During my Neverland experience (working at Picasso's Coffeehouse), I served an infinite number of "attractive" women: some smart, some cute, some personable, and some contemplative. My best method for providing consistent (and un-intimidated) customer service was to be aloof and unpredictable -- perfect for the five minute exchange with females of every style.
These two years taught me that beauty is highly subjective. For all the self-deprecating humor of the coffee crowd, this slice of society always struck me as disproportionately comfortable in its own skin. Thus, if one was to gravitate towards a particular "type," it was there to be found in an unashamed display of confidence.
This only further complicated my personal plight, as there did not seem to be a rhyme or reason to my own subjective interest. When there had been, it was completely by accident: my four year, high school fixation with phlegmatic blondes was no more productive than my collegiate propensity for dark-featured women. Even these coincidences were of a superficial nature, and not a telling sign of my "type."
After receiving my degree, I thought I'd put it to good use, and attempted to reason myself into a "logical" approach to dating -- psychological mumbo-jumbo in hand. As a textbook ENFP, my best match scientifically is said to be an INFJ, that is to say that a man is generally attracted to women that share their dominant core traits (that is intuition/sensing or feeling/thinking), while approaching these values through opposite attitudes (extravert/introvert or perceiving/judging). Make sense? Yeah, it really doesn't matter. As it is, ENFPs make up roughly 8% of the population, whereas INFJs make up 1%. Throw in INFJs notoriously perfectionistic standard for relationships, and I can write my theory on a rigorously tested broken heart. And I've never been placed in the control group :)
[I could give you a reference of books with all of this research, but do any of us really care? Besides, this is a blog -- if you want to be all academic about it, you shouldn't be following someone who reads wikipedia for fun.]
I did learn a couple lessons through this pursuit: 1) I enjoy pain, because I think that perfectionistic women are wonderful. 2) A woman can have a billion things in common with me, but if I'm lacking her support, it's all a wash. Maybe it's childish of me, but I don't want my wife to merely put up with my passions, I want her to be with me.
All of this has brought me to one conclusion for the argument: whether a woman is smart, cute, personable, or contemplative is of less significance than if she is moving in the same direction. She could be further along; I could be further along. If we are pursuing the same God in the same way, his grace and our covenant will serve the rest. We must cling to both with the diligence and determination of two that never intend to rest in our own strength.
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
"dying alone" (cont.)
Today at bible study, my friend Michael and I discussed our propensity for missing the big picture. I know that God is at work when I feel alone, and my own sin sets me up for frustration. How many relationships have I held with a tight grip, only for God to force me to let go? With the perspective of the passing days, I can always identify His protection, but I seem just as bent on clinging the next time. I can be such a slow sheep.
Elijah's depression was rooted in his loneliness, but he couldn't perceive the number of consecrated companions that God had reserved for the appropriate hour. This goes beyond simple shortsightedness of the big picture; do we trust that He is sovereign? When we dismiss God's knowledge of our best interest, we come to the faulty conclusion that He does not love, for our perception of our best interest is often in direct conflict with His protective work.
Knowing this (cognitively) doesn't make it hurt less. I feel like an emotional doormat at times, expected to calmly adjust to the world's ever-changing whims, without the least consideration for my heart's investment. And while there is merit and wisdom in the guarding of my heart, a good portion of His anointing is in my willingness to keep throwing it out there. When I am robbed of this willingness through my bitterness, Satan gains ground, and my heart is no longer reckless for the sake of man's redemption. The balance for me, as it was for Elijah, is to seek the Lord in the offering of my heart, allowing my passion to be distributed to willing recipients of His grace. Thus, I wait...
Elijah's depression was rooted in his loneliness, but he couldn't perceive the number of consecrated companions that God had reserved for the appropriate hour. This goes beyond simple shortsightedness of the big picture; do we trust that He is sovereign? When we dismiss God's knowledge of our best interest, we come to the faulty conclusion that He does not love, for our perception of our best interest is often in direct conflict with His protective work.
Knowing this (cognitively) doesn't make it hurt less. I feel like an emotional doormat at times, expected to calmly adjust to the world's ever-changing whims, without the least consideration for my heart's investment. And while there is merit and wisdom in the guarding of my heart, a good portion of His anointing is in my willingness to keep throwing it out there. When I am robbed of this willingness through my bitterness, Satan gains ground, and my heart is no longer reckless for the sake of man's redemption. The balance for me, as it was for Elijah, is to seek the Lord in the offering of my heart, allowing my passion to be distributed to willing recipients of His grace. Thus, I wait...
Monday, February 21, 2011
"dying alone"
Dr. Thurman: Donnie, what did Roberta Sparrow say to you?A couple months ago, I had a conversation with a mature Christian that had lost her mother at an early age. I mentioned my foreboding feeling that I might die an early death, how I had always felt God preparing me for the possibility. However, this woman said that one can be ready for death, and still have no comprehension of what they will face. She explained, in all of our capacity to empathize, nobody can imagine the accompanying mortality of an imminent death. And with this void of empathy comes an overwhelming loneliness.
Donnie: She said that every living creature on earth dies alone.
Dr. Thurman: How did that make you feel?
Donnie: It reminded me of my dog Callie. She died when I was eight, and she crawled underneath the porch…
Dr. Thurman: To die.
Donnie: To be alone.
Dr. Thurman: Do you feel alone right now?
Donnie: Uh…I mean I’d like to believe I’m not, but I just…I’ve never seen any proof, so I just don’t debate it. You know? It’s like I can spend my whole life thinking about it, weighing the pros and cons, and I still wouldn’t have any proof, so I just…I just don’t debate it anymore. It’s absurd.
Dr. Thurman: The search for God is absurd?
Donnie: It is if everyone dies alone.
Dr. Thurman: Does that scare you?
Donnie: I don’t want to be alone.
From Donnie Darko (2001)
My devastating fear of loneliness has placed my naivety about martyrdom on display. Over the past ten years, nearly every blatant sin I have committed has been a direct result of this fear. I have willingly dismissed my obsessions over money, position, respect, notoriety, credibility, security, likeability, personal rights, and my own self-worth. Sadly, these sacrifices have only removed me further from potentially close relationships, the only thing of value remaining on earth. The death of myself has made me lonelier than I could have possibly imagined.
Is it any wonder that I get excited at the smallest glimpse of sacrifice? One person’s declaration, whether near or far from my heart, gives me hope that I’m not in this thing alone.
Over the years, I have certainly identified with Jeremiah’s agony, have admired Moses’ brand of leadership, and have been granted Hosea’s recklessness. However, Elijah is most dear to me. I have been the prophet of great anointing, only to run away a day later. I have seen the mighty declarations of the Lord -- that which captivates and mystifies other believers -- only to find Him in the quietness of a gentle whisper. I have wallowed in the frustration of my own expectation, only to be rebuked when I haven’t moved.
When reading 1 Kings 19, I don’t get the impression that Elijah was primarily afraid of death; I think he was petrified of doing everything that was asked of him, and still bearing no fruit -- he was scared of being alone and having nothing to show for it.
Because I cannot find pleasure in anything else, I place all of my earthly eggs in the relationship basket. I have spent an ungodly number of dollars and hours looking for friends or romance, and while I find no other personal use for my resources, I have reaped nothing. My last eleven vacation days have cost me close to $1000, which I spent for no other reason than to not be alone. Each surefire "investment" blew up in my face and left me more miserable.
I recognize my sin and foolishness in this. I understand that I cannot buy a cure for loneliness anymore than I can cheat my physical death. In the end, it always comes back to the same piercing question: is He enough? Most of my life decisions have indicated that He is, but in moments like these, I don't feel very spiritual. I feel like finding a place to mope about the ominous state of affairs. I wonder, if God is so jealous for my undivided heart, why am I not comforted in my solitude? Why is there still longing?
Friday, February 11, 2011
redeeming charisma
When working in a 24-hour facility, a single vacation day can muck up the schedule. I happen to be the "muck recipient" to another's vacation this week, trading my free Friday for a five day work stretch. It will make for a long weekend, but I figure it will make my free day that much more appreciated. I'll be ready to go out on the town, or I could catch some college basketball at a local bar and grill. Let's see: Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday...ugh. Seriously?
For the first time in years, I will not be working on Valentine's Day, a service that had provided a welcome distraction among company that would prefer not to mention it. For the record, this is my ninth straight without the prospect of a meaningful relationship. This does not elicit state of depression, as I generally content with my position unless I am enticed, but it does remind me how increasingly difficult satisfying the desire for family has become, at least through my own efforts.
At an early age, I recognized my limitations. I would never be athletic, physically attractive. or disciplined enough to be a scholar. Rather than sulk over these limitations, I decided to emphasize what I did have. I could charm. Not every girl took to it; those that didn't were usually repulsed. But it was plenty useful.
Charm can be defined as "the power or quality of pleasing or delighting" or "attracting through personality or beauty." The ideal is sought enough to conceive the fairy tale Prince Charming, and it can overcome a myriad of physical insecurities. To some degree, charm is an art of deception, from the exhibitor to the pursued. I had to believe that my words made me worthy of a girl's affection, and she had to believe that I was doing her a favor to choose her.
As easily as we are deceived apart from His truth, charm served its purpose. But the foundation of charm is ultimately a house of cards: if at any point I recognize my shortcomings, I immediately lose my appeal...and she we will come to her senses.
I could never play the game long enough, and I'm thankful for that. But it did have me considering what was left. To humbly subject myself to the whims of a woman's affection (without control) is an incredibly unattractive quality; it is the catalyst for the "friend zone." In a world full of pain, most people want to be with someone they feel they don't deserve, as twisted as that may be.
Not so coincidentally, I dropped the charm game shortly after my last summer of camp directing. Sadly, church leadership often employs the same character deception, and kids are too trusting not to be an easy target. They told me how great I was, and they boosted my ego. The coolest boys wanted to be like me; the cutest girls adored me.
But the more I pursued God, the less I could fake it. The lousy foundation caved at the recognition of my depravity. It's a recognition that isn't easily undone, and most subjects of my charm weren't crazy about the change.
I find it funny that the English word charm is often used synonymously with an older Greek word: charisma. Used seventeen times in the New Testament, the word implies a favor given without merit of our own -- contextually speaking, it is a "gift of grace."
The established church gave charisma a different connotation, as those considered to have specially divine or "chosen" abilities were dubbed charismatic. Sociologists soon secularized this connotation for those particularly talented in the art of influence through personality.
Granted, it is just a word. However, I find it ironic that a word intended to demonstrate the reliance of man upon God has evolved to indicate a power of man.
************************************
I have questions, but I don't have an answer:
What if the mess I see in the mirror -- when I view everything society perceives as weakness: an unattractive, unathletic, undisciplined, 32-year-old virgin of modest resource -- what if the only magnetic quality I can offer is the same "charisma" by which Paul boasts? I have nothing of my own, and this gift can only be granted by His willingness to suffer the cross. What if grace is so ridiculously unbelievable and countercultural that the messenger's depravity only speaks more highly of the gift?
I have to be honest, because of my Prince Charming past, I am immediately suspicious at the presence of worldly charisma. Every charming man that I've ever met has held an ulterior motive. But what of a romantic relationship resting solely on the distribution of God's good grace? In this America, can the best gift be enough?
For the first time in years, I will not be working on Valentine's Day, a service that had provided a welcome distraction among company that would prefer not to mention it. For the record, this is my ninth straight without the prospect of a meaningful relationship. This does not elicit state of depression, as I generally content with my position unless I am enticed, but it does remind me how increasingly difficult satisfying the desire for family has become, at least through my own efforts.
At an early age, I recognized my limitations. I would never be athletic, physically attractive. or disciplined enough to be a scholar. Rather than sulk over these limitations, I decided to emphasize what I did have. I could charm. Not every girl took to it; those that didn't were usually repulsed. But it was plenty useful.
Charm can be defined as "the power or quality of pleasing or delighting" or "attracting through personality or beauty." The ideal is sought enough to conceive the fairy tale Prince Charming, and it can overcome a myriad of physical insecurities. To some degree, charm is an art of deception, from the exhibitor to the pursued. I had to believe that my words made me worthy of a girl's affection, and she had to believe that I was doing her a favor to choose her.
As easily as we are deceived apart from His truth, charm served its purpose. But the foundation of charm is ultimately a house of cards: if at any point I recognize my shortcomings, I immediately lose my appeal...and she we will come to her senses.
I could never play the game long enough, and I'm thankful for that. But it did have me considering what was left. To humbly subject myself to the whims of a woman's affection (without control) is an incredibly unattractive quality; it is the catalyst for the "friend zone." In a world full of pain, most people want to be with someone they feel they don't deserve, as twisted as that may be.
Not so coincidentally, I dropped the charm game shortly after my last summer of camp directing. Sadly, church leadership often employs the same character deception, and kids are too trusting not to be an easy target. They told me how great I was, and they boosted my ego. The coolest boys wanted to be like me; the cutest girls adored me.
But the more I pursued God, the less I could fake it. The lousy foundation caved at the recognition of my depravity. It's a recognition that isn't easily undone, and most subjects of my charm weren't crazy about the change.
I find it funny that the English word charm is often used synonymously with an older Greek word: charisma. Used seventeen times in the New Testament, the word implies a favor given without merit of our own -- contextually speaking, it is a "gift of grace."
The established church gave charisma a different connotation, as those considered to have specially divine or "chosen" abilities were dubbed charismatic. Sociologists soon secularized this connotation for those particularly talented in the art of influence through personality.
Granted, it is just a word. However, I find it ironic that a word intended to demonstrate the reliance of man upon God has evolved to indicate a power of man.
************************************
I have questions, but I don't have an answer:
What if the mess I see in the mirror -- when I view everything society perceives as weakness: an unattractive, unathletic, undisciplined, 32-year-old virgin of modest resource -- what if the only magnetic quality I can offer is the same "charisma" by which Paul boasts? I have nothing of my own, and this gift can only be granted by His willingness to suffer the cross. What if grace is so ridiculously unbelievable and countercultural that the messenger's depravity only speaks more highly of the gift?
I have to be honest, because of my Prince Charming past, I am immediately suspicious at the presence of worldly charisma. Every charming man that I've ever met has held an ulterior motive. But what of a romantic relationship resting solely on the distribution of God's good grace? In this America, can the best gift be enough?
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