Christmas Part Three

When I get off the plane in Denver, I go straight outside to smoke a cigarette. Then I go back inside, wash my hands, open a piece of gum, go back outside to call my parents and tell them I’m here. They still don’t know that I smoke. I like to think that it’s for their own good. Mom would just worry. dad would shake his head disapprovingly.

My parents green Toyota pulls up. My parents are tired. They have been in and out of work for the last year, and right now are practically unemployed. My dad has been dragged through court (or the “in”justice system) for the last two years for a crime he never committed. They are active members in their church. In the last six months have had to help counsel and be there for their community through two deaths, a suicide, and multiple foreclosures and cases of unemployment.

They would never tell you that they were tired. They would tell you that they’re doing fine, that it’s been rough, but okay. This is what they tell me. I try to believe it.

My mom is always stressed during the holidays. I tell her not to go shopping, not to worry about it, that no one needs gifts and that she doesn’t need to rush around like a crazy person. She says, “I know,” sighs. “But I just want you all to be happy.”

On the Wednesday before Christmas I wander into the old church I was a part of in Denver. It is good to see them. While sitting at the coffeeshop they own with Brian and Sterling, Mike comes barreling down the stairs and points at me, “You,” in a loud voice, “When are you going to stop smoking?”
Mike is the lead pastor.
I am caught off guard.
“What do you mean?” I ask, trying to sound naïve, nonchalant.
“When is this gonna stop?” He takes a seat.
“I don’t know…when I’m married.” Mike is a three hundred forty pound Samoan of a man, except that he’s not Samoan.
“Haw!” When you’re married?”
“Yeah.”
“Why not now?” He used to be a firefighter and lift weights for eight hours a day.
“I don’t feel like it.”
“Why not?” He also used to go to Safeway and buy two roasted chickens for lunch (protein).
“I don’t care enough.”
“What! Why don’t you care enough?” Mike grabs my forearm from across the table. “Listen...you know that I only tell you this because I love you and I don’t want to see you die of lung cancer in five years.”
“Five years!” I’m only twenty-two…and I smoke American Spirits!”
“Haw! Let me se your cigarettes.” I pull them out of my leather pouch fanny pack and set them on the table. He grabs them.
“They have no chemicals,” I say.
“So?”
“So they’re better for you.”
“You know the decisions you make now are going to drastically impact the course of your life in the future?”
“Maybe. But I just don’t care.”
“Still dude, don’t you think it’s selfish?”
“Selfish?”
“Selfish.”
I think about it. I know it’s true.
“I do a lot of selfish things”
“Yeah, but this affects other people.”
“Yeah, I know, but right now I got a list of vices a mile long and this is the last on my list.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know, drinking, masturbating…stuff. I’d rather smoke than masturbate. It only hurts the body.” I am trying to sound spiritual.
“Yeah, but smoking affects other people.”
“It’s just…”
“Just what?”
“It’s just that the world sucks sometimes and is very heavy and sometimes I am depressed and I could care less if I die tomorrow.”
“So…what, we just give up?”
“I’m not giving up. I still do things. I’m not chainsmoking on my couch watching Seinfeld.”
“Look, this world is a shitbasket, we all know that. But that’s why a little light goes a long way in a bit of darkness.”
“Smoking isn’t the darkness.”
“No. But you resolving yourself to it is.”
I nod reluctantly “It’s true.” I know all the things he says are true.
“Look, there has to come a certain point when you stop inwardly reflecting all the time and look outside of yourself.”
“Yeah. I know. I’m trying. I think.”

I realize that this Christmas my life feels a bit out hand. I’m terrible with self-control. As much as I want to agree with Mike, I know that as soon as we’re done I will probably go outside and smoke. I know that as much as I don’t want to I will be laying in my bed tonight and want to masturbate so I can fall asleep. As much as I don’t want to, I know that the next dark thing to hit my ears will send me into a spiral of depression, confusion, anxiety and worry, instead of into the arms of a Father who cares deeply.
“Well, I appreciate you saying something I say to him. A lot of people wouldn’t, minus my roommate Mike.”
“Yeah, look, a lot of people wouldn’t because they’d be scared of you” points to my beard and tattoos, “But we know you here.”

I know that what Mike has said is true. I realize we’re part of different cultures-him a Texan jock, and me a artsy anarchist hipster-so we’re operating on different spheres. Maybe he’d be okay with smoking if he only understood the culture I’m in. But I know that’s ridiculous. I know that there are things inside of me that have control over me. I know that there are other things of this world that I don't want to be surrounded by. All the death and hurting, and just want to escape, and not give a fuck. But I also know that I can’t resolve myself to it. Not as someone who follows Jesus.

So I’m trying to create space this Advent. And so far…it’s kind of working. I realize how screwed up I am. I realize that if left to myself I will will destroy myself. I realize my need for a savior. I think of Jesus’ coming and ask for just that, his presence so that I would not want to numb myself all the time.

I am trying to learn the secret of being content. I know the answer, but as far as how to get there, I’m a bit unsure. As far as how to be satisfied with life and God so that I will not be seeking fulfillment elsewhere. I am a bit unsure. I am a bit unsure. I am a bit unsure. Unsure. Unsure. Unsure. I am a bit.