Stuck – The Arrow Preacher

Your Cage:

We’ve all heard the term “Life’s Not Fair.” The truth is in the pudding, life isn’t fair. It doesn’t play by any set of rules. This fallen sinful world is full of people who the Devil has gotten his teeth into and live to watch the world burn. Some people in this life love the darkness so much so that they embrace it. Some people love to feel powerful and feel the need to take power from others. Some men rape, and murder, and steal and terrorize others. In my life I’ve seen some horrors and I’ve experienced evil. I’ve seen the depravity of man and I know the pain and anger that’s left in the aftermath. I know what it’s like to feel so angry it feels like you’re going to explode. I know what it’s like to take a baseball bat and hit an inanimate object over and over and over again. I know what it’s like to be afraid of the world. I remember when I got home from Iraq driving on the street terrified me. I was scared of trash on the road, and other cars being to close to me. I was scared to go into a crowded store alone. I was scared to sleep in my bed without a gun next to me. To this day, I struggle to sleep without a gun with me. I have a hard time going to the store by myself knowing I am defenseless. I am still uncomfortable if I’m ever boxed in on the road, or if I can’t be ahead of traffic. It terrifies me to be sitting still on the road. What does any of this really mean? It means I created a cage for myself and I have the key, but I refuse to leave.

When I left the comfort of my tent in Kuwait for the long road to Ar-Ramadi in Iraq I really didn’t know what to expect. I had anticipated being shot at on a regular basis. I expected to be hit with one IED (Improvised Explosive Device) after another. I expected to be hated and despised by the locals which whom our mission was to win the hearts and minds. The reality was far different then what my mind had concocted. Yes I saw combat, and yes every bit of trash was a danger, but the attacks didn’t come every day like I had imagined. Never the less after a year on edge that became so engrained in my fight or flight response that reprogramming the event has been difficult, near impossible to date. One major issue is my own mind not letting go of the past and allowing myself to walk out of my cell and leave the key behind me. My mind has made the cage seem safe, and I like where it’s safe, and I don’t want to venture to unknown places. There are dangers in the unknown, and I am not equipped to deal with them. Alone I am vulnerable, exposed, and even with a head on a swivel I am ill prepared to handle the attack when it comes. I look to the exits, I scan every person big or small, and I feel the adrenalin spiking as the crowds grow. Anyone is a robber, a thug, a terrorist, and at any moment the excrement can impact the oscillating device. The risk is just to high so I stay home.

That was me 12 years ago. I hated going anywhere because that’s what my mind did to control me. It’s taken years for me to break through that barrier and move forward. While I wouldn’t say I’m free of the cage, I am comfortable saying the cage has expanded. I am not longer a prisoner of my home. I have found many different ways to cope with my social anxiety, but there are days when it still affects me worse then others. One of the big things in therapy is finding what works, and to get there it takes trial and error. I’ve heard so many people tell me they got into therapy and because it didn’t work after a few weeks stopped going. People think therapy is a quick fix, that you go and you talk about your issue, or perceived issue, and after a few sessions you are all better. That’s not the way it works, that’s not the way the brain works, and sadly those kinds of fast food therapy ideas are why we as Americans struggle so much. We have lost our faith and we no longer believe in anything, and we are fly by night Christians, and we are really only Christians in name. We say the prayers, we identify with a social norm, and that’s what we are, but most Christians don’t ever open their own bibles and read or study. Most Christians don’t even go to church regularly, yet hold onto the name Christian. Many Christians act churchly when they are in the building with the cross on top, but as soon as the car door closes to go home, Mr. Hyde comes out and it’s an entirely different scene. In order for us to deal and manage with the traumas of life we must first repair the damage between Christ and us. We have walked so far away from the cross that we wouldn’t know scripture if it hit us in the face. We have allowed ourselves to conform to the ideas of this world, and we have removed God from our lives so now when things go bad we have no faith, nothing to believe in, and above all, or rather, worst of all, no hope for a brighter tomorrow.

After years and years of trauma I have my issues, but I have found ways to still live a normal life. I have faced my demons and while that fight ongoing, and slow, there’s still forward momentum. I know which direction I need to go, and while I would love to place blame, it’s a futile exercise in making excuses. The truth is I cannot change what happened to me, or why it happened, but I have a choice with how I live my life right now. I have a choice how I want to behave, how I want to feel, and I decide my frame of mind. I am under no disillusions that God is the one that either allows things to happen, or nudges us towards a particular direction. Every situation, good and bad is an opportunity for us to evangelize and praise God. It doesn’t matter what ‘bad’ thing happens to you, whether it be a death in the family, a murder, a rape, a sickness, a loss of a job, a loss of a spouse, nothing changes the ultimate outcome. One thing I hear so often is ‘you wouldn’t understand.’ While the flavor of the ice cream may be different I still know how to eat ice cream. Trauma is trauma no matter what flavor it is. There’s a time to love and a to hold. There’s a time to walk along side hand in hand, and eventually there’s a time to push or pull someone through. The biggest detriment for those who suffered trauma is when they get stuck in that incident. I know because I was there. After I watched my close friends die horrifically in an explosion, and while I did CPR and failed to save one, I relived that event for years. I became stuck and it took therapy for me to have a break through. Therapy is not something to be taken lightly, and it’s not a Genie in a bottle that can snap his fingers and make you all better. There is no cure for cancer in a day, and there’s no cure to repair damage done emotionally. There are ways to get over some anxieties. There are ways to manage fear. There are ways to overcome horrible cages that we place ourselves in. You have to want to do what is necessary, and you have to find yourself coming and letting Jesus back into your heart, or letting Jesus Christ in for the first time. Faith is the strongest medicine you can find, and faith mixed with professional help and a drive to actually fix the problem, will put you on the healing path.

While others may be able to teach us, show us the way, help pick us up, ultimately the door to recovery starts with us. We have to be ready to walk through the door and follow whatever path waits for us on the other side. While we sit in our cages unwilling to do what is necessary we are the ones who hold our own key. We must be willing to step foot out of our own comfort zone and take a chance in the big, bad, scary world. We may realize that the world although never truly safe, isn’t as scary as we once made it out to be. We can believe the lies fed to us by Mother Gothel, and we may keep ourselves trapped up in our towers forever, or we can escape and see the world as beautiful, and full of life. Sure is there risk? Of course there’s risk, but one day we have to look back over our lives, and we will have to decide if we are satisfied with how we lived. Living in fear is no way to live. Life’s to short to worry about it. If you know you’re saved, and you know that Heaven is where you will be, truly, this life is just a temporary holding pattern for the real life waiting for us. If one day I’m out and I am mugged and shot and killed getting money from the ATM, I know I lived my life as well as I could, and I know I’m happy with what I leave behind. Don’t let fear stop you from living, from going out and enjoying the blessings God has bestowed on our life.

Broken and a year of penance September 18th

We feel broken and battered. The days that pass feel like an eternity and the weeks that pass are a struggle to rationalize the life lived, and why so much pain has befallen the young man. All his life he wanted to feel needed. A life that till then he had been left, he had been hurt, and he had been betrayed by those who were closest to him. His fear would get the better of him. The day came when the women he loved would walk away, she would choose another over him and the life he had worked so hard to build would fracture and crumble to the ground like a sand castle against the waves.

The fear and panic that took hold of him that fateful day would reverberate through his entire life and just like a ripple in the water, every single corner of his life would become distorted. He would loose the girl, he’d loose his job, he’d loose his closest friends, he’d loose his credibility, he’d loose his house, and when the dust settled even a year later his life would still be in shambles. He would struggle to gain ground, but the whole he dug himself would be slick and the mud soaked hole would swallow him whole.

He panicked and in a moment of weakness his fight would finally come to an end. He panicked at the thought of loosing his love. He couldn’t see a happy life without her. It was his fault and he screwed up. The judgment and punishment for that he decided for himself was beyond anything anyone would ever have dreamt for him. He faced the punishment in the wake of his devotion and couldn’t stand to loose someone else he loved with all his heart. Every day he relives the horrible tragedy. Every day he begs for forgiveness for what she saw, for what she heard. Every day he asks for forgiveness, but the truth is, he wonders if he’s been able to forgive himself. How could he live with himself for the pain he caused. Just like the stone into the water sent out the waves in his own life, so does the stone affect those close to him also. The tragedy touched the lives of his friends, his family, his church, his job, everyone that knew him now faced the unfortunate truth. He was weak. His weakness had no valid excuse. His need for punishment, his desire to endure the hardships in the wake of his own admission of guilt for everything that had transpired, he became the very thing he fought so hard against, Sin. In an act of pure cowardice, he became the sin eater for not only himself but for the women he loved.

Could he suffer enough for the both of them and take that pain to the grave? While on the surface he played out the exact moment in his head, and in his head he saw survival, deep down beneath the surface he had to know, even if only in the subconscious that his life could end right there on those very steps. The truth didn’t matter at the time. He felt nothing but hallow, nothing but despair, and in that moment without hope all sense of rationalism, all sense of hope, of worth, ripped through him in the symbolism of the bullet. The hole physically made symbolized the struggle within. The near total blood loss, the breaking of bone, the damage done by something so small, so innocent looking, would be the agent of death. The agonizing pain, the sharpness of fractured bones, the suck of air from his lungs, the energy that gives life now laying in a pool on the ground. No longer just a symbol he had given up all he was for all of her. How could one man feel so much for one woman? The answer was in Christ for the church. Perverted as it may have been, he loved her so much, his failure, his punishment, his taking the sins he had committed, all the sins she had committed upon himself, and in a moment of sheer emptiness the bullet symbolized the self-Flagellant: “a person who scourges himself or herself as a public penance” A self display of pain as penance for wrong doing. An old archaic practice that in a moment of desperation became as prevalent as it once was in the 14^th century. No longer bound by reason the sum of a life hidden, expunged from history, directed the storm to the cross through the heart and leave nothing left in it’s wake but destruction.

Sadly time cannot be undone, and the decisions made are cemented in horror and tragedy. Memories can be haunting and painful but they don’t have to destroy us. Psalms 34:18 “The LORD [is] nigh unto them that are of a broken heart; and saveth such as be of a contrite spirit.” No matter the struggle we face we have to keep the faith. The faith is all he has when the world beat him down to the brink of death. When a man would choose a fate worse then death to take on the pain and suffering of himself and loved ones, he has no where to go but up. When looking at the end the only end we can consider is that of Revelation 21:4 “And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away.” The end of our day is the end of our own pain. The end of time is also the end of suffering. As in all things the truth is often the most obvious. “Living is not for the weak.” (Anatoli, Arrow)

He’s not forgiven by those he hurt, and still the shot rings loudly in the dark at night. The mistakes made cannot be undone, and as he wishes every day he could take it back, every day he can’t a little piece of him suffers from the fate he brought upon himself. Every day the scars itch and the leg tingles as a daily reminder of the mistake that will haunt him forever. Every day he must wake with the aches and pains in the shoulder that remind him he’s still alive. The screams at night still haunt him, and the blood that still clings to the dog tags he wore that day. His blood, the blood that was spilt to take upon the wrongs of the world he knew, and so desperately clung too. The reminders every day of his failures hold most evident the new and daily truth, he has the power to intervene in others lives. Does this tragedy have to end with nothing but pain or suffering or can he use it to reach out to others? Can one man make a difference in the lives of others? Every day he lives to try and do one thing, to pay his penance. He can’t do it as himself so he turned himself into someone else, something else. He became a symbol. He doesn’t hide behind the mask, he embraces the darkness that was within, and he uses it in a force to enact change in others. Perhaps one day that mask may come off and he’d do enough good to make up for all the bad. The works to craft an identity to focus the thoughts, influenced by life, influenced by the light, a penance to right the wrongs.