Back from the dead...? Or still dead.

Hello faithful readers.

It has been so long. The only reason I'm actually back here writing is because tonight I saw my cousin Beth (who immediately made me do the secret cousin handshake) who reminded me about my blog.

"I have a blog?" I thought... "Well it seems I do..."

I always convince myself that my blog is a place where I am candid and real. And then I go back into my dashboard and realize that the really real blogs have been saved simply as drafts and were never posted. So the only reader that finds them is me. And I'm the one that wrote them. So I guess I was just doing private journaling or something since I never posted. Next time I'll try to remember to write my private ranting in my actual Notebook of Secrets, inside of pretending that I want the whole world to know what's scampering around inside my misshaped head.

Or maybe I do.

Maybe half of you know Me. The real me. The me that doesn't have it all together, pretends to be the "good little Christian kid" who never misses a beat, the kid who likes to think that he knows right from wrong and always does the first, the kid who so wishes that he would have never tried to be any of those things, since all of them are impossible and can drive you to a) insanity, or b) apostasy, which usually walk hand in hand.

Ever had your life explode? I have. Somewhere, sometime a while back there was some damn invisible fuse that was lit and quickly burned it's way right into the center of my Life. And why oh why didn't I notice it? Or maybe I noticed it but why didn't I care? Anyway, then, just when I thought everything was under control, my life was moving in a wonderful direction that I had a good amount of control over, just when I was happy and confident that things were swinging my way.... BOOM. I find myself barely standing, covered in soot, smoldering, and trying desperately to cling to the tiny, crumbling bits that represented... everything. Literally, everything.

For the past 4 weeks I have felt like Simon Birch. There is a scene where, in a devastating turn of events he ends up killing his best friends mother by accident. Shortly after the camera following the pitiful little fellow running as fast as possible out onto the long dock, looking out over the chilly waters of the ocean. Simon stops and simply yells, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" And turns around, shouting his pain onto no one... onto God, I guess. He is alone and devastated and the only thing his broken heart can scream is, "I'm sorry!"

For the past 4 weeks I have felt like that... like poor little Simon. Wondering, "Why me?" and so desperately wanting to run away into some cold desolate place and yell to a God who doesn't seem to answer... "I'm sorry... I'm sorry."

And a piece of my heart thinks that if I could pay enough penence I could have my life back. That God would look down and say, "Jeremy - this was just a test! The bomb didn't detonate! You have been spared!" And suddenly I would have been transported backwards and life would reset. And I would be happy... oh, I would be happy.

But I am reminded about last January as I toasted in the new year with some close friends and brothers of mine. Each of us stood and raised his glass, toasting a personal thought to the new year. I remember the day clearly since I knew exactly what I should say. Without even realizing the impact or meaning of what I was saying I stood, raised my glass and said,

"Here's to trading in happiness for joy."

And so I am granted my hearts desire.

But there is more... more to this story, and more (I pray) to come in the future.

"When he heard this, Jesus said, "This sickness will not end in death. No, it is for God's glory so that God's Son may be glorified through it." John 11:4