Recognizing Transition

(Upon reading portions of this, it appears that it was written to someone apart from this blog to whom I felt that I may have given a false impression of myself. Those are the "you" portions. Do not make it weird though; even I do not write this much if it is not mostly to work through things in my own self.)

I’m in a period of transition. Life has been unsettled for years, but since I knew that that would remain an unchanged aspect due to moving and travel, I focused on changing myself to adapt rather than taking experiences as a method of refining whatever I already was. In any case, the weight of years of a myriad of transitions is finally finding its focal point now. And for a number of reasons, I finally find myself able to somewhat adequately recognize the transition and sort through how it should settle into defining me as a human and as a Christian.

Here’s the thing. I’m not a regular human. Granted, neither are you (credit where it is due).

Here’s a history lesson on my world to hopefully give an understanding of precisely where I am currently at. I grew up in a sort of standard conservative Christian environment. Never miss church unless you are sick enough for It to be justified, etc. And why would I want anything else? I loved the church. I volunteered in Children’s Church and adored it. I would even show up when I was sick, ‘cause I felt the need. I asked for prayer to be saved around the age of five (I think it was documented in some Bible, but five is my estimate). I knew a few things about Christians at that age: Christians are what everyone needed to become, and Christians stand out. Christians are different. People need to become Christians because being a Christian is far more preferable to being anything else. This, combined with a recently discovered love for making people laugh (among my first memories is the first time I made someone laugh), convinced me to become an odd human. I shaped my personality around my conception of what a Christian was meant to be. I was a bit of a goofball. Since I was a child actor from the age of 5 to 10 (and a little around that), tis persona was not difficult to maintain. Jim Carrey was a role model, and I kept trying to be weird.

Then Hollywood ended and I returned home around the age of 10, along with the rest of my family. Unlike many of them, I was not ready to be finished with acting. I enjoyed it, to the extent that I understood it. So I acted in local plays when I could. The small private Christian school with which our family became involved put on productions, and we, the family with acting experience, did much to influence the drama department. At the same time, I was becoming more involved in church. I became curious about this God, the same one to whom I had dedicated my life many years thence. So I began to ask Him to speak to me. At the age of 12, when I became more involved in the junior high groups at church, I began to pray for God to speak to me. Youth leaders who prayed with me wisely conveyed the tall order of the Lord God Almighty and said “wait”. If only I had known the theme that such a word would play on my life. Months later, when I became impatient once again to hear from the omnipotent creator of the universe, my mother mentioned to me an event at which the prophet Kim Clement (who reportedly predicted the twin towers incident) would be speaking. I knew at that point that God would speak to me at this occasion, so I agreed to go. Kim sang and played keys and prophesied, and then he pointed me out, in a repurposed movie theater, and told me that I was to be a medical doctor, that I would come up with something that, like penicillin, would be a scientific breakthrough.

I took this home and took it to heart. At the time, I was assuming that I would become a pastor. After all, that is what you do when you love God. But no, I instead aspired to do better in all of my classes. From what I understand, I did improve drastically during this time. For anyone wondering, having high aspirations does tend to help one improve themselves.

Years would go by as I learned to hear and understand what God was speaking (and I would be lying if I said that it is now an easy ordeal).

And then youth group began. I would become a leader in youth group, a leader in my school, leading in most every area within which someone at my time and place would likely become a hero. I was interested in all aspects of spiritual life. God told me, through a prophetic word at youth camp, that I was to be a missionary to Africa (among other places), and this was to be fulfilled within the year. I was exposed to demonic possessions, spiritual warfare, and, in general, an awareness that things were different beyond the level of mere eyesight.

As much as I adored this, and teaching upon spiritual gifts with junior high students, the time came for me to go to college. As with anything else thus far, it was a decision made in the Lord. John Brown University will forever remain a treasured thing in my mind. There is no place on earth that excites, challenges, and leaves you appropriately dumbfounded as that university does. During orientation weekend, I attended a small talk on study abroad courses, which would of course begin my love affair with Ireland, along with all of the other countries that I so adore.

Although I would love to go in-depth on my freshman year of college, which conceived much of what we now know as LondonSmith.com, there is something more pressing to address. The summer after my freshman year, while I was in Ireland, I learned that my parents were getting a divorce. They are both funny. They both managed things, at least somewhat, for 20-something years. But for whatever reason, the most evil of sins that I know of, a sin that Jesus took time to denounce in His rare listing of worst things, was committed by my parents; they began divorce proceedings. The next day, when I wanted to share this tragedy with the class during our prayers, two other students had friends who had died. My tragedy seemed significantly weakened in the face of that, so I held back rather than sharing.

But the divorce was the beginning of a reshaping of my world. I had a clear cut picture of right and wrong before then, but how do you reconcile such events when your parents, the ones who did so much to define your understanding of the world, do something so completely antagonistic to the beliefs that they had professed and instilled? In a way, it was fortunate that divorce was such an ugly thing. After all, what if it had all been peachy? I might have questioned why Jesus said what He did. But divorce was very much the awful thing that Jesus described; it is a foul thing, a lengthy legal process of sin that wrecks the couple getting divorced as well as the children and relationships that stemmed from it. What I learned then was that my genuine love for God and obeying Him was something different from that of others, who were amenable to the idea of God, but reluctant to change themselves in order to embrace His purpose. Well, I learned a lot of other things then too. I met some of my closest friends in the year that followed, and I found that rather than judging my parents for the blatant sin they had committed, it was better to recognize the people who had been broken by their own actions. For whatever reason, God gave me the ability to remain committed to Him in difficult times. For others, alternative actions seem appropriate in a moment, and they seem unable to comprehend the gravity of such decisions. So my parents were divorced. They justified it poorly, but those methods of reasoning would later become the methods I would use to relate to those outside of the faith.

During college, I focused on making myself well-rounded, both through traveling through study abroad programs and missions work, and through taking odd classes here and there that had no relation to my major. I took singing lessons, audio tech, creative writing, French, radio, and more that escape my memory for the moment. Everything was aimed at making myself into the perfect missionary, able to take on whatever role may be necessary in a given situation. I acted in student films, modeled for student photographers, and continued to make video blogs for a long while. I was also involved in prayer ministries. One ministry was a thing that I started when God told me to do so. Every week (on a Tuesday, I think), I would show up to the university’s “prayer room” and intercede for a long list of people. I invited others to it, but I was the only one who ever showed up. I kept this up for a full semester, I think. There was also a 24-hour prayer vigil that incorporated “prophecy rooms” in which a group of people would prophecy at you. It was hit or miss, but one time in particular was notable. They told me that change was coming academically. There would be a shift. I did not believe them, but I did document it in my blog, and it later came to fruition.

The talent show. This represented a change on so many levels. I performed what I describe as a “popper contortionist” dance routine. It was two and a half minutes of reportedly entertaining dance moves with my hypermobile joints. It was strange because unlike every other talent show in which I had performed, this was just me. No words, just dancing. Just. Me. At one point in the dance, I lean back very far, like in The Matrix, and then I come back up. I noted that my abs were shaking, so I decided to begin working out. And that, dear friends, is what started a change. It has been five years since this occasion, and I have not gotten to be a big and bulky guy, but I will say that regular working out like that thoroughly changed the way I functioned. I stopped having such wide variations in mood. My need to blog and be moody was reduced to occasional moments that were usually associated with drinking (am I doing that right now?) because my emotional state had so stabilized.

It helped me academically. I was able to focus better. I am still not gifted in this pursuit. I think I may maintain that until the end. God chose this path for me. No amount of science or logic would ever push me to undertake this. I attended a well-funded school with high academic standards, so I even had a committee assigned to myself to advise me every year regarding my professional choices, and every year, they strongly advised that I change my pursuit. I had other giftings. Science and medicine are not those giftings. I would then tell God that they made good points (I generally give God the chance to change His mind), and He would reaffirm to me that, despite everything, I was to continue to pursue this medical doctor thing. So I did.

Then I graduated. I studied for the MCAT and made about as low a score as one might expect from someone who is trash at science, and applied to Texas medical schools. I also applied to Caribbean schools. I went to South America with a doctor from my church on a medical mission trip and saw an incredible example of how the medical missionary life could work. Then I began working for a neurologist, which was fulfilling but draining due to the commute, and then told them that I would be leaving them to backpack through Europe. The year was 2014 and there was a mission trip to Belarus, so I joined my church for that and paid for travel expenses with my $11/hour earnings over the course of those eight months. For three months I traveled Europe. The point of the trip was to make me into a better human. The reasoning in my mind was that increased exposure led to a bettering of oneself, and I still believe it to be the most useful tool in that regard.

My worldviews as a Christian went through drastic transitions during that time. I was somewhere in southern Austria and was attempting to reach the eastern coast of Italy, from which I would take a ferry to Greece. I had been without much sleep (aside from what one acquires upon benches at train stations in Vienna) for two nights. The train, for which I had reserved a seat in advance, did not show. They were apparently on strike that day. I caught a train to a town on the northern border of Italy and found that the only way to reach the area of Italy to which I was heading would be to take this late train to Rome. I did not have reserved seating. I entered the train and took a seat. Someone showed me their ticket, revealing that they had reserved it. This happened several times, until I was forced into the hallway between seating areas. The hallway did have fold-out seats, but considering that this was an overnight train, such a prospect did not sit well. So I prayed. I asked God to make a way for me, to reveal one of these reservation seats to have a vacancy. None did. I tried laying down upon two fold-out seats and found that this was not a feasible way to sleep. The night wore on. Finally, I asked God to teach me whatever He was trying to teach me, since I was obviously not going to acquire sleep that evening. This was the moment at which I changed my worldview. No longer would I always consider God to be intimately involved in every situation, in every minuscule aspect of the lives of myself and everyone around me. In order to make it through that night, I needed to imagine God in a less involved role. This taught me that those theological debates surrounding such views of God were kind of foolish; similarly to the issue of denominations, each situation and personality requires a different perspective toward God, and it is okay if these perspectives change according to a situation. God never changes, but the way we perceive Him may. And that is okay.

A few months later, I would begin my journey through medical school in the Caribbean. For tonight, I am unsure of whether I can stand to elaborate upon it. It changed me so deeply. I have tried to put a nice spin on it, but if I am honest, I feel that it robbed me of so much of myself, of my morals, of my beliefs, of my love for life, that I would have been better off doing anything else. But God sent me there, so it is undoubtedly a critical aspect of my world that impacted me in such a way as to make me that well-rounded person that He desires for me to be. I have so many awful things to say about that place, so I will skip over much, because it does not contribute to the point of what I am writing. I was exposed to the culture of Muslims. They were kind and religious. They prayed at the specific times of day, which would interrupt class or dinner, and then they would be people. I learned what I could about them and their faith. It was the first time that I had met someone who knew absolutely nothing of Christianity. For two years, I lived in this geographical and social isolation. Sure, I made friends with a fellow Christian Texan, but he was far superior to me academically, so I saw him a lot less after I had to withdraw from a class. The point remains that I experienced this form of isolation. I was without white privilege for those two years. Ferguson happened during my first semester. The election campaigns began during my second year. I began to view my own religion with suspicion. Christ was still Christ, but Christians? They appeared as racist and hateful as the worst of humanity. And when I returned to the States, these fears were affirmed. Trump was spoken of in glowing terms.

This brings us to the last year, the year that would wreck me.. I had spent two years away from church because I did not have a car on the island. And, let’s face it, I was busy studying. I watched sermons every week, but that is hardly the same. When I returned home though, I was ready to reconnect with my old church and find my footing… but it was not to be. The election was in full swing. I was at my suddenly very noticeably white church and though no pastor mentioned Trump, I certainly heard Trump keywords in what they said. How could any church leader speak without first clarifying that they strongly disagree with the words and actions committed by the racist bigot who would later take office? Since I saw no attempts to address this, I left that church. Perhaps it was cruel, but my convictions felt strong, and I felt as if the Holy Spirit was telling me to leave that church. Well, more accurately, it felt wrong to stay. That was perhaps the worst part. My favorite place in the world was the church. But at this point, the church distinctly felt like a place that would tolerate actions and words that Jesus absolutely would not. For that reason, I left.

I continued to read my Bible every day and stream sermons on Sunday, but I was no longer trusting of the church. For much of my life, I have felt like too many people and pursuits put into one person, but this was the first time that the representation of the only constant and pure thing in my life appeared to have let me down. As one pastor, who still maintained that his vote was still in the right for his convictions, said that the church had traded away its witness in this election.  And as someone who needed a Christian community more than I had ever needed it in times past, my love for Jesus led me to distance myself from the church. When I participated in a study program, I was well-liked because I primarily criticized my own race, gender, and members of my faith. Unlike many fellow Christians, my academic peers were the only community that I had found who could easily recognize that the president’s words and actions were both blatantly antagonistic toward the teachings and actions of Jesus.

In an effort to find community of some kind, I moved back to Arkansas over the summer. I studied and, during days or hours off, I would befriend people. It was easy and I had missed it.

And then there was a pretty lady who, by a careful survey of social media, no longer appeared to be dating the hunk that she had been with. Summer was waning, she had begun nursing school, and I was studying hard for the exam that will continue to define much of my life. But instead of normal small talk via text, we prayed for one another. Something within me that I had suppressed for so long was stirring. The irony is that what I had suppressed is precisely what guided me into all of these foreign environments that inspired such suppression in the first place. The stirring continued, still suppressed in the name of studying, but I recognized its presence. After my test, and after a road trip that served to distract until I would receive my failing scores, I met up with her for the first time since New Years. Another beloved activity that had been suppressed was dancing. It largely because of me that ballroom dance had been offered as an elective at my high school; I loved to do it. But similarly to what had happened to my previously ingrained habits of following the whispers and stirrings of the Holy Spirit, I had fallen out of practice. The things I had most enjoyed had been pushed aside for the sake of becoming what God intended for me to be. As I went to a few other events with her, I continued to be hit with realizations regarding how much I needed to be honest with myself and recognize that this is a transition period for me.

After one of those events, I asked God whether I should date her. I had only asked Him this twice before. I was unsure of whether I liked her. It is like when I go to Europe and try on clothes, and I suddenly want to buy everything because everything fits my narrow frame; I rarely made a purchase on my first day visiting the store, and if I did, it would be after spending far too much time calibrating my mind to these wonders. In a similar fashion, I was not sure (and still am not) of whether I was overreacting because I finally found an attractive female who loves God and does not smoke. She just happens to fulfill a lot of other hopeful standards as well. In any case, I asked God and, here is the kicker: he responded. Fortunately, He did not have any response regarding the lady of interest. Rather, He spewed a deluge of ministry ideas revolving around bars and reaching fellow young people. The channel had been reopened and God had a lot to say, and I had her influence to thank for it, though I am unsure of how much I should actually thank her for in person.

As I reach an age at which my personality is solidifying, I recognize the need to reconnect to my spiritually aware roots. It unfortunately requires a hefty amount of thinking, processing, and writing, but avoiding it would have been as stupid as avoiding all of the travel and isolation that has shaped me into this well-rounded creature that I have become. Along with the spiritual roots, I am going to try to engage in my other lost loves again, with acting and modeling and such. After I retake this test, I will finally have the freedom to do so.

I have not proofread this, and I must admit that I was not sober for the entirety of it…or much of it. And I did not read as I wrote, just lowered the laptop screen and let the words bubble out. I wanted an honest take, a free flow of expression that was not put through my usual layers of filters. Hopefully it was so (though the last few paragraphs were absolutely not as free a flow).