Running a marathon

I'm a runner, both with my feet and my heart.

When there's too much going on in my world, I'll escape and take a nap.

When my phone dings again with an f-bomb laden, accusatory text, I close the dialog.

I ignore calls from people and institutions that cause too much mayhem, delete emails that I don't want to deal with, and leave my phone in the car on those days when I just can't deal with anybody more than the person sitting next to me.

When the going gets rough, I pack my bags and move on to the next house.

It's what I do, and I suppose to some extent, it's a linear sin that's been passed down through the generations that hold my family name.

I'm not sure that taking a nap when you're overwhelmed or avoiding headache-inducing people is inherently bad - until it hinders progress. Sleeping through the entire weekend probably won't make for a better Monday. B-lining for the other side of the room probably won't resolve differences. There's a time for being alone to meditate. There's a time for just being left alone to deal with anything but your demons. There's a time to remove all extraneous distractions to be able to focus on one issue. But there's also a time to face them head on with a bold face.

Jamie George says "The truth is, for all of us, that whether we're living in a moment whether we don't understand, or we're living in a moment that, for us, on our end, it seems somewhat boring or full of futility, it all comes down to this little word - faith... and trust... and I would submit worship. Is He really The Holy One? Is the story really about Him?" Or have I made it about me? Have I put more concern in advancing my life than I have in advancing the Kingdom?

For the past year or so, I've felt like God is sitting in Heaven going "Let me see how jacked up you can make your life before I step in." While that's not reality, that is where I'm at. Prayers bounce off the roof. I've got a bulldozer to dig me deeper and deeper with no ladder to get out. But I'm not an idiot; I know God goes silent for a time, and I know that He is strongest when we are weakest. He'll drop us to the ground if that's what it takes for us to get on our knees.

Ray Orland believes, "Any hope that isn't from God is an idol of our own making." I've cleaned out the "big" idols (drinking, smoking, sex, 4 letter words) - there's no giant, looming Asherah pole in my view, but I've got enough skeletons in my closet to fill a peat bog. My whole life, I've put my hope in becoming an "adult"; becoming eighteen, moving away, and going to college were my vehicles to freedom. Now as this is all coming into play, I'm quickly realizing that this is not reality. Somehow, I had this idea that when the clock struck midnight between March 6th and March 7th, I'd suddenly have this beautiful world at my fingertips that would release me from whatever I had been living in for the past eighteen years. Now, I am becoming aware of a few things:

1) This event will do no more than allow me to buy my own White-Out and make me suddenly solely responsible for myself with no protection.

2) I'm an idiot. Really Dan? Look around at the young 20-somethings you know. They're all either still living with their parents or crammed up in sketchy apartments, swimming in debt and Ramen noodles. Yep, it's glorious.

3) The problems that I want to be released from won't go away just because I choose to run and put physical distance between me and their proprietors.

4) Home is home, and this is what it is.

5) I'd have to sincerely question whether this event has become an idol or not. Is my hope in the fact that God will protect me no matter my age, education status, or where I live? In the knowledge that He's got plans for me (love love love Jeremiah 29:11) and has got it all figured out? In awareness that He didn't create me with a spirit of timidity that would run and hide to LA or Chicago without ever looking back?

I'll be the first to admit that Sledgewater isn't the life I had envisioned for me. My life was very much supposed to be like "Even Stevens"; I was very convinced I would be Ren Stevens, reincarnate. But that doesn't matter; that's not my reality. I've been dealt other cards by the Dealer that gives no bad hands - we're just a bunch of awful players. He can read my p-p-poker face, even when myself and others can't. Have I put too much faith in test scores, grade point averages, and Pulitzer-worthy essays? Have I really trusted that He is holy? Set apart, beyond and above me, incomprehensible. He's entitled to my praise and worship - not some flashy degree.

Either I'll come back for Christmas with excitement or I'll be "that kid" that stays at school. If I do return, which I don't doubt I will at some point, I probably won't have the option of staying with my biological family. That hurts. This weekend, I'll go for the campus preview day at Florida Southern College. It cuts me like a knife to know that I'll be (one of, probably) the only kid without a doting parent leading the way, ensuring that their baby is well taken care of next fall. It's both within and without; I neither have a family, nor don't. It's a strange situation to not belong, but to need to belong. But this is what it is - I have to be independent and strong. Nobody will take care of me except for myself. Embellished resumes will only get me so far. Admissions offices don't care that my mom is absent or that my dad kicked me out; they'll look at my grades, look at my test scores, and make a mildly informed decision. And that's where I went wrong, under the belief that nothing else mattered beyond what my transcripts read while falsely and unknowingly thinking I could do it on my own.

So maybe, rather, He's sitting in Heaven saying "Let me see how jacked up you can get before you'll sincerely humble yourself." God's in the business of perfection, so I will finish this year with excellence and move on to seemingly greater things.