"Little Box of Personal Expectations" - Submission #41

Immediately... upon my return home from California, I was consumed with anxiety, depression, fear, despair and dread. These feelings were only exacerbated when I thought about the start of the school year set to begin in a couple weeks.

At a time in my young life when I should have been excited about entering the final couple years of high school and planning my future... I was in a place of utter darkness. 

The day after I got home, I was surprised when Scott Lombardi and Mark Gibbons knocked at my door and wanted to hang out. At any other time, I would have been happy... thrilled to hang out with these longtime friends. But not now. Not in this frame of mind. I didn’t want to see or talk with anyone.

I told them that I couldn’t. Told them I had to go visit my sister. I lied.

I was a mess.

In the depths of my despair, I began to think about what that preacher in California had said about Jesus and His desire to forgive me and to turn my life around. Would he? Could he?  Was this the glimmer of hope that I needed? 

I began to explore the ramifications of a new direction in my life. A direction guided by faith in God. A new path. A very different lifestyle. 

Would God be willing to have me? Was I willing to have Him? How could I learn more about Him? Did we need a third party to handle the introductions? Would He require me to quit smoking, change my taste in music and cut my hair? Would He require anything at all?

I had so many questions and very few answers but in those moments of deep thought about God, I allowed myself a sliver of hope... the hope that I could finally escape the misery I had endured for the five previous years.

One thing that I felt very strongly about was that I needed a change in location and environment. I needed to get out of that house. I needed to get out of that town. Heading back to California seemed to be my only viable option… but that would be a very tough sell. I couldn’t imagine mom loosening her grip on her baby… the last child still in the nest.

I wanted to call my brother, Bill. He was the one brother that might have a shot at making this dream come true. He was the brother who could teach me more about God. HeH

But he was also the brother that I all but shunned for the past two months. Why would he want to talk to me? Why would he want to disrupt his new marriage by taking on the responsibility of his misguided, mixed up 16-year-old brother?

I stared at the phone for a long time. Every so often, I’d reach for it, hesitate and then pull my hand away. I was filled with pessimism. I distinctly remember the battle raging in my mind about making that call. And it went on for days.

When I decided to finally make that call, it dawned on me to pray before doing so. I felt that God had somehow become a part of this process and so, in some sort of crude, non-eloquent fashion I invited Him to control the conversation and begged Him to grant my desire. I’m sure I also added the bargaining chip of my full obedience to Him… should He provide the specified outcome. You know… the foxhole commitment thing. But I was 100% sincere. I wanted my life to change and I was totally ready to dive into that process.

I don’t remember the specific words that Bill and I spoke on the phone that day, but I do remember that he was immediately in my corner. No hesitation. Full agreement. He wanted me in California, with him and my sister-in-law, Janet.

That turned out to be the easy part.

The hard part? Convincing mom to buy into the plan.

He called my mom that night. It was a short conversation.

“No chance!”

As much as I had expected that outcome… I was still devastated. Death of a dream. I had allowed myself just a small ray of hope and it hurt more than I had anticipated when that hope was extinguished.

I cried on the phone when I talked to Bill the next day. I told him that I had prayed to God about this and that He had failed me already.

Isn’t it funny how we tend to put God in a little box of our personal expectations?

As we were hanging up, Bill told me that he wasn’t done yet. He wasn’t giving up and he urged me to keep praying. I promised him that I would… and I did.

A few days later, a 3-page letter, addressed to mom, arrived in the mail. In the letter, Bill had poured out his heart to mom about me moving in with him. It was very moving and quite compelling.

I remember mom emerging from her bedroom with the letter in her shaking hand. She was crying. She stared at me for quite some time, unable to speak. Finally, she made a short, simple statement in a quivering voice. “You can move to California.”

Obviously, there were more details to discuss but, in that moment, mom wasn’t ready… or able to talk anymore about it. She made a hasty retreat to her bedroom and closed the door. I sat in stunned silence and listened to mom’s muffled sobs.

I felt horrible for my mom… but not horrible enough to reverse course. I was moving to California!

I called Bill and shared the great news. He was happy, but he was also specific and firm in his expectations. This wasn’t another vacation. There was a list involved… and that listed included things like attending every church service, chores around the apartment and… the worse one of all… getting my hair cut!

You know what? Bring it on! What else do you want me to do? I’ll do it! I was ready. I was so ready! I wanted change. I wanted focus and discipline. I wanted boundaries. I wanted structure. I had been without these elements in my life for so long that I craved them. This leaf was ready to be turned over.

I started packing that very night.