An Encounter With The Ceiling

Last night, I lied awake in bed thinking about the past, the future, and the tangled mess that lies in between. For the first time in a while, I talked to God. 

Hey God. I’m ruining every aspect of my life right now. I’m unconsciously sabotaging everything that is good and I don’t know how to quit. Please, for ten minutes, stop my heart. 

To be clear: I don’t want to die. There’s too much undiscovered territory ahead of me for me to want to abandon it, too long of a race for me to quit before it even starts. I only wanted to die for ten minutes, just to see what heaven is like and to feel true emotional freedom. I made that clear to God. 

Lord, don’t kill me forever. Please bring me back in ten minutes. I just want to feel free, and then recreate it somehow on earth. Tell me or show me something that will change the trajectory of my life.

I prayed with more sincerity than I have in a long time. I lied still, very still. Listening. Waiting. All I heard was my heartbeat. The more I thought about it, the quicker it went. I tried to forget it, but it was like breathing–once it’s brought to consciousness, it’s impossible to ignore. 

Are you there, God? Please tell me something that will change my life. Please show me what it’s like to be free from insecurity. Where are you?

God? I’ve never been so serious about anything before. I want you to free me. Are you there?

I turned over. Five minutes passed. I turned on my other side. Another five minutes. More pesky heartbeats, more crushing silence. 

One last time, I pleaded.

Give me a sign that you’re real. Show me that I’m not just talking to the ceiling. 

There was still undisturbed quiet. I opened my eyes, which I had faithfully kept closed and motionless. At that moment, it came to me that whatever God there might have been had turned his face from me. I saw the ceiling and realized that there was nothing else above it, at least, nothing that cared. 

I sleep alone tonight. 

Dear God–Where Am I?

Dear God,

It seems that over the past few years, I have either hated you or loved you. I’ve pondered your existence, asked the hardest questions, and pushed the boundaries of conventional theology. That isn’t true now. You barely cross my mind. Where are you? Or, more accurately, where am I?

I’ve been gone. Where I am, I don’t know. I took a wrong turn somewhere. It feels as though I got drunk, blindfolded myself, and sleepwalked (all at once) out into the world, and now here I am, waking up, having no idea where I am. Lord, I don’t even know how I’ve gotten myself here into this peculiar unknown. Everything has been a blur these past few months. For once, I don’t feel as though you have abandoned me. I am the one who walked away.

I read a devotional and the Bible every night, but it’s only a ritualistic chore, something I’ve been doing every night since New Year’s Day that I continue to do only for the sake of uniformity. I’m not even reading the words on the page. Church is only a bundle of good feelings–a place where I socialize, joke around, and make myself useful as often as possible. I like the camaraderie and leadership opportunities I have there, but I miss the point every Sunday. I’m nothing but a fraud in your kingdom. I could, and would be willing to, preach a sermon to a thousand people about how good and unfailing you are; evangelize, pray for people, ask other people to pray for me, go on mission trips, be on a worship team, and share testimonies, but it’s all a shell. My faith is a beautiful package full of nothing but more paper and bubble wrap.

When I need help, I completely forget your existence, like a person forgets the day they’re born. Sometimes when I used to say “forget,” I meant that I knew you were there and felt you couldn’t help, and therefore didn’t reach out. Not so in this case. You have become so irrelevant that the thought of you does not even reach my conscious mind. How do I immerse myself in your word, your music, and your church, but not even think of you? How do I ask people for prayer but not even think of who is behind it all? Has everything only become a social pleasantry, like “hi, how are you, I’m fine?”

I am in need of somebody who can recognize me as real, because Lord, sometimes I don’t even feel real to myself. I have so many faces that I wear for so many different people; I can’t keep track anymore. I do my best to care for all my images, like one would tend to a garden of a hundred different flowers, but sooner or later I forget one, and it crumbles and shows the dull dirt beneath. Every day, I experience so much anxiety that I feel physically sick. My mind is constantly playing paranoid tricks on me. I’m sad, I’m reactive, I cry too much, I’m uninspired, and I’m becoming more and more proficient at covering it up. Because who would want to be around someone so negative? Who would ever love someone like that? The only way to be loved is to be inspiring, or funny, or spontaneous, or creative. Lord, I don’t know how long I have until I run out of all the old jokes I’ve stored up over the years just for times like this, or the pep talks I’ve recycled from better days.

I can only hope that you want to be around someone so negative. I can only hope that maybe, for you, I don’t have to be an actress in a hastily-produced play. I can only hope that you would willingly choose, above all things, to sit with me in complete silence.

Your fraudulent and flaky servant in name only,




A Letter To My Conservative Friends

Dear conservative and Republican friends,

If you know anything about me, you’ll know that I’m a liberal. I wasn’t raised that way. I grew up in a relatively traditional and Republican environment, actually, and I held the views in alignment with that environment dear to my heart. Around eighth and ninth grade, I began to come into my own and form opinions based on my own observations, experiences, and reasoning. I really do believe that that’s part of growing up.

But it doesn’t really matter how I grew up or what the past is. What matters is the present, and right now, in this present moment, I’d like to make peace.  In the past, I admit, I’ve become angry with you–well, not you, per se, but the stark contrast in our perspectives. My liberal beliefs form a large part of how I interpret our current political atmosphere, how I come to conclusions about the world, and even how I choose to live my life. In the midst of my own fervor, I’ve forgotten that you most likely feel the same way about your views. It would be unfair for me to claim that I’m more of an activist than you are. You are an activist in your own way, and I admire your passion–yes, even if it directly conflicts with mine.

I’m starting to accept that we will never see eye to eye on many of the things that matter deeply to both of us. And you know what? That’s okay. We’ll never change each other’s minds by arguing, whether in person or online, so let’s just put it all to rest. I hate what politics have done to how we view each other–at least, how I view you, and how I perceive you to view me (my perceptions are admittedly faulty, so please correct me if I’m wrong). I just want to go back to when none of this was an issue. I want to talk about things like nature, art, music, our stories, our hopes, our dreams. These things bring us together on a truly human and universal level.

So please, take this as an olive branch from me. I will not think of you as bigoted, closed-minded, or intolerant. I hope that you won’t think of me as wayward, clueless, or amoral. All I want is peace between us. Hopefully this post will help soothe some of the animosity.

With love,


The Human Element

I work as a cashier at a large supermarket. The job, to me, is a whole lot more than menial, automatic tasks. If all I did was scan cucumbers and bag frozen burritos, I’d have quit the day after I started. What I really love about my job is the human element.

I actually care about my customers, because I care about people. I hope the saddest people come through my line so I can say something that might make a difference in their life, even if only for a moment. When they tell me something that’s going on, I tell them I’ll remember. A few weeks ago, one woman told me her son had a brain tumor. I still pray for her son every time I think of him–which is actually quite frequently. Somebody today told me her mother was in the hospital, and she had to go there every day to visit. I’ve been praying for her all day.

If there is any opportunity for me to interact with people, I will do my best to use it to inspire. The world needs a little more humanity. I want to be the change, one frozen burrito at a time.

How God Spoke to Me Through Pokemon Go

If you haven’t heard of Pokemon Go, you’ve been living under a rock (or a Rhyhorn). I downloaded it a few weeks ago, becoming just one of millions of players. I’m not hardcore about it; I’m only on Level 7 and I play it when I get the chance.

Anyway. Today, people were rude to me at work, other conflicts arose, and I was overall just feeling really miserable. Later in the evening, I decided to triple-task picking up groceries, taking a walk, and hunting Pokemon.

Usually I don’t get more than Rattatas and Pidgeys. But on my walk, I stumbled across a CP 250 Pidgeot–something I’d never caught before. Just 100 yards later, I caught a Bulbasaur. Both of my eggs hatched on my walk. One was a CP 185 Rhyhorn, and another was an Exeggcute. I had neither of those, and for a casual player who’d never hatched any eggs before, I was absolutely ecstatic.

I didn’t really think much of it at the time. I got home and started feeling emotional again. It wasn’t for another few hours that I realized that maybe, just maybe, those Pokemon were a sign from God that he loves me.

Many people think God’s voice must be found in visions, dreams, or sunsets. He certainly can speak that way, but the way he loves us through the things we love cannot be ignored. If we keep our eyes open during our everyday lives, we can start to see God’s love in countless more ways. He’s leaving signs of his deep love for us everywhere, like treasures.

We need to go catch ’em all.

Christ In Me, a Doubter

I always doubt God. Sometimes, in the middle of sermons or services, I’ll start feeling really weird. Talk to God, they say. Really? We’re all praying to absolutely nothing. Singing to nothing. Gathered here in a building talking to ourselves. And then just as quickly as the feeling comes, it passes. 

I have tried to become an atheist before. Really, really tried. In tenth grade, I went through a time where I felt loss and loneliness constantly. Weirdly, I wanted the satisfaction of making someone hurt for me. I felt let go of, and I wanted to be the let-goer. God was my only option, because I couldn’t have brought myself to do anything like to that to someone or something tangible. So I let go of God. I immersed myself in atheism, in science, in reason. I read articles on how to make myself stop believing. But I couldn’t. Honestly, I couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was up there. So I quit the pursuit of godlessness and just settled for “being angry at God.” I believed he was unjust, unkind, a liar, disgusting, shameful–but I believed he was. 

I got over the anger, though I am grateful for it (I wrote a fantastic, ruthless piece of religious satire, for which I will never stop being proud of). But I’m still a doubter. I’ve accepted that I always will be. Maybe I like it a little, because it makes me feel rational. Unsheeply. 

So here I am, caught. I can’t believe, but I can’t not believe. Nobody will ever convince me that God is undeniably real. He will never be proven to me. But beneath all the doubt, there’s this sinking feeling that he’s there, defying everything that science says should be true. That’s Christ in me. It isn’t a constant peace, a blessed confidence, or a warm feeling that I’m never alone. It’s a literal, rock-solid presence that cannot be shaken, no matter how much the world and I have tried. 

You’re a Mindless Consumer

Everybody who isn’t living in the Dark Ages has seen a YouTube ad, an everybody who doesn’t have the patience and serenity of a monk has been annoyed by one at least once in their lifetime. I’ve become especially fed-up by corporate America and invasions of daily life that I do my best to avoid brands that advertise excessively (for me, the best advertising is no advertising). After the same Always and Charmin ads popped up before my Twenty One Pilots lyric videos for the 33rd time, I decided to find the companies behind those two brands so I could see what other related products I should consider boycotting. What I found was surprising.

Always and Charmin are associated with the same company: Procter and Gamble (P&G). Curious, I investigated other brands owned by them. I was even more surprised when I found that seemingly everything is owned by P&G. If I wanted to boycott Procter and Gamble, I’d have to give up my favorite products that I’m just not willing to give up. I won’t abandon Old Spice (women’s deodorant can suck it). Crest toothpaste is my friend. Puffs. Tampax. Olay. Gillette Venus. Herbal Essences. Pantene. CoverGirl. Even Charmin, despite their hideous bear commercials. I’d have to give up all these things if I were to boycott P&G. I don’t think I hate advertising that much.

I have to accept the fact that my life is not my own–it belongs to Procter and Gamble. Yours does, too. We are all inseparably bound to this corporation, whether we realiza Me it or not. But now you do realize.

You mindless consumer, you.


I Will Never Be Comfortable

Early this school year, I was convinced that I wanted to take a year off of my education to buy a converted school bus and travel all around the country “finding myself.” It was going to be a pleasant and relaxing life full of dreamy satisfaction. I thought I had it all figured out. It wasn’t until a few months ago that I realized I might be wrong.

I don’t believe I am called to a comfortable life. Living a comfortable life, to me, would mean living for myself. My life is a sacrifice. I’m meant to pour into others and push beyond the boundaries of what “comfort” means to me. What this means exactly, I’m not sure. All I know is that in order to live out my purpose, I must leave behind a life of familiarity–because it’s not just about me anymore. I am not my own.


I’m turning seventeen today. It’s about one in the morning, and I’m listening to country music on YouTube. I’m wearing my pajamas and I’m under a big blanket–it’s not cold outside in the slightest, nor am I feverish. I’m not running from the past and I’m not chasing the future. I’m not reflecting on the past year or speculating on the next few. I’m right here in this very moment.

And in this moment, I’m okay.

Hypothetical Realities

Tomorrow is going to be difficult. I have an extra long period of one of my least favorite classes. Looks like I’ll end up digging deep into my stockpile of daydreams.

Daydreams. Are they really daydreams? I’m not usually making up fantasy worlds, as fun as they are. Mine can be likened more to ruminations. I’m creating realistic hypotheticals that evoke an emotional response within myself. I have filing cabinets in my mind filled with those hypotheticals. I choose the emotional response I want, and I pick its corresponding rumination. Then I just repeat it, over and over, over and over, zooming in and out as I please. My own television, except I create whatever I want. I’m entertained not necessarily by the thought itself, but by the feelings it creates in me. If anything grows stale, I can mold the daydream or pull out another one. Sometimes, if an idea strikes me, I create an entirely new daydream. Those are the best moments. The tantalizing array of emotions that lie within my ruminations make it so much easier to endure the mundane reality.