History, Engagement, and Recovery

 It's been a while.

So, over the last year and a half, I learned to walk again, decided to pursue my dreams, met someone special, got engaged, got disengaged, and quit my job.

I mean, obviously that's a brief version, but part of that journey revealed the vulnerability I show in this blog, and how it can be misused. For a month or so here, I've had it private for that reason.

Still, while people may see plenty of things about me which I might not want them to, I also get to see how they judge me earlier than I otherwise would.

I guess it's not a great practice: allowing others to judge quickly so I can do the same...

But I choose to boundary myself from those who judge so quickly and easily; I'm not perfect, and I know it. I have many things to improve in my life, and I'm working on it. If you see my flaws and want to walk away, do so; I'm not here to prove myself to you.

Blood's Blood

So, I realized something just now; my mom's sister has never been any part of my life; I'm pretty sure I've never met her.

Why do I call her my mother's sister? For that reason exactly; she doesn't have a relationship with me separate from her relationship with my mother, and that's sort of her implicit starting point; she's my mother's sister. But having a personal relationship with me, directly, individually, would mean that she was my aunt.

But she's not...at least not in that sense. I don't know. I'm making a point, don't get off track.

I think the same thing is applicable to my relationship with my heavenly Father, but it's not optional. I'm related to God by blood (so to speak) via Adam, my own parents, and everyone else biologically linked between Adam and I.

But having a relationship with God is more than that blood, it's Jesus' blood as well.

Jesus' blood is the relationship between God and I, and without it, I'm the least great grandson to a dust-made man made dust. Without his sacrifice and presence and relationship, I'm nothing like a son; I'm an alien; barely recognizable.

But it's not optional, God's relationship with me. His blood is my right by Christ's Christmas and Easter gift; his blood is the link between gracious Father and forgetful son never forgotten.

That's all I've got for you.

!Noah!

Seek First

I think one of the lies I've been telling myself or thinking, and which has been kind of running the show about how I think about life, is that some sacrifice is necessary on my part for God to be kind to me, for God to give me good things.

For God to fulfill the deepest longings of my heart.

But don't I have to, "seek first the kingdom of God," and "then all these things will be added to you"?

I mean, that does seem like it indicates that you need to do something to receive "these things," right?

On the other hand, I know that nothing God gives me can I ever earn. So, my best efforts to pursue him, to do devotions daily, to attend church regularly, to be in community, to build and show the fruits of the spirit...none of it *earns* God's pleasure or the gifts he ends up giving me.

I'm a sinner, so abundantly short of earning something from God that I can't even earn myself the right to live but for him being gracious and merciful first.

But where does "seeking first" come in? If I have to prioritize love for God in my life, do all the things that a good Christian would do, in order for God to love me in giving me good things, I'm *earning* that, right? Or do I have to pursue God at all?

I can't earn his love...it'll be given to me no matter what I do, but in response to that love, I choose to reply in love.

That's, I think, how Christianity is supposed to work.

But the way Jesus says it, it sounds like our efforts to seek him are casual of his providing all that we need. And that can't be; God isn't gracious or generous or kind based on our works, is he?

What am I missing here? Is this not a contradiction?


!Noah!

Devil's Tower, Mount Rushmore, and Hasty Retreat

Grandma and grandpa and I went to Devil's Tower after leaving Torrington, where we spent an hour or so.

I went ahead and hiked around the monument, taking a number of good photos, while Grandma and Grandpa stayed behind to check out the visitor's center and some less intense trails down below. Below are some photos I took on the way around.



I've tried to include some unusual views of the monument, because I believe it should be familiar by sight from the front.



Finally, before we left Devil's Tower, we took some photos of each other; the results are below.

We moved on from Devil's Tower to Rapid City, staying there for the night. As we were leaving for dinner, the wind almost picked Grandma up and send her right home to Minneapolis, but we managed to catch her first. We ate at Ruby Tuesday, and while we were waiting for our order, Grandma and Grandpa took a selfie together, which was probably the cutest thing I've ever seen. I don't have my hands on the photo itself, so you're not seeing it now, but I'll see if I can get my hands on it, if only to see it myself.

After Rapid City, we headed down to Mount Rushmore. I'd thought it'd be a bit more relaxed of a route, but it turned out to be pretty winding, which was probably not the easiest thing for Grandma to handle. She and I ended up splitting the driving load today, though, which helped a bit.

We arrived and we approached the monument. It was fairly cloudy, so it wasn't the best of times to visit, but we took photos and enjoyed some hot chocolate there regardless.

We got a group picture courtesy of a European traveler...

...and eventually we moved on from there and headed north and then back east. We ended up in Mitchell, South Dakota, and are staying at a Holiday Inn for the night. For dinner, we had Fajitas for 2 at El Columpio, which was some of the best Mexican food I've ever tasted. It was much more than we needed, as well, so some amount of it will be eaten at a later time.

While the trip has been enjoyable on the whole and was a delight at times for all three of us, Grandpa's leg pain has remained throughout the trip, and he believes further trips, domestic or international, will be out of the question, at least as long as his leg pain remains.

As for me, while I've taken great comfort in the times when I've been able to serve as a safe driver so my grandparents could rest, it's been a struggle for me, as well. If I let Grandpa drive, Grandma tends to distract him with comments and questions, while Grandma on the whole is a better situation. My choice, then, since Torrington, is to prefer myself driving as much as possible, and letting Grandma drive as much as is necessary beyond that.

We might have been able to come back to Minneapolis late tonight (Saturday), but we would have been in around 10, and I would have been driving about five hours longer than was likely safe, to say nothing of the additional stress on Grandma and Grandpa of driving another several hours with minimal rest. No, stopping here in Mitchell was a good thing. The fajitas were absolutely spectacular, and El Columpio has my highest recommendation if you're ever in Mitchell and want something to eat.

We've visited a lot of strange and interesting places along the way, but I think El Columpio is the best restaurant we've been to.

We should be back in the cities around lunchtime if all goes well tomorrow. Thanks for reading!

Noah

To Torrington

So, today Grandpa, Grandma, and I woke up in the Holiday Inn and Suites in Torrington, Wyoming. We travelled from Minneapolis beginning late Tuesday morning, and we've been on the road since then until yesterday, early afternoon.

We're here for Grandpa's 70th high school reunion, but the unfortunate fact of the matter is that we don't know where it'll be, when it'll be, or if it's even happening at all. Grandpa neglected to bring his invitation along, so we only really have a couple things to go on: the woman who was setting up the reunion and sent the invitation (I think), the high school itself (they might know about reunions, I assume), and Grandpa's fantastic idea of driving up and down main street, shaking locals by the shoulders until we get the information we're looking for.

How could we fail.

I took a badly-needed shower last night, and this morning while trying to get my hair to behave, realized it's time for another haircut. The last one I got was pretty excellent, actually, so I think I'll try to go the same place and see the same stylist...but that'll have to wait until I get home.

Grandpa tells me that the woman organizing this works at a museum locally.

This is the route we've taken so far, basically Google Maps' recommendation except for going south on 35W (spent about 20-30 minutes in traffic) and taking a detour yesterday afternoon into Scott's Bluff in Nebraska. We took some lovely shots, including the below, which Grandpa graciously took of me.

At this point, the plan is to visit the Homesteader's Museum in Torrington, where Grandpa says "they should know if there's something going on." Here's the Google street view of that location:

I guess if we're able to find something there, we'll be able to go there and see what we see.

It's a bit unfortunate that we didn't plan this a bit better, to know where we were going and what we wanted to see, but our plan initially was to see the Badlands, the Black Hills, Custer State Park, and Mount Rushmore on the way out, but it seems more likely that we'll see those things on the way back, likely with a stop in Custer or its State Park, possibly in a nice lodge or cabin up there.

Somehow I caught up on my devotions this morning and got in my physical therapy exercises last night, so hopefully I can keep up with all of that. My appointment the morning we left added a couple exercises onto my regimen and they're daily instead of every other day, which is a little more difficult to work in.

Here's a shot of Grandpa on Scott's Bluff.

Thanks for reading; I'll try to update as soon as I can.

Pray for Grandma and Grandpa, they're doing alright, but a trip like this is no longer easy at their age.

Noah

In the year of our Lord 2018

I've been thinking for a while that I'd like to write a bit about what happened in 2018 in my life. I thought it would be helpful for me to have a bit of perspective on the things God's done in my life this past year. I'll start with something I've told a lot of people as a result of trying to pursue a few girls via dating apps and sites this past year.

One of the questions I'd ask these girls (obviously proud of my originality and depth) was, "What's something important you learned this past year?"

My answer (when they inevitably turned the question back to me) had a lot to do with me realizing that I wasn't to blame for everything that went wrong in my life. Relationships have pretty invariably not worked out, not started, not lasted, or just plain exploded for me, and not just outside of this past year.

Relationships, I don't know why 

They never work out and they make you cry 

But the guy that says goodbye to you 

Is out of his mind

-- Griffin House

In conjunction with the above realization, I've begrudgingly realized that I can take responsibility for these things I blame myself for, but without blaming myself for them once things go badly.

As a result, I spent a lot of time on what can only by unreasonable charity be called introspection, and which more honestly equates to emotional self-harm.

"I'm incapable of friendship."
...because I've long given up hope that I'll have friendships that last and plumb the depths that I truly yearn for.

"I'm not worth her."
...because I'm not sure whether she likes me.

"Why would anyone like me?"
You get the picture, and with any luck this will be relatable.

Relatable...I'd say that's another way I've grown this past year. I've realized that every assumption I make that I'm like or unlike the rest of humanity is too quick, too unlikely. There are a lot of ways I'm like the rest of humanity, and a lot that I'm unlike them, but making assumptions about those kinds of things made me impatient, callous, and thoughtless.

I believed toward the beginning of this year that I had committed an unforgivable offense; I don't say sin, because I couldn't easily pin down what exactly I'd done. It was a difficult relationship issue, exacerbated by history I didn't know and myself that I did.

But I was forgiven. For a few precious days, I knew with crystal clarity that God's forgiveness was greater than all my sin, and that no amount of my failure or insufficiency would be too much.

Perhaps forgetfulness is too much for God's grace.

Another epiphany I've had is that because my memory for God's work in my own life is so often forgotten, I should probably make use of the stories and memories that do stick, regardless of where they come from.

I guess I chose to limit my pool of evidence for God's love for me to the things he's done in my own life; and while those things are not insignificant, I'm well-equipped to forget them before God makes the effort to shake me by the shoulders and prove himself again. Oh, how blind, how forgetful am I.

I believe in 2018, I did learn to be a better friend. However, I learned it by pursuing a girl who ultimately didn't have any interest in me. I spent time and effort being there for her, caring about her struggles, praying for her daily, eating with her, being around her, being attentive and thoughtful.

I maintain that during this period of time, I grew more as a person (and was aware of that growth) more than I've ever grown before. I spent more time in God's word in 2018 than I had likely for the last ten years of my life.

And among the more impressive feats that I accomplished this past year, I maintained a good daily regimen and routine before, up to, and beyond the time she rejected me. This didn't strike me as impressive at the time; it took the perspective of a good friend to make me understand that I was feeling pain strong enough that getting out of bed was nothing short of Herculean.

Don't think I didn't know I was in pain; I knew. I was frustrated, confused, and above all, in agony. I recognize that comparing physical and emotional pain doesn't really make any sense, but I would say that despite breaking my femur about ten years ago, I've felt nothing more painful than what I felt being rejected this past year. I was in pain for months, and I likely spilt more tears in 2018 than I have in the last five or ten years combined as well.

Despite this, for several months following her rejection, I kept waking up early in the morning, exercising, cleaning my body, getting out the door and to work on time, somehow eating healthy at the same time, and much or all of that has been maintained, in some measure or another, to this day.

That isn't me; I can't even imagine taking credit for that. I was too blind to even realize how exceptional it was. Previous times in my life, I would have turned to my various addictions to allay my pain, but in this case, those turns were few and far between.

I'm writing this down in part because of what I mentioned earlier; I'm bad at remembering God's grace to me. And what I'm saying is, God has been abundantly graceful and generous and kind and has even given me insight into my own growth...at the same time.

I'm more confident than I've been before, despite a crucible of my own making (see what I mean about blaming myself?), more competent than I've ever been before, more capable than before.

God is good, and I mean not to forget it, if I can help it.

Obviously this isn't exhaustive, but it's a thousand words, so you're probably tired of this wilting word salad anyway.

I've been journaling a bit recently, and I think there may be days when you will see my journal, and other days when I'll write separately from my journal, but I hope to continue the cogitation; I hope you'll continue reading.


!Noah!

God With Us

In my life, it's become a pretty solid habit to be skeptical of people and things as a matter of course, and if for no other reason than to offset my propensity toward gullibility, it's a good habit to have.

However, it's been used often enough by the Devil to bring into question God's love for me, his grace toward me, and his will for my good. I think in my head that the thoughts in my head have nothing to do with him or his desire for my sanctification.

Be there any goodness in my thoughts and actions?

Why, it must be my "good Christian upbringing," and an "innate favor toward honesty," of course. A moment of generosity or kindness, hospitality or forgiveness...

Ah, the character of Noah. What merit, what heart, what unending patience.

Hogwash.

What folly that I should think such high thoughts of myself. So many of the confessions we say in church sound so pompous and foolish to me as I say them, but perhaps if I weren't a pompous, arrogant fool it wouldn't sound so.

It would do me good to see God's hand more. My cynicism assures me time and time again that God doesn't do that sort of thing, he isn't really near or in me...no, it's all in your head, perhaps in your heart too, but God?

This habitual cynicism bears down upon the miracles of today, as well. I grew up Lutheran and Presbyterian, and never had much faith for miraculous healing. I remember once cautioning a friend that one couldn't always believe what one read or heard from friends of faith and belief, change and healing.

None of this to say we should have minds free from skepticism; skepticism is extremely valuable; it is the darker side of the coin that is discernment. I'm not sure what I'd call the other side of the coin, but as is often the case, the analogy will break down if I spend too much time on it, so I'll pass on.


All this to say, I must remember that God IS present, he IS powerful, and he IS changing me, despite my best efforts and without immediate regard for my own comfort or understanding.

The goodness in me, generosity in me, the hope in me, the love in me, the grace in me, whatever good I have or show or am...

All is not only owed to Christ, but owned by him, and proceeds to purchase souls to glorify him and love him more.

Unfortunately yours,


!Noah!

Blockhead Sans Belonging

I do not belong here.

That's what's been knocking around in my head for the last several months. I got a job back in April which (for the last two to three months) has put me in the company of friends between the hours of 4 PM and midnight, in a sufficient but not extravagant kitchen somewhere in Dinkytown.

I've known since before I got the job that I wouldn't enjoy it. I was hoping, at the time, that I'd stop cooking and start serving within a few months, something I, despite being an introvert, have shown some aptitude for. Not so.

I don't belong there. I love my coworkers and have only rarely resented their company, my managers are between neutral and decidedly familial. I have often enjoyed parts of my job, but as a whole it's something I desperately want to put behind me.

The same applies to my childhood home. I'm 23 at present, going on 24, as a pair of young lovebirds might say, and haven't the means I think I need to enter a new stage of life.

In case I found cause, at this point, to revive my efforts, motivations, and pursuits, I've had a number of personal defeats as of late; rejection, temptation to addiction, solitude simultaneously excessive and insufficient.

So here I am, screaming unto the night. And why?

Why?


!Noah!