P.B.P.G.I.N.F.W.M.Y.

There are few things that disturb me as much as a single simple response that I find myself so prone to uttering: "I'm ok." It's great when in passing and time is short, but other times I have found that the phrase can be used to conceal so much. Or at least, that is how I have been using it.
I find that I have this urge to bottle every little thing deep inside me where no one else can find it. It's almost like placing a bomb inside a bomb shelter. Many have assumed that I will just explode one of these days on some poor child who looks at me cross-eyed with the pure intention of making me laugh, but I have prayed long and hard about just this fear and I believe that the lord has silenced the fuse. But the fact that the bomb still lies buried is a growing fear. The concept of implosion has begun to take shape and has startled me to depths I cannot express. At this point, I'm not entirely sure how to excavate the accumulated mass from my shelter. Or if I even feel comfortable doing so. One fear of mine is that the perception others have of me will lower. The truth hidden behind this facade, once revealed, will cause them to turn away.

There is reason for everything:
The original disturbance, the back story as to why I feel the need to be self-sufficient, was caused, by my best recollection, at the second church that I attended; inside the sanctum of understanding love. There was a family that sat across the way from me every Sunday. They were a bigger family than us with five members: mom, dad, and three small boys. For one reason or another the family began to experience a seemingly endless string of hardships. During this time, they sought the guidance and prayers of the church. Each and every Sunday for over half a year they would journey to the front during the invitation and would present their newly arisen challenge to the church. They were seeking prayers and the church shunned them for it. I would watch from bowed head as those around shook theirs as if to signify their disapproval of the family's plea. Mistaking prayer requests for stability and guidance as cries for sympathy. It was completely demeaning. I felt terrible for the family. The feeling of discomfort steadily began to increase as I considered how badly i would be shunned if I were to ever need to come forward.
There is a poem written by a close friend that summarizes a good deal of how I feel about this bottle inside of me. Props go out to Steve for first mustering the strength to materialize his feelings into words:

"i am afraid. i am afraid no one will like me. i am afraid my joke won't be laughed at. i am afraid you will reject me. i am afraid that if you accept me, then i will have some sort of responsibility to you. i am afraid to be alone. i am afraid to be with someone. i am afraid God doesn't like the things i do. i am afraid i will have to keep doing the things God does like me to do. i am afraid of commitment. i am afraid to let go. i am afraid i haven't done enough. i am afraid i can't do any more. i am afraid to disagree. i am afraid to step out. i am afraid to stand still. i am afraid to dance. i am afraid of darkness. i am afraid to fit into your box. i am afraid to think outside the box. i am afraid i'll miss the punch line. i am afraid to swim. i am afraid fear will cripple me. yet i am still afraid to move. because i am afraid you will think i am worthless, but i am afraid you are wrong."

I am not merely afraid, I am terrified. This has become such a crippling struggle that I find myself, at times, immobile. Unable to express myself the way that I should, the way that we are instructed. Forgive me for this fear, but I cannot seem to break it though I face it everyday. Amen.

--footnote--

I am thankful for all of my friends who have given me counsel. Some of which have even sacrificed sleep and working hours to render so eloquently the words which have been unheard by these ears for so long. Maybe it's just that advice is not registering the way it should. I am just beginning to regain my senses, since the series of unfortunate events leading up to camp (that was a really cool movie by the way. Jim Carrie was his normal weird self but the story was excellent). I have found that if the lord realizes that I am not being attentive to his words, than he will speak through others in hopes of recapturing my attention. That is exactly what he has done. He caught me before I hit the rocks below, and he has since been trying to give me instructions on how to get back. If only I can push my fears aside and fully trust in his perfect will.

P.B.P.G.I.N.F.W.M.Y. = Please be patient, God is not finished with me yet.

--end footnote--