June 1999
June 1, 1999
1999 is almost half over. Wow. Time is flying.
I worked today in the sun. I thought I was going to have to plow ( now you know that I live on a farm..see how well this journal bit is working out? ). It was only about 82 degrees outside, but the humidity made it feel more like 100. A neighbor stopped by as we were working and told us about his daughter's upcoming wedding, and about how much she and her husband to be made per year ( they are both in their early thirties and have been living together for 8 years ). Two things occur to me again.
First, I am still almost sure that I don't want to be married. I would like to be free to spend time however I like. If I want to work a lot, no one can complain. If I want to take a week off and go as a sponser on a youth group trip, I can do that without worrying about any family.
Second, I am afraid of money. I am sure that someone can have too much. The neighbor told us about how much the young couple was paying in rent.. Enough to support a small family, really. I think that is vulgar in a way. You have to enjoy the fruits of your labor, but I think there's a limit. After you pass that, you're really just being greedy and and overly concerned with social status. I suppose though that maybe other's are able to buy really nice ( expensive ) things and not look at it like that. In that case maybe they aren't guilty of anything. At any rate, how other people spend their money isn't my business.
June 2, 1999
I've noticed something about sin. It's always a lot of fun while you're doing it, but when it's over, you're shot.
I'm making it sound like this is something I've just realized. Hardly the case. It's obvious, really.
It's just that I'm re-realizing it.
Once a friend of mine told me that she had failings that made her want to cry. I remember thinking how peculiar that was because I understood how people like me could do that, but not people like her. She seemed/seems to have it all together. I can really not imagine what she could do that would hurt her that much. But, I've learned that it's all relative. I look back on the things I used to enjoy doing and not feel at all guilty about... I can't believe it. It hurts a little now just remembering. I don't understand how I could have done them all and just looked the other way.
June 4th, 1999
My keyboard quit working yesterday, so until I get a replacement ( under warranty, praise the Lord ) I'm using my parents computer.
Which brings me to what I'm going to write about. I recently formatted my computer and lost ( accidently, sortof ) my old journal files. I mean, a journal I kept way back in 1997 when I was a junior in high school all the way up to about the summer before I left for college. I read a few entries. I'm considering posting a few here just so you all could marvel at how much I've changed since then.. When I read them I felt like laughing and crying at the same time. I hurt so much then. All the time. I was very rarely happy, and when I was, it was fleeting and artificial. It was like I looked for brick walls to ram head first.
I've heard before that even though old people will reminsce about their youth, if you ask them if they would repeat it, they will tell you no. I look back on my "youth" with the tiny bit of age and wisdom that I have and know exactly what that means.
At the same time.. I was so infatuated with romantic love. My world revolved around what things felt like. I ignored completely the things that I knew to be concretely true in favor of persuing the things that I thought should be true. I make that sound as though I was a dreamer and have no given up. That isn't at all what I mean. I mean that I ignored reality in favor of fantasy. And I got very hurt. And in the process I hurt a good many friends. I've apologized to a few. To others.. I think it would be wiser just to let them forget as I mostly had until I re-read portions of that journal.
Learning lessons.
I'd sincerely like to take credit for all of this. I'd like to point to some person and thank them and say that they did it. ( by this and it I mean my growing up ) I was too proud to admit anything was wrong until I was nearly torn in half with pain and depression. I was too proud still to ask any mortal person's help. As a friend of mine would say, It was totally a "God thing."
A God thing. God. I get so tired of hokey religion. I am bated frequently with ideas like, "Well, all religions are partially correct." or "Faith is a crutch." The people that say these things are looking at a 6 year old's Sunday school concept of Christ and Christianity. He is really not that small.
June 5, 1999
I don't have much of anything to say today. I'm still on my parents' machine because my keyboard is still busted.
I went to town last night and went to a couple of friend's houses and enjoyed a pipe. A borrowed pipe because I can't seem to find mine for some reason.
I wrote something yesterday, and I think I'll polish it up a hair and put it here.
I am awarded lattitude. Not because I have earned it, but because I am loved. The One who loves me gives me this freedom. It is like the freedom to hang one's self. I can see the noose always. It's there, hanging. Stark and slightly frayed against a parched blue sky. The sun beats down on my forehead and beads of sweat sting my eyes now and again. I stare at my death until it grows hazy, then comes back into focus. Death. I have a twisted and lustful desire to experience it again. To feel and taste the livid and acidic drops of blood flow down my throat and into my stomach. I slip it around my neck, it's coarseness all too familiar. A voice filled with revulsion screams from within and without, echoing perfectly off the sky. The voice of reason, but of something or someone deeper and better then reason. The Voice of Truth. Lust verses Truth. I decide to ignore The Voice. I kick the lever that opens the trap door. I free fall for a split second before I am snapped to a violent stop. There I hang choking and sputtering without air. A few seconds pass, then a few more. They seem to stretch into hours. I am fighting to free myself, but I am fighting to stay. What I see and what I feel become the same, a type of white hot bloody red pain, flickering out of existance as I flicker out of existance. Just as I begin to go numb, the rope snaps, and I fall to the ground panting. I weep awhile before I climb the thirteen steps to find a new rope identical to the old hanging on the gallows.
June 7, 1999
Finally got a new keyboard, so I'm back on my computer once again.
I drove the tractor today all day and did some thinking. And that thinking has led to think now about myself. I say I want a lot of things, but do I really want some of them? Do I really not want to ever be married? Hmm.
June 8, 1999
I got off rather early today. It's currently 6 pm. Of course, I started an hour earlier then normal as well, so I really only worked about 2 hours fewer then normal.
I think I have decided to re-evalute my position against marriage. I think I have taken my taboo against romantic infatuation a couple of steps too far. I still maintain that it is very easy, far too easy, to worship the object of one's affections, but somehow somewhere there is a thin line that can be walked. While walking it, one can enjoy a little romantic love but not lose focus on the important things.
Perhaps the reader is wondering just what the big deal is. The big deal is this.. Romance will *always* fade. Experience and common sense tells me this. This is why I am concerned about not becoming dependent upon it. Why would I want to build a castle on the beach?
June 12, 1999
Goodness, it's been 4 days since I last wrote. If only I had an excuse.
I and a friend went to a nearby city yesterday. I say city. It is about 160k people. As close to a city as you can get in the Texas Panhandle. A good time was had by all. Visited a few book stores, a smoke shop, and a gun store. I bought a cigar, but it wasn't very good.
I wonder again for the millionth time who it is I ought to associate with. Certain upcoming events are out of the question. If I have to tell them why, I will say it.
T'SHAR UHAB
That is not just about giving into them. It is about spirit and resignation to things that are true and right.
June 13, 1999
Goodness I'm pumped. I actually have something meaningful to write about today instead of continuing ot whine about one thing or another.
One of the amazing aspects of Christian life is the series of epiphanies one undergoes. A friend and I were discussing worship this morning, and he was telling me about an experience he had at one of the local charasmatic churches in town. ( This gentleman is in his early 60's and works a great deal with youth ) Anyway, he was sharing with me about how a session of worship was proceeding in a youth meeting at this church. The youth were encouraged to allow the spirit flow, to let go of themselves, etc. He said that the youth began to dance and walk around, until what appeared to be the leader of the group began to march around the room. Other's soon followed him over chairs and around tables. When all had settled back down, the youth minister exclaimed what a good bit of worship had taken place.
I myself have had similar experiences at charasmatic churches, and have thought all along, that's all well and fine, if that's the way they worship, let them to it. Now I see a sort of danger in it though. Mind, I am not saying that sort of worship is wrong. Not at all. I do think there is a high risk of believing that worship is not good unless it *is* like this. When people don't feel compelled to march around the room in a line and stand on folding chairs, have they had a poor worship experience? No. If someone NEVER feels compelled to march around the room and stand on folding chairs, is he a worse Christian for it? Hardly.
This has led me though to think about my own concept of worship. As it turns out, I often measure the value of my worship using how I feel during and afterward as a ruler.
This does lead up to a point. I used to find worship at my parent's church boring and laborious. I felt that anyone who could sing the old hymns to the old organ could simply not be "excited" for God. This morning I realized that I myself was practicing what I find many charasmatics dangerously close to. This morning I truly worshiped the Lord in song even though the music didn't have a beat one could tap a foot to.
This, however, ( joy, oh, rapture ) is not the only thing I have to write about.
Last week was vacation bible school at the church. Eleven children made professions of faith ( a stiff collar word for "became a Christian" for those in my audience who are not Baptist ) The children were called one by one by name up on to the pulpit and their parents were invited to come along with them. One child, a girl of about ten, stood up on the pulpit alone without any parents. At last an elderly lady and and another girl of about her age went up to stand beside her. It made me think of myself and thank the Lord once again for giving to me what he has. I had no Christian role models growing up. Yes, my parents do go to church.. but they are not outwardly concerned with "church things." How much harder will it be for this girl whose parents were not even present? Who will disciple her and teach her and tell her what to expect? I am reminded once again of the impracticality of 95% of the bible lessons I have ever heard. We do study what I think is truth, but it turns out that we rarely study how to apply truth. And in this area, we are especially negligent with our children.
June 17, 1999
I used to believe I was reasonably eloquent. I don't think I am anymore. Probably because I haven't bothered to read anything besides web pages and my bible in months. I ought to go get some thing from the library. Maybe I will if I have time later on today. I doubt I'll have time because I think we're going to start harvesting wheat today, and we'll be busy with that for a week or more once we start.
I look at myself sometimes and wonder how it is I am so prideful. I am critical, I use vulgar language, I am lustful.. There's nothing really for me to be prideful about.
There are two states of pride for me, active and passive. The active pride is the less dangerous because it's movement and stirrings alert me to its presence almost immediatly. But the passive.. It is almost a function of my personality, who I am. I am *always* a bit proud, so I don't notice it because it's perfectly normal. On rare occasions when a fit of active pride overtakes me, it forces enough of a self examination that I notice the passive pride. And it's so strange when I consider it because it's like taking a quick glance. I realize I am proud, then question myself, "Why? You've done nothing to be proud of!" Then I rebegin this process of trying to force myself to be humble which is rather like trying to force myself to enjoy a meal of kraut and vienna sausages.
June 18, 1999
Wheat harvest has officially begun on the Stephens Farm. As of about 6 pm yesterday afternoon.
The thing I have to write about, I have to unfortunatly skip around to avoid hurting anyone's feelings who might at some point in the future read it.
It is about pain and longing and what they can bring.
Some things can happen in your life that can set you up for a fall. You can be hurt in such a way that you form a distrust of love that you aren't even aware of. This distrust grows and finally blooms into a terrible flower when just the right shade of darkness envelopes it.
This truth cuts me nearly to the bone.
June 18, 1999 (cont.)
I intended to write more earlier, but I had to go to work suddenly, so I was unable.
It just got done storming here. One thing farmers must learn is to keep a stiff upper lip about the weather. Probably the most beautiful stand of wheat I've ever seen has been hailed out. The rain we got came in such a hurry ( nearly an inch in 20 minutes ) that it flooded out the sorghum, so we'll have to replant it. It's so depressing because mother nature hasn't done us a good turn in years. For the last several, it was a drought. So much of a drought last year that we were unable to plant come things because there wasn't enough moisture for the seeds to germinate. This year the rain cames in the best times and our dry land wheat yields were going to be as high as irrigated yields in good years. But just when harvest was beginning, the hail has came. The hope now is that it was localized to the farm here, and that perhaps the wheat elsewhere was spared.
June 29, 1999
As it turns out, the wheat pretty much everywhere sustained little damage.
I left on the Sunday before last a bit unexpectadly to go to Special Friends Camp. It was, as always, a fantastic experience. I met a lot of new friends ( among the counselors and campers ). I have email addresses for a few. Hopefully we'll be able to correspond with one another, for a while at least. After camp, I went with a youth group from Colorado to Amarillo to an minature golf course, a mall, and an amusement park. Getting to know all of them was a lot of fun. I hope I can go to visit them sometime. After that, ( starting last Friday)I went with my family to my grandmothers. We returned home yesterday ( Monday ) and re-began harvest. The fields are just dry enough.
I have made a preliminary type decision that I haven't come to any concrete conclusions about. I think I will stop smoking. I noticed that as I spent time with the youth, someone mentioned smoking, and I was bothered to discuss it. The longer I think about it, the more I realize it could be a bad witness. So many people think of smoking as being wrong ( even though I still maintain that for me, the actual act of smoking is not wrong )that it may be wise for me to stop.
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Contact me: adam.stephens@ttu.edu