shreds.

erik james has been a friend of mine (through all kinds of mental and emotional drama) for about five years. he has seen me at my worst, which is something a lot of people say, but in this case it's true. he also happens to be one of the wisest and most eloquent people i know. i don't feel much lately like i have anything worth blogging about, but i read his blog today and it made me want to be a better writer. so i thought i'd re-post it here. i didn't get his permission, but i don't think he ever reads this, so hopefully he'll either never find out or forgive me when he does. the last paragraph makes me happy. best part is, this is all 100% sincere...which is a big deal these days.


My life is so inexpressibly good, I can't even begin to understand it all at once. Now, by "good," I do not mean "problem-free." Really. I have plenty of problems. I think one thing that makes my life good anyway is that I'm not shaken by those problems. I am, for once, solid.

Understand, however, that I can't take credit for this solid ground on which I stand. I can't even take credit for the fact that I am standing there. I have been brought here, much against my own plan, and largely against my knowledge. I found myself here. I ask myself what changed, and wait, and I don't reply. I know, but can't express. Not without robbing the thing of its completeness. That's how I know that my stability isn't really mine. It hasn't been contrived by my hard and sincere effort. If it had been done that way, then I would have it all wrapped up, and in a small enough package that I myself could contain it. But I can't.

I think it was G.K. Chesterton who said that "Jesus promised his disciples three things: that they would be absurdly happy, completely fearless, and in constant trouble." The more I act like a disciple, the more this is true. I'm happier than my situation allows. I'm more fearless (or at least, braver in the face of fear,) than seems wise, and I'm definitely facing more trouble than I would if I were not a follower of God. Whoops, uh-oh. It's out. The G-word is out. I said "God." Commence the hysteria.

At this point, some people will have stopped reading. But this is also the point where that stability begins to make any sense for me at all. George McDonald wrote that at times, he could not "give up his shreds of nothing for the whole God." I liked my shreds. I knew my shreds, and they were comfortable, if not warm. I clutched at them like the worst 2 year old clutches at the worst, rattiest blanket. After 20 years of clutching, my thick skull began to soften to the idea that this might not be the best thing after all. As the song says, "there's freedom in the letting-go." Rags to riches.