When It Rains, It Pours, by Tyler Smith

15 May

It’s Sunday, May 15th.  4:32 am.

It just started raining outside.  I’m alone.  My wife is currently out of town.  She gets back tomorrow.

The evening has been wave after wave of melancholy.  A pleasant evening that turned sour when I perceived as an insult what a friend likely meant as an observation.  Of course, this friend does not know how immediately frustrated I was by the remark.  However, the real fun began when I stopped being angry with the friend and immediately started to turn the anger inward.  Perhaps I’m right and the comment was in fact an insult.  I probably deserved it; maybe I really do take the good things in my life for granted and I need to just stop whining.

Of course, as I write that now, I am struck with the irony.  After expressing the need to stop whining, I’ve decided to cap off the night by writing my overly self analytical thoughts for all to see.  Perhaps people will enjoy what I’m writing, but probably not.  More likely, they’ll just shake their heads, think back to my appearance on Gilmartin’s podcast, and think to themselves that I’m really starting to lose it now.

But, hey, I’ve got to write something, right?  Because, if I don’t, then it means I’m lazy.  Left and right, my friends are cranking out great work.  It might be a blog or a screenplay.  Meanwhile, I sit and lament my seeming inability to actually muster up some inspiration and start working.  This book is not going to write itself.  And nobody else is going to write it but me.  How unfortunate.  That book sure did sound good; I really hope somebody writes it someday.

Perhaps my laziness spawns from my perfectionism.  I want my writing to be perfect immediately.  I want people to read what I write and say, “Wow.  That’s amazing.  Tyler’s a bona fide genius.”  Of course I’m not perfect.  Nobody is.  My writer friends always tell me about how many rewrites they have to go through, but it brings me no comfort.  I don’t want to be like them.  I want to be better.  I want to be brilliant.

Besides, all those friends have so many other things going for them.  This is all I have.  The book, the podcasts, my ability to express my thoughts.  They’re all I’ve got.  And I’m not even that good at them.

I have a headache.  It’s from exhaustion.  I should just go to sleep.

Of course I know that I have God.  And He loves me.  I wish that brought me more comfort, but I’ve clearly put so much value in the things of this world that there are times when I wonder if I will ever feel His love break through.  I want a better body.  I want to be a great writer.  I want to be witty.  I want to be athletic.  I want to be the perfect husband.  I want to be loved by everybody.  I want to be vital.  I want applause and approval.  I want better hair.  I want acceptance.

I want those things, but I know that I have more.  I have love, grace, and redemption.  Those aren’t small things, but I find myself treating them as such.  I take them for granted; just as I take my blessings for granted.  My life is pretty great.  I was told so earlier tonight in what I thought was an accusatory, judgmental tone.  I was immediately offended and chose to feed on that feeling of righteous indignation, ignoring the fact that the statement was true; my life is pretty great.

So great, in fact, that I find myself wondering what I have to be so melancholy about.  Why can’t I just be happy with what I have?

I feel like I’m in the middle of a personal crisis of Biblical proportions.  In many ways, it is the essential Biblical crisis.  Jesus offers his own love and acceptance and sacrifice.  God’s love is what defines me, for it is the only real thing that won’t go away.  And yet I focus on the praise and approval of others, knowing full well how fickle and conditional the world’s love can be.

I am choosing to stand on shifting sand when I could plant my feet on a solid rock.

I’m much more tired now.  I’ve done laundry, taken out the trash, cleaned up the kitchen, finished a photo set, and emptied out the cat litter.  I’ve done all this because I want my wife to feel loved.  I want her to know that I’m taking care of things.  I want her to be impressed when she walks through the door tomorrow.  I want her to take a look around and wrap her arms around me and tell me what an awesome husband I am.

In many ways, this is the perfect example of what I’ve been writing about.  I record podcasts, write blogs, make jokes, all so that those around me (and even perfect strangers in other countries) will survey what I’ve done and tell me what a good and brilliant person I am.

I realize I have no control over other people’s reactions, but I try so hard.  I feel like I’m out of breath.

God’s love is unconditional.  I can’t earn it and I can’t lose it.  He loves me not because of all the great things I can do, but because… Well, just because.  To start naming the things that He loves about me is to imply that, were I to lose those things, God would cease to love me.  That is not what He said.

In my quest for approval from others, I’ve neglected to realize that I have all the approval I need.  And not because of anything I’ve done, but because of what Christ did for me.

I wish I could keep that in mind.  I guess that’s why Christianity is so much work.  Some people say that to believe these things is easy.  I’m here to tell you that it is not.  It’s hard.  Probably the hardest thing I’ve ever done.  Because it requires me to keep certain things front and center in my mind, lest I find myself distracted by other things that are infinitely less important.

God loves me.  I did not intend on arriving at this place when I started this blog; I just wanted to write some sort of weird, stream-of-consciousness thing.  I wanted to people to be dazzled by my moody prose.

How appropriate that, in my attempt to call attention to how awesome I am, I arrive at God’s love and sacrifice for me.  For all of us.

Hopefully, as I fold laundry and then go to bed, I will try to mull over what I’ve written in this blog.  Perhaps next time, I’ll be able to just skip to the end.  Maybe I can cut through all the melancholy and depression and go straight to the hope.

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