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Is bad luck that brings you to God really so bad? If it breaks your spirit, is it bad? Are you sure?
Is the guy who loses all his money and learns not to rely on it someone you would pity? Has the badness brought him to a better place? Is that new mountaintop good?
Is the pain such a terrible thing?
If life considered in cold blood would be a chutes and ladders game, with lots of small climbs and lots of sudden falls, then whad would your own cold blood tell you? Weren't falls often more beautiful than climbs? In God's judgment was it the case that down was up and upward down?
SPIRITUAL TEMPTATION TO SUICIDE?
When a guy stood looking down at Douglas Island -- suddenly created out of fog -- his soul leaped down the side of the mountain, sensing that God was there to receive him with open arms. But fortunately, as one hopes, his body had more sense and held him gripped onto the lookout high on the mountaintop, having forbidden him to jump but leaving him in fear. And this fear was in fact a gift.
*
Matt laughed at the height but Dave was afraid.
Dave's stepfather, an acrophobiac like himself, pinpointed the source of the fear: when you look down, you actually want to jump. A part of you does. The fear is a piece of you that you can't just tear off and discard.
It feels as though God is more there than here. the fear brings salvation present. The possibility, the reality. Then you feel God's love within your fear. Bless God for all creation including my sick racing heart. I will fall but I will also climb.
The lichen clung to the spruce and refused to look around. Something powerful was here. The fog only doubled whatever it was. The boats and refineries at the bottom of the vista looked like toys.
*
Over and over, Dave received evidence of what a bad Christian he was, or that he was not a Christian at all. Whereas his new buddy Matt just rested in his faith and didn't prod it much. After alll, brother, it's all about God, not about me, right?
There was an ambiance of trust around Matt that was too happy to move or change. Obese and alluring, he fit like a puzzle piece into the rich and heavy air of Alaska. But for Dave, happiness itself was problematic and difficult to identify or seize. Faith backed away from it. If he were to feel it, his first response would be to prod it and push it until it was no longer itself. No longer happy.
When he walked along he sidewalk and a stranger jostled him, his first impulse was always to haul off and punch the guy. Only a second later he remembered not only not to do it but not want to -- because you're walking with God, remember? But there was always that second filled with rage, to remind him of who he was. His decency was something hastily applied, on top, not really him.
*
It was like Meryl Streep's horrible acting. In a turkey like The Hours you could watch her react to the other character, you could see the wheels lifting the tram. She was saying: Now how shall I play the next line? Everything voulu, everything willed in isolation. You could watch the decision being made, you could see it form. Then came the vibrant and sincere acting, but it was too late, it came after a hesitation that told you how artificial the feeling was.
And Dave's Christianity was like that. There was a forced quality to his goodness that he himself couldn't stand. He would fall down the chute of anger or lust or greed, then pick himself up, climb up again to the distant regions blessed by God, but always wondering if the blessing could really be meant for him. Well, the climbing was painful and the pain was real. There was something to that. There was no bad acting there.
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