
<br />
<b>3. Caring -- she needs to know she matters to you.</b><br />
<br />
Pretty straightforward, right? Not as straightforward as many would like to think. People communicate caring differently and in a relationship, I feel like both parties are going to have to figure out how the other communicates caring. For girls, caring usually means listening to her and giving her a shoulder to cry on ... showing her support unwavering at all times.<br />
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For guys, they perceive caring as taking some form of action -- usually something physical, kissing or touching or sex. Men aren't usually wired to sit and listen for hours on end, but there are a few out there (I'm one of them I think ... either that or I have a much better attention span than I've given myself credit for).<br />
<br />
<b>4. Strength -- both physical and mental.</b><br />
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Women want to be in the presence of guys they find attractive. Based on what I've seen (and the sentiments are echoed in the article), women find men who are intelligent AND in good physical shape attractive. They want to be able to hold a conversation with you where you'll actually talk instead of just sitting there and nodding along.<br />
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The physical stuff is pretty self-explanatory. I doubt a woman wants to be with a dude who couldn't defend her if it became necessary.<br />
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<b>5. Compassion -- show her you're capable of loving.</b><br />
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I think this falls in the same category as caring and understanding. No one likes a hardass, even if you're a complete stud of one. Being a mean cuss isn't going to enthuse anyone. I agree that guys are taught that compassion is a weakness and that being tough is preferable, but acting like an ass gets you nothing.<br />
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High school and most of college proved that to me. I was an ass. I got nothing.<br />
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<b>6. Security -- financial and literal.</b><br />
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This is probably the one I take the most issue with. Having the guy be the breadwinner and bring home all the money is an outdated idea: in this world, you're both likely working and you're both making money. Financial security is a team sport nowadays.<br />
<br />
Admittedly, I take the most issue with this because this is a weakness of mine. I don't make a lot of money so being able to provide financial security ... that's not a qualification I meet. I don't know if it'll ever be a qualification I meet.<br />
<br />
Literal security I can absolutely readily provide. I'm in the best shape of my life and my capacity to protect is high.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>7. Blind loyalty -- she wants to be the only woman he has eyes for. </b><br />
<br />
As guys, we suffer from wandering eyes. We're visually stimulated and wired that way and we suck at ignoring that part of ourselves often. For as far as men have come in terms of being civilized, we always have eyes and those eyes can get us into trouble.<br />
<br />
Self-control, however, is something that guys lack. It's encouraged by society and the media to not practice self-control: why deny yourself something you can have easily? Most people don't bother denying themselves and what ends up happening is that people get hurt.<br />
<br />
Guys cheat. Girls get cheated on.<br />
<br />
I believe firmly that if you have an understanding of the woman in your life, if you <i>truly</i> get her, then you're going to have blind loyalty. Because, though I can't claim to know for sure what being in love is (I believe I have been in one situation but how do you know for sure if it was never meant to be?) but based on my feelings and findings, you should only see the person you're in love with as the one for you.<br />
<br />
Other people may be prettier. Other people may be skinnier. Other people may be younger.<br />
<br />
But there can't be another like the one you're in love with. Being in love is more about loving the soul, the character, of the person in question more than anything else, IMO.<br />
<br />
Which brings me back to relationships. They are life. Without them existence doesn't matter and they are the foundation of everything you do. Marriage can't survive without a relationship between husband and wife. Family can't survive without a relationship between parent and child.<br />
<br />
The best things in life are based off relationships.<br />
<br />
Remember those people who have lost their relationships. They had what you have and they will never have it again. Take care of your relationships and the people in your life. If you do that, you should be all right in the end.<br />
<br />
Thanks for reading folks. God Bless. Zach Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05568042728143145778noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3478102913894098768.post-79639844212258666672014-05-25T21:28:00.001-07:002015-05-25T07:51:26.068-07:00On Memorial DayI had the honor to visit Arlington National Cemetery today. I was with my closest friend, who was visiting one of her closest friends, <b>Landon Jones</b>, who had tragically lost his life in an accident this past fall. His co-pilot, <b>Jon Gibson</b>, also died in that same accident. These two served our country in the Navy. Both left behind wives and children who go on without them.<br />
<br />
Normally, I wouldn't mention people by name. But in this case, I will, because they <i>need</i> to have names. They <i>need</i> to be more than just numbers or references. <br />
<br />
Arlington National Cemetery has over 400,000 graves. Some with bodies. Some without. All of these graves represent a person who gave their life in defense of this nation. I realize that in this modern day and age there isn't a whole lot that Americans can agree on. We're at each other's throats over gay rights, abortion, religious freedoms, healthcare, and a multitude of other things.<br />
<br />
But if there is one thing we should all be able to agree on, it's that the people who died defending our country should be held in high regard. That those they left behind, whether it be wives, husbands, sons, daughters, mothers, fathers, sisters, or brothers ... those people should also be held in high regard. Those who died and those who continue on without them, those people should be honored and thanked every day of our life.<br />
<br />
We, as a country, fail to do this. Especially on Memorial Day, a day that is designed for this. It's become a holiday, much like Christmas, where any greater meaning has been lost in the sales. In the tourism.<br />
<br />
There were a lot of tourists at Arlington today. I understand they have to keep the funding going somehow and I get that this is the least of the bad solutions, but it's disconcerting to see people happily snapping pictures next to signs with the cemetery's name on it or grave markers with military personnel on it.<br />
<br />
I saw a lot of people jogging/running through the cemetery like it was a track.<br />
<br />
It's wrong. We've forgotten what this day means. Millions of men and women have given their lives to the cause of this nation and we've given them<i> </i>a day. Only a day. Think, for a moment, what we've given other people. Presidents Washington and Lincoln get a day. Martin Luther King gets a day.<br />
<br />
Millions of Americans who died defending our freedoms get <i>only</i> a day.<br />
<br />
The math doesn't really work, does it? Washington, Lincoln, and King all were pivotal figures, no doubt. Not a single one of them would have mattered without the Americans who have lost their lives in the trenches. In the fields. In the jungles. In the air. In the sea.<br />
<br />
Washington, Lincoln, and King would doubtless agree with me. Not a single one of them ever had an inflated self-worth. They never elevated themselves above anyone else. The people after them did.<br />
<br />
We, as a country, have made a critical error. We've elevated the wrong people. We've idolized the wrong people and in the process we have criminally under-appreciated those Americans who have served (living and dead) and who are serving.<br />
<br />
We've turned a blind eye to them and rendered those that have passed from this planet an afterthought.<br />
<br />
I was able to meet a few of the survivors today, specifically the wife and mother of <b>Jon Gibson</b>. They, like my closest friend, were hurting. They were grieving. They were shedding tears. They had a hole in them that I, and everyone else, was incapable of healing.<br />
<br />
And any other day of the year, they are invisible. Forgotten about. But on Memorial Day Weekend, they are recognized for what they've lost: A human being, a husband, father, and son, who brought joy into their lives. Who gave them love and received love in return.<br />
<br />
But we blissfully ignore them when it's not this weekend. When they don't walk around with bright red shirts or bows or ribbons or badges declaring for all those with eyes that <i>they</i> have lost. <i>They</i> have sacrificed.<br />
<br />
And <i>they</i> are hurting so greatly. I could only offer them a few words, a hug, and a kind touch. That's it.<br />
<br />
Nothing, really. We owe them so much more as country, as a people, and we refuse to give it to them. We sit here and debate whether people who work at McDonald's deserve to make 15 dollars an hour, but can't be concerned about how our veterans are being treated. About how their families are being treated.<br />
<br />
We forget and we do it, more or less, on purpose. We'd rather not think about it, perhaps out of guilt or shame. This is not a victimless crime and yet we do it. Every day.<br />
<br />
We, as a people and nation, need to do more for those who are left behind. For those that have made the ultimate sacrifice. For those that serve in the military today and in the future.<br />
<br />
Millions of Americans who have died get one day out of the year. Millions who have served get another day out of the year. Two days for millions of people who have undertaken one of the greatest causes you can ... who defend our freedoms and our rights and they don't know most of us.<br />
<br />
They sacrifice time. They sacrifice relationships. They sacrifice their health. They sacrifice their lives.<br />
<br />
And we ignore them most days of the year.<br />
<br />
It's time to make those left behind and those who continue to serve <i>visible</i>, not invisible. It's time to give them credit for all they do. We owe them that.<br />
<br />
It's not about the BBQs or the weekend. It's not about getting time to catch up on movies or do yardwork. It's not about getting a holiday.<br />
<br />
This Memorial Day, don't forget to remember those who sacrificed and who are left behind. Don't forget to remember that they are <i>people</i> and not just numbers.<br />
<br />
<b>Landon Jones</b> and <b>Jon Gibson</b> were husbands, fathers, and sons. They died for our country. They have left behind wives, sons, and daughters. They have left behind fathers, mothers, sisters, and brothers. They have left behind friends and family.<br />
<br />
We can't fill the hole they've left. But we can remember them and strive to take care of those they can no longer care for themselves. If we are truly as great a country and people as we claim to be, this is the least of what we can do.<br />
<br />
Thank you to those who have sacrificed so much for myself and my loved ones. Thank you to the families who have lost so much. I can never repay you. I can't heal your wounds. I can't stop the pain.<br />
<br />
But I can remember.<br />
<br />
God Bless. <br />
<br />Zach Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05568042728143145778noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3478102913894098768.post-69180081797537369832014-05-14T20:33:00.002-07:002014-05-14T20:33:44.597-07:00Talking to Jesus<i>*Warning, deep thoughts follow. Profanity likely, brutal honesty all but assured.*</i><br />
<br />
"Tonight the simplest meditation there is. Take some time for yourself.
Imagine sitting next to Jesus and share your day with him. Be honest.
And know that he's listening." This is from Father James Martin, a prominent Catholic who posts stuff like this on Facebook.<br />
<br />
Tonight's meditation has struck a cord with me because I was wondering about lost causes. I was researching St. Jude earlier this night and in reading about him (and killing my laptop battery in the process) I found that this guy and I, we might be made for one another.<br />
<br />
When I become Catholic (hopefully next Easter, God willing), I get to choose a confirmation saint. And St. Jude is the first one I've come across that's really spoken to me. He's about lost causes and desperate cases. I feel like both and more most days.<br />
<br />
The last few days my head's been lost in multiple dark rabbit holes. It happens sometimes where I get trapped in a cycle of thoughts that I just can't seem to break out of. So, taking Father Martin's meditation, here's my attempt at laying out my day to Jesus.<br />
<br />
****<br />
<br />
You ever tire of just seeing yourself? I get that way sometimes. I know everyone does at some point. This feeling has been prevalent a lot the last few days. I feel like I'm a waste and I know that I'm not, because you surely didn't die on the cross for a waste, but it still <i>feels</i> like that.<br />
<br />
I'm fat, one ... okay, not REALLY fat. Just not at the weight I want. The weight I want might be unachievable, I don't know, but I feel like I'm failing at the one thing I thought I was good at. I was good at losing weight and now all I seem to do is just ... stay. Stay the same. It hasn't been a good winter/spring for me and now as summer approaches I'm sorta-panicking.<br />
<br />
It's not like my clothes don't fit. They fit. They don't fit as well as I'd like, but they fit and I'm fine with that for now. I just worry about how all this plays out if I don't make my goal before June 1st. That's the pretty-sure-it's-summer date. June 8th is the for-sure-it's-summer date.<br />
<br />
Why am I worried? You can't get by these days without presenting a decent appearance. Attractiveness is judged harshly and quickly and the judging process is pretty universal. Everyone does it and they do it during the summer. When guys are in swimtrunks alone and girls are in bikinis. Most of the body is on full display and there's no room for error.<br />
<br />
Yes, I realize I'm starting out from a severe disadvantage. I have a sad sack of loose skin stuck on my stomach, ugly beyond belief stretch marks that are all over that portion and are very visible. My skin is a disaster there. I could cover up and I might, but it seems cowardly.<br />
<br />
I did it to myself, Jesus. Shouldn't I just accept the judgment with little complaining? I don't know.<br />
<br />
But the point is that judgement <i>will</i> come and there's nothing you or I can do about. That's right, you can't prevent others from judging me, not as long as we have free will. Unless that has an expiration date or a contractual loophole, in which case do feel free to intervene on my behalf.<br />
<br />
I will be judged and I fail. I don't look like someone who's gonna be 26 (why am I still alive again?) in October. I look like I'm a teenager or someone in their very early 20s. I should be at my physical peak based on how I look but I missed it. I will never know what my peak looks like. I can achieve, generously, 75 percent of that. Probably 66 percent is the max I can achieve.<br />
<br />
I'm not attractive to the opposite sex, not according to any evidence I have. That seems unfair but really it seems just damned mean. If I was going to be unattractive no matter what, why allow me to lose weight in the first place? The whole "God has a plan" thing continues to bug me.<br />
<br />
The beach is coming. Judgement is coming. Failure is coming. Soon. It'll be here soon and I don't want to deal with it but I will out of the very desperate hope that someone out there is forgiving of me and that someone is a single female of the Catholic persuasion.<br />
<br />
Oh yes, I hear the "You must first help yourself" argument and I'm working on that. Scheduling is a bitch some days, all right? But this is about my thoughts today and I'm not worried about that.<br />
<br />
I'm worried about my mind. You dealt with all the ways we human beings can sin, right? Right. How do you keep your mind from getting lost in the impure? Dude, I'm a male and we're visually stimulated and the world is rife with imagery EVERYWHERE. I admire the beauty from an aesthetic standpoint and I envy it to a degree.<br />
<br />
But they hit my eyes and then I see them in some form/combination during the night. It's when I close my eyes that things get bad, when I have no control. I can't believe for an instant that this lack of control during the sleeping hours is just acceptable. My mind, unconscious or not, is <i>my</i> mind. No one elses.<br />
<br />
I feel like I'm the worst 25-year-old ever for even asking the question. Most guys my age, my peers, have already engaged in some serious making out with girls, have fondled them, have had sex with them, have been in a relationship with them.<br />
<br />
I have done none of this. Be honest with me, isn't that just a little bit on the side of wrong? Shoot straight with me: am I defective? Honestly, tell me if I am so I can just start accepting it now.<br />
<br />
I don't want to be the 40-year-old Virgin. I realize that's a really poor example, but this is what it's boiling down to.<br />
<br />
I want a wife. I want kids. I want the other side of the coin, my partner in the duet, the person that makes life make <i>more</i> sense. I get that pinning all my hopes on that is unrealistic and probably wrong, but the bottom line is I want love. Companionship.<br />
<br />
And the way to achieve that, in this day and age, is to be attractive. Which I'm not. I'm not attractive on any level.<br />
<br />
Really, look hard here. I take forever to warm up to people. I don't function normally. I am so socially inexperienced that toddlers roll their eyes at me. I'd rather hang out with kids in the single-digits of age than people my age at parties.<br />
<br />
What possible purpose could a confounding creation like myself have?<br />
<br />
I think I'm ill-equipped for this, honestly. I'm an envious person who has an overactive imagination and can't help but think how I'd do things better. How I'd be better with other people (who are already involved with others) and how I'd do things differently.<br />
<br />
That's pride, right? Has to be. Pride is my downfall and I wish I could kill it almost as much as I wish I could kill the loose skin.<br />
<br />
There's too much shit in me and I feel like I'm wasting your time and the time of everyone else by talking about it. The deep, dark rabbit holes are mine to get lost in. No one else needs to be part of that doomed expedition.<br />
<br />
But I feel better getting it out there, so thanks for that.<br />
<br />
****<br />
<br />
Good night and God Bless. Zach Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05568042728143145778noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3478102913894098768.post-62054315330604168102014-04-19T22:25:00.001-07:002014-04-19T22:25:56.176-07:00One Strange Holy Week<i>Holy Week, 2014. One man embarks on a journey unparalleled. Full of self-discovery, dumb luck, and insanity, he goes from one place to another in the strangest of ways. </i><br />
<br />
At this point I wish I could say the above was an over-exaggeration, but really it's merely a slight exaggeration. If that. This has been my first Holy Week as the Unofficial Official Converting Catholic (I made up the the title). I'm not officially a Catholic, though I will be (Lord willing) by next Easter. But if this Holy Week is to be the norm for all future Holy Weeks (and let's note that I never really celebrated Holy Week as a week before, but merely just Easter), then I may need to invest heavily in wine. Lots of wine.<br />
<br />
I just need to put this out there because there doesn't seem to be any other way to tell the story otherwise. I can tell bits and pieces and have over the course of this week, but I suck at telling stories verbally most of the time. No, I'm more of a written story type of guy and here I can tell the whole story. Maybe on digital paper everything will make more sense. Or maybe my life is just as insane as I am. We'll start from the beginning.<br />
<br />
<b>SUNDAY</b><br />
<br />
I was Lector this Sunday and I got to get all dressed up, go to Mass, and read from the big book on the podium. I was Second Reader (little pressure) and I was the guy who didn't have a long passage. But I certainly had the bulk of the reading to do when I read The Passion of Our Lord Jesus Christ (I think?). I was the narrator and, though that seems to be a minor role in most stories, it isn't so much in the Catholic Church. I had a TON of stuff to read. I flubbed some of it (notably Jesus falling prostate) and felt I didn't do such a good job (despite nearly two hours of practice). People were like "Oh, you were fine" and "God has a sense of humor" and "There's no such thing as a perfect liturgy."<br />
<br />
And I had to agree with that. I didn't disagree, though I certainly begrudgingly agreed. After service there was a meeting to discuss The Busy Person's Retreat, which was starting that next day. This is something that I had never heard of in the Baptist church (and as far as I'm aware doesn't exist) and basically boils down to a one-on-one session with a spiritual director/companion one day for a few days at a time. This director/companion would help guide you on the journey and that journey, this time, was asking the question "Who am I?"<br />
<br />
I wasn't convinced when I was at the meeting that this was for me. I've been trying to answer that question for years now with little success. I was non-committed during the meeting. By the end, I was in and the Sister (she was a Sister of the Humility of Mary) was kind enough to work me into her schedule. I had never done anything like this before and I was skeptical. I was kind of scared, to be honest, simply because this had the potential to reveal a lot of things only those closest to me know.<br />
<br />
But I did it. Not because I was brave or adventurous. Because I had the tingling feeling in my brain. The kind that says that something important is happening and you need to take notice. I had that feeling and then a voice popped into my head saying, "I should do this." So, I listened.<br />
<br />
Sunday night ended with me half-watching/half-singing along to Frozen while chatting with my best friend online. Little did I know what was to come.<br />
<br />
<b>MONDAY</b><br />
<br />
Monday began as it usually does for me: early. Unpleasantly so. I didn't get back to late and I didn't fall asleep till late, so Monday wasn't a very happy morning. I did what I needed to, took care of my duties, and then promptly fell back to asleep for a few hours. Though it wasn't a restful few hours.<br />
<br />
Then I went to see the Sister. I had never done anything like this before so I was nervous. I had read over the material I was supposed to reflect on for Day 1 and felt like I had a bit of understanding of it, but didn't find it very revolutionary. It was just so-so. It was Monday and I didn't have high expectations.<br />
<br />
So, when we got to our meeting place (a small chapel where I and others had prayed the Rosary a few times before), I wasn't expecting a lot but I was hopeful for something. We started out with this prayer:<br />
<br />
<i>Loving God, give me a heart that listens, a mind that pays attention, a soul that waits, ears that hear, and eyes that see. Amen. </i> <br />
<br />
It was different as far as openings are concerned. More so, as the Sister explained to me, this was a structured thing for her. She did something like this in every session with everyone, which meant I was operating under some form of routine. I didn't know it, she did, but the fact that there was a structure in place put me a bit at ease.<br />
<br />
She then explained to me what she wanted this to be; rather than have her direct me, she wanted to act as my companion. As my guide. In order to do that, she wanted a bit of a life history. I had already discussed some of it previously with her the night before, but she wanted more. As most of you know at this point, I always have more.<br />
<br />
So, I explained how I ended up as the Unofficial Official Converting Catholic and how that process, really, began when I decided to lose weight. All my decisions over the last three years can be traced back to that one moment. The Sister was blown away by my description of the last three years and the journey I went on. I told how certain people in my life had set the example for me, in more ways than one, and how I had come to value those people as family of the highest order.<br />
<br />
The description of the last three years took about half the session, but by the end of it she came to a few conclusions. Firstly, I was a loyal and committed individual. I was stubborn but had "rootedness" (a word I had never come across before). I was unique, not odd (her argument was that I tended to see my traits in a negative light, which I can't really deny) and that I tended to use a lot of descriptors for myself that were very strong.<br />
<br />
I was blunt, essentially.<br />
<br />
All these things I agreed with. Part of me, while this was going on, felt relieved that she saw this as something that wasn't negative. It's not as though I regaled her with many positive tales of the traits (to be honest, I can't remember many positive tales at all). Part of me was disappointed that I wasn't being called out for being a complete ass or being lamented for having no sense. I wanted her to see <i>wrong</i> in me because I certainly see it (and feel it) a lot of days.<br />
<br />
But she didn't. I'm not sure why. Maybe because she was trying to help and decided to ignore these things. Maybe because she simply didn't see them at all.<br />
<br />
Whatever the case, after the long soliloquy from me, she gave me a slip of paper and asked me to jot down some marker points for my spiritual journey. There were a few. I've traveled around quite a bit and my journey has done the same. There were periods where I was alive and a solid period where I was dead.<br />
<br />
I'm trying to be alive again, so to speak, and it's tough to remember how to live. Was I ever really <i>into</i> it, though? I don't think so. I operated on spiritual highs, not sustained consistency. Being alive in it is different than <i>living</i> it and that's what I'm attempting to do now.<br />
<br />
At the end of the session, we prayed again and I exited feeling ... unburdened in a way. I'm not sure why I thought or felt like that. Maybe because this was just as much a spiritual discussion as it was a counseling session. But Monday ended much the same way as Sunday: chatting online with my best friend and our conversation, through no fault of my own, ended up on God. On why he forgives us and on why we're allowed to be forgiven in the first place, really.<br />
<br />
It was a question I would ask the next day.<br />
<br />
<b>TUESDAY</b><br />
<br />
Tuesday was busy for me, more so than I planned. I attended Chrism Mass (beautiful if not a bit long) and then had my session with the Sister. She said I cleaned up very nicely (thanks?) and then we proceeded to our opening prayer before diving into reflections on yesterday. The Sister told me then that, when she thought about the journey I had described to her over the last three years or so, she drew a parallel to Jesus.<br />
<br />
Jesus had a journey over a three year period that took him to many places and presented him with many challenges, things that he may not have necessarily wanted to face but did so because he loved us. The Sister argued that my journey was of a similar sort, one where I was presented with challenges and had undergone great change, much like Jesus.<br />
<br />
That was the first and only time I can ever recall being compared to Jesus Christ. It was disturbing to me and still is now. I don't like it, though I see a few parallels, I certainly don't seen enough to justify that type of comparison.<br />
<br />
Day Two of the sessions was about "Why I do what I do?" and that was yet another relevant question to me. I've been trying to determine why I do what I do for years, the last three or so (as with the other question). I don't know for sure. But the Sister and I discussed why Jesus did what he did and I then went about and threw out my ideas on why I do what I do.<br />
<br />
The Sister came out with the idea that I have a very strict sense of justice. I see right and I see wrong. I see these things and I see them in very strict terms that don't allow for much grey and that's a quality that makes me passionate about some things. This had been pointed out to me a few weeks before by my best friend, which was strange that independently two people would reach this conclusion.<br />
<br />
I see God as a creator. As a friend. As someone who has a sense of humor and is compassionate. But I have problems with God in terms of justice. I take issue with his sense of justice because it doesn't match mine. People I know and love, those I care dearly about, have suffered what I see as injustices and I want that to stop. I want them to be corrected and most, if not all, I can't even begin to affect.<br />
<br />
God can. But he chooses not to a lot of times and that frustrates me. He has a plan, he has a way, and I have little understanding of it really.<br />
<br />
The session came to a close, I went out and tried to absorb what I had learned. I took to writing to get some ideas out into the open and ended up finishing a series of fanfic novels I'd been working on sense 2008. It was an empty, regretful finish. I missed it then, I miss it now.<br />
<br />
I then proceeded to a bible study, then came back to the Newman Center, before heading out for the night. I was anticipating my night being fairly low key till the next morning when I had another session with the Sister.<br />
<br />
Instead, I got a phone call from a weird number that I didn't recognize. I ignored it at first, then got the call again and then I answered. Turned out it was my best friend on the other end of the line, calling from her computer. She needed some help.<br />
<br />
She asked. I said yes. There really isn't much more than that to it, honestly. I was going to say yes no matter what pretty much. My schedule is never locked in, thankfully. I always maintain flexibility. So, I told her I'd help out and be there at her place ASAP. That entailed a six hour drive from Ohio to Virginia, which I made. That entailed a day of helping out without sleep, which I did.<br />
<br />
The week since has proven that my qualities are my qualities. I am what I am, which is a strange mixture of things. I can't tell you the ratios. I can't explain to you why, really. I can guess. I don't think change is possible, at least in any great way, and I am lucky enough to have friends and family in my life that are very forgiving of me. That allow me to be me without too much issue.<br />
<br />
There is a trust there that I can't begin to describe nor can I properly convey. But it's there and it's one of the greatest trusts that can be form between people.<br />
<br />
The questions of "Who I am?" and "Why I am the way I am?" remain unanswered, for the most part. I wonder if they need to be answered at all, really. Will the answers help or hurt? I feel like they'll do both.<br />
<br />
Holy Week has been a strange ordeal.<br />
<br />
I wouldn't change it for the world.<br />
<br />
Thanks for reading, folks. God Bless. <br />
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<br />Zach Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05568042728143145778noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3478102913894098768.post-10369864060913813922014-03-20T19:27:00.000-07:002014-03-20T19:27:18.532-07:00Day Sixteen of Lent<i>In my attempts to better understand the Catholic faith and my own
journey converting, I'll be spending this Lent doing a daily reflection
of things I've learned. The faith encourages reflections on subjects
like this (even the Pope reflects!) so I figure I'll reflect through
writing. As always, my understanding of this is noobish so forgive any
wrong conclusions and do feel free to correct me where needed. Here we
go. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
The blackbook today focused on when Judas betrayed Jesus, leading a mob to him and having him arrested. The author makes the point that a close relationship gone sour -- whether between a husband and a wife, parents and grown children -- is a sad story. That's true, but more than sad it usually ends badly. When you're close to someone you know them intimately. Their fears. Their dark secrets. Their dreams. Their wants. Their feelings.<br />
<br />
You know so much about them that, if the relationship goes sour, that intimate knowledge can become dangerous. It's easy to fall into the mindset that when things go bad with someone you've been close to, that you can use all those secrets and things to nuke them out of existence. To ruin them.<br />
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I've had some falling outs with people I've been close to before. The temptation to nuke everything out of existence, to draw as much blood as I can before we're done, is great for me. I've never done it but I've gotten close a few times. I know that the end result will only be bad, that it'll only make things more toxic, but being angry blinds you to a lot of things. I have no idea how Jesus felt when he was betrayed by Judas, but I imagine he was a little angry.<br />
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He just accepted it and moved on. That's a lesson I can definitely apply to my life.<br />
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Thanks for reading, folks. God Bless. <br />
<br />Zach Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05568042728143145778noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3478102913894098768.post-60078667202813506462014-03-19T18:14:00.000-07:002014-03-19T18:14:59.984-07:00Day Fifteen of Lent<i>In my attempts to better understand the Catholic faith and my own
journey converting, I'll be spending this Lent doing a daily reflection
of things I've learned. The faith encourages reflections on subjects
like this (even the Pope reflects!) so I figure I'll reflect through
writing. As always, my understanding of this is noobish so forgive any
wrong conclusions and do feel free to correct me where needed. Here we
go. </i><br />
<br />
The blackbook today asked a great question, one which I had an immediate answer for. "What is God calling me to do in my life that I find most difficult to accept?"<br />
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Be patient. Wait. I HATE waiting. I hate it, especially when I feel like I can do something. It kills me to wait, it does. I like taking action and doing something, which (if you read yesterday's post) is one of the reasons why I felt so bad yesterday (and did so bad) as I can't really do much of anything for my friend. He lives a solid day and a half away from me, which I'm more than willing to drive that far, but I'm otherwise engaged this weekend and can't get out of it.<br />
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Timing. It sucks sometimes.<br />
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I like taking action and, nearly a year ago, took a Myers Briggs personality test that called me an <a href="http://www.16personalities.com/infj-personality" target="_blank">INFJ</a>. An excerpt below:<br />
<br />
<em>The INFJ type is believed to be very rare (less than 1 percent of
the population) and it has an unusual set of traits. Even though their
presence can be described as very quiet, INFJ personalities usually have
many strong opinions, especially when it comes to issues they consider
really important in life. If an INFJ is fighting for something, this is
because they believe in the idea itself, not because of some selfish
reasons.</em><br />
<br />
<em>INFJ personalities are drawn towards helping those in need – they
may rush to the place of a major disaster, participate in rescue
efforts, do charity work etc. INFJs see this as their duty and their
purpose in life – people with this personality type firmly believe that
nothing else would help the world as much as getting rid of all the
tyrants. Karma and similar concepts are very attractive to INFJs.</em><br />
<br />
<em>These tendencies are also strengthened by the fact that INFJ
personalities have a unique combination of idealism and decisiveness –
this means that their creativity and imagination can be directed towards
a specific goal. Few other personality types have this trait and this
is one of the most important reasons why many INFJs are able to
eventually realize their dreams and make a lasting positive impact.</em><br />
<br />
<em>INFJs are masters of written communication, with a distinctively
smooth and warm language. In addition, the sensitivity of INFJs allows
them to connect to others quite easily. Their easy and pleasant
communication can often mislead bystanders, who might think that the
INFJ is actually an extrovert ...</em><br />
<br />
<br />
Which, when I polled my friends, everyone was like, "Yep, that's you, man."<br />
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I'm still perturbed by that but I can't help but prove it right. Which I kinda hate because that makes me wrong initially. So, I'm an INFJ and I have passions and desires and strong opinions ... this is me, yes, I get it.<br />
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And the Lord is calling me to wait. Be patient. To breathe and relax and let his plan come to fruition and I'm ... not. Look, I can be patient--when it's not a goal I'm actively working towards. I can be patient with others. With children. With dumb customers. With events I have no control over (that don't in any way relate to someone I consider a friend or family).<br />
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But waiting? WAITING?! It infuriates me. I want to go out and run laps at this very moment because waiting seems so wasteful. I can be doing SO MUCH but instead I'm waiting for God's plan to take shape. However that's happening.<br />
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Look, I'm convinced <i>it is</i> taking place. I am now, I wasn't for awhile there. I have bad days (see yesterday) and I have good days (somewhere). I can remember the bad days way more than the good ones (the good ones just don't stick as well).<br />
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But there are things in my life that I'm being asked to wait for that I'm having real difficulties waiting for. I'm waiting for that special girl to enter my life. I'm waiting for resolutions to multiple situations with my friends. I'm waiting for the elimination of that sad sack of loose skin that's on me. I'm waiting on the Catholic church to get me confirmed (next Easter, chisel it into STONE).<br />
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But it's not like I'm <i>just</i> waiting! I'm working on all those things. Holy mother of mayhem, am I ever working on them. I have bad days, yeah, but I have more good ones than bad (surprisingly, but the statistics bare this out) and blast it, I feel like I should have some sort of payoff.<br />
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I know, I know. "God operates on his time, not ours," you say. "We don't deserve anything but hell," you say. "There's no guarantee you'll ever get a payoff," you say. Yeah, I <i>get it</i>. I do, really.<br />
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But just because I do doesn't mean I should be happy with it, even though that's what's being asked of me. I shouldn't be angry about waiting, I know. I'm not bitter but I am pissed ... it's not a good emotion to have. I don't get it. I still don't really get it.<br />
<br />
I'm a thin guy. Not as thin as I want (working on that, 130, here we come!) but I'm thin. I don't know why. Why allow me to achieve that when there was no reason for me to? What could <i>possibly </i>be achieved by me being thin? The answer is ... well, everything I've done since. I wouldn't have been able to do it without being thin. It's not just a physical thing, it's a mental thing, a confidence thing ... I have a little confidence now. I know I can do some things.<br />
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But what's the <i>big</i> thing? I'm not just thin to do all those little things, those minor things, am I? My pride wants me to have some bigger effect on the world. Nothing major, but something moderate ... hell, I'd settle for having my weight loss story published by the site I found Primal on. I submitted that back in November of 2012. I have heard nothing since and I'm pretty sure it'll never get published.<br />
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So much for being a "success" and my weight loss being "amazing."<br />
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Am I thin for my possible future wife? If that's the case, God (who has a great sense of humor, don't get me wrong) is seriously setting me up for the joke of a lifetime. My dating exploits aren't worthy enough to fill up a <i>paragraph</i>.<i> </i>Sure, I broke the streak this past fall of datelessness (awesome) but it led nowhere (not awesome) and I'm not sure what the point of it was, other than a message from God saying, "See, it's not that hard, Zach. Just chill."<br />
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In which case, that feels like a tease of the worst kind.<br />
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If I could just figure out why I was allowed to exist as I was to exist as I am, I think I'd be fine. That's the root cause of EVERYTHING that has transpired for me in the last three years. Three years that seems to be a completely different lifetime ... three years living a life that can't possibly be mine. It's too good, filled with too many good people, and the failures have been rather minor.<br />
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I <i>deserve</i> a big, nasty, horrible failure to come crashing down and crush me. To make it so I can barely breathe and I'm hearing my heartbeat in my ears as my eyes strain against the inevitable darkness that approaches. I should be struggling to live.<br />
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Instead, I'm not. I'm not and I don't get it. I'm being tasked with something, but what?<br />
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I don't know. But the most difficult thing God is asking me to do is wait and that frustrates me.<br />
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Thanks for reading, folks. God Bless. Zach Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05568042728143145778noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3478102913894098768.post-59075700849731838382014-03-18T19:28:00.001-07:002014-03-18T19:28:36.959-07:00Day Eleven Through Fourteen of Lent<i>In my attempts to better understand the Catholic faith and my own
journey converting, I'll be spending this Lent doing a daily reflection
of things I've learned. The faith encourages reflections on subjects
like this (even the Pope reflects!) so I figure I'll reflect through
writing. As always, my understanding of this is noobish so forgive any
wrong conclusions and do feel free to correct me where needed. Here we
go. </i><br />
<br />
<br />
I slacked off this past weekend and didn't do as much as I wanted, but that's my fault. I got caught up in other things and didn't take the time to really reflect on what was going on. Yesterday was a particularly tough day, as a friend of mine went through some serious heartbreak (a woman he had been with and thought he knew for years up and left him). It made me feel utterly horrible and I was really, really close to breaking and grabbing some pizza.<br />
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I didn't. I was literally seconds away when my best friend IMed me and we chatted till the late hours of the night. Pizza was removed from the equation. I wish I could say today was better, but it wasn't.<br />
<br />
I was still disturbed by the utter heartbreak my friend was going through, felt helpless and I went for the pizza. I went for the comfort food and at first it felt good, but by the second slice I was feeling pretty bad about it. I had a third slice and the guilt was pretty severe at that point.<br />
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One bad decision then led to another as I was tempted -- and gave in -- to Twix (my favorite candy ever). My day was wrecked and I'm at odds with myself at this point.<br />
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The blackbook had been talking about acknowledging our sinfulness, committing ourselves to be a better disciple to the Lord, bearing our crosses without bitterness but with acceptance, and trusting that God's will will be done.<br />
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I pretty much failed all that in one day. One. Day. I'm not gonna lie, I'm pissed. I came up with some BS justification for it when I caved but by the second slice I knew it was wrong and by the third slice I had lost any appetite for it. I had been doing SO good this far in and I have crucial tests in the coming weeks (visiting family and friends, neither of which eats all that well). I caved today because I felt horrible for my friend.<br />
<br />
I felt like I could do nothing and, sadly, I really can't. I and others are attempting to band together to help out as we can, but it feels so much like nothing it's not even funny. It feels useless. He lives in the Pacific Northwest, so I can't simply drive over there and help in person ... it has to be over this great distance.<br />
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It feels wrong to me. He's a great guy and he's a great writer and he's a human being who deserves happiness ... instead he got his heart broken by the one he was <i>sure</i> was going to bring him happiness. That's a horrible betrayal and one I wish he was spared.<br />
<br />
I don't get it. I don't understand it and I'm mad. I'm mad for my friend and scared for myself. I wish I could say this wasn't about me, but it is in some ways because that kind of heart breaking betrayal, I know the feeling a little. Mine wasn't nearly as bad nor was it nearly as important in the grand scheme of things but it still hurts.<br />
<br />
And I don't want to hurt like that ever again. I want my heart to <i>not</i> break. I want to find a girl and be able to say, "Yes, she's the one!" and be able to ride off into the sunset (and I'm riding in my car, not on a horse -- never on a horse). But how exactly can I trust in God's will, his plan, when good people like my friend keep getting screwed over?<br />
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It's scary. He put himself out there and he was hurt, bad. I wonder if I'm destined for that again and I know it's the likeliest scenario. I know everyone goes through multiple rounds of hurt before they find the one they're destined to be happy with. I know this. I write this in my characters all the time.<br />
<br />
But I can't seem to shake the fear and what happened to my buddy reawakened that fear in me <i>big time</i>. I went hyper-analytical last night, in my IM chat with my best friend and in my head as I tried to sleep. I played out multiple scenarios of how my best laid plans will just crumble before me this upcoming summer and beyond. How nothing I want is achievable. How it's all so worthless.<br />
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I was in a bad place when I woke up this morning and it just got worse as the day went on. Pizza. Twix. All can be traced back to what happened to my friend.<br />
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I'm disappointed in myself. A lot. I really was doing really well and tomorrow is my shot to make it up. I can fast tomorrow, workout hard, clear the air between myself and ... well, myself.<br />
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I honestly think that maybe all my sinning is really just the reason why I suck so much with girls. If I was a better Christian, a better Catholic, would I be so inept? Would I cringe so much at the pictures of myself in the past? I'm kinda trapped there, you know. I'm not past me but am past me. Parts of that person still exist and I'd rather they didn't. The whole is a mishmash at the moment.<br />
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I just want to be right, whatever that is. I really do. But I feel like today I didn't just slip, I tumbled down multiple flights of stairs and faceplanted at the bottom. I came head-to-head with a stressful situation I could not affect in a direct way, and caved hard. I sought out comfort and I found it, only to find guilt in its place.<br />
<br />
I screwed up today. And I really wish I could reset, do it over and just not go through it. I really do. But I can't.<br />
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Trusting in God is tough when bad things happen to good people, especially those I know. Tomorrow, I'm gonna hit it hard and not eat. Gonna get right. Gonna try.<br />
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Thanks for reading, everyone. God Bless. Zach Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05568042728143145778noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3478102913894098768.post-74456010635994028102014-03-14T20:26:00.002-07:002014-03-14T20:26:45.609-07:00Day Ten of Lent<i>In my attempts to better understand the Catholic faith and my own
journey converting, I'll be spending this Lent doing a daily reflection
of things I've learned. The faith encourages reflections on subjects
like this (even the Pope reflects!) so I figure I'll reflect through
writing. As always, my understanding of this is noobish so forgive any
wrong conclusions and do feel free to correct me where needed. Here we
go. </i><br />
<br />
Today, the blackbook talked about an issue that my Lent is pretty focused on: Trusting in God. The author points out that a lot of bad stuff happens in this world and, for some reason, God tends to not interfere. He can. He can change it at a whim, but he doesn't and that bugs me (like it does most people).<br />
<br />
I don't understand why and not understanding something frustrates me. I like to understand things. I like to know how it all works. But with the Lord, I don't really understand. I guess. Over and over and over again and often times I guess wrong. But I can't stop guessing ... I figure I'll hit upon something right before long.<br />
<br />
I need to trust God more, yes. I grant that and I want to do that, but wanting and doing are two different things. I feel like turning to the Bible more is a good step in doing that and I've been doing that more of late (it helps when you have the Bible at my fingertips on my smartphone). Ease of access is awesome for that.<br />
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Is it helping? Some. Not as much as I would like. I'd like it all spelled out but if my life is any indication, things will only be spelled out when I die. And even then I won't really get it, it'll take a long time to fully understand it.<br />
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Which isn't a bad thing.<br />
<br />
Trusting in God is difficult. Striving to trust is difficult. Which means it's a good thing, I think.<br />
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Thanks for reading, folks. God Bless. Zach Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05568042728143145778noreply@blogger.com0