"Where Is This Relationship Going?"

Today I was thinking on what route I should take in continuing to churn out these posts.  Yes, I set aside nearly two weeks to tell my exhausting story in three short excerpts – but what now?  In all this mental grunt work I’ve carried out in order to turn my ideas into short works, I realized the key element that I can’t afford to leave out.  This blog is supposed to be about both my ups and downs in trying to work for Jesus in the midst of life-draining social anxiety, and how “the servant life” is sometimes completely unrelated to God – often I choose to serve something that wants to kill every bit of me that’s left.

            “How could I leave this out?” I thought to myself, “If there was a sole purpose for me to blog about my life, this would be it.”

            As a fervent writer (I’d say there’s some obsessive-compulsiveness floating around in there somewhere), I suppose it was the desire to make every post a striking masterpiece of literature that revealed itself as my Achilles’ heel.  Sacrificing the personality of one’s writing for structure is a mistake - one that I was closing in on fast.  I would prefer this story to continue outside of a series of three works that tells the highlights of “how I got here.”  How I got here is behind me; it’s where I’m going that’s the real story.  I may have grown and matured monumentally compared to the scared little boy I was in early high school, but what significance does that have if I’m not going anywhere moving forward?  I feel like it doesn’t matter how much time we have to look back on, because there’s always more spiritual growth to be done.  So, my writing will be moving forward. 

                As of now I am on vacation with my family in Florida; my mind usually moves along quite serenely on this particular week of the year.  The point is, however, that reality will come knocking on Saturday when I land back in Little Rock.  Spending time with friends will happen, working will happen, and life will happen.  The struggle will return, and a mental disorder will attempt to blind me from what is really worth getting a grasp on in this world – working for Jesus.  Drawing from His strength in the face of all fear, whether it be of death, monsters under the bed, or being rejected by people is what I want.  Becoming a servant of Jesus Christ is what saved my life; serving my social fears put me on the road to destroying it - what this blog should be is my documentation of trying to get that.    

                                                                  Grace and Peace,

                                                                                           J. S. Wade

Blindfolded in a World Renowned Art Museum

The fiery, 8 o’clock sun was flying high atop the clouds, beating down on my parent’s green Sequoia en route to the beautiful shores of the Florida coast.  As I have done on the same drive for so many years, I took out my headphones to drown out the mundane scenery and drift off into my own selfish world of passing the time.  Christian music happened to be my genre of choice; not that it mattered.  I was only interested in entrancing myself within the beat and tune of the song, not in doing the taxing brainwork of considering and applying the lyrics.

As the music blared I had but two choices – to close my eyes or to stare blankly out the car window; I chose to do the latter.  Nothing I hadn’t laid my eyes on before whizzed by in a lulling blur – the pattern of clustered trees and rows of crops were nearly enough to put me to sleep.  I suppose I stayed awake in avoidance of the hit-by-a-truck feeling that always follows sleeping for extended periods in the car.  Sleep would have to be acceptable eventually, however, seeing that eight hours remained in the monotonous journey; I just had no idea that a life lesson was part of the itinerary that I always dreaded.  

It’s difficult to explain what happened next, and why this drive to the beach proved to be different from the others.  It was like the captivating beauty of the painted canvas before me suddenly revealed itself.  For the first time in a long time, I didn’t look at the lush green landscape highlighted by a Carolina blue sky and an uncovered, golden sun with ignorant indifference.  The masterpiece we often set aside with simple descriptive terms meant more to me in that moment than the iPhone in my hands.  The music previously confined to the cell of my inner ear forced its way into my body, through the suffocating masses of close-mindedness, and hit me hard in the soul.  And that’s when I remembered – the thing I’ve spent so long believing, doubting, considering, forgetting, chewing on, putting off, and worrying about – is real.  It was enough to bring tears to my eyes - male ego aside, of course.  Jesus made us a promise; a promise that I thought was far and away along with the rest of all that holy and righteous paraphernalia of His.  Turns out all I had to do was look out the window – because there’s a giant mural ceaselessly surrounding me with the same promise painted all over it.

So, I’ve decided I need to start making the necessary preparations for divine intervention before I get in a car – it seems that when God slaps me in the face, He likes to do it when I’m in the car.  One thing is for certain, though; Jesus burned through the doubt in me today like the blistering sun burns through the dark of night, and His promise to us is as relevant today in the endless cornfields of Arkansas as it was in the garden of Gethsemane two thousand years ago.  It’s imprinted on every leaf, rock, raindrop, and cloud in this masterpiece of which God is the flawless artist.

                                                         Grace and Peace,

                                                                               J. S. Wade

There And Back Again: Part Three

Finally. This is it, I promise:

            It was shortly after Christmas break came to a close.  I had already readjusted my sloth-like work ethic that had taken a massive hit over the five-week absence from Fayetteville.  My friends and I decided it would be fitting to make a weekend visit to Little Rock to attend our old high school’s basketball homecoming, and take advantage of the opportunity to catch up with old friends and favorite teachers.  Completely ignorant to my errant state of mind, I waltzed in that gym with a large sign labeled “self-righteous” on my forehead and began to spout off one lie after another about how I was doing at college.

            “God is so important to you when you go off to college,” I told some.  I continued the conversation talking about how well things were going in my Christian fraternity, and how one can attend the University of Arkansas and manage to stay solid.  The real truth be told, I hadn’t been “solid” once in my life; I was a hypocrite – a weak, mushy hypocrite.  I claimed to attribute the meaning of this life on planet earth to the one true God, and that His son’s death on the cross is the reason that we can have hope in death.  How dare I claim what I had never taken ownership of? 

            The realization didn’t hit me until I was driving my friends back to Fayetteville on the Sunday afternoon of that same weekend.  The feeling was inexplicable, like an unforeseen, open-hand slap to the face.  Every word spoken in the car for those three hours was difficult to recognize; I was fixated on things above for once in my life.  It was like God – the Father of all, who made me – grabbed me by the neck and said, “James Steven Wade, you are mine.  Start acting like it.”  Now, I am not one to question God’s timing (now matter how sudden or curious), so I took this unanticipated epiphany as serious as I had ever taken anything in my life. 

            Up to that point I had never known what it was like to live more than just a short time for the savior of the world.  Even after my anxiety left me temporarily, I continued wallowing through the self-indulgent, complacent lifestyle I had always known.  My Father in heaven called me out that day on all the hollow, sugar-coated things I had told people that had no heart behind them at all.  Driving my friends down the highway to Fayetteville certainly wasn’t a mountaintop experience, but it was sufficient for God to let me know how much my life was lacking in the reality department. 

            I remember the days following my return to Fayetteville quite well.  A modern Ice Age led a full-fledged attack on our campus, leaving several of my friends and I with a substantial amount of time on our hands.  Four consecutive days of freedom from classes gave me ample opportunities to reflect on God’s perfect timing.  It was like I was experiencing Christianity for the first time; people, the world, and even the Bible seemed new to me.  In about ten days, I dove into around twenty books of the New Testament; it was my first attempt at taking the teachings of the Bible and actually applying them to my experience.  A feeling of God beside me grew powerful quickly; everywhere I went I could feel his reminder to worship Him in everything I did.  The name, “Jesus Christ” gave me a light and upbeat sense – there was nothing but hope on my horizon in those days.  In everything there was a purpose; looking for ways to praise the Lord became my passion.  Sporting accessories bearing symbols of Christ actually meant something to me, so I collected as many as I could get my hands on. 

There was a spiritual bonfire blazing inside of me – the spiritual high of all spiritual highs.  In of all of this, however, was how I knew that being a real Christian wasn’t about the fuzzy feeling one gets when they finally feel convicted for being a human.  God and I both knew that the flame would eventually be snuffed, and I would not have the feeling of flying high that I once had.  Every new and amazing thing is ultimately gotten used to in the end, where it doesn’t seem so amazing anymore.  The same applies to Christianity.  The fuzzy feeling dies because we are a fallen people in a fallen world.  New distractions are constantly being put in front of us that jump ahead of God on our priority list because they are “new.”  I’ve come to figure out that being fully aware of the dangers of “the dying of the flame” is the best way to deal with it.  Letting myself give into the fading of a spiritual high will only pave the way back to the ineffective existence I once practiced.  And that’s where I am now – fighting.  Fighting against every distraction and shortcoming of mine to live for what everyone is here for.  No, I do not feel exhilarated with a bursting religious fervor every morning when I wake up or every night when I go to sleep.  But, I realize exactly what will lead me back to the low point of my life – that’s giving into the desire to please myself before the One who made me in His image.

                                                           Grace and Peace,

                                                                                J. S. Wade

      

There And Back Again: Part Two

I’m being brutally honest – starting college was a “crash landing,” if you will.  Here’s another piece to the story.  I’m thinking if there’s a part two, then I might as well go big and do a trilogy; 'cause trilogies are the best:

            My first signs of life outside high school were grim and ominous ones.  After all, I felt like I was just getting started – I had built and fostered more relationships in one semester than I had in numerous years.  It was like the childhood timer suddenly ran out once I had shown up to life as more of a real me.  The chapter that I felt I had suddenly caught onto was closing, forcing me to leave behind the life that I had fallen in love with. 

            The momentous occasion of graduation hurt like the devil.  To this day my parents will tell me how much pain was in my eyes that day.  I walked across that stage into a new way that I didn’t want yet; with all my heart I just wanted to stay where I was until I had fulfilled all of the goals that had suddenly become all too real and possible.  As the wheels of life kept turning, my heart was left behind; I was going to college, yes, but no one could have told me that.  Summer vacation came and went like it was shot out of a cannon – I’d say with supreme confidence that it was the fastest of my life.  All the emotional ups and downs were like chains; as the summer progressed, more and more of them were heaped upon my shoulders, leading to one of the more humbling experiences my 18 year-old life had seen.  I just couldn’t take it anymore; I broke down in front of my group of friends one night like I never had.  Crying was something I hadn’t used to deal with pain often.  I suppose the oppressing buildup of chest-tightening stress, mixed feelings, and the realization that I had to let go of everything finally resulted in a massive explosion of emotions that shot out of me in front of my brothers.  The vice grip I had so greatly loosened on my friends returned that night despite the Christ-like brotherly love they displayed.  They all gathered around and prayed for me – it hit me then that my friends were pretty great, but I didn’t let the emotional explosion alleviate my pain for long. 

            An explanation could not be found for my feelings once the packing for college started.  All I remember was that it was the middle of August 2010 and I was headed for the University of Arkansas.  A kind of cruise control for humans had taken me over – I was going through the motions necessary to get by, but I was upset to the point of blocking out all the nauseating feelings of emptiness.  Moving in day, however, is more to clear to me; I was sent careening into reality (a place that can be ever so cruel on a given day).  My mother says I looked like a ghost – pale, expressionless, and unable to respond.  To me, life was over, and the college thing could have only been a dream.  Yes, I was there with most of my best friends, but things just didn’t seem right.  The surreal sense given by stepping into a new walk of life is inexplicable; I was just waiting to wake up in my own bed and make the ten-minute drive to the school I had grown so close to. 

            As time crept slowly by, God wasn’t so cool to me anymore.  The cowardly, worrisome person I thought was gone began to reapply its poison, taking back a firm grip on my life’s reins.  I began to act as if God had abandoned me, forgetting all about Him who gave me new life free from a debilitating mental disorder.  Even the simplest of social interactions began to be filled with self-defeating thoughts and terrifying feelings of awkwardness as I tried to fight the battle of life completely on my own. 

This is astounding when I think on it now, but this whole time I had been taking the same medication – nothing should have been different regarding my levels of anxiety, but it was.  It was like God was trying to send me a message for the entirety of the first semester of college; that He was the cause for my recovery, and that I had thrown Him under the bus in return.  It was clear that I wasn’t going to win the battle for my mind on my own terms, but no one could have convinced me of it back then.  It wasn’t until a short time after the 5-week long Christmas break that I realized the giant steps I had taken backwards.  God and I had grown far apart over that four-month semester – not that I had let us get that close in the first place.

                                                             Grace and Peace,

                                                                                      J. S. Wade

There And Back Again: Part One

I thought a sneak peek into how this whole thing got cooked up was necessary.  This is one of those "If you didn't know" sort of things.  

       

       So, the moving out process is over and done with.  I’d say I am sitting pretty these days, gazing across the vast landscape of summer vacation and all the freedom it brings.  Family time is abundant, seeing old friends is prevalent, and most of all, time is laid out in front of me like a steak on a silver platter.  In this first week of my prolonged break, I’ve had a substantial amount of time to sit and think about the milestone chunk of road that is now behind me.  Questions concerning where I am now have been multiplying in my thoughts recently, especially the question of “How did I get here?”

       The beginning of high school is a complete blur nowadays; life was like landscape zooming by outside a train car window back then.  But what I realize now is that who I am was just a block of cold clay in those days, and the molding was only just getting started.  It was Freshman year of high school that my anxiety started clawing its way to power, seizing my identity and forcing its way to the center of my being.   I slowly reached the point of viewing everyone and everything around me through fear’s eyes instead of my own.  God’s help wasn’t even in consideration for candidates to pull me out of the hole I quickly found myself mired in.  He was just a distant entity then, a faint force in the sky that wouldn’t dare to waste His time on some kid and his personal issues. 

       Day by day, school became associated with dread that year.  I had already thrown away many parts of who I was up to that time – most significantly, my love for drama, music, and entertaining people that defined a solid chunk of my childhood.  Things that were unacceptable in the eyes of a mental disorder became my rules to live by.  I essentially became a zombie, or walking dead, as it was not the real me walking the halls of my school, but fear itself.  Life became merely playing host to anxiety that Satan only intensified, constantly reminding me of my position as a person – out of the way where no one would have to deal with me.  Prayers for the day (if any) consisted of begging God for the teacher not to call on me, that my hands would stop sweating, and that I could walk down the hall and not wonder what awful things people were thinking about me.  As high school raged on I would only drill deeper into the hole I had dug, further separating myself from most everyone, including the God that I hardly acknowledged anyway. 

       Today, one of my daily praises is for my immediate group of friends that kept me from losing complete control of myself back then.  My one form of security was in their hands – it felt like their friendship was the one thing I had going for me.  They are all probably unaware of this, but during that time I held onto them with a vice grip as if I was attempting to ice skate for the first time.  Their approval was my totem; the consistent symbol that I had not been completely rejected.  As I grew more and more dependent on those seven guys, those outside my circle of trust became my opposition.  A false perception quickly formed; one that had everyone I didn’t hang out with on a regular basis out to get me, as if their one goal was to leave me completely embarrassed and humiliated.

       Quite sadly, the day I realized the irrationality of all this didn’t come until the middle of my monumental senior year.  After the first semester had passed I was in a dark place, convinced it was depression that I had stumbled upon just a few years before.   Realizing that the “chapter ending” year was halfway over and that I had wasted it was hurtful.  College was looming just down the road and I hadn’t completed any of the goals I wanted to complete for my last year of high school.  For the first time in a long time I felt a fire deep down inside of me that was overwhelmingly clear – the desire to fight the fear that was ruining my life. 

       I decided to finally sit down with my mother and go over what had destroyed my spirit for so long.  For a while I thought all teenagers felt awkward and rejected like that; that it was just something all adolescents had to go through to be “mature.”  After hearing of the simple tasks that I saw as dreadful, my mother explained to me that it wasn’t something seen everyday.  I was dealing with something much more serious than teenage awkwardness, and that I couldn’t fight this battle on my own. 

       Thinking on the idea that something was wrong with me was degrading – I felt like a crazy person without any credibility.  I also found explaining my symptoms in detail to my doctor I had been seeing for a while particularly unsettling, but he agreed that I needed assistance.  He suggested a certain anti-depressant medication that would increase my level of serotonin, the neurotransmitter linked directly with feelings of well-being.  What is cool about the day that I sought help was that God was right there waiting to open the door to recovery the whole time.  It was like I was in a hall of mirrors, looking for a way out.  All I could see was myself in every direction; I had become obsessed with having pity on myself, and I didn’t realize that the only way to freedom was the one that didn’t revolve around me. 

       In just weeks time I felt like a new person.  God was good, people were good, and senior year was good.  Although I had been going to school with the same hundreds of kids for almost five years, it was like I was seeing them for the first time.  Every conversation was a monumental one, and every stroll down a hall full of kids was a new experience.  The world was different – a good different.  I made a great effort to get to know as many new people as I could in the time that I had left; I even forced myself to talk in front of the high school in our senior chapel about not letting fear hold you back (I was nauseas for three days before I spoke).  Everything was in perspective then, but what I didn’t know was that I had only won a battle that was part of a war.  I had scratched the surface for sure, but things went way deeper.

                                                                    Grace and Peace,

                                                                                             J. S. Wade

Vacation at the Sea of Good Intentions

         Any essence of giddiness or hope during the week of final exams can only be explained by the fast approaching summer vacation.  The warm light of freedom never fails to dissolve the dark shroud concentrated by countless hours of studying and staring blankly at computer screens.  I, for one, am already showing the negative signs of “hell week,” highlighted by blood-shot eyes, irritability, and the constant emitting of “glass half-empty” overtones.  Nothing could be more alleviating than the thought of summer – an always-distant entity that means nothing less than pure freedom among American adolescents.  The recurring problem seems to be the massive, brick wall labeled “Finishing Strong,” that hides the 3-month long vacation from our view.  The trying hurdles of this time of year, however, are not the point; what we do once we scale that brick wall is.

         At the threshold of summer, it always seems appropriate to throw around in our minds the endless possibilities available to us.  As schools close and swimming pools open, meaningless aspirations begin to pile up in my head – “getting ripped,” learning to play an instrument, finding a job, meeting new people, and countless other goals that I wish to fulfill.  It was not until just recently that I realized the triviality and mistake of making the focal point of summer none other than “me.”  In fact, it seems that I make every trip home revolve around me somehow.  Lengthy breaks from school typically start with vows to grow spiritually – I would know because of all the ones I’ve broken.  My dear friend (also like a big brother to me) reminded me of this just last week. 

         “What are your spiritual plans for the summer?” Hunter asked me along with a group of friends at a local coffee shop.  At this we proceeded to sound off individually, listing our strategies one by one for staying on track with the Good Lord over the long summer break.  To be honest I don’t remember how I answered the question; something related to reading the Word everyday and clinging to God while away from accountability – yes, something like that.  In the midst of contemplating the three months of possible spiritual growth ahead, I was unaware of the trap already waiting for me.  As I have done every year up to this point in my life, I was once again headed for a summer vacation at the Sea of Good Intentions – a quaint, self-efficient beach of complacency where just a few days of relaxation leads to miles and miles of drifting.  A promise to seek the Lord transforms into a sorry excuse as my old self greets me in the open water, no shore in sight.

         The provocative aspect of it all, is that summer is such a perfect time to be preparing ourselves for the spiritual battle that rages so heavily during the school year.  I needed my God last summer more than ever, but I chose to spend three months drifting into oblivion while worry and fear of college circled me like bloodthirsty sharks.  At the end of August, I landed on the shore of the University of Arkansas, so used to drifting that my “out to sea” mentality continued well into the first semester.  Again and again, I thank the almighty God for opening my eyes to Satan’s network of false prophets and lies; lies that molded me into a regular at the Sea of Good Intentions, where one day away from the word can lead to months as an ineffective Christian.  My Father has shown me that summer isn’t something to be feared, but something to be embraced.  Drifting out to open sea teeming with complacency can’t occur if I never set foot on the sand. 

         For this particular summer, I have already booked ten days to travel to Peru for missions, and I’m not stopping there.   This break looks clearer than it ever has to me, as I now realize that every day usually spent drifting further away from God can be a new opportunity to grow into the man He wants me to be.  Going home should be a prime chance to show my new identity found in Christ, not a chance to drift out to sea to meet my old one.  Now, it should be noted that I will be making a trip to the beach this year with my family, but the Sea of Good intentions isn’t the destination; God and I agreed that a summer long stay is much too expensive – We were thinking Gulf Shores was my best bet.

                                                                     Grace and Peace,

       

                                                                                          J. S. Wade

Everyday Dog-ma

     Sometime in the midst of a family-rich Easter weekend, I visited a friend – we’ll call him Patrick – at his home.  Granted, it needs to be taken into account that I typically visit a number of friends’ places when I go home for a weekend.  There happened to be something special about this particular visit that I found exclusively thought provoking.  No, it wasn’t the fact that my friend’s home was in a breathtaking area of the city, or that it was my first time to “hang out” with this friend outside of the college campus realm.  The memorable aspect of my brief chat with Patrick was found primarily in his pet chocolate Labrador, or “Abby,” for short. 

     This one was an inspiring pooch, summing up quite fittingly the notion surrounding “man’s best friend.”  As I entered the front door to the sound of coarse barking, I expected the worst – one of those over-protective mutts that would jump me sharp-teeth-first as soon as the opportunity arose.  In reality, what ended up bounding around the corner was an outgoing, harmless thing with a gimpy leg and a severe panting problem.  She held a squishy, blue octopus in her mouth that was obviously discolored from all the close encounters with slobber, and her tongue consistently hung loose from the side of her mouth like extra slack from a belt three sizes too big. 

     Knowing I suffered slightly from dog allergies, Patrick grabbed Abby’s collar to prevent her from assaulting me with excitement.  Although it would’ve given me a guaranteed case of the sneezes, I found myself looking forward to a warm welcome from the energetic pup.  Though elated to see a new face, Abby didn’t take long to calm herself; it made sense that she was trained, Patrick later told me.  Her next move was not to leap into my arms like the original plan, but to place the sopping blue octopus at my feet, greatly anticipating a rousing round of fetch.  I was obliged to accept the invitation, given that she now willingly sat at my feet, staring at me with a pair of genuine, lovable puppy dog eyes.

     At that point in time, it was not Abby’s love of fetch that intrigued me, but her willingness to trust someone she had never seen or touched.  She was drooling at the thought of running to retrieve her squishy toy, thrown by someone entirely unfamiliar.  When Patrick left the room, Abby would roll herself over on her back, exposing her thick, furry belly to the likes of me – a delinquent intruder for all she knew.   Nevertheless, Abby continued on in staring at me with peaceful curiosity, awaiting the commencement of fetch or for me to rub her stomach that she so willingly presented to me.

     An animal willingly exposing their stomach is the ultimate sign of surrender – in that moment, they render themselves completely vulnerable to those around them.  Animals were always something I had possessed a soft spot for, but I never thought they could truly teach me anything.  I had a pet of my own at home (a morbidly obese cat, named Duke), but he was always just a primitive creature that was in all ways inferior to me, and one that I would never think of with any spiritual significance.  Consequently, God showed me something about my relationship with Him that day; that being intellectually superior as humans can often be our downfall.  Quite frequently, it hardens our hearts and causes us to be incapable of giving our whole sense of self up to the one true higher power.

     On many occasions in the past, I reached a point where all I could do was fall to my knees.  I was weary and broken, crying out to my God to rescue me from the darkness of anxiety and crippling fear.  I pleaded that He would fill me with His strength, because I felt that I had none of my own.  Living days upon days in agony, wanting to wake up as someone else drove me away from my Father and into the murderous arms of Satan, who only continued draping chains of lies over my shoulders.  What I realized from Abby the Chocolate Lab was that in the midst of my great suffering, the almighty God had never abandoned me; it was through my unwillingness to trust that I abandoned Him.  If I put my complete hope in God (who I have never physically seen or touched), my dark shroud of fears and worries would be on His shoulders and not mine.  If I would make myself entirely vulnerable before Him, much like a curious dog and stop devising schemes to conquer anxiety on my own, the door to life as the man my Father wants me to be could be opened.        

     Like Abby the Chocolate Lab, it will take quite a bit of training for me to reach the point where I place my whole self completely at the mercy of God’s will.  Looking to only Him in the aspects of my life that cripple me the most is the only way to grow.  Surrendering begins my road to recovery; it just so happened that something as innocent and unknowledgeable as a domestic dog taught me this lesson – with God’s help of course.

                                                                       Grace and Peace,

                                                                                          J. S. Wade

                                                                                 

Coffee with the Devil

This is a metaphorical story I wrote that I think properly symbolizes the everyday struggle that goes on in my heart and mind.  I hope you enjoy:

     The morning began just like any other; I glanced up from my phone just in time to see a rather familiar girl in a green Starbucks apron staring at me with questioning eyes.

     "What can I get for you, Jim?" she asked, giving my esteem a boost. After all, it wasn't often that those taking my order were able to call me by name.  With a smile I ordered my always varying dose of caffeine; I was never one to go for the same sustenance on a daily basis - that was my version of spicing up life, I suppose.  

     I paid the usual hefty price featured at Starbucks and rounded the counter to receive my source of activity on most Monday mornings.  This day it happened to be black coffee that I would doctor heavily with sugar and cream; there's something about having control over the severity of my coming sugar high that prompted me to make my choice.  

     The often alleviating, soulful atmosphere associated with coffee shops was drowned out by the masses of students waiting in line that day; either yapping on their cell phones or complaining to their friend about the large number of stressful assignments looming that week.  My preference was to seek out a solitary place to spend some time with God and focus on the tasks ahead, so I dodged my way through the crowd to settle in a place much less populated.  

     The building housing my next class served perfectly; the few people present were in deep binges of studying at several tables, spread out across a large room with a red stone floor.  I headed for the corner, where an empty study room with its own table and chairs was just visible.  I sipped my customized blend of sugar, half & half, and coffee with every few steps as I neared my new found place of solitude.  It would be there that I came upon an old friend - a former friend - waiting for me.

     "Hey there, Jimbo." he said, picking up a black thermos and taking a sip of its contents.  A thin smile appeared as he licked the excess coffee from his lips.  I would normally be intrigued by a surprise such as this, but this guest was expected; I had been here before.

     "What do you want?" I rhetorically asked, knowing quite well what this man was pursuing.  He was in the form I had always seen him; dressed much like me, with an old pair of faded jeans and a dark grey v-neck t-shirt.  He was having morning coffee at this table I had conveniently picked out, acting like we had planned to meet there for a friendly chat - this facade was always meant to earn my trust.  It was one that I had fallen for many a time in the past.

     "Oh, I believe you know the answer to that question, Jim," he responded, "Now just relax and talk to me. We are friends after all; let's take advantage of this meeting we set up."

     "I came here to spend time in prayer," I snapped, "Now if you'll excuse me -"

     "Now wait just a second here," he said, scratching his head, "What do you want to do that for? Pray to a God that has done nothing but oppress you with an anxiety disorder; leaving you in a constant state of fear and worry?  I'm not sure you owe someone like that any favors..."

     "That's a lie," I said, "You gave me anxiety; no one else."

     In high school I was diagnosed with social anxiety - a mental disorder that causes debilitating fear of being socially embarrassed or rejected.  I can't quite remember where or when it originated, but for years the real Jim was locked up somewhere; the danger of him being forgotten closing in on reality.  It was by this that I felt I couldn't become the man God wanted me to be, and often I used it as my excuse for being an ineffective Christian.  This was how I knew that something like anxiety couldn't possibly be brought on by God Himself; it was used by Satan to inhibit those threatening his cause.

     Satan ran his fingers through his hair and slowly rolled his tongue over his front teeth. With disgust I stepped backward; his tongue was forked.

     "Me? Why in the world would I do that?" he asked with a hollow smile, "Come on, Jim, what kind of friend would I be?"

     "You gave me this fear because you are threatened by me. You are no friend of mine." I said, trying to fight him off.

     The devil had always known that my achilles' heel was vulnerability to anxiety and worry.  On so many occasions I felt him digging around in my head; exploiting the weak spots and telling me how inadequate and worthless I was to everyone around me.  Sadly, it was I who opened the door and let him in.

     He didn't so much as flinch in reaction to my responses.  He shifted his weight in his chair as if changing strategies, looking me straight in the face all the while.

     "It's early, Jim.  You're flustered, tired, stressed, I get it.  Please, just take a seat."

     Looking at his inviting green eyes, I shuffled my feet toward the chair nearest to me.  His persuasiveness was almost intoxicating, seeming to clear my mind of anything else.  His gaze seemed to reel me in, like a struggling fish with its lip caught on a hook.  I grabbed the back of the chair and pulled it under me, trying with all my being to regain composure.

     "What is it exactly that you want from me?" I asked with a shaky tone.

     "Oh Jim, I just want you to get the most out of this life.  I care about your well being, that's all." he replied.  

     He quickly averted his gaze to the floor; keeping his deceptive smile.  He seemed so genuine, like an everyday nice guy.  It was hard to believe that this was the enemy number one - although, it was now clear why so many fell flat on their faces into his gauntlet of lies.

     "No," I said, "You want me to get the most out of this world."

     "Well, isn't that what really matters?" he hissed, "And I hate to say it, but you're very behind. Everyone thinks you're awkward and has a tough time being around you as it is. You need to get with the program, Jimbo.  It's time for a self-image makeover!"

     My heart suddenly sank.  As my facial expression fell to one of vulnerability, Satan pounced like a lion on a gazelle.  All of my social interactions that day began to replay in my head; I cringed with embarrassment for myself.  My palms began to sweat uncontrollably.  Was he right?  How could I be an effective Christian if everyone writes me off as a social failure?  I felt like I had but two choices: to crawl in a hole and never come out, or to hurry and fix my tainted image.  My brain had jumped from composure to chaos in a matter of seconds; there seemed to be a vast number of voices in my head telling me what my next move should be.  I covered my ears and buried my head face first into the table.  

     Satan began to laugh; his voice multiplied in my head with every passing second.  All of them voiced different actions I should take to please my fellow man and why I should worry about it.  Time and time again, I fell victim to his exploits; but why?  It seemed so simple.  Just don't believe it; fight it.  

     "Don't let yourself be shaken, Jim!" I whispered to myself, closing my eyes.

     As I had on so many occasions, I felt abandoned.  It was like I was in a dark room and Satan was interrogating me with a blinding spot light.  Up to my neck in fear, I always seemed to panic and forget the necessary means of getting out.  Every rope that seemed to lead to rescue would only snap like a twig, leaving me to plunge deeper into the black pit of anxiety.  

     But suddenly, amidst Satan's cackling at my expense, another voice began to ring out in my head.  This voice was alarmingly distinct; I could hear it over what seemed like the hundreds of attacks on my character.  It seemed to bellow from the back of my mind, reaching me quite easily despite the ensuing chaos.

     "Therefore I tell you," it instructed, "Do no worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear.  Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life?"

     Sense began to rush over me.  The voice I clearly identified now as Jesus continued to speak, silencing my mind's violent wind and waves with every word:

     "In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world."

     That was it.  The sole reason that evil was always able to find a foothold was because I tried to fight it on my own.  

     "Come to me, all who are weary and burdened," He said, "and I will give you rest.  Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.  For my yoke is easy and my burden is light."

     Peace began to restore my strength; joy transformed my countenance.  I sat straight up to see Satan, still laughing, but now taking notice of me.  His forked tongue flicked in and out of his open mouth.

     "You're wasting your time here," I informed him, "My heart beats for Jesus Christ -"

     A bone-chilling hiss seem to come out of the air; Satan slammed his ghost-white fist on the table, lunging as far forward in his seat as he could.  His pitch black pupils suddenly transformed into slits, fittingly like a serpent's.  The cold glare that always made me shiver only increased my security as I heard Christ's voice continue:

     "Get behind me, Satan!  You are a stumbling block to me; you do not have in mind the things of God, but the things of men."

     My greatest enemy gripped the sides of the table with both hands.  He began to breath heavily as if he had heard the words Jesus had just spoke to me.  Black veins appeared on his pale face as he looked back at the floor.  Only then, did I realize it - he was the weak one.  All of this effort spent filling my mind with poison would be wasted; it would only end in him being crushed.

     "I had you, weak and useless before me once," he exclaimed, gritting his teeth, "And I will do it again."

     I ignored him with a smile and picked up my disposable coffee cup by the lid.

     "Looks like I'm finished with my morning coffee," I said, shaking the empty cup, "I suppose that means I'm finished with you as well."

     "Not quite," he muttered as he stood to leave, "I'll be back."

     I followed his every move with my eyes as he approached the exit to the cozy nook I had found.

     "Good," I replied, "I'll just get rid of you faster tomorrow."

     With that, he shot me a look of disgust and vanished, leaving his black thermos behind.

                                                                                        

                                                                    Grace and Peace,

                     

                                                                                     J. S. Wade