I have just said goodnight to five of my closest friends. We're small in number but big in love, and I am so blessed to know them. I have other friends that I have known longer and deeper, and perhaps am closer to, but that doesn't change how much I look forward to spending time with Josh, Mike, Krista, Dave, and Nikayla each week.
I have just said good night to them.
And I am lonely.
This is funny, because I have a roommate now - Anthony. Love that guy. The usual unease I would feel at being at my house by myself at night is gone a bit because , well, I'm not alone. But in a few short minutes, I will crawl under my covers and curl up to . . . my body pillow. I want to say good night to someone, want someone to be there at the end of the day . . . want to WAKE UP to her. And it's not that I don't say good night to God, greet Him with my morning breath each morning (than question his decision to make the imbeciles that usually populate my morning commute . . . oh patience. JK. I love all those idiot motorists. For real.)
But, well . . . you can't snuggle with God. I don't mind being really open and vulnerable about this, because for the most part, I'm fairly self sufficient. But there is this part of me that yearns for the kind of closeness I see others able to enjoy. I feel a bit unworthy of it at times - like somehow those who are married have deserved it, while I don't. There is a lot I feel that I don't deserve . . . again, this sinking feeling of having failed before being such a final thing is hard to get around. Nights like this, I feel like I've plateaued . . . that I've already hit the climax of my life, and that ultimately, there is nowhere to go but down from here. It frightens me to think that I had a shot at something great, something worthwhile . . . that vocationally and relationally, I have already experienced the best that life has to offer.
I feel like settling. I feel restless. I feel that it's hard to see the holy sometimes - it's not that i don;t think it exists, just that it's hard to see it. My past haunts me - I talked with a member of the youth group I had pastored, and it was a pleasant surprise . . . pleasant because I have and will always love this individual, and surprise because I didn't think I would talk to her again . . . I don't think I deserve it. Everything I wanted and tried to be as a pastor seems like a whole other person. Sometimes I wish I could rewind life and do things a little differently.
It feels a lot like it's going to be one of those nights that I just don't sleep . . . I don't feel like it, probably won't be able to. It's not that I don't enjoy the people I've come to met since moving here, and it's not that I don't love my life in Calgary. My life just feels so fragmented . . . so much like I humpty Dumptied it, and the pieces no longer fit.
There isn't a single person who has seen all of my life, who I have shared a significant length of time with. And when I say my life, I don't mean all 26 years . . . the first 18 are hard to decipher. Everything before my dad went to jail is a blur, like someone else lived it. It's really only the last 8 years or so that seem to matter, and even in that, there isn't a lot of chunks that have been lived with the same person or group of people.
The big things that happened when I was in New Brunswick mean nothing to all but one person I see regularly now . . . the highs of the Angelos tour are lost on those I usually talk to. If I say RIP! while driving, there are four people who will get it, and I haven't seen them for almost 18 months. Flying a kite means a lot to me and one person who peed herself laughing about it, but she's not here. And relating anything about my life in Calgary to my mom or sisters is weird because , well, they aren't here and don't get it - and i don't get most of their stories.
I feel that what i want is impossible, but that I can't stop wanting it. I don't even know how to put it into words. I want someone just to know me, and I KNOW, I KNOW, it's You . . . but You don't grace me with a physical presence. And no, the whole "my people are me with skin on" line of thought is little solace, God. I want to see You, talk to You, hold your hand . . . and not metaphorically, but ACTUALLY. Wrestle me like you wrestled the liar - he's not better than I , is he?
Though little of what I have written indicates it, I am content for right now. Just restless. Impatient. Waiting.
And a little lonely.
Good night.
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