Enough Space

It’s snowing right now in Colorado. That’s right, suck it Portland. You may have great coffee and great beer and an amazing city, but you do not have snow. I think that’s what I miss the most about Colorado. The snow. The last two weeks I have been back in Colorado visiting friends and family before I go back to school in the Northwest. I just got back from this small town called Gunnison—where I went to school for about a year and a half. I have moved around quite a bit these past few years, but I still think some of the greatest people and some of my best friends come out of this town—which is strange because it is a small, cold town in the middle of nowhere with lots of hippies and snowboard bums.
Yesterday my friend Lauren and I drove back through the Western Slope and we drove over Monarch Pass where the aspen leaves were yellow like the sun and orange, like freshly picked oranges from Florida. The sun was setting and streaming through the wispy clouds, bright and illuminated, as if Jesus were coming back.
I was feeling kind of tired because for the past three nights I had stayed up way past my bedtime talking with old friends, catching up until we could practically see the sky get lighter and knew that the sun was approaching.
I thought about my friend Jamie (that’s what we’ll call her) and how she was going through a “crisis of faith” as she called it and she asked me how I got through mine and I said, “I’m still in it.” To which she replied by saying,
“Oh.”
And for a second I realized it was true and that I was still in it, and contemplated banging my head onto the green grass where we were sitting and screaming, “I’m still in it!” because that’s how I felt. But I didn’t, because there was a cute girl sitting next to me, and I didn’t want her to think that I was crazy (I already looked a bit strange, what, with my beard, Mohawk and tattoos.) Instead I got up and smoked a cigarette and I tugged on Jamie’s white jacket and asked her to stand up with me.
I didn’t exactly know what to say to her, but I wanted her to feel alright about life, even though I knew it was barely possible for me to. She asked me a couple questions to which I responded with, “I don’t know.” And I think she might have been a little bit disappointed, but I told her that I thought the best thing she could do was just be honest and that God was big enough for that.
Lauren and I were now heading into South Park and it was one of the most beautiful sights I have seen. South Park is a wide open plateau with mountains all around and at the very tops you could see a light dusting of snow that looked even whiter with the sun shining on it.
And Lauren and I, we were talking about faith and she said this very profound thing to me and it went like this, “There’s a lot of space.” I was kind of freaking out about things and she said that I should relax and not worry because there’s enough space for us to move around and God is not in any hurry.
“Hmm.” I said.
“It’s like at the football game the other day.” She said. “Did you see those tiny girl dancers?”
“Um, well, yeah, some of it.”
“The most interesting girl to watch is the one who has absolutely no clue what is going on. She is sort of paying attention to the adult teacher and the other minuscule girls, but she is really just flailing and falling down and not really sure what’s happening, but she is smiling and dancing her all. It was probably the best part of the entire game.”
The opposite sunset was just as beautiful and a pink-red sky was a backdrop for the blue and green mountains to the right of us.
“And I think God is up there, you know, in the stadium, watching us dance our lives and he is shouting, “Yes! Yes! Yes! You are failing so horribly but trying so hard and man are you cute down there failing around with your skinny arms!”
Because there’s enough space and God is not in a hurry.
And I thought that was a beautiful thing, and for the first time in awhile I felt okay about things.

Doubt That Clings

Sometimes I look at my life and am quite surprised that I am still alive. What I mean by this is not that I am some superdaredevil adrenaline junkie who has close encounters with death daily jumping cliffs with motorcycles and base jumping off skyscrapers—It’s more along the lines of I am surprised that I am still kicking. I am surprised that I have not yet given up all hope and given in to the depths of despair, which constantly cling invisible, like spider webs, tangling me.
I have been a disillusioned, cynical Christ-follower for quite some time now and yet, I’m still here. Not sure why, exactly, probably it’s Jesus, but it’s quite surprising. Most days I am still quite depressed and sure that life is meaningless, yet I still wake up in the morning, which may not seem like much to you, but it is to me.

You’d think this doubt would have done me in by now, swift karate kick to the trachea, but I have been able to apathetically dodge this for quite some time. Most days talking to people helps. Like today I talked with my uncle Kevin, who is a pastor at Imago and it didn’t even feel like we talked about much, but I felt better afterwards. And then I got a latte from Bakery Bar and that was good. And tonight I’m going to hang out with this girl, which should also be good.
Something that helped me today was to remember this thought from Ann Lammot which goes something like “Doubt is not the opposite of faith, certainty is the opposite of faith.” Which makes me feel good because I have lots of doubt, but there’s room for it, there’s room for my questions.

So many people my age have been disillusioned for so long. Cynical for so long. And sometimes I wonder if there’s any hope. If any of us are going to find some answers.
I hope so. And I think that that is faith.

That tiny bit of hope that things might get better. That I may not be this way forever. The tiny bit of hope that says that God is good and God is love and he loves me with all my doubt and my questions, even when I don’t feel like talking to him and keep my distance. That is about all the faith I have right now, some days are better than others. And I’m still uncertain about a lot, but I think I was reminded today, that that’s okay.

River white, like elephants

The river was white, like the ivory from elephants, and its bank was lined with fallen trees stretching their branches into the river, like the bones of elephants; the sky was hazy blue and the clouds slightly wispy; there was some sun, bright—especially through the haze, but it was getting late. We were tired from the day of work and drank beer along the rocks. The rocks were black on bottom and white on top—from the river below and the sun above.

“What will you do after this?” she said.
“Work.”
Where?”
“Somewhere. Coffee shop maybe, maintenance.”
“For how long?”
“Don’t know.”
“Will you go back to school?”
“Maybe.”
The river sparkled even brighter white, when the sun shone on it. It was probably minerals of some kind. We stared for a while into empty spaces, and the empty spaces stared back at us, mirroring.

“Why do you think the river is like that?”
“You mean all white?” she said.
“Yes.”
“I don’t know. Minerals maybe, runoff of some kind.”
“There’s not a factory up the river is there?”
“Don’t think so.”
“Hmm.”
“Who knows what causes these things.” I said.
“Well, scientists do.” We opened new bottles, filled with beer. A sunshine ale, because it was still hot.
“You think so? I don’t think so. I don’t think anyone knows about these things. I mean really knows, even about the simplest things.”
“Someone has to know.”
“Why, why does someone always have to know?”
“Because someone has to know.”
“I don’t know if anyone does.”
“There has to be answers. What would you tell people?”
“I don’t know.”
“No really what would you tell them if they asked. If you had to answer.” She took a sip of her beer.
“I don’t know.”
“No! If you had to answer.”
“No that’s just it, I would tell them, ‘I don’t know.’”

She looked at me hard, trying to read me. I took a sip of my beer. We continued staring into empty spaces, and she was nervous.
“Well what do you want to do in the fall?” She was getting slightly perturbed.
I answered, “I don’t know.”
She gave me another look, grittier. The river was still white but the trees began to look black, because the sun was going down.”
“Something of value.” I finally said after a few minutes of silence.
“Like what.”
“I’m going to say the same thing, you know, so please don’t be angry.”
She took another sip of her beer, this time in spite, because she knew the answers. She kept looking at me and I said it again. She got up to leave.
“Are you being honest or are you just being some sad, pathetic creature?”
I said it again.
The birds flew in the air, high, like kites. We continued to sit on the bank, dry from lack of rain. She sat back down.
“It’s not like I want this,” I said. “I don’t. If I could change I would.”
“You can change. It’s not that hard.”
Her face looked irritated, mine tired. She wanted resolution. I didn’t know what I wanted.
“I wish it was that easy. This honesty bleeds into doubt which bleeds into a lack of faith.”
“But if you’re honest you would find the truth… you would find what you’re looking for.”
“You’d think so, right?”
She looked away, into the hills—into the river, white like elephants tusks.

She got up to leave, this time for good I think. I wanted her to stay, I really did. But I also knew that she had to go. And I had to stay. Not that I wanted to. But I had to. I really did.
And she left, for good I think.

I drank the final sips of the beer. The sun was going down fast now. The bright orange was fading to a dark purple haze.
I sat there not really sure what to do. So I drank and I lit a cigarette, slowly, with care. I breathed in deep, inhale.
And I tried to exhale. I really did.