Concerned Observer

I had a "concerned observer" leave an anonymous comment regarding my recent blog entries.

Said observer left this: "I couldn't help but notice the difference in tone and subject matter this blog has taken as compared to the first 2 or 3 entries. I appreciate that these entries reflect various aspects of your daily life, but it almost seems like the person who started this blog is different from the one writing now. I hope you don't take this the wrong way, but I thought your first few entries were encouraging and thought provoking. They showed me a little bit of how God is working in your life. The recent entries leave me wondering if there aren't some very important issues that still haven't been turned over to God. Please know that I love you and I pray for you and Garrett and Madi often. "

I have thought about this all day long and been left with a feeling of unease, even a bit down right pissed-offness (I have a great grip on the English language by the way). I realize that journaling in this format does allow others to leave their comments and thoughts about what has been written. Generally, I welcome those responses. What I do not welcome is someone offering what they label concern and what is really judgement. The added kick to this is that the author states they pray for Garrett and Madi often and love me. To whoever you are, if you love me as much as you claim, why remain anonymous? Secondly, if you love me like you say, why don't you take the time to find out what's really going on in my life? If you did, you would recognize how terribly wrong you are in your assertion. The work I am involved in and the depth of my spirituality through the process of recovery is mine and is private. I am happy to share it with those around me, especially those not involved in the Fellowship. My stipulation is however, my spiritual growth is left to my own discernment to share on this site. Finally, my children are off limits to you.

I must say, and frankly I don't care if this pisses anyone off, I grow tired of our "christian love" and the "please know I love you" crap. I am a christian. Not a perfect one, but one who loves my God with my whole being. I grew up and have practiced for years the good christian attitude and find it empty of true authenticity. I can't count the number of times I've felt it my place to correct some one in the name of God's love. I wanted to show them "the way" - a way I felt was right and entirely rooted in God. I pointed out their "issues" all while blinded to my own. How often I did not acknowledge that person's intimate relationship with (or without) God; I offered them little grace and no compassion to what other forces may be at work in their lives - forces that are good and bad. And, I always tailed my pontifications with an "I love you," or "I'm praying for you." So here's my assertion at its core: you, whoever you are and whoever may be reading this, stop praying for me and pick up a phone to talk to me. It's easy to judge on a website, easier to think you have perception into someone when you spend five minutes a day reading and not actually taking the time to be with them.

You know, the most spiritual and authentic people I know in my life aren't from my church (with the exception of a few). I have found these precious people in the rooms of Narcotics Anonymous. When someone looks into my eyes and says "I love you," I know they mean it because it isn't generated out of this obligatory christian stance in which somewhere along the line we accepted we had to offer love, regardless of whether it was true or not. Their love is born of experience, born of walking together on a journey that few understand. They have no reason to say is unless it is the truth. This may sound terribly bitter, but I don't care. I'm exhausted from people who say they're my friends, who say they empathize with my issues, who say they're praying for me. Of the countless who say it, two people practice it. You know, Jesus didn't only pray for people. He walked with the one's who were hurting. He knelt beside them, hugged them, looked into their eyes and with every fiber of his being, offered himself. Who would have thought that the most love I receive and give is in a room full of addicts and junkies. I am home there. My walk with Christ isn't some pretty little poem or a watercolor picture on a Sunday School wall. It's in the pages and pages of journaling I do, it's in the telephone calls I give and receive with others that share similar experiences. It is marked by the hours spent with people who are hurting; demonstrated when they walk with me through my own hurts. It is hallowed in the dark rooms of small churches, where we gather to share and practice the greatest spiritual principle - unconditional love. And we don't do it anonymously. We talk loud, we cry loud, we love loud.

We don't get together once or twice a week in our Sunday best and lightly discuss spirituality. We huddle together everyday because our lives depend on it. We don't sit in our chairs and worry about niceties or lacing our conversations with indignant christian love. No, we curse, we yell if we need to, we gather around in a small circle and surrender our lives to a power greater than all of us. Note to the reader: if you're reading this and are just simply shocked that I use profanity, that I question God, that I have relationships outside of the christian comfort zone, you don't know me at all. If you think surrendering issues to God is done only in church or in a quiet prayer life, you are mistaken. Surrender, at least for me, is messy. It hurts, it's agonizing sometimes, but for me it is the only way to live a life rooted in victory. If you want to see Jesus, if you want to see the message of hope, if you want to see surrender tangibly take place, if you want to see a person dying to live - well, my home group meets seven days a week in a church on Hampden. Oh, and in case you've realized you don't know me, let me introduce myself - I'm Lisa and I'm an addict.