20 July 2009

20 July 2009

Unsurprisingly a week has flown by and I have yet to focus adequately on my assignment. I may have written a few words here and there, but I have yet to undertake with any gusto whatsoever the quest I set before myself six days ago.

I do dwell upon former strengths at times; things I was able to do before I became ill. I used to sing so well, play guitar so fast, lift so much weight, run so fast. Those things seem long gone now. I’m older. My health doesn’t lend itself to mastery of those activities any more. I mourn their passing daily. Now I must learn to discern qualities in myself that I would find as praiseworthy as I did those, or for which I might find praise as rewarding.

I did acknowledge this week that I should pursue my writing. I guess that would qualify as a purposeful identification of a positive attribute, and possibly a desirable career path. I also allowed myself to say, sheepishly, in retrospect, that I am a good lover to my wife; that somehow I manage to please her enough to keep coming back for more. I almost forgot that I had admitted to approving of my skills as a webmaster as well.

I will say that I am immensely proud of my most recent guitar designs. I feel that they are my best work yet. Ever since my first design back in 1990 I have been steadily improving, and I feel that this latest batch has the most commercial appeal of them all. I’m looking so forward to seeing them in the hands of real musicians. I only wish that it would be sufficient cause for me to experience guiltless pride for once in my life. Everything seems tainted by the shadow of self deprecation.

My language ability doesn’t really qualify as a personal strength or quality. It has always come easy to me much like mathematics did for my brother. I can’t exactly pat myself on the back for something that feels like it was handed to me on a platter. I will say that the Korean course was challenging, but that was because of the Army schedule, the repulsive social requirements of the school, and the intensity of the curriculum. I did well, yes, but I did what was expected of me, which, in my view, should elevate any student to the A standard.

Integrity. Honesty. Now those are qualities I prize very highly. I don’t mince words. I say what I mean, and I mean what I say. Again I don’t praise myself for maintaining a standard that, for all intents and purposes, should be the established norm, but I will still afford myself a small amount of credit for holding to it despite its apparent lack of popularity.

Apparently I can acknowledge things that, from a certain perspective, can be viewed as commendable qualities; however, before they are even subject to my own personal judiciary panel, they must pass through the filter of expected behaviors. He should neither expect reward nor praise who merely does what is expected of him.

My writing might be good, but it is so because it is correct. I may have the gift of inspiration, expounding, or fictional narrative, but without correct writing its delivery is moot.

I may know how to please my wife, but is that not what is expected of a man who desires to express his love and affection? Not to be crass, but I was gifted with an agile tongue, and it does serve my purposes well.

I have worked to develop my skills as a webmaster, yes, and I may have the eye for quality presentation, but my sites work because they have to. Dead links, improperly formatted text, confusing navigation, outdated content, etc, are unacceptable on any standards-compliant web site.

Clearly I dismiss any of my qualities which can be viewed as prerequisites for adherence to societal norms. The question is why. Why would I devalue and question myself to the point where I willingly refuse to acknowledge any self worth?

I was raised in an environment of religious oppression. I was told time and time again that I was an unworthy sinner, undeserving of God’s grace and mercy. I was told to praise and give glory to Him for all of my successes and to admit to my worthlessness upon any shadow of a failure. Nothing I could ever do would be good enough in God’s eyes for Him to look upon me with paternal pride. I would never be able to make Him love me for who I am. I had to change, strip myself of self, become like Him: holy and beyond reproach, but I had to admit to my own powerlessness to effect those changes on my own. I had to allow Him to work His “second work of grace,” the act of sanctification, whereby He would make me holy and miraculously remove from me any carnal desire or aspiration. By this miraculous work I would suddenly desire nothing more than to cut my hair, wear button-up shirts, khaki pants, leather shoes, argyle socks, listen to Michael W. Smith music from dawn to dusk, enroll in one of the denomination’s more prestigious colleges, marry the first girl I meet there, and work diligently to become the youth pastor of one of the more notable First Churches across this great and wonderful nation.

I spent so much of my life at the altar that my knees now hurt daily. I can’t recall how many times I got saved, rededicated, and sanctified, how many tears I’ve shed, how many times I begged God to make me something I’m not. My carnal desires never left. I still wanted to be congratulated and praised for my accomplishments and talents. I still wanted to do something with my life that would not involve being on the church’s payroll. I still liked heavy music. I still wanted to eventually marry someone who would be my equal, my friend, my lover. I still wanted to grow my hair, wear denim, leather, and black T-shirts. I still wanted to be myself.

Knowing that I would never find grace in God’s eyes I began to pray for others rather than myself. I begged. I knew that I was destined to hell but I couldn’t bear the thought of others having to join me in torment.

To my parents I was nothing but a rebellious child, always going through phases. I would eventually outgrow all of my childish desires and succumb to God’s “perfect” will for my life, whatever that may be. My talents and gifts, hopes, dreams, and aspirations were irrelevant. God had a plan for my life and whatever it was it was going to involve the church in some way. They assured me quite regularly that it would make me happier than any other thing I might have actually wanted to do.

When it came to seeking their approval and acknowledgement, as I’ve later discovered it is normal for children to do, I was either casually dismissed or impatiently corrected. After all, when they were back in school, sharing their denominational dream, they never accounted for the possibility that one of their 2.5 children might not be so quick to swallow any pill handed to him by strangers in positions of religious authority. No matter what, no matter how well I did, I would never be good enough in their eyes, and I most certainly would never be as good as my younger brother.

I’m not as angry at them for what their comparisons of us did to me, but what they did to him. He has had to hold himself to a high standard, knowing that compliance was the only way to gain approval. He was always a good kid. He saw the fruits of my behavior and adjusted fire. I do love him dearly, and wish more than anything that he could see how great and wonderful his gifts are and how amazing of a man he has grown to become despite the way that we were raised. I honestly want nothing more than his happiness, his family’s, and that of my wife and son.

Is that a quality? Oh, I don’t know. We’re commanded to love one another, right? I can’t exactly pat myself on the back for obeying a commandment, can I?

I have abandoned the pathetic fallacies of the teachings I was subjected to in my youth. I have come to believe that there is nothing more divine than hope, vision, and aspiration; that it is not those things we’ve learned from the pulpit for which we should be held most accountable, but for those gifts we were given long before we were born.

But what all of this boils down to is that I still believe that, specifically for me, anything short of perfection is unworthy of mention, let alone praise.
Even though I have seen my parents’ true colors, and realized that even if I could gain their approval I wouldn’t want it at this point, I am still that selfish, ugly (on the inside, right Mom?), back-talking child, who will never amount to anything.

Now it’s even simpler. Self-affirmation doesn’t pay the bills, nor does drawing pretty pictures of guitars, or writing a journal, or integrity, honesty, faith, hope, or love. Perhaps this is the lesson I should have learned in the first place. Personal qualities, talents, dreams, and aspirations are irrelevant in a society that demands conformity, willful ignorance, and apathy.

Perhaps that is the lesson my parents were trying to impart to me.
Or perhaps my world collapsed when I realized that my father is what I always suspected him to be.

I wanted to be wrong for once!