"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