Hate, hate and...love?

Mood: Distressed
Music: Oldies coming in from the window

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Today I went to Holy Trinity church because a group from Kansas was holding signs bearing messages like "God hates Fags" and "Thank God for 9/11"

I went up to two girls and introduced myself. They seemed a bit older than me, maybe 18 or 19. Their names were Sarah and Megan. They were very polite in the beginning, until I started to say that I disagreed with them. I didn't say they were wrong, I said, "Hmm..I don't agree with that." I'm not even going to try to reproduce some of the conversation. If you want to know what they said, go to www.godhatesfags.com If you want to know what I said, see 1 Corinthians 13.

When I got back in my car and left (I could stand it no longer) I started crying. I'm not really sure why, but I still feel like it. In fact, I'll probably start crying as I write this. I can think of a few reasons I might be crying..maybe it's all of them. I think the most prominent is that all I heard from them was "____ hates you" God hates me, my parents hate me, they hate me--oh, no wait. Of course not. They love me. Love is, after all, telling people the hard truth. But I couldn't stand there and not be affected by them. Words hurt. I hope my words healed. I think there were a couple times where I got mad and lashed out at them, but I really really hope that it was righteous anger.

I'm actually surprised how much what they said hurt me. I can't believe any of it, of course, but try hearing everything you've ever known be spit upon in your face. When they said God hated me...I couldn't take it. (I'm crying) All I can think of is, no, please. Not God. I can take hate from anyone, but please not him. Not my best friend, not my savior. Because I love him so much...I couldn't bear it if he abandoned me. If God doesn't love me, then the God I believe in isn't real. And if God doesn't love me then I'm going to become an atheist because I refuse to believe in their god. Because their god lies, and can't make up his mind about things, and creates people only to hate them. Sounds a little sadistic if you ask me. But they didn't. They hardly listened to anything I said.

Oh, but the news did. Hehe. If I have one consolation for going out there today, it was that some truth got on film. I'm actually kind of excited. I doubt they'll twist my words to favor Westboro. That just doesn't make sense for them. I was interviewed by a radio and TV station. The camera made me a bit nervous, and I hope I was articulate in what I said. I don't know why, but I didn't even consider the fact that the media would be there. They asked me why I was there, which was really a good question. Why was I there? What I think I told the news was that I thought that someone needed to bring truth out there. I told them that I didn't completely disagree with them, but they missed something huge.

The funny thing was, Sarah and I could absolutely not believe the other actually believed what she was saying. I don't think she realized that what she was saying to me was sounded just as outrageous as what I was saying to her. I tried to be as kind as I could, but what made me so mad was when she interrupted me. Now when I was talking to Megan, Sarah butted in and said, "Will you let her finish a sentence?" Which I did, even though Sarah had interrupted me.

But then later, when Sarah wouldn't let me finish what I was trying to say, I said, "Just a minute ago you yelled at me for interrupting her, can I finish what I'm going to say?"

"NO!" Was the response. Of course not, said her tone of voice, don't you know we have more of a right to speak than you?!

Oh, this was good. I told her that I was coming back tomorrow and she wanted me to look at some things for her tonight.

"This is your homework," she said. "You need to read the Bible--"

"I've almost got it."

"You've almost got it?" She was dumbfounded, as if this was the craziest thing she'd heard all day.

"Yeah, I've only got to finish Numbers and a few of the Minor Prophets."

"And you're 16? That's just...sad. You know why that is? Your parents hate you because they didn't give you a Bible as soon as you could read."

Oh, good. Now my parents hate me too. Although, I doubt they hate me as much as she does.

I'm still going to go back tomorrow, only I'll be better prepared. I can't believe how stupid I am, why did I even think of doing this without "putting on the full armor of God"? That's why their words hurt me so much. My heart wasn't protected. I had my sword, that's for sure, but no armor. *Hits self on head* Idiot! My biggest mistake, I think, is not having anyone pray for me. What has happened to my brain? How could I even think about going into this without prayer? I mean, yeah, I prayed, but I really needed the support of other believers.

I'm still really shaken up. I think I'm going to go take a nap. Sleep solves everything, doesn't it?

~A&C

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Titles, Tails, and Tolerance

Mood: Too many to count
Music: "Beautiful One" by By the Tree (I think)

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(^Look what LiveJournal has done to me!)

Well, Summer is nearly over, I start school again on Wednesday, so I thought I'd look back and see how many of my summer goals I achieved.

1) Get a job (I honestly did try..but no luck)
2) Write Purpose Statement (Well...I started to..)
3) Start an Oasis Newspaper (Check! Started that today, actually)
4) Join and be faithful to Helps ministry (Oh yeah, forgot about that one)
5) Redecorate room and keep it clean (Well, I'm halfway to redecorating...I took stuff down)
6) Read at least five new books (Almost check. A Wrinkle in Time, Pride and Prejudice, and Shadowmancer. Currently working on Emma.)
7) Write at least one new story and finish one old one. (I think the 'most likely to succeed' was a mock award.)
8) Learn to play bass, drum set (well, I started playing my drum set on Sunday...)
9) Memorize Philippians (Hmm...I wonder if I still know chapter one?)
10) Make a short film (Ummm...I'm filming my Dad's friend's wedding. Does that count?)
11) Restart Blog and keep it (Check! Yay!)

Well, untrue to my predictions, I finished 3 and 11, nearly got 6 (although I suppose I could conceivably achieve two more books before Wednesday. Not likely, though.) I think I seriously thought that I would write a complete story this summer. Even though I never have, ever. Although, I guess I could, conceivably write a short story before Wednesday. Again, not likely. Maybe if I forced it to be 1000 words or something. Hmm. I wonder if I could take some of the beginnings I have and end them without chapters. A long short story. Interesting. Somehow, I never thought of that before. Actually, that's a very good idea. I'm not sure why I think everything I write must be novel length. Hmm.. I was considering staying up all night, just for the fun of it...maybe I will. Maybe I'll write something. What a novel idea. Ha! Novel idea! Lol! I crack myself up.

Anyway, I'm feeling rather motivated now. I could stay up tonight and finish that one story I have. It's Draco/Ginny. I love the title, that's why I started writing it. "To Melt a Frigid Heart" Isn't that great? I came up with it through the Fic Title Generator. Of course, I really should write my Oratory for speech. I promised my coach a rough draft for when school started. And I really do need to write it before Wednesday, otherwise I'll really not want to do it. I should have started it when I was all pumped at Speech Camp. But I don't really want to do that now. But I'll feel guilty if I write something else and put that off. Ugh. Motivation: gone. Ah well. Maybe I'll flip a coin. Heads to stay up, tails to go to bed. Heads to write a fic, tails to write a speech. Let's see what the quarter says...

Tails.

I shouldn't flip a coin. It solves nothing really. I'm not going to go to bed, necessarily. Because I really shouldn't trust a quarter. Oy. My personality is tiresome even to me sometimes. I'm not going to go into the whole thought process there, because I will only irritate myself.

Oh, I know what I'll do. I'll start thinking about my fic, and then go to bed, and if I'm still up at whatever designated time, then I'll get up and write all night. (I'm not staying up late to write a speech. That's silly.) On the other hand, I really do need to sleep if I want to be productive tomorrow. I'm planning to go to a picket outside a church in my area. A church from another state is coming to protest Homosexuality. They're choosing this church because, apparently, they teach "the big lie" that God loves everyone. Exactly. Oy. Well, we talked about this last Sunday at my church because of an article that was in the newspaper. Our teacher said that this picket would probably bring out members of the homosexual community. The way I see it, someone needs to be there who's right. Because, yes, homosexuality is a sin, but yes, God loves them too. That church's website...oy. I could barely stand it. They call themselves Christians? They missed the second greatest commandment. Even if God did hate them, isn't that his business? He commanded us to love. Period. If you claim to follow him, then do as he says. "They will know you are my disciples by the way you love." *Sigh* I just hope I have enough patience to communicate that message and live by it. Because hard as it may be, I have to love the people of Westboro. So I'll probably update on that tomorrow or Sunday. Though, I might post it on my LiveJournal. There really is not point in having two of these. But, whatever.

Heh. This was a very good rant. I've changed the subject, what, 5 times? In 800 words. Not too bad. But I'll wrap it up. Bedtime? Perhaps.

Until next time, (tomorrow or Sunday, hopefully)

~A&C

Reading, Writing, and 'Rithmetic

Today is Friday the Thirteenth, but may I share something semi-personal that I do that has very little to do with that fact.

In the mornings I read a chapter of the Bible (I'm currently in 1 Peter) and I use the same notebook to record thoughts, questions, funny (to me) comments etc. Before I start, I write the time and date in the margins. Now for some reason, I find it terribly funny when the time and date match. For example, today's date, 8-13-04 matches the time 8:13 a.m. It's silly, but makes me laugh. But wait, here's the funny part. I got in the shower at 7:54, quite determined to be able to write 8:13 in my notebook. Okay, two things need to be understood about me: 1) I take long showers 2) My brain doesn’t really work properly until I’ve had a shower 5) I'm not good with numbers anyway. So I rush into the shower, wash as fast as I possibly can, leave the shower partially wet (which is something I hate doing; I like being dry), and run back into my room with two minutes to spare to get dressed. As I'm putting on my shirt, I look at the clock, realizing the minute has come; I have maybe thirty seconds to sit down and start writing. The clock reads 8:03. Yes, I, Megan, am unable to remember that that's not the reason I took the fastest shower ever, recorded at about 4 minutes. Somehow, I convinced myself that 8:13 is NINE minutes after 7:54. Not nineTEEN. Yes, I'm a dork. Just thought I would share that with you. I have other things to say, but it's now 8:15 and I'm going to go read 1 Peter 2. (I'm going to lie and say it's 8:13 because I think I earned it. Four minute shower! Woo-hoo!)

Okay, I'm back. It's 9 o'clock now. I decided to eat first. Mmmm cinnamon bread...

But I also wanted to talk about speech. Yesterday, I went to school....two weeks early. I went to "speech camp" (which really bears no resemblance to camp at all) and officially became a speechie. (If you don't really know a whole lot about Speech, I'm sorry, I'm not going to explain it.) We had sort of auditions to figure out what I would be good at, what events I would do. Well, the coach (everyone calls him Eric, but he told me he was Mr. Solecki. So I'm going to call him Solecki) thought I would be good at Oratory and Dramatic Duet Acting. Now I have no problem with DDA. I like acting. That was what I wanted to do. But Oratory? This means I have to write a speech, and, well, speak it. Nine times competitively, probably a hundred times before that. The thing about it is...it'll be my own work. It has to be good, because if I am in the least bit dissatisfied with it I won't want to speak it and then not do well. That's just how I am. I'm actually really nervous already, just thinking about it. See, it's personal. It won't just be my performance on display. I could work with someone else's piece. Then it's all about how I use what I'm given, but this is my own work. My opinions, my passions.

But I guess I need to remember something. It's not just me that's on display here. Where ever I go and what ever I do, God will be with me. I represent him, and he represents me. So I don't need to worry about what I will say, for God will give me words. I know I can follow my heart because God lives there. I need to remember Joshua 1:9, 2 Corinthians 5:20, Philippians 4:6 and Matthew 10:19.

Well, I'll wrap up this "rant" on that consolatory note.

Until next time,
~A&C

Garage Doors, Conflicting Fathers, and Cosmic Questions

Actual Time and Date: August 5, 2004 10:20 pm

I’m typing this in Word because I need to get it out now, while the feelings are still fresh. Later, I’ll give an update about what’s been happening to me, but this moment needs to come first.

Recall nearly a year ago with a similar post. I came home from VBS/Borders feeling quite happy, filled with Caramocha, having finished another chapter of Shadowmancer (excellent book, by-the-by) and singing along to “Hallelujah/Your love makes me sing” When I see that my dad has just pulled in before me. Trying not to think mean thoughts about him, I figure he’s just come home from work. At ten. So anyway, I’m trying to hum to myself when he shouts to me across the lawn.

“Hey, Meg? Could you take the garbage cans to the garage?”

Okay, he just walked right past them. Confused/angry I answer, “Why don’t you get them?”

He makes a similar confused/angry/offended noise. “Because I’ve got groceries!” He holds up the bags as proof. “Would it kill you to do something for me?” Those weren’t his exact words. I can’t really remember what he said, but I remember his tone, which implied that I never do anything to help around the house. But you know what? I did the mature thing. I bit back angry responses and calmly asked if both of the garbage cans were ours.

“Yeah!” He says in the same tone and I could sense something like shouldn’t-you-know-that?!

So I dutifully carry the garbage cans to the garage, again fighting down mean/angry thoughts, reminding myself of the promise I made, that I would love my father no matter how irritating he might be. (It occurred to me once that if I never truly loved my dad, I could never truly love my husband, nor God.) So as I begin to lift the garage door, I can hear him talking through the open kitchen window. He was telling my mom what had just taken place. I only heard a few words.

“Job….car insurance!…dishes…”

It was all I needed to hear. Each word hurt, and caused my mouth to open farther in indignation. Okay, look, first of all, he can NOT act like I don’t do anything around the house. I clean up after myself, I do the dishes when asked and my room is clean, and that’s a lot more than he does! I breathe deeply, but can’t control myself any longer. I go over to the kitchen window.

“Hey, why don’t you talk about me like I can’t hear you!” I think I said something else. I’m not sure.

At any rate, I go back to the garage door, and try to open it. Now, the stupid thing is broken, and no longer automatic and often gets stuck. I can only lift it two inches off the ground. Try as I might, it gets stuck in the same place. In a spot of rage, I push as hard as I can, but only end up hurting my fingers. Frustrated tears fill my eyes. Blinking rapidly, I set it back down, inhale deeply, and breathe out a small prayer.

“I’m sorry.”

I take a few more breaths, and then gently lift the door with ease. I put in the two trashcans, then put Amber’s and Sarah’s bikes away, too. All the while I think of what I should say when I go inside. I wanted to scream at him, tell him just exactly how I DO pull my weight, and how he did NOT. But, I thought, it would be better to say that I was sorry first, and then sort of defend my actions. No, actually, it would be best to just apologize. Yes, the one that wouldn’t make me feel any better, but would be the right thing to do. So, trying very hard to control my breathing, I go inside. Immediately, the dog attacks me, but he’s standing there. So I look directly at him.

“I’m sorry for talking back,” I mumble, and make a fast break for my room.

“I’m sorry for talking about you behind your back,” I hear him say. When I get to my room, I start to cry a bit. No tears yet, but close. Deep shuddering breaths. That’s right, easy does it. I lock the door, just in case. I turn the fan on to make more noise, so no one will hear me crying. I know this routine.

“Why is the radio not on?” I say aloud to myself. “I need the distraction.” I turn it on, but no distraction comes. The song is “I will be here,” and the lyrics were just at that point, reminding me that my God is right there, and feels bad for me.

“Oh, Jesus,” I begin to cry. For real this time. Tears and sobs and everything. He holds me and lets me cry. I feel the need to write it down, so I begin to write in my Prayer journal, a tear staining the page. But then, “More” by Matthew West comes on. This is Our Song. I cry even more, as he holds me, strokes my hair, tells me how much he loves me, that he was proud of me for acting the way I did, that I truly shined for him. And somewhere, amidst the tears and sobbing, I find peace. Because I know that I have a shoulder to cry on, even though I can’t see it or feel it. I lean against my bed and pretend it’s him. I wanted so much to fall asleep in his arms that way. In my imagination, I looked at him and he smiled at me, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. He sings gently.

“And I see you, and I made you, and I love you more than you can imagine. More than you can fathom. I love you more than the sun…and you shine for me…”

I don’t want to move. I want to start eternity right then and there. But I get up and turn off the radio so at least the song will stay in my head a little while and we can talk together in the quiet.

I hope I fall asleep right there, but I know I won’t, as it’s actually a rather uncomfortable position. Also, I haven’t done my evening quiet time or prayed for my friends and I would feel bad about that later. I sigh.

“I wish I could see you and feel you. I wish you could physically hold me.”

“I know. Someday. But until then, know that I’m not going anywhere. I know it’s hard, but it’ll be worth it in the End.”

(Now, don’t be weirded out or anything. I don’t really hear a voice or anything like that, it’s just what I sort of feel like he would be saying if I could hear him.)

I sigh again. “I want so much to love my dad. You know, I can’t remember the last time he said ‘I love you’? I mean, I know he does, he’s my dad…but…I’d like to hear it once in a while. See proof of it. I wish…I wish he were more like you!” I begin to cry again. “I want so badly for him to be a godly man. I wish he had apologized first. He’s my father, the head of our family. He’s supposed to lead us to you, not me!” I pause, controlling my tears. “If he were more like you…well, you’re the best father I’ve ever had!”

“And you’ve had so many?” He seems playful.

I laugh. He always makes me laugh.

“Oh, you know what I mean. But you are the best father. Doesn’t he know that?” I sigh again. “I don’t know if he’d die for me…”

My thoughts begin to trail off, as they often do in my ADDness. Anyway, shortly thereafter I thought it would be a good idea to post in my blog, even though it hadn’t been working all day, maybe it would work now. It didn’t. But I just needed this to be put down. Well, I do feel much better. But…this post hasn’t fixed my relationship with my dad. I just really need him to be the instigator. He probably feels much the same way I do. But he needs to be the adult, for once. (We used to have this joke, in our house there were four kids: Sarah, Amber, Luke (the dog) and my dad. My mom and I are the adults.) It’s going to take a lot of work, though. My feelings against him go back about 4 years, and there’s probably some repressed memory from my childhood that has something to do with it. Ah well. I’m going to bed. I’ll feel better in the morning; I always do.

~Megan

“I don't really want an answer. I just want to send this cosmic question out into the void. So goodnight, dear void.”


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