There, I just saved my entire journal onto my watch HDD space, I burned the paper journal and erased the whole thing off my computer. From now on I'll just write it on my Palm Pilot with the expandi-keyboard, and transfer it every week or so to my watch. This is my new watch with a rubber outer shell, stainless steel shock-proof case, double thickness, with shielding -- if I could swim, supposedly I could take it a mile down and it wouldn't stop working. It's great, because I can store more than two DVD's worth of data, and with a wireless bud I can listen to music or even plug into Internet radio. Sorry, I'm not bragging, I just love this watch, it's my new toy. Plus, I feel better if my journal isn't anywhere someone can just stumble on it, it's just here in my watch, with a password, so even if someone steals my watch, no one can read my journal!
***
I'd love to ride a bicycle, I mean just tear down some wilderness path, maybe jump over a rattlesnake, or ride a log over a crevass.
I'd love to take a shower, I can only imagine what it would be like to stand up and feel the needles of hot water running down my body, to lean up against the tile and feel the water on my back.
I'd love to wake up some morning and go through the whole day and not feel any pain (okay, so there are times when the pain in my back is slight, hardly able to call it pain, but then my feet ache, or I have a migraine).
I'd love to jog on the beach, sweating, running pell mell near the water, feel the sand between my toes (without falling face-forward to get the sand up my nose and between my teeth), and feel the wind blow on my face (without setting off an asthma attack), feel the sun glow off my rippling muscles (without a sunburn, my skin is too white, and even five minutes in the sun can set me up for a major peeling).
Maybe I should just wish for a trip to the beach (that's probably more realistic, don't you think?). I've never seen the beach, I mean not at an actual ocean. Some big lakes, but I don't think it's the same thing. Just landlocked here in the Rocky Mountains, I might never see the sea.
***
You know, I've been seeing these TV spots for Jehovah's Army, I mean incessant. Nonstop blaring from the radio. Glaring ads in the newspaper. A three-page spread in the Yellow Pages.Would Jesus do it this way?They are all muttering about a Christian America. About it being our right. Our heritage. That we have to take over. That it is our duty. That our opposition better bow out, or else.Would Jesus do it this way?Onward Christian Soldiers. Jehovah's Army. Conquering God. Conquering Christians.This is a scary time I live in.
***
I can't help but think that these really are the end-times. Really and truly. But that it's not panning out the way we've been told it would.I'm not talking about what the Bible says.I'm talking about what all the people have been yammering about. First they start out by saying, what if this could happen. What if this is what the Bible meant?And then it quickly goes to I think this is what the Bible meant, I think this is what is happening.Pretty fast they say, I got a revelation. God told me I was right. The Holy Ghost should know better than anyone, because He inspired the Bible, so this IS true.Then it snaps to yes, this is what the Bible says. Can't you see it? It says it, and if you don't agree with me, then you are a heretic.The logical conclusion is, God is going to burn you, like forever, you heretic lying bastard, filthy twister of scripture, and since we are little gods, maybe we should burn you, like first, before God gets His chance.Like that radio guy says, what's this world coming to?(That's what I'd like to know.)
***
Last year when Josh and I were teaching Sunday School, they actually started a fight, I mean pushing and everything, Mrs. Mabel got knocked over a chair!Why?Because Joshua said, in his oafish way, that we had been studying the Bible, him and me, and that we'd been studying grace, and how it was starting to look like, I mean from studying the Bible, from reading what the Bible actually says (what the Bible really, literally SAYS), that God isn't going to torture people forever.From what we've studied, there WILL be fire, real literal fire. But it will be so hot that it will immediately wipe sin off the face of the universe. WHOOSH! Vamoose. El-gone-oh.I know that's not the Baptist stance, I mean any Baptist subsect that you can find, I mean we teach big time that you gonna burn, suckah, since you didn't believe like me, you gonna burn FOREVER. Screaming. Eternal torment. I know what we teach.But the Bible seems to say something else.The pastor talked to us after, he said if we wanted to stick in the game until the final whistle, we better stick with the playbook. No loose cannons, he said.He actually said that what we were finding in the Bible WAS HERETICAL (did I spell that right? who cares). That we might as well join a cult if we were going to start believing in a "nice God."I'm telling you he actually said all this.And did me and Joshua get mad and storm outta there?Nope. We said sorry. We bowed and kissed his holy ring. And we stopped talking about it in Sunday School (we actually were suspended from teaching for a whole month! Pastor Reggie said it was to give the people a chance to cool off).It's surprising what the Bible actually says, when you read it. It's a wonder that there is even any denominations, it's so clear.Problem is, people don't read the Bible. They trust in a higher power, meaning someone smarter than them. A deacon, an elder, the pastor -- maybe even a BISHOP (wow, that IS high and mighty).Us, the guys reading the Bible, what it actually says?Shut up. Toe the line. Don't make waves.
***
Do you ever feel like you're going crazy? Do you ever wish it were true?
***
Lately I feel like when I pray that there may be no one listening. This is the first time in my life that it has felt this way. Always, even at the worst of times, in my own personal holocaust, I always KNEW God was there, grieving for me......now, I don't know. To hear the nonsense that spouts from Bobby Cilantor's mouth, utter gibberish, and yet drooling people who believe that they are following Christ applaud and raise their hands to what they believe is god. And this man is going to run for president? And these people are going to elect him?How absurd the world has become. And could there truly be a God in such an absurd world? Wouldn't that mean that He is an absurd God?I don't really believe any of that, of course. But it is how I FEEL. And the "anointed ones," they say that we should FEEL, not THINK. They say that "feeling" is the real thing, it is of the spirit, whereas "thinking" is of the flesh.Can I survive in a damned world like this?Is this hell?Did I somehow miss out on Truth, the thing I've always pursued, was I always wrong, was I born into hell?What if that's what all of this is? Hell.And all of us, the denizens of hell, we are gibbering about God, and the other denizens in the flames are gibbering about how there is NO god. And meanwhile all of us are separated from God, completely separated, for eternity.Those idiots of us here in hell that believe there is still a chance for us, we pray and we cry out God God God -- but nobody's home, nobody's listening.My spine isn't helping tonight. Either my knees. Further proofs of my hell theory. Wait, I have such extensive experience in this hell theory that it has to be considered a hypothesis, not a theory.Michael's guess.Michael's hell.I should just leave. Just start walking. Head out into the night. Forget Joshua. The perfect church. God. Hell. Everything.What hope is there?
***
Sorry about that. I didn't really mean any of that. I just felt bad last night. Really bad.Okay, I'll admit WHY (and you are going to think I'm completely stupid).At the Coffee _______ two nights ago, I saw Rachel talking to some good-looking guy, she must have been on her break. He was some TALL guy. With MUSCLES. Perfectly good working legs, and a spine that moves like human spines are supposed to.The guy literally towered over her. And she was, likke, itt was sick discusting -- I can't write I was so upset, I mean I'm not supset now but the other night when she was just tstinr ou into his face, all cow-eyed, and he was all Adonis Greek God just smirking down at this little bit of fluffy hfumanity, and I saw her look over at me -- I SWEAR THIS IS TRUE.rACHEL looked right at me and she blinked, and then she looke dback at the goodlucking goyr and just turned on the high beams, I mean I thought Julia Roberts could smile, but Rachel haddit onhiighbeams it is smacking me sicko weith her and I ham notgt bad I sweart tit...
***
Wow. That's embarassing. I guess I was still upset. I couldn't get out of bed that day and thought I was going to write, you know, about spiritual stuff, but I just started squirting out all this poison about Rachel, and what right do I have to be concerned -- JEALOUS (there, I admitted it!) . . . what right do I have to be jealous?NONE.She's not even my friend, let alone my girlfriend. Or my WIFE.But it really burned me up the way she was talking to that guy, big model looking freak, and she looks at me and then smiles at this guy, moves in close to him, acts like she's throwing punches at him, and he's......he's . . . GIGGLING.And he starts tickling her.I walked out and I swear I'm not going back.I'm not upset. Yes. I was upset THEN.But not now.It's like she was trying to meke em jelous it eallly dsemd like that i know whe sawn't but......oh I giee vup.
***
I could die. My life is turning into some tawdry soap opera.That big fat jerk Joshua was going to the Coffee ______ the last week and Rachel kept asking him where I was, and Joshua says he told her that I was never going back, and he told her that he didn't know why......AND DO YOU KNOW WHAT SHE TOLD HIM? SHE SAID: "TELL MICHAEL THAT MY FRIEND TIM IS GAY."
***
OKay, two days have passed. I'm calm. I can talk about this stuff. Just a little.Why would she say that?Because she was trying to make me jealous.Why would she try to make me jealous?Because she knows I'm in love with her.It's all a big big big big big big big FAT joke to Rachel. She's laughing at me.I'm a joke, a sick little twisted midget joke to her, and she probalby tellzsall her fiends about men that I this circus freak iss in love withhers and they laugh at me.This is hell.
***
Okay, I've made up my mind. I am going to the Coffee _______ tonight, and I can tell when I mention any of this to Joshua he tries to suppress giggles, too bad it's not winter yet, because then he might just slip on ice.But if I don't go, it'll make me look even worse than I am. I can't believe she'd say that to Joshua, to tell me that her friend is gay (why in the world would I need to know that? does she think I'M GAY?) (well, I guess she wouldn't be the first) (but I'm not), a guy named Tim, what kind of name is that, three letters . . . T . . . I . . . M . . . ? It's like someone doesn't know how to spell "time."But I'm going. I haven't had a mocha in a whole week (well, except for the three or four that Joshua brought me, but it hardly counts without the splendid ambience of the Coffee ______) (ha ha).From this moment on I do not even notice the existence of women. Nada. Zilch. Zip. Zero. Period. Even women under the height of four foot ten. Nope, not even them.
***
Later tonight. I feel stupid (what's new).Tonight was Rachel's night off (subconsciously, I must have known that, I mean she always has Friday night off, sometimes I don't even bother showing up on Friday night). I was actually feeling fairly heroic, marching in there (okay, so I was hobbling on two canes) as if I were Clint Eastwood. And she wasn't even there.Still, the mocha was really good tonight, I'm glad it was Midge that made it. It even tasted better (and she's a six-foot blonde!).
***
Something terrible happened today. I don't even know if I can write about it.Brought up the past. Made me think of Kimmy.Nothing unusual, I guess, not in my life.Joshua dropped me off in front of the Post Office. I had to mail some stuff today, and pay some of our box fees. Joshua was doing his "cruising around the block" thing that I hate so much. And I was coming out of the Post Office, and this girl, she must have been a high school girl, she's coming up the steps, and there are three big jock type high school guys behind her, like bodyguards.She stopped, staring at me.I stopped. I mean, I didn't know what to do. I was terrified.I've never seen such hatred in a human being's eyes, never, in my whole life, and I've looked into some of the emptiest "soul windows" imaginable.We were about four feet apart, and she was pretty tall. Her goons gathered about her, staring at me, but I couldn't look away from her.I suppose she was beautiful, but she was surrounded with halo of pain. She had white skin, I guess it was that "goth" make-up (or maybe she's an albino), and her eyes were circled in dark shadows (I hope that was make-up), and her lips shone with wet black lipstick. She was all dressed in black. Her bodyguards wore lettermen jackets (I don't really remember, but there were little steel nibs and numbs sticking out of her face and head everywhere, I don't know if they were piercings or just some kind of metal decals glued to her face -- but it was inhuman, ugly, terrifying)."You are the most beautiful man I've ever seen," she said. Of course she was being sarcastic."For a fairy midget," one of the jocks said, but I couldn't look away from her.I felt like she was about to stab me, or shoot me, or just reach out and put her thumb on me and smear me on the Post Office steps."You just make me want to weep," she said, and she sneered at me -- maybe it was a smile, but it was such a twisted expression that it looked like a Doberman about to bite me."Come on, Janine, forget the gimp," one of the jocks said, and he must have pushed her, hard, because her body flew forward, and she was only about 6 inches from me.It happened that fast, like she teleported up to my face. I couldn't breathe. I don't think I've ever been so terrified in my life (I shouldn't write this here, but I think I might have wet myself, just a little bit)."You epitomize every man: beautiful face, but worthless below the neck," she said, and it was almost as if she were projecting the words into my head, her lips hardly moved at all. Finally her eyes moved away from me, such dead eyes, and I could breathe, and she did some kind of kick at one of her bully boys, and he staggered back holding his face. I saw blood. Other than in movies, I don't even know how that is possible, the kind of supple movement she made."All men are the same," she said, as if she were confiding in me. "You just happen to wear the truth on the outside. You're probably the only physically honest man I've ever met."This is when the terrible thing happened. Well, the first of two terrible things.She put one of her hands on me. It didn't seem real. It was the hand of a dead thing. Like an ice sickle tracing designs on my cheek (later, in Joshua's truck, I was sure my cheek must be bleeding, but it wasn't . . . numb, yes, but no blood).Then slowly, slowly, she bent toward me. My heart nearly exploded.And she kissed me on the forehead. It had to be just about the worst thing that has ever happened to me in my adult life (like I'm really an adult!).It was at that moment that I thought of my little sister. That this was a segment sliced from Kimmy's life. Kimmy was so much like this the last time I saw her, when one of her horrible men things was moving her stuff out of our house and she said those . . . things to me.What had happened to this high school girl in her bizarre garb, to make her be this way? It had to be something amazing in its horror, something like what happened to me (that made me the way I am, just as horrible as the horrible girl). A normal girl couldn't approach an adult this way, say these kinds of things to me, then kiss me on the forehead (when I got in Joshua's truck it was probably ten minutes before I thought to wipe at my forehead, it had a gooey black shape like a bat right in the middle -- I couldn't but help think that THIS might be the mark of the beast).And what terrible things would this girl do to somebody because of what her life had become? She is the kind of female that grinds males into powder before inhaling them. Men are her drug.It makes me wonder about just how much choice we have in our lives -- I mean, how much choice did I have? Aren't I a mess as a result of what was done to me as a child? Could I have turned out less twisted than I am (and I'm not referring to my spine)? I am a messed up human being, I admit it. But I didn't want to be this way. I don't want to feel this way, think this way.What about this girl? Did she choose to be this way?Then this expensive Lexus SUV pulled up in front of the Post Office with some handsome blond man driving, and "Janine" (what the boy called her) turned and ran (she reminded me of a deer in flight, a gazelle, some kind of fleet animal racing toward the headlights) and opened the door and they were driving away, the big high school jocks cursing and calling and swearing, and me, I stood rooted, unable to take my eyes away, because she was watching me as the Lexus pulled away, she never looked away from me either, and again I had to wonder if this was some time travel trick, that this could be Kimmy about ten years ago (and where IS my baby sister today? is she even alive? I pray for her every night, and worry about her every second, and hope someday, someway to see her again, even if she says the same horrible things to me, she's the only person in the world that is actually OF me, part of me, my flesh and blood).Maybe I'm drinking too much coffee.I couldn't sleep last night.
***
I dreamed of Kimmy. (this is about three days after the weird girl) I dreamed she was running. She looked like an antelope. Maybe it wasn't Kimmy. Maybe it was the weird girl. But it was Kimmy.And men were chasing her. Or maybe they weren't men. They were tall and skinny and gray, and they had huge eyes.Like the way the conspiracy nuts describe the "grays," except these were obviously humans, or at least in human shape, wearing business suits, gray business suits.They had absolutely no expression in their faces, in their eyes, no emotion. They ran like automatons. (sp?) Creepy stiff mannequins (sp?) chasing Kimmy.I don't know, does this symbolize the way men have always used Kimmy? Or was it Kimmy using men? Or a vicious parasitic cycle of abuse and use?Or was this soemthng about the weird girl Janine? Genine?What was she running from. What was she running to?The guy driving the Lexus, he was handsome, sleek, obviously rich, stylish blond hair -- what was he?Maybe that was her father, but then again, he wasn't looking at the weird girl that way.I know it all happened in a flash, and now I'm adding to my memories (or amhy I extracting more details from the foggy and brief memory?) -- it's like she turned away from me in slow motion, after she kissed me (except it couldn't be called a kiss -- I think I can honestly say I've nver been kissed by a female) and she was wasding through thick heavy syrup, and there was an ocean of syrup, blue syrup, and there was a sleek golden shark swimming in the syrup, and she knew the shark was going to consume her, but she swam toward it anyway, and the shark winked and smirked and motioned with its fin for her to enter his rich clam shell -- in that brief instant, that's what I seemed to see, the weird girl racing, a gazelle, a deer sloshing through the water in slow motion toward the sly teeth of the shark . . . that was not her father, that was a predator, a predator through and through.The weird girl might be bad, but the shark in the Lexus was pure evil.If it all happened again, and I had a gun in my pocket, I would have shot that guy in the Lexus, and I doubt it would have been a sin.Of course I wouldn't know how to hold a gun, and the noise would scare me so bad I'd probably have a heart attack even before I heard the bang. And even if that blond shark was hooked up to a machine and all I had to do was push a button to kill him, I wouldn't be able to do it.I'm talking here like I think I'm some kind of psychologist or something. I don't even pretend that I know what I'm talking about. I'm just trying to figure things out, I want to understand, I wish I could make some kind of sense out of people like my sister Kim, or the weird girl, the blond shark in the Lexus, but I know I'll never GET it, I'll never know, I'll never understand.Maybe if I could understand things would be better. But maybe it would even be worse, to know the why and the how, maybe it would be tougher to accept things, to live in this world.
***
I just read over my last two weeks of this journal and I can't say there's any reason for me to be keeping this, but then again, I think I've crossed some kind of line. I don't know if I could stop writing now even if I TRIED.It's like it's part of the factory, hooked up to my subconscious mind. It's a messy part of the factory, where all the garbage is spread out on the floor, and I'm wandering through it, picking here and there, tossing some things into big black bags, and putting other stuff up on shelves (the shelves all seem to be crooked, and much of the stuff I put up there comes sliding off, back into the mess on the floor).What I think I was wrestling with when I was writing and thinking so much about the weird girl, I think I was thinking about the perspective of eternity. How yes, this life seems worthless, painful, indiscriminately cruel and grinding......but I also believe that there will be an eternity, that we are going to "step outside of time" (have I written about this already, in this journal? I think about it all the time) -- that God created time, and He is outside of time, and he can enter that bubble of time any time He chooses, but we are locked inside this bubble of time, we get our little 78 years of fame (life), and then it's over for us, and this can be 78 years of torment, pain, and SUFFERING -- but when we step outside of the bubble of time to join God in eternity, outside of time, this 78 years will seem like a joke, a bad memory, a blink of time.We will become real. We are puppets now, pulling our own strings. In some ways we choose to allow other people to pull our strings. We hand the strings over to someone else, or because we're locked up in our pain we don't even know that we're handing the strings to someone else, we just do it in a knee-jerk reaction kind of way.But outside of the bubble of time, we will be REAL. We will be like Him. He will change us.And then 32 million years from now, I'll be walking on my perfect legs, maybe I'll even run a bit (32 miles in 32 minutes) -- and I'll think back, to the bubble of time, when I was a puppet. And as I stretch my muscles out in my glorious body, I'll smile and glory in the absense of strings on my arms and legs. And these years of pain I've endured? The ugliness (the man without pants) and the fear and the smell of urine -- it won't even be a half a second in comparison to the 32 million years that I've lived with lungs without asthma, with a perfectly straight spine, with no arthritis in my joints, in almost all of my bones, no degenerative bone disease.A couple of doctors have told me frankly that if I live to be forty years of age, I'll be pretty lucky. No, they didn't say it that way. They used words like prognosis and "relative discomfort" and "termination of life." What is that, about 16 years to go?That sounds like 16 years of sitting in an LA traffic jam (not that I've ever experienced an LA traffic jam, but I've seen some movies). I'm not worried about it being enough time, I'm worried more about it being too much time.But then again, I don't want to die. I love to see Joshua every day (I know I don't talk that way, it always sounds like I'm miffed with him, and that's true), but he is my brother. And I shouldn't admit it, but I love to be in the same room with Rachel. I look forward to that (she might not know how I feel about her, and of course it is all impossible because she is so tall compared to me) -- it's a treat in my life, to be able to glance over to the counter and see her working there, see the sweep of her hair.And I love the work that Joshua and I do. I love our website "Your Sheep in Wolf's Clothing." It's good work. The Truth business. No, we don't know everything, we don't have ALL the Truth, we're learning every day, figuring things out -- but in some small ways we're helping people to know that there are very bad people out there teaching poor Christians untruths, all to steal their money, and in some cases to lead people into worshipping a whole different christ, a completely different jesus.Yes, this life is tough. It is hard work. It is a job. In some ways, God hangs us up like a punching bag and a whole bunch of bad people get in line to punch us.But by enduring, by taking those punches without whining and complaining, we're doing our job, and doing it well.And compared to 32 million years, 78 years (or 40 years) as a punching bag is not such a very much. In fact, when you look at it that way, faithfully serving as God's punching bag, we can almost be excited about this life. Yeah, we'll do it, for this short time we've been appointed, and we'll be smiling punching bags. Let them hit us. Bring on the pain. Come on asthma and arthritis, you dirty "A" words you (why I otta!) -- I'm here. I won't complain. I'll smile. Hit me.
***
I'm afraid of the phone. There. I admitted it. I feel better.
***
I don't know why I wrote that last bit, about the phone. Yes, it's true, but I don't know why I wrote it down. I'm not really afraid of the phone, like I think it's going to chase me around the house, it nipping at my heels like a psychotic chiuhahua (sp? yikes, that's almost as hard to spell as diahreah, diarreah, diahrreah -- I can't believe I'm spelling out such a horrendous word [diahreah, not chiuhahuah] -- as you can tell, I'm not a hot speller, but Joshua's worse than me, but probably if I misspelled all yucky words, it would be easier for me to actually say them, spell them, like Coffee _____, if I spelled it like Coffee Dmup I wouldn't mind spelling it), what in the world was I talking about?Okay, being afraid of the phone. You don't really know who is on the other side. Even the video phone that's in the kitchen, even when someone is using their video phone, and you talk, you don't really know if that's them, who they say it is, with all the virtual programs now, people are actually using the Virtual Phone Talker, you get a canned assortment of "personalities" to talk for you, sexy women, handsome men -- the telemarketers always use a "trustable" older man with glasses and a big moustache.But the phone rings, or when you have it on voice option it starts yelling "Somebody is calling you, please answer the phone." This piece of equipment is making demands. And you are compelled to stop whatever you're doing and walk across the room and pick up, and it could be anybody, it could be good news, but most likely it is bad news (maybe someone died, maybe someone is sick, maybe it's the IRS and you have to give back a whole bunch of money that you owe -- okay, so I don't really have an income, so I don't officially pay taxes, but you get the gist, whatever is coming over the phone is usually not something you want to hear, at least in my experience).But Joshua takes all my phone calls, those that voicemail doesn't screen out for us. We've got the kind of voicemail that records both at the telephone company AND plays on the speakers from our phones.Anybody can reach out and touch you. That scares me. I'm a mess, I know, I admit it, I'm afraid of everything. I think I've recorded that before. Scary movies, nightmares, the Postman, what might they put in your food at a restaurant, what if there is something deadly on your mail, everything, literally everything, but the telephone is always there, and it is always intrusive. I hate to talk on the phone.I refuse to talk on the phone. Shoot me first. I don't even apologize about it.Then there are the "silent" phone calls. You sense someone is there. You always know when someone is really there, just sitting there, calling you, and they're not saying anything, they're just THERE (and it could be anyone), and they are connected to YOU. You don't ask for it, it could be anyone in the world, and they have the ability to connect to you, regardless of your will, your choice, your desires.I get those calls all the time. The speakers click on after the ring, and there is nobody there. Except that you DO know someone is there. And they are connected to me, it could be anyone, the most horrible person you could ever imagine -- or maybe it is the person you'd most wish to connect to, the one you fantasize about -- but which one is it? It drives me crazy.Sometimes I'm almost certain it is Kimmy, reaching out, from some dark place. Other times I think it must be that psychotic blond guy that ran forward and killed Joshua (or waas that ME?) (or wait, what about the blond shark in the Lexus -- what is it about me and blond guys, will one kill ME?). But somebody, for some reason, is calling here and not talking.Boy I'm babbling.
***
Dreamed about her last night. It was terrifying.Then I have to ask myself, is it possible to sin while you're asleep?
***
IT WAS FANTASTIC!I stumbled out of bed this morning, a two-cane day, and found Joshua face-down in the carpet. I thought he was dead.Then he rolled over and told me that God had talked to him, God dropped him flat on his face.He admitted to me that he had been doubting. Everything. Is there a God? Are all Christian churches corrupt? Is there a good church?I couldn't tell him, at least not then, that I had been thinking all the same things, and that is probably one of the reasons this journal has been such a mess. I mean, I wasn't even admitting IN HERE, where no one can see!I wasn't even admitting it to myself.Then again, you look at the people, you can't see God. So stop looking at the people!God told Joshua to be patient. That He will lead us to where we need to be, when the time is right. That there is a good church, and that it is hidden from us!God told Joshua that He's sending someone to us, someone that is going to ask us questions, and that these questions will make us angry, and that it is okay for us to get angry, but that we shouldn't sin.All of that sounds like God to me. Mysterious. Nothing self-serving on Joshua's part. And I know Joshua, he wouldn't lie, he'd rather die that presumptiously claim God told him something!I can honestly say that I have never been so excited in my life! I can't wait to meet the person!Joshua says he doesn't know if it is a woman or a man (I hope it is not a woman, that would freak me out to much, I probably couldn't get mad at a woman, no matter what kind of questions she asked).Sure, possibly Joshua had some kind of brain discombobulation or something, maybe it was a hiccup in his brain, a bit of undigested potato -- still, if it can make this kind of change in him, I think it ranks right up there with Scrooge and his spirits.Now everyone I see, I'm going to think maybe it is the person sent by God.
***
I'm palm PCing this right now, so please excuse the slowness of how this reads! But I just had to jot this down. We are at Taco Bell, and there was this odd guy in line, a red-haired guy with a huge adam's apple, and a little red moustache -- he kept staring at us, I could have told Joshua that he was only staring because I'm a shorty and Joshua is a big beanpole giant......but Josh, of course, thinks that THIS is the person sent by God! So he leans over, right there in line, and does this terrible stage whisper: "Hey, do you have any questions? Don't worry if we get mad, you just go ahead and ASK!"The poor guy gaped at Joshua (whose head is practically touching the ceiling), then turned paler than I've ever seen anyone turn before (you could say it was a whiter shade of pale), and he turned around and marched out.I'm laughing right now, I can't help it. Poor Joshua just keeps muttering and shaking his head.
***
We've been searching for the Perfect Church for a long time. I forget the number, but it was either seven years ago (and we're at 6 and a half years) or it was 11 years (and we're at 10 and a half) -- we gave ourselves that much time to find the Perfect Church (what we mean by "Perfect" is one that runs kind of like the church just after the crucifixion, the church like Paul would go around setting up -- you know, a group of people who love the Lord, and cling together, they share everything, they discuss their fears, they ask each other for help, they don't care about social conventions, they want to follow the Bible, and they don't look down on each other because of money, they sing songs together, they pray together, and they each one contributes his or her gifts, and they make absolutely no cultural rifts between men and women)...We haven't found it. The Perfect Church.So we planned to start it, that church I just described, and anyone could attend. And I think we've both been getting pretty nervous, because quite honestly neither of us ever wanted to START anything, let alone ANOTHER denomination!
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I had to come back on (it's only been an hour, I think this is the quickest I've ever written in this journal, I mean in the same day) because of course there's a lot more to the church that we are looking forward to other than what I've written down. I mean, of course, looking through the eyes of God at each other, there should be absolutely no racial barriers. We should encourage each other to produce more fruit. We should be honest with each other even when it's hard to do it (and I freely admit, I've got problems with this, as it's hard for me to hear truth about myself, I guess because truth applied to me is just so obvious).
***
It happened again today, at the Coffee Bump (hey, that works). I don't know if I've written about this before, but it's kind of a trainwreck that happens to me every three or four weeks.I don't want to sound egotistical here (yeah, like anyone would believe that I have an ego) -- this isn't something about myself that I actually believe, but I've been told by a lot of people that my face "ain't half bad" (that's what people have said). Truth be told, when I look in the mirror, I see a twisted little man, that's the way I see myself, it's not what I want to see, but there it is, that's me.I vaguely remember my "mother" telling me, kind of singing to me, that I was a beautiful baby, I can kind of remember her hugging me and kissing me, and telling me that I'm beautiful. Thing of it is, I don't know if that was my "mother" or not, or one of my "aunts." I really don't know if I even had a mother, or a father, I can't remember back that far.I DO remember being held by "Yaw-shoe-wah" (I don't know how to spell it, but it's what I used to call Him). I don't know if He was an angel, or Jesus -- I don't even know how I knew to call him "Yaw-shoe-wah." But that is my reality, I remember Him holding me at the worst times. And I remember my "angel pal."I don't know if any of this is true. It's what I REMEMBER. I'll tell you, I also remember being chased by the Coo-Coo Bird (that cereal guy) -- it was probably a dream, I realize, but then again all my early memories might be based on dreams. I don't know. I just don't know.Wow, I don't know how I got all the way to here considering where I started out telling about, and that is the irritating thing that often I'll be sitting in a restaurant, or at the Coffee Bump, or even in church. And there is always some girl, usually a very nice looking girl, and she'll always see me across the room, and begin to stare.Okay, I'm sighing here. I'll just spit it out. My face and my body don't really go together. My face was never damaged when I was a child, only my body was broken. And so I guess I look pretty normal, only from the neck up, and I'm not really ugly.I think this must happen to all guys, although Joshua says it has never happened to him (but then again, Joshua is a giant, so probably different rules apply to him).Usually they will come walking across the room to talk to me, and they will have this nervous look on their face, but very friendly, and the closer they get, the more they see the wasteland that is my body, then they begin to melt, or morph into something else. The shy look of friendliness starts fading, and a look of shock, or horror, or disgust comes in, and when they are about 5 feet away from me they suddenly realize that they were actually heading somewhere else, and their direction will change like train switched to a different track.I can't explain how that feels, no matter how many times it happens. I've thought about buying brown contacts (Joshua thinks it's my glowing blue eyes that pulls certain women in like fish on a hook, or iron pellets to a magnet).There is a sense of expectation, or at least a sad kind of "what could have been if only things were different" feeling that always makes the air go out of my heart, it just sags and deflates like a punctured balloon, as soon as I see a woman looking at me I want to wave at her and tell her she's making a huge mistake (or maybe have Joshua yell out that he loves her and is going to give her a big hug, that would probably do it).A beautiful blonde girl tonight stared at me for about twenty minutes, and I kept trying to shrink smaller and smaller than I really am, I even tried my trick of hiding behind the big Tolkien "Simarillion," but it didn't seem to delay the inevitable, and here she came with that look of hope, like she's thinking: "I don't usually do this, but I'm taking a chance, and I'm going to talk to THAT guy over there!"This has happened to many times, so when she was about fifty feet away I stood up, as abruptly as I can manage, and she did not even take half a second to react, she immediately, on the drop of a dime, whirled and headed toward the ladies room.I, like a heroic man, went to the bathroom and cried. No, that's putting it in a silly way. IF ONLY IN THIS JOURNAL, I need to say the whole truth, even to myself.I WEPT. It felt like my heart was leaking out of my eyes. Stupid, I know, I should be used to this, it's been happening all my life, even when I was ten years old, ladies would come up to me like they wanted to pinch my cheek, and as soon as they saw my twisted body they would STOP, STARE, then do an about-face like they were a military seargent (sp!) or whatever.But I guess that's just the way I react to it. I guess it is my psyche's way of cleaning out all the corrosion.I think I'm going to ask Joshua to drive me over to othe optometrist tomorrow, even though my eyes are 15/20, I think I'm going to try contacts, just the costume kind (I saw an advertisement for them, most are scary, but I think you can buy plain lenses that change your eye color, and not that it really matters to me what color my eyes are, but I think I could head-off some pain if I just switch my eye color).
***
I slept on it, and that's silly, changing my eye color. Okay, I'll keep thinking about it, but I think that would be ridiculous to switch to brown eyes, because I have blue eyes, it's me.
***
A flyer came in the mail today, it's from "Jehovah's Army" (I think that is so blasphemous, for them to misuse God's name that way, even though, okay, I know that's not God's real name, Joshua and I studied up on it, and the best Name, though maybe not the end-all of names, is "Yahweh," it's the best and most accurate that humans have to work with, but still, it's the INTENT behind using even the Name "Jehovah" and just deciding to tack it onto "army"), and it is pretty scary.There was actually a statement on it that said: "Join us in taking back this country, in returning to the old values, in making America a Christian Kingdom, to spread God's Gospel by might and by right! Be silent no more! Stand up and shout to the Lord!"That sounds like something the Nazis would put out on their propaganda sheets.I want to stay as far away from these guys as possible, but Joshua keeps saying he wants to attend a service.I can see it coming -- history always repeats itself. ALWAYS, people calling themselves "Christian" decide that God has empowered them to kill anyone who disagrees with their interpretation of God's Word.I think I'm moving to Alaska, in a cabin, way up close to where the penguins are (or wait, are they down at the other end?); except, why does Alaska have to get so cold, it wouldn't be good for my asthma.Maybe I could hide out in Florida?
***
I'm still in the middle of it -- the spine. But you know, I've been focusing on the fact that God is sending someone -- I'm so excited about that. For the first time in my life I was actually able to laugh during a spine night.Joshua was really shocked. In all our years together, he's never seen me in one piece before during a night like this, I mean I could never think about writing in a journal during a spine night. Usually I'm locked into all the strongest pain medications, and I'm still in moaning tears, just jittering, weeping, even screaming.Joshua just sat back and stared at me. I mean, let me tell you, I'm on HALF my meds, and that's saying a lot for me. I hate pain.To give you a clue as to what the magnitude of pain is -- ever have a tooth pulled? Imagine that without any kind of novacaine -- then imagine that kind of pain up and down your entire back, with little sparks of jabbing pain going off throughout your whole body, like your spine is a Fourth of July sparkler, and instead of light, it is PAIN.But so what, what is pain, when God is sending someone to ask you questions!!!!
***
Well, I'm actually sitting up in the kitchen nook, sipping at a cup of steaming coffee. It's the Frenchie Roast from the Coffee Dump (yeah, I said it, and I feel pretty tough too) (you KNOW I'm joking).Usually, after a spine night, I stay all day in bed, or in the whirlpool Joshua installed in the master bathroom -- after four hours in that froth, I look more like a prune than a dwarf.I saw the black van last night, it might be what set off the spine night (my brilliant doctors have theorized that my spine is actually in my MIND, instead of twisting around in my back). I've considered the possibility that I'm a hypochondriac, but I'm not -- I really do have asthma (it's hereditary) and I have arthritis (due to extensive bone and joint trauma sustained as a child) and my Paget's disease is very real, diagnosed when I was fourteen years old, it's making my right hip much larger than my left hip, and then there's all the osteoporosis and 32 other very real conditions......but I'll admit it here (maybe not out loud) that I'm afraid of everything, from dogs, cats, mice, fleas, bees, any kind of fish (to eat, all those deadly bones) and bodies of water (the fish, chiefly SHARKS, which I know don't live in lake sand ponds, but I can't stop imagining them to be in there anyway), and then all the mechanical devices, microwaves, I don't want to be even near, and so Joshua finally got rid of ours, cars (Joshua's truck is okay, because it has a roll bar and the monster steel guards, plus airbags, on the passenger's side and SIDE airbags (which Joshua had installed because I'm so terrified to go driving), and people, and germs, and the germs you get from people or from shopping carts, the bird flu, the West Nile Virus, Hanta Virus, plus all the terror stuff like anthrax and pathogens -- and it's true, whenever I hear about them, I start to FEEL those symptoms.Okay, I'm a wreck.But right now, I don't care.WHY? Because God is real. Everything is real. Everything I've been looking forward to. There are angels about me, right now. THere is Someone greater than anybody, and He loves me, and this little bit of time in pain?I DON'T CARE.Cuz it is all real! Hear me? I really believe this stuff! It's all real!
***
Okay, so I'm manic (I'm kidding, I'm kidding!). Well, as usually happens, the Blues comes in right on top of a spine night. But like my spine night, this Blues is really more a "blues." I'm coping. I really am.I am not devastated. At least not completely.Things DO seem hopeless, just right now. But then again, it rings in my head like a bell:this too shall pass.
***
Well, I'm going to the Coffee _______ (okay, somethings are gonna take longer to change, well, if EVER) and face whatever consequences there are to face. And I don't care about black vans. I've seen three outside the house in the past day or so, but I'm starting to take on a reluctant passive acceptance about the whole thing -- I mean, maybe I'm just being paranoid. Maybe slow-cruising black vans are an average part of every American suburban neighborhood, and I don't see why Denver should be any different than any other drive-by shooting gallery.I'm not afraid. Uh, well, okay. SO I AM AFRAID. I admit it. I'm terrified of whomever is in that black van. I think of the shark driving the Lexus, and the other blond.
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