Anything but ordinary…

You know, I was pondering something curious as I came to write a blog this evening. I had originally planned to write about something totally different (which will hopefully come in due time) but as I wrote, I found myself constantly editing and re-writing the first paragraph.  I couldn’t help but become frustrated with what was going on my mind.  Why must I keep pouring over what I write?  What is wrong with simply starting to write from the heart and just keeping going?  A couple of posts back I had distinctly said that I try not to make these things personal; I said I had chosen to write about things I am passionate about from my opinion, rather than bombarding you, the reader with things about me personally.  I’ve been thinking about that sentiment for a while and I still stand by it; it’s how I envisage this little piece of webspace.  I thought to myself, however, how much can you really grapple with what I am considering, what I am thinking, what I am feeling, if you really don’t understand who I am?  I mean yes, I write honestly and I write from a personal opinion, but how much do I use this blog as a facade; a complex arrangement of smoke and mirrors to hide who I really am; to hide the person behind the typing?  Maybe it’s a sentiment which has become ingrained into me as a result of my growing cynacism.  More often than not I find myself reading biographical blogs and online posts and thinking “come on…” in a tone tainted by an air of dubiosity.  Perhaps thats why I hide my own life’s “deep and meaningfuls” when I write these blogs.  Then I read this on a friends online profile this evening;

“Just a little thought – learn to like who you are! If you can’t even like yourself how do you expect other people too?”

I started to consider why I don’t regale you, the reader with personal anecdotes; why my blog isn’t interwoven with a biography of who I am?  Do I dislike who I am?  Am I ashamed of who I am?  Am I fearful of the truth?  Am I concerned with how outright honesty in my part might be percieved?  I’d like to answer ‘no’ to all of the above, I guess we all would.  Truth be told, however, I’m not sure thats honestly how I feel.  I believe that each and every one of us has our own nueroses and insecurities which we feel impacts on how other people percieve us.  Maybe this is what I exclude from these blogs.  Doing this, however, only implicates me with those aspects of society I argued so fervently against in “A Zenith and a Eulogy”.  As I tried to reach a conclusion in my mind, I became more and more drawn to the idea which I am persuing presently.  A blog dedicated to the story of the person behind the text.  Thats why I chose the title “Anything but ordinary…”; it reflects the blog in comparison to those which have gone before, but I like to think it’s also a testament to the kind of life I’ve lead. 

Sometimes I get so weird
I even freak myself out
I laugh myself to sleep
It’s my lullaby
Sometimes I drive so fast
Just to feel the danger
I wanna scream
It makes me feel alive

Is it enough to love?
Is it enough to breath?
Somebody rip my heart out
And leave me here to bleed
Is it enough to die?
Somebody save my life
I’d rather be anything but ordinary please

To walk within the lines
Would make my life so boring
I want to know that I
Have been to the extreme
So knock me off my feet
Come on now give it to me
Anything to make me feel alive

Anything but Ordinary – Avril Lavigne

 You know, this isn’t the first time I’ve tried to tackle this problem.  Two summers back I was really struggling to get to grips with who I really am.  I decided that the best course of action was to write a book; a proper biography.  The problem is, it wasn’t a proper biography.  The whole way through, while I remained 100% honest about my life and my life experiences I wasn’t writing about me.  I called the main character Allan.  In the (unfinished) book, Allan lead my life, did exactly what I did, lived exactly how I lived, but I refused to acknowledge the fact that it was me.  I liked to remain askew from the reality of Allan’s (of my) life; that way I could think to myself “oh that Allan, the things he does!” without recourse to myself.  Is that the sentiment of someone who is comfortable with who they are?  Some of my views have changed, some remain the same but overall, this snippet from Allan’s biography (or from my own autobiography, however you look at it) is pretty much representative of the kind of person I am.  Some of this may seem amplified or ‘Hoolywood-ified’ but genuinely, when I worte this, I was as much in the persuit of truth as I am tonight.

——–

Oh, this road is long, this road is wide,
It takes more than luck to last the ride,
It takes strength and it takes courage to survive.

Nerina Pallot

Prologue

So Far…

As you grow older, you begin to challenge the perceptions of life which were part of your very essence when growing up. With the innocence of youth shattered by the harsh reality of true life you begin to long. Long for that something which completes you, makes you whole, gives you a reason for being.

Allan was a Christian. He believed the word of God to be true, to be tangible, to be living and working within his life as each day went on. Yet, he still felt lost at times. He closed his eyes at night and Prayed to the Living God that he might reveal to him the path his life was to take. He would get frustrated at times. In Church or in Youth Fellowship, he’d play along with the rest of the Christians, pretending to be the image of perfection he felt everyone expected of him. Inside, however, he was a mess.  He found himself all the time wandering just what his life had led up to. He had been a student at one of the top Grammar Schools in the country. He would do his work, read his books, get reasonable marks and yet he felt like just another part in an assembly line; like he was just another link in the chain of endless human mechanisation, creating perfect copies of each of his Teachers, with little room for personal thought or reflection. He received praise for having ideas of his own, but he felt the teachers to be smug and patronising, like they never took him seriously and probably never would. Was it really worth it?

Allan also had a bitter side. He watched the happy couples around him with an air of distain. He had been hurt more than once himself and begrudged a loving relationship to nearly everyone. He knew it wasn’t right of him, and he knew that Christ would not do the same. He wore his “WWJD” or “What Would Jesus Do” bracelet around his wrist and just tried to avoid eye contact with it when he was feeling like that. He couldn’t help but feel that a lot of the relationships he saw were false, plastic and artificial. He longed for something deeper, yet he was annoyed that he seemed destined to never experience any closeness with anyone.

At school, he’d refused to conform to any group and as such felt like some strange hybrid that didn’t quite belong. He had always appreciated everyone for their uniqueness and as such, often saw the best in everyone. He had friends who, like him, enjoyed rock music, not for its angry lyrics or controversy, but for the music. These friends, however, were not Christian and his Christian friends, another ‘clique’ as he saw them often criticised him for getting mixed up with them. Allan was an avid hockey player, but he had to put that behind him as well when the captain dropped him from the team for refusing to play a match on the same day as Christian Union committee meeting. So he would never sit in the ‘rec room’ with any particular group. He wasn’t part of the Christian brigade who always hung out by the radiator at the front door. Nor was he a punk rocker or goth who marked their territory right by the back door so they could nip out for an illegal smoke every ten minutes. Similarly, he wasn’t a ‘jock’ as Allan stereotyped them, the ones who put their sport before everything. No, nowhere was right, nowhere felt right for the teenager to be. So, he grabbed his books from the locker room as quickly as possible and made for the library, his refuge, his sanctuary. Allan didn’t feel like he was missing out on anything, by secluding himself from the rest of his year group. After all, no one really missed him anyway.

Allan finished his last years at school with the grades he needed to get into University. He longed for a new life at Uni, a chance to change everything about himself and become a new person. Not the Allan who had been rejected constantly by girls. Not the Allan who was a social misfit and didn’t fit in, but a new guy who would be the talk of the town, the guy that everybody knew and liked…

…he couldn’t wait.

Chapter One

Allan carried his bags up the stairs. He had moved out of his home in the rural Northern Ireland town just this morning. A teary farewell from his mother and father had seen him onto the train bound for his new life. He had moved his furniture into Apartment 2, Room 107 almost two weeks ago now and he couldn’t wait to settle down and meet his flatmates. The security guard had provided Allan with a flimsy plastic key-card and warned that after three losses of the card he would be charged for a new one. After filling out a lengthy form promising to adhere to the rules and regulations of the accommodation, Allan had been let through the gate and left to his own devises. He had taken note of the little shop just beyond the gate and imagined he’d be spending many a night there picking up frozen meals at extortionate prices. The little pathway which led uphill to his apartment was narrow, but lined with grass and tree saplings in those little wire gauze cylinders, probably to serve as protection against the wrath of the almost legendary drunk student. Allan passed through the double doors at the bottom of his building, only to be greeted with the daunting sight of two flights of stairs which led up to his floor. Nevertheless, he proceeded with enthusiasm at the prospect of meeting new people, and being a new person himself. His room was directly beside the kitchen (which was the only common area in the flat), but on the far side of the stairs. Allan waited considering his dilemma. What was his best course of action? Should he burst into the kitchen, bags and all and make a grand introduction to all his flatmates? He decided that that would be too ‘in their faces’ and contemplated another course of action. He ultimately decided that he would walk casually past the kitchen window, acknowledging all his flat mates with a laid back wave and a friendly smile, ditch his bags in his room, check his hair and then go into the kitchen and introduce himself.

Taking a deep breath and forcing down any of the nerves that were taking hold of him, he opened the door at the top of the stairs and stepped into the breach. Approaching the kitchen window seemed like the longest moment of his life. In that time, he mentally pictured what his flat mates would look like. He imagined all the random stuff which they would do together, whether just sitting together chilling and listening to music, or going out and catching a film. He approached the window poised and ready to wave and felt that his whole life had led to this moment and he was ready for it. At that instance, as he passed the window, confidence brimming and eager to make his first impression, the shoulder strap of his sports bag caught on the top of the fire extinguisher outside the kitchen door. Mortified and having failed to acknowledge his peers, Allan struggled to undo his strap, now tangled amongst the mechanisms which operated the fire safety device. He could only hope that his new flatmates hadn’t seen him. “Maybe they were all talking amongst themselves,” he thought, too concerned about what kind of impression he had made if the didn’t. He could imagine the sudden shift in conversation in the kitchen to the new klutz standing outside who had been taken out by a fire extinguisher. With one last yank, he pulled the strap free and staggered backwards past the kitchen window. He pressed himself up against the wall beside him, like some secret agent desperate to avoid detection. He caught his breath and tried to regain his confidence. “It’ll be fine,” he tried to convince himself. “Just put you bags away and go ahead as if it never happened. Yes, that’s the way, everything will be fine,” he thought, closing his eyes and smiling to himself. With that, he heard the toilet at the end of the hall flushing. In about 20 seconds time, one of his new flatmates would come out and meet an unprepared and highly nervous Allan, fresh from his most recent embarrassment. “It would ruin everything,” he thought, panicking. Hearing a tap running, Allan fished through his pockets for his key card, desperate to get into his room and gather himself together. Shaking, Allan had great difficulty getting his fingers around the thin piece of plastic which would open up his refuge. A look of relief passed his face as he managed to produce it from the pocket of his blue jeans. “Ok,” he said to himself, “we just have to swipe this and the door will open and I can sit down for a minute or two and think this whole first impression thing through.”  He swiped the card. The red light on the lock lit up like a beacon, signalling that the door was still locked and that Allan was doomed. The lock on the bathroom door turned as Allan desperately swiped the other side of the card. A green light appeared like a little gift from heaven itself. Allan furiously pushed on the door, catching his foot on the shoulder strap which was now dangling from his sports bag. Allan fell through the door into his room and into total darkness. The door closed behind him and Allan held his breath, his face pressed against the coarse carpet, as someone passed by his door. Allan heard the kitchen door open releasing the sound of conversation and laughter, then closing and leaving all in silence.

Allan lay there for what felt like an eternity, his sports bag straddled across his back, his backpack locked around his arm and his longish brown hair, now soaked with sweat, covering his right eye.  After a good ten minutes of waiting in solitude, Allan had a quiet chuckle to himself saying “Well, that went well.” He gathered himself together, feeling around the room for something to help himself up with. His hands found the plastic surface of his mattress and with a good push of his arms, he was on his feet. Allan, resigned himself to the fact that he had totally made a fool of himself and decided it was best to leave his introductions for the night. He gathered together the single saucepan and collection of utensils and cutlery in his backpack to store in his room for the time being. He walked over to his wardrobe, nothing more than a collection of boxes with a piece of blue cloth covering it, drew the cloth back and placed his kitchen stuff on the top shelf. He removed his clothes from the little plastic bags his Mum had individually wrapped them in and hung them up the large section of the wardrobe. He placed both his sports bag and his backpack in the space above the makeshift wardrobe and started to tidy the things he had left on top of his bed.

After Allan had made his bed up and plugged in his CD/Radio, he popped on a CD and literally fell into bed, clothes and all.

——–

You know, I remember e-mailing a friend shortly after I had written that chapter.  I had said to her that it was good to laugh at the kinds of things Allan, the kinds of things I did.  Re-reading that tonight, I had a little laugh to myself.  Maybe it’s one of those scenarios where if I didn’t laugh, I’d cry. 

Halls of residence was really tough for me.  I was quite homesick for most of the time and probably felt more lonely than I ever had at school.  I was in a room comparable only to a monastic cell.  I was quite far away from my best friend who lived on the other side of the resedential facility and I didn’t even have an internet connection by which to communicate.  There were genuinely depressing nights where I’d walk the 20 minutes back from Uni on a cold, wet, dark, winters night to a lowly, empty, cold room where I’d crash onto my bed and just wallow in my own solitude.  Even hearing voices passing my window brightened me up; just knowing other people existed ‘out there.’  Spiritually, it was a life changing experience; knowing that literaly all I had to turn to at those lowest moments was the little bible sitting on my shelf.  That one book amidst my many textbooks and notes expressed in my mind the one sentiment that carried me through;

I am Loved…

Recently, I tried to work through some of these thoughts in an e-mail to a friend and the conclusions I came to were startling, even for me.  You know, until about 3 years ago now, I wasn’t even sure if I was really a Christian. While that may seem perfectly normal, theres an irony behind it for me. You see 4 years ago I was the prayer secretary for the CU committee at school. 5 years ago i started teaching a sunday school class.

I reckon I was actually completely lost. As early on as I can remember I’ve had some kind of ‘relationship’ with God. I remember my Aunt asking me at like the age of 8 whether or not I was a christian. I told her I was and I remember being decidedly confused by the elation which it brought her. I always went to Church and it wasnt like i was being forced to do so. I enjoyed it. I enjoyed praising God, I was happy that I could give my troubles to God. I remember in my last year at school I had to say like a goodbye to everyone at CU. In my little 5 minute piece I also had to introduce the song which I had chosen for us to sing ‘The Potters Hand.’ I said;

“I have the pleasure of introducing one of my favourite songs ‘the potters hand’.  Everyone today, I ask you, have you given your life over to the potter’s hand. I have, and I wouldn’t regret it for a second.  I have the immeasurable pleasure of knowing that the Lord will guide, lead me and walk beside me and in all this, he will use me.”

I mean, if I could get up and say that with a clear conscience, why did I ever doubt my Christianity? Because I had nothing to challenge my faith. I had nothing within which to frame this belief I’d had my entire life.  Thats where University came in.  Things have a funny way of working out where God is involved and it isn’t until looking back that sometimes jigsaw pieces come together. I can’t give you a reason why I was at Queens University, Belfast at all.  My first choice for Uni was York. I got the grades to get in, they didnt even ask for an interview; my place was assured. But for some reason, I ended up in Queens. You know, I’ve thought back to this over and over again and there was never a moment when I thought, “hey, how about Queen’s instead.” It kinda just happened. So anyway, I ended up going to Queens. The Elms messed up my housing request – at one point they told me they had nowhere for me and then all of a sudden I got put into the most basic of self-catering halls. No internet, no friends anywhere near me, a single bed with a plastic matress and a wardrobe with a curtain for a door.  But Jesus has a funny way of seeking you out in the strangest of places at the wierdest of times. A few posts back, I reccomended listening to the Relient K song ‘Deathbed.’ Theres a couple of lines in it which might as well have been spoken of me and my life;

Then Jesus showed up
Said “Before we go”
“I thought that we might reminisce”
“See one night in your life”
“When you turned out the light”
“You asked for and prayed for my forgiveness”

You cried wolf
The tears they soaked your fur
The blood dripped from your fangs
You said, “What have I done?”
You loved that lamb
With every sinful bone
And there you wept alone
Your heart was so contrite…

…I am the Way
Follow Me
And take My hand
And I am the Truth
Embrace Me and you’ll understand
And I am the Light
And for Me you’ll live again
For I am Love
I am Love
I, I am Love

Deathbed – Relient K

Isn’t that amazing. All of a sudden, Jesus was saying to me “Come on, you’ve lived your life easily so far – you’ve had your turn of a nice ’sunday school’ version of Christianity, but now, NOW, when the challenge gets tough you forget what you have in me?” “I am the light, and for me you’ll live again…” That pierced my very being. I’d spent my life confessing to a belief in that light, but had I ever TRUELY lived for Him? Ok so I’d had this sunday school class, but was I teaching the kinds about Grace or Salvation or the promise of the Cross, or was I just telling them nice stories about Judean Kings? Yes I’d been the prayer secretary, but had God blessed it? Did I fundamentally change someones life? Did I challenge people? Did I rouse them into prayer? No, I was too busy growing my hair long, listening to sixties rock and calling myself a hippy. I was looking for the spotlight and forgetting that it should have been Jesus. That ministry did not deserve blessing and thats exactly what happened… So there I sat, on the edge of my little plastic matress thinking about this life which professed Christianity, but when it came to living it, failed miserably. Bible in hand, tears staining my cheeks I turned to God and said “This, this book in my hand, the promises inside it, this is ALL I have. God, I’ve always believed in you and I’ve always believed in the cross of your Son, but now is the time when I want to start Living that Cross. I take the life that you have for me God; that life and not mine. In Jesus’ precious name, Amen.” Was that my real salvation? Is that my testimony? Who Knows…Who cares. It’s from that moment that my Christian life began.  Strange, isn’t it.  The largest part of my life began in a place of utter lonliness and desolation…

“As for me, I look to the LORD for his help. I wait confidently for God to save me, and my God will certainly hear me… Though I sit in darkness, the LORD himself will be my light”

Micah 7 v. 7-8

You know, part of my lonliness was entirely my own fault.  I made very little effort to get to know the people who I lived with, even after all my iitial good intentions.  I think that I was rather socially inept when I first went to University.  I was terrible at meeting people, I was a horrible conversationalist and I was pretty naive to boot.  I think my fondest memory of my ineptness came from another ‘halls’ story.  I remember coming home from history class one night to find a nice young lady waiting outside the front door of the building where I lived.  I thought to myself, “Just talk to her, it’ll be cool.”  I did.  I wish I hadn’t.  The conversation went something like this;

Me – “Hi.  Are you ok?”
Nice Young Lady – “Oh, wow, do you live here? I am so glad you showed up! I’m having tea with my friend on the second floor but I can’t get in.”
Me – *Thinking about how letting her in would be breaking the rules I’d promised to adhear to* – “Umm, well, ok, feel free to come in…”
Nice Young Lady – “That is brilli…”
Me – *interupting and smiling creepily* – “…as long you as you don’t have a bomb or anything!”
Nice Young Lady – *clearly perturbed and edgeing rapidly away* – “umm, no. No I don’t.”

That’s right, I actually said that to another human being.  What a loser!  My housemate insists that it’s hilarious and he’d probably have said something similar.  I take comfort knowing that I’m not the only one.  I like to think i’ve grown in character since then and I’d attribute that growth to two main things;

1) I got a job.  I started to work for a the ‘Game’ franchise, in my local store in Ballymena.  I never intended to get a job.  I was just walking past ‘Game’ one day and thought, “hmmm, I wonder.”  I popped in, asked about jobs and two weeks later I was an employee.  I like to think it was providence.  I made some of the best friends ever working there.  They were all so amazing, all so individual.  Each of them had their own stories to tell and their own lives they’d led and I just got such a passion for listening to those stories.  Moreover, they were happy to listen to me and my stories; to listen to me talking about God, be that in an evangelical sense or otherwise.  My time there showed me that there was still a lot of good in people, even though a lot of the time, what we see is overshadowed by the darkness which permeates our society.

2) I stayed on as a ‘Small Group’ leader in my 3rd year of Uni.  The ’small groups’ were departmental groups who met to do bible studies, to pray or even just to chill out together.  In my third year a really good friend of mine constantly encouraged me to be more sociable whether that was in the small group itself or in the small group leaders meetings.  Through the encouragement of my good friend and putting into practice some of the stuff I’d been slowly learning at work I made some great friends.  The percolated through every aspect of my life.  I made more friends in lectures, I talked to more completely random people and I even build up enough confidence to join the ranks of a student evangelism project on a Thursday night. 

I had the best time in my third year at uni.  I must admit, it finally felt as if my life was on track. 

Then I hit a bit of a stumbling block.  My Dad died.  That was tough.  I guess a lot of people look at their lives after a loved one has died and see it through a window of regret.  I never had that.  I didn’t regret things I had done or things I had said, I just felt a sense of loss for the things I’d never get to do, things I’d never get to say.  I guess things like that are also ‘make or break’ moments for faith.  People kept telling me “even Christian’s have a right to be angry.” I never had that either. 

“The LORD gave me everything I had, and the LORD has taken it away. Praise the name of the LORD!”

Job 1 v. 21

You know, some people never knew their Dad.  Some had Dad’s that didn’t want to know them.  Some only knew a violent, druken, abusive Dad.  I had 21 brilliant years with my Dad.  Yes, sometimes I sit back, teary-eyed and wish we could have had more, and yes, it isn’t easy, but I am so thankful for the time we had together and I look forward to seeing him again.

That brings me to today.  As I sit here writing this, I’m a Masters student of Irish History at Queen’s University, Belfast.  I must admit, I’m not enjoying this year as much as I ejoyed my third year at Uni and I do look forward to finishing the year.  Nonetheless, I endeavour to be the best I can be.  This kind of sentiment has lead me down a path of writing what one of my lecturers called “pioneering history.”  I don’t mean that in a pig-headed way, but rather, meaning that it’s history which maybe 20 years ago would have been laughed out of Universtiy.  I’m trying to write history but from the perspective of a Christian.  My dissertation will probably look at how people interpreted the bible in the light of events occuring concurrently to their own lives.

You know, I’ve read so many blogs which start with something like “…the blog of a normal guy/girl.”  I don’t think that I’m that guy.  In fact, as I said way back at the begining, I like to think I’m anything but ordinary. 

If you go to see a film with me, I will critise the historical accuracy of the events therein.  If you go for a walk with me at night, I will tell you the Greek mythology behind the constellations.  If we were to listen to music together, I might just get a notepad out and start jotting down some thoughts.  I will make rubbish jokes at innappropriate times.  I have no sense of fashion, but can normally be found in a plain white tee-shirt.  I will link anything you say to providence.  I love the word meta-physical.  I go for random drives/walks at rediculous hours of the morning and can sometims be found frequenting Helen’s bay at 5am.  I will not be found watching a game of football, but can more often than not be seen tuned into a documentary about religion, history, music or all three.  I love the 80’s.  I am touched by the beauty of a sunset.  I am rubbish at talking to members of the opposite sex (but I am getting better).  I am obsessed with the brokeness of the world.  I hate litter.  I am so cynical and I’m probably getting worse.  But the most important thing is this; I am who I am.

Even today, I sit back and think to myself, “really, I’m not that normal.”  So if you come here to read a slice of normality everytime I post a new blog, you’ve been misinformed.  I can however, promise you this;  everything you’ve read in this post makes me who I am today and even though it isn’t always obvious, it’s these things which are ever-present in my writing, though sometimes obscured by the words.  Everything I write is the truth as far as I can see it; it is as honest as I can be; it is an insight into my personal thoughts an feelings and will continue to be so as long as I may write.

T.W. Moody and R.D. Edwards, two of the pioneers of the professionalisation of Irish History ended the preface to their new journal Irish Historical Studies in quite a strange way.  They noted;

“We dedicate this work, as did historians of old:
To the Glory of God and the Honour of Ireland.”

A few months back I was at a prayer meeting on a Thursday night.  One of the guys there present turned to me and said, as if bringing me a divine message directly ”People need to hear to hear your story.”  Maybe this is what he was talking about, maybe it’s this blog post, maybe it’s this enitre piece of webspace, who knows.  For me, it’s not beyond the realms of possibility to think that an omniscient God could harness the tools of a digital age to do his work.  Whether or not this is the case, I’d like to re-appropraite at least part of Moody and Edwards preface and say that I’d like to dedicate this blog entry, every one before and every one still to come “to the Glory of God…”

“Yours, O LORD, is the greatness, the power, the glory, the victory, and the majesty. Everything in the heavens and on earth is yours, O LORD, and this is your kingdom. We adore you as the one who is over all things.”

1 Chronicles 29 v. 11

…normal service resumes hereafter.