Are You in the Matrix or Am I?

I would love to tell you that I now have all the answers. Believe me. I would love nothing more than to spout off profound words of wisdom that I accumulated by what I went through.
But that would be make-believe. And I've had enough pretending.
So, no words of wisdom; I'm just going to be...to gingerbread men's surprise...HONEST.

I had hit rock-bottom.

My logic was useless.

The counsel I was receiving from college and peers was tainted.

And I felt that I had the wisdom and experience of the average two-year old.

What do you do when you discover that you've been living a lie? That you've been duped, taken, shafted.

Well, I'm not positive about what you should do. But you can always do what I did.

...I RAN...

No, not physically. Unfortunately I could not afford a plane ticket to Thailand...my Matrix world of Bachelor's degrees and self-made security happened to have drained my bank account as well...go figure.
No, I ran away mentally.
I became a silent rebel against the gingerbread cut-out.
What did I do?
I put my fingers deep inside my ears...I stopped listening.
I still turned in the assignments, I still passed the exams. I looked faithful and fooled on the outside; but now I was different.
I had doubted and discovered.
I knew their dirty secret...I could feel their childishness.

I could now...bend the spoon.

The funny thing about running though, is that it doesn't get you very far unless you know where you are going.

This is where I was; this is where I am.

I may have ditched the royal icing bow-tie and now have the ability to bend cereal spoons; but now I must know where I'm supposed to GO.

What now?

Lucky for me; Truth knows all about the Matrix.

I believe Truth smiles, while shaking His head, as he sees gingerbread people throw down their ties. He may even let out a sigh as He watches them begin to run.

He appreciates every bent spoon we hand Him...but He knows that this is just the very beginning.

Like a father waiting patiently for their child to finish tying their shoes for the first time; Truth nods at my spoon and brushes some cinnamon from my hair.
He smiles, "Now that you've caught on...let's get going."

But Truth starts slow...if bent spoons blow her mind let's not show her everything at once.

For that I am grateful. I was ready to go. I was ready for something so big, so mind-shattering, so profoundly different, that I might not be able to handle it.
But do you know what Truth gave me first?

Something old.

Something I'd learned and understood years ago. But slippage had taken it away...big surprise.

It was a simple truth contained in a few tiny passages I had memorized in Sunday school...

Leia Mais…

Be Careful...All is not How it Seems.

So, as an ex-gingerbread girl with no identity I stumbled to me feet helplessly. With the huge, heavy feeling of "Now what?" weighing me down.

I knew there was something missing. Something bigger then my selfish, cookie-cutter existence.
There was more then this lie I had been living.
Out there...somewhere, was truth. And with truth comes purpose. I knew there had to be something REAL.
In the bottom of my heart, and in the back of my mind, I knew what it was. (You do too, don't you?)

GOD.

The very One people say does not exist because they can't "see" Him.

No, God didn't create the world...because I didn't see Him do it.

The very thing they doubt is the only thing that's real.

To say I was searching would not be accurate. I knew what I wanted to find. See, I had found it ten years before, but; with the help of my buddies, Slippage and Failure, and a platoon of especially deceptive gingerbread men... I lost it.
This is starting to sound like a certain Keanue Reeves movie isn't it?



Hmm...or maybe it's just me.

Leia Mais…

Being Gingerbreadmen

I would love to say I stopped right here and listened...but I didn't. I ignored the questions. I tried to push my doubts aside and instead of listening, I compared myself with what other people were doing. I held my life up to what I thought my parents wanted, and to what my siblings had done before me. According to all of them; I was right on track. So everything must be okay...right? ...Not exactly.
When I couldn't stand it anymore, and finally had the guts to acknowledge some of these doubts, I found myself asking these people I was comparing myself to, if what I had wanted was right. If my definition of responsibility was true. Asking those I had using as track markers if what I was doing was best; I subtly begged them for an answer as to why I was so miserably. In response, I was casually awarded with a, "don't worry, you'll get used to it." or a, "you just can't handle it."
Basically, a GIANT label that said; "WEAKLING" was gingerly adhered to my forehead. By peers, professors, family, friends...anyone who would listen to me or anyone who looked successful. Maybe I was weak. I did break you know...I asked...I questioned. I doubted the cookie-cutter gingerbread men who claimed to be the picture of Responsibility. The mainstream "successful" people at college or work, who were older and "more experienced".
But soon I discovered their deep, dark secret. It was terrifying; because I found it first deep inside myself. As my fingers began turning into spicy aromatic bread, and the first icing buttons appeared on my torso. I began noticing it first in my relationships. They were corroding around me...I was not the same. But I didn't get the hint here either;I blamed it on being busy and moved on. "I'm growing up, life just changes." I told myself. It's true, I was changing. I now stank of ginger wherever I went and a sweet, red bow-tie was slowly tightening its grip around my neck.
I was becoming more like them. More like the "Responsibles". That is what I wanted...right?
Then a new symptom appeared. This one shook me to my spice-ridden core. I had always had an extensive vocabulary; but now it was being dominated by two tiny words.

ME...and...I.

"How could this happen?" I asked myself in disbelief. "NO, no, no, no, NO!!!" I shouted. But no one heard; because I was the only one around.
The secret of the gingerbread men was...Selfishness.
I could see it now on every one of them. I could smell in on myself. They claimed to be responsible; to be growing up. But the trait that came to define them was characteristic trait of childishness itself.
The child who won't share. The kid who screams, "Gimmee that!". It's all part of the selfishness scam. The one that says you will be happy if you can please yourself. The goal in life is to get everything you want, it whispers. Now I see the emerging adults (of all ages), who call themselves responsible, as nothing more than children who use big words and have mastered the art of backyard bullying!
Well, I had had enough. My whole image of "success" and "adulthood" came crashing down. I yanked and my red bow-tie again and again. I came of with a snap and I threw it to the ground.
"No more!" I shouted, as I stomped on my royal icing accessory. "It's all a lie!" I sank to my knees as the red sugar melted into the mud and stained my hands pink.

So there I was.
A broken girl; bear necked and pink fingered, on my knees in the mud. The remains of a "Weakling" label still present on my cinnamon, tear-streaked face.

Appalled at the idea of joining the masses, I refused a gingerbread identity.

I now desired something different, something truly beautiful, and profoundly hopeful...Change.

This is where it all begins...the pursuit of something more. This is where my story starts...

Leia Mais…

Responsibility meets Reality

I can almost stick a flag in the exact moment when I first began to lose my balance. I had just begun to slip...but of course, I didn't notice. I wasn't paying attention.
It was as soon as I graduated high-school; or a few weeks before. It was the exact moment I began to feel pressured to become a, "responsible adult."
Ha, ha; which you and I know is so rare these days it's almost an oxymoron. We put those two; responsibility and adulthood, together as if simply being an adult makes you responsible. Which is not true.
When is a person an "adult" anyway? When they're 18? 21? Or when they're well...responsible?
Either way, I made the cardinal mistake.

I started observing what culturally appointed; "responsible adults" did, and I assumed that was what responsible was.

So I did what I saw them doing. I put my head down, put "success" first, and ran...as fast as I could. Well, for awhile anyway.

The funny thing about success is; unless you catch it, whatever you come up with instead, is inevitably, failure.

Readers, meet Failure.
Failure, Readers.

I met him by accident. Failure swept into my life so fast he actually surprised me. I was busy chasing after success, I never found her by the way, and instead I kept running into him. Failure.
It made us laugh, how hard I kept trying to find something different. As if by sheer will and exertion I could produce success. We both knew it was useless. So I hunkered down with my two new buddies; Slippage and Failure. They both looked nice together by the way, as I bolted down the hatches and hoped for nothing but survival.

So here I am, sandwiched in a group hug consisting of me, Slippage, and Failure, and I wonder what happened. Where did I go wrong?

Ahhhh...that is the epiphany.

I went wrong from the very moment I latched onto that beautiful, big word;



Not that responsibility is bad. On the contrary it is the goal of adulthood. But when I branded that word on my mind; which I did, as permanently as I could, I attached the wrong definition to it. When I looked around I thought:

Responsible=
- Bachelors degree
- financial security
- working 40 hrs. a week...wait 80 is better
- saving money
- making money

Later I even went a little farther:

- Good job, with degree, 80 hr. weeks.
- nice place
- a relationship
- financial security as young as possible

(You can laugh now, if it suits you.)
As soon as I purposed to achieve these things, (which I believed were "responsible" things for adults to achieve), I ran into all sort of un-forseen, and un-accounted for problems. Like I mentioned before, this is when I met Failure.
I learned the hard way that financial security and a Bachelor's degree cannot occupy the same space. (So I gathered after draining my savings to pay for school.) In fact, neither can a 40 hr. a week job or a nice place. At least not for years anyway.
I also noticed that, even if I attained all these things, (which was impossible to do all at the same time), I still may not be happy.

What if I had no one to care about?
No people to share with?
What if...What if...?

I began to spy just a corner of what I had forgotten to factor into my life-plan. I started, just barely...to doubt.
From somewhere underneath my well-laid plans I began to hear something. I got down on my stomach and pressed my ear against the rough, dry surface of imagined success. Yep, I heard it...questions. Thousands of them being whispered over each other like a debate tournament taking place in a library.

What if you're missing something?
Is this what life is really about?
If this is the "responsible" thing to do, why aren't you happy?
Brittany, what happened to your peace?
Where's your compassion? Your sympathy?
What about your middle school dreams?
What happened to your faith?

And so it began...

Leia Mais…

Slippage Becomes Cold, Hard Reality.

I noticed something that bothered me. I was re-evaluating my life. Over the past year I had chose a career path, started college, and continued to work my job. I was finally starting to embark on adult life...or so I thought. Everything looked right on the outside. But soon my decisions about life became shaky, my life began to fall apart, and my resolve unraveled. Then, on top of that I noticed...

I don't have any answers.

Younger friends ask for advice on how to make decisions about their future, adults and peers ask me what I plan to do with mine...but I've got nothing. I usually give some sort of vague, hazy answer just to avoid complete silence...and to free myself from the stupid look I can feel taking up residence on my face.
I can pretend that I am surprised. I could come up with thousands of lame excuses and dramatic sob stories to explain why I don't seem to have learned or gained anything from the past six months of my life. But why waste your time?

I slipped. It's as simple as that.

Not having any answers is annoying, but the unbearable lack of peace that inevitably comes with slipping is far worse.
First, you may be wondering exactly what I mean by the word "slipping".
Well, Webster's got a few definitions he wants to interject before I tell you what it means specifically to me.

"Slip- To fall or lose one's balance.
... to become less active or strong."

And yes, I am talking physically, emotionally, and in particular; spiritually. Declining as a follower of Jesus. Becoming less and less like Him and more and more like some crazy monster you've never seen before...or wait, maybe that's just what happens when I uncork myself.
Slipping is the act of becoming a shadow of one's self. Becoming less than what you were. Which, for people like me; who weren't super-Christians before, is not the best diagnosis. What may be surprising is that slippage isn't sly. It won't hide from you, or disguise itself; it doesn't even sneak up on you... unless you're not paying attention.
In fact, that is one of the things that makes slippage so awful; it's SO obvious. No, maybe not at first; not to you. But everyone else can see it. It's as plain as the banana peal I've been skiing around on.

Slippage stinks. It's dirty, grimy, and filthy. It's been a faithful, repulsive companion of mine for the last year. I always knew I was slipping; but I never knew how to go about stopping it once and for all. I would discover one thing that may have caused it, or another mistake that didn't help. But I never could see the whole picture. The full extent of what was actually going on.
Not too long ago I found one more piece of the problem. I actually had found this one before..but then I lost it again. But that's what slippage is all about right?

Losing things.

The epiphany I had came from a lesson on the parable of the sower. I had read the story tons of times but this time we read it differently. Instead of looking at the seed as the gospel and the ground as the lost; we thought of the seed as God's Word and the ground as OUR hearts.
My heart.
I could go through the story. What I've done wrong, what I should have done but didn't...and on and on. But the epiphanies start before this parable. Let me tell you the whole story...but bear with me it may take a couple posts...

Leia Mais…