As much as I love to rant and rave about how awful contemporary Christian music is, there is at least one contemporary Christian song that just resonates with my soul, especially now, after I almost lost my grandpa Lyle (whom I am extremely close with) to a widow-maker heart attack that he didn’t know was happening until three days after it began. 

It is simply miraculous that he lived, and his story has “Divine Intervention” scribbled all over it in huge, bold letters. It is impossible for me to ignore the obvious; even the most atheist, skeptical parts of me recognize that my grandpa was in God’s hands during this whole fiasco. 

The night my grandpa was hospitalized in the ICU at the Adventist Hospital in Parker, Colorado, I had to spend a night alone all the way across town in Ken Caryl. It was blizzarding outside, and the roads were blanketed in black ice everywhere. My mom got stuck at her parents’ house, my little brother had to stay at his best friend’s house, my grandma Connie had to stay at a hotel within walking distance of the hospital, and my aunt Jessie just barely made it home. Being home alone with two sick dogs, unable to leave due to the frozen storm, I fell into a pretty dangerous state of mind. 

I am not ashamed to admit that I got very outwardly emotional that night. I prowled the house in perpetual prayer, begging, pleading, sobbing, and arguing with God. At first, I desperately wanted to brave the weather and drive across town. I got really close to doing so too. I had the dogs in their coats, their food and water by the door, a backpack full of a few days’ worth in supplies, my wallet and keys in hand. But, as I reached for the front door, I very clearly felt deep, deep conviction. I have never felt such a feeling before. I heard no words or voice, but I was very clearly being told, “No! Absolutely not! You stay here!” Honestly, I was frightened by it, but heeded the command to stay home, as badly as I wanted to be close to my grandpa who may have been teetering on the precipice of life and death. 

Angry and scared, I vocalized my frustration to God, pacing the house like a caged tiger as I did so. I have no idea how long I did this. Hell, I barely remember it. But, I was God-damn pissed. I was already dealing with two dogs who were struggling to adjust to their new surroundings. I was struggling to do so myself. My mom was swamped with work, and she called me later that night to let me know that her car’s dashboard had lit up with almost every warning light possible. And outside, a blizzard was raging. The road shimmered in the light of a streetlamp, clearly frozen over and too dangerous for even my Xterra. I was stuck, powerless, terrified, and in the dark (quite literally a couple times). I had no way of knowing how my grandpa was doing. No way of contacting him. I tried calling the hospital but they wouldn’t transfer me to his room. I was deep in the valley of the shadow of death; completely cut off from anyone who could give me any updates on his condition. 

Soon, my anger turned into pure fear. Then, my pure fear turned to grief and despair. I lashed out at God, wrestled with the “problem” of evil and suffering, and even called God names. Yet, God listened. Soon, I seemed to run out of tears and rage rather abruptly, and a wave of inexplicable peace washed over me. It was just a sudden sense of calm. I just suddenly knew that everything was okay, and everything would be okay. I don’t know how, but I managed to fall asleep. I didn’t sleep long or well. But, I got just enough sleep to take on the day ahead. 

At around 6:30 in the morning, I got a call from my grandma Connie. She was at the hospital, and she said grandpa Lyle was doing great. Not only was he awake and aware, but he was sitting up and able to use the restroom by himself. His stats throughout the night and into the morning were perfectly normal. Exceptional even. And, the doctors were baffled.

I smiled and choked down tears. I didn’t want my grandma to hear my voice crack. She had enough to worry about. I didn’t want to worry her any more. But, as soon as she hung up, I burst into tears again, my heart pouring out praises to God. Perhaps, my grandpa would be okay after all. Perhaps, I won’t suffer such a tremendous loss. Perhaps, my grandpa still had a lot of time left on this Earth. Perhaps, God had everything under His control, and I could trust in Him. After all, what could I do except pray and lean into my faith like never before? 

That morning, I took my time, spending most of my morning in silence to speak to God in a much calmer and more refreshed manner. Was I still terrified? Of course. Was I still pissed? Of course. Was I still expecting the worse? Unfortunately, of course. But, did I still trust God? Of course! Did I still praise God for the things that were going well? Of course. But, in those moments of praise, did I pretend nothing terrible was happening, or hide my true feelings if they were deeply negative? Of course not. 

As I was taking a shower, mentally, physically, and spiritually preparing myself for the day ahead, music unexpectedly began to play through my bluetooth speaker, when I’d been listening to a more humorous podcast staring comedian Joey Diaz. I was about to exit the shower and get my podcast back on, when I stopped in my tracks as I recognized the song. 

Remember how I started this recollection with a seemingly completely disconnected and unrelated topic: my disappointment in contemporary Christian music? Well, there’s one contemporary Christian song I absolutely love. Oceans by Hillsong. A song specifically about clinging to God in the midst of the storm. And, it’s a God damn beautiful song too; I seriously think it came straight from heaven. 

 

“Spirit lead me where my trust is without borders

Let me walk upon the waters

Wherever You would call me

Take me deeper than my feet could ever wander

And my faith be made stronger

In the presence of my Savior.”

 

Honestly, I can’t even begin to describe what I felt at that moment. I just felt weak, yet empowered at the same time. I felt alone, yet embraced at the same time. I was petrified yet comforted at the same time. I was literally Naked and Afraid, yet also fearless in a way, knowing that I could come to God (or He would come to me) just as I was, spiritually, physically, and mentally, and love me; contrary to what many conservative churches often preach. 

Now, I can’t even listen to the first three seconds of Oceans without bawling my eyes out. But, damn it. It’s my favorite song now, and I am not ashamed to ugly cry my eyes out whenever I recall the tune or the lyrics, especially since these aren’t exactly tears of grief and sadness. Instead, they are tears of victory and joy. And, best of all, tears of deep faith and trust in God. 

I wish there was another person in the house to hear the sudden change in sound; from Joey Diaz sharing disgusting (though unfortunately relatable) shart stories, to God literally flipping my world upside down and strengthening my faith in Him ten-fold. I cannot explain how my phone switched from Youtube to my music app, selecting a song I haven’t listened to in months, at a time I needed it most. Especially when I was literally at my most vulnerable ever; home alone, ass naked in the shower, worried sick and desperate to reach the hospital to confirm that my grandpa was, in fact, alive and well. At least, I cannot explain that naturally or technologically. 

Matthew 11: 25-30 now comes to mind. I more or less experienced in a drastic way the promise Jesus made in that paragraph in Scripture. Intense chills run all through my body whenever I recall this. And yes, I’ll probably ugly cry every time I think about this. I’m not ashamed to do so. I am beautifully and wonderfully made, even if my eyes are bloodshot and my face becomes stained with salt and snot. 

But, perhaps the best thing I experienced all that day, was walking into my grandpa’s ICU room a couple hours later, and seeing him standing up without any need for a cane, or oxygen, or a bathroom catheter. I was a little nervous to hug him, because he was hooked up to an IV and EKG monitors, but he assured me it was okay, and we embraced for several minutes. He felt just as strong as I remembered him. I was the weak one in that room. 

We spent almost an hour simply chatting, first about his medical fiasco, then our conversation drifted to more spiritual matters. For the first time in a long time, my faith in God connected with his, unconstrained by non-essential matters, such as evolution or what angels look like or what Jesus meant when He cursed the fig tree. We’d both grown in our faith tremendously within the last eighteen hours or so, and we were both overflowing with overt praise and joy; blessed beyond comprehension. Despite being in the ICU and not quite out of the woods. 

I didn’t leave until my mom kicked me out, with a team of doctors close behind her resembling a pride of lions. Due to covid restrictions, only one vaccinated visitor was allowed in the room at a time. So, I rather sternly told my grandpa to take his pills, eat healthy food, and not do cartwheels down the hallway no matter how good he felt, and left the hospital. My heart gushing with praise and joy for God. 

And, yes. I did ugly cry in front of my dad, trying to assure him through my sobs that everything was okay, and I was just overwhelmed with joy. I’m pretty sure my dad thought I’d gone crazy, but I don’t care. He still loves me and trusts that I’m sane enough to help him put some finishing touches on the Jeep over the weekend. 

Days later, I am not feeling too great. I mean, after all I've been through in the span of less than four days, that's totally expected. It would be strange and alarming if I was feeling like my old self again after so much chaos. That doesn't mean I like it or am okay with it, however. 

Being stuck in a sort of "holding pattern" really doesn't feel very good, especially when there's so much I want to do and can do whenever I want. But, for whatever reason, something is holding me back, telling me to keep holding my horses. It's not depression. It's not anxiety. It's not hopelessness or grief. It's just a thing; like an invisible barrier in a video game. It's hard to put into words, for I know many people might not have a clue what I'm talking about. 

But, for instance, now that my mom's car is fixed, I have access to my Xterra 24/7 and can go wherever I want, when I want. I do get out every day, but lately, I haven't gone to many places. I can't say I'm falling back into old habits. I'm not venturing into the valley to hike (not because I'm not interested, but because I can't stop worrying about the mountain cougar that's been roaming around there). I'm not going fishing anytime soon. I'm not eating out at any of my favorite restaurants, or spending my stimulus checks on a new gaming laptop or a 20 gauge shotgun, as much as I want to. I just don't feel it's right to do any of that right now. There's no other way I can really explain it. 

Instead, the only things I feel like I have permission to do, are go on long walks around Clement park or my neighborhood, go to the grocery store every now and then, and go on long, roving drives around my neck of the woods. Out of these things, driving is my favorite activity at the moment. I don't know why. I guess I just found a route that I like that's basically one giant loop, where I can comfortably spend as much time as I want listening to music and watching the road ahead of me, with one hand on the wheel and the other resting on the window ledge, feeling the cold wind outside. And, as soon as I get tired, home is never far away. Still, as much as I would like to venture further east, I just don't feel like I have permission to do so, even though I easily could.

Again, it's difficult to explain these strange feelings, but I guess it's just something some people experience after going through a lot of stress, change, and trauma in a short period of time. At least, that's what my therapist said. It's good to know I'm not going crazy, or slipping into another brutal bout of depression. But, I still don't like feeling like this. 

Slowly but surely, I'm confident things will get back to normal, and I won't be stuck in this "holding pattern" for much longer. I'm confident I, and the rest of my family, will recover from all the drama, and get back to life as usual. 

But, at the moment, we're all just sort of paralyzed like fainting goats, and I'm starting to accept that it's okay and normal to be stuck like this at times. Sometimes, our minds just need some time to adjust and heal. And, we just need to give ourselves and others grace when we're healing, and ask God to tend to us, too. Just as the Lord was kind and caring towards Elijah when he was passed out under a tree in the wilderness. 

Days later still, I'm not exactly feeling great, but I'm not feeling bad either. A lot has changed over the last couple days or so, mostly for good. My dogs have bounced back to their old-old selves. By that, I mean they know they're in Colorado, and they feel better than they ever did in Gig Harbor. Hunter, acts like a puppy again (despite now being fourteen years old), and Penny is no different (she's still just a puppy, a little older than a year). My grandpa is home from the hospital and is doing well. He's still not out of the woods yet, for his heart must heal and he must go to cardiac rehab. But, both of his cardiologists believe he'll make a full recovery. Pretty damn impressive for someone who suffered the deadliest kind of heart attack for three days in a row!

We all know my grandpa's survival was not just his doing, although his active lifestyle and healthy diet definitely helped. God gave him a grace period, and literally gave my grandpa a head's up to go the hospital in the form of an American Heart Association pamphlet detailing the subtle and not so subtle signs of a heart attack. I am still in disbelief that God could do such a thing, even though I know I shouldn't be as shocked as I am. Miracles happen everywhere, all the time. Some may simply call them "outliers" or "exceptions to the rule" (I know I often dismiss them as such, even though I'm becoming a pretty devout Christian), but others aren't so afraid to call them what they tend to be; miracles. Acts of God. Divine Intervention. 

I'm still struggling with the age-old question, "Why does God save some but not others?"

Why do some people survive cancer practically unscathed, and others are ravaged by it? Why do some people seemingly encounter literal angels who save them from dying in a car wreck, but others are never given a chance, or worse, suffer fatal injuries that don't kill them right away? Why was I chosen, for a lack of a better term, to survive the unsurvivable numerous times, yet have barely gained more than a couple scars, while others in situations a lot less serious than my own die so fast? So on, and so fourth. 

I guess this will be a question I'll wrestle with for life, kind of like the "problem" of evil and suffering. I kind of know the answer. Humans have the power to turn this earth into Eden, but greed and war and cruelty rule our flesh, preventing us from doing so. Americans spend almost twice as much on gambling every year than it would take to feed the whole world three meals per day, 365 days per year. Well-funded scientists have made it clear that they can find a way to cure a disease in less than a year in the forms of m-RNA vaccines and whatever the hell they did to cure Sickle-Cell Anemia. But, that shit costs buttloads of money, and too many people are busy literally setting that shit on fire by spending it on enough fireworks to level a town. As much as I hate to admit it, I'm guilty of spending money that could save someone from starvation on the dumbest shit, like tens of pounds of ammunition to annihilate shaken-up sodas with on a Saturday night. We all are. 

But, I still get pissed at God from time to time. Why can't He feed the 5,000 every single day? Well, I get the feeling He could and He does, but someone will still end up hogging fish and murdering anyone who tries to get their share. Why can't He prevent and cure the diseases that ravage life on Earth? He can and He does, but people will still steal hundreds of thousands of vaccines from trucks and shoot up abortion clinics believing they're doing God a favor. Oh, what a wretched species we are. 

However, as my grandpa Lyle continues to remind me, I shouldn't be so focused on the negative all the time. Part of me scoffs at his advice, because part of me seems to believe that if you're not an assholish, nihilistic pessimist, then you're not living in reality. After all, haven't you pulled your head out of the sand just long enough to see how horrific this hellscape we call earth is? But, a bigger part of me begrudgingly knows that my grandpa's right, and focusing on the negative, no matter how great it often is, will make us sick physically, mentally, and spiritually and literally kill us. My grandpa credits his survival, at least partly, on his optimism, and says his heart was singing praises to God even when he was in an ambulance on the way to Parker. Man, I can only wish I could say I've ever done the same. 

But, I've been trying, as hard as it's been, to keep my head up high and my heart facing towards the more optimistic side of life. I must admit, I am starting to feel better now that I'm working hard to focus more on the good, rather than focus on the bad. Of course, I know I shouldn't just pretend nothing is wrong, because almost everything is super-ultra fucked up. However, instead of letting the fact that practically everything is one ginormous clusterfuck cripple me, I ought to be motivated by it. Motivated to do good, that is, no matter how insignificant that good is, and no matter how many good deeds get punished. Indeed, no good deed goes unpunished. 

For now, I'm starting off small. Once or twice a week, I'll visit my grandparents and cook a meal for them. In order to support my grandpa, I've agreed to go mostly pollotarian, meaning instead of eating beef or pork, I'll focus on eating fish and birds, alongside lots of fruits and veggies (and wild game). This means I'll also be cutting out as much dairy, salt, and processed sugar out of my diet as possible, without wrecking my health. As healthy as I feel and seem, I still have Cystic Fibrosis (even though science could cure CF quite easily, but human nature kinda gets in the way of that), so I still have to avoid going on a weight-loss or salt-free diet as much as possible. However, I also want to help my grandpa feel better about giving up coffee, pretzels, and ginger snap cookies, by sacrificing my weekly steak and eating tuna poke instead, as well as cutting out caffeine completely, cold turkey. 

I'm also willing to share much of the wild game my great uncle Courtney so graciously shared with me this year, which his granddaughter (who hunts but isn't a big fan of wild game) gave to him. Normally, I'd hoard all the elk backstraps and jalapeno cheddar venison sausage for myself. But, my soul has changed since last I had a lot of game in my freezer, and I'm practically desperate to give at least half of it away to others I know would love some game. Not for any reason other than I just want to give back, and see some smiles on people's faces after a very depressing past year. Who knew that God could soften and begin to revive my cold, dead, lump-of-coal for a heart?

I guess lots of people have experienced this transition that I'm currently going through. I honestly just never truly thought my spirit could be motivated again, especially after all the hell my short(ish) life has already dragged me through, and will continue to do so until my soul goes home. Even then, I don't really think heaven is exactly free of suffering or strife (but, that's another topic for another day). Indeed, I'm still a miserable bastard. But, I'm less so than I was even just a few months ago. Hopefully, in a few months, I'll be even less of a miserable bastard than I am now. So on and so fourth, till the end of time. 

Hell, compared to just a few days ago, I'm feeling like a million bucks. Seeing my grandpa alive, at home, and in his usual flannel and jeans, really brightened up my week. So did riding around in the old Jeep YJ I thought would rot on Clarke's property in Elizabeth. But, with the help of his friend, Tor (who lives in the actual valley of Ken Caryl Valley, funnily enough), my dad got the jeep on the road a few months ago, and drove me around in it over the weekend. Oh, how I've missed the freedom of fresh wind in my face and through my hair, and the smell of dust mixed in with gas and oil, and the thrill of operating old, sketchy off-roading vehicles.

That reminds me, I ought to spend my stimulus checks (or more accurately, stimmies) on a new dirtbike. Wait... Fuck, that's basically spending money that could feed a homeless person for five years on stupid, frivolous shit. Damn, I feel like I just stepped into a bear trap. Once again, I'm gonna spend my life wrestling with these "God" problems that aren't actually God's problems. Funny how that works, ain't it?

Eh, I trust that with lots of love and prayer, I'll figure out what to actually do with that money. 

 

In the meantime, every day, it seems to get easier for me to be more real with God, if that makes sense. Not just God, but with myself and others, too. I'm noticing that I'm beginning to let my hair down a little more, walking a little taller and with a bit more spring in my step each day, smiling more, feeling joy to the point of tears, while also letting myself feel and express my negative emotions too.

I am not afraid to cuss God out, though I do hope I continue to grow less angry overall over time. Anger and frustration aren't good things to harbor in our souls, that is for damn sure. But, it's also equally bad to suppress such emotions. It's best to just let them ebb and flow, like ocean waves, instead of trying to bottle them up until you explode, usually on someone or something that didn't do a thing to invite your indignation. 

For right now, I'm just forced to accept the fact that I'm an angry creature. That doesn't mean I'll accept it forever. However, throughout my childhood, I never really had a way to vent out my emotions. To be fair, I was too young for most of my life to really know what was going on. Now, as I near my twentieth birthday, I feel tremendously upset over the hand I was dealt, and can't help but burst into burning tears of resentment and sadness when I see old pictures or VHS tapes of myself when I was a baby, hooked up to life support for so many months. Or when I look back at my elementary and middle school years, and remember the faces though not the names of those who treated me so cruelly. Or when I look back just a few years ago, when I was ravaged by Pseudomonas. Or, when I look back to just five days ago, when I thought I was about to lose another grandpa. 

I mean, it's practically impossible not to get angry and upset when we're presented with so much suffering and death, especially when it seems it's nobody's fault. However, as much as it digs daggers into my heart and turns me into a raging bull, practically everything wrong in the world can be traced back to human error. Why is Cystic Fibrosis a thing? Because a few centuries ago, people were drinking water contaminated with lead. One copy of the CF protected people from lead poisoning. Two of them killed people before they became toddlers. Why was the water contaminated? Because most people were living in poverty. Why were most people living in poverty? Because the few who didn't hogged all of the food, and clean water, and the best beer, and literally poured buckets of shit and piss all over the heads of the lowly serfs below them. People didn't create Cystic Fibrosis, in the sense that they purposefully did so. But, because of humans, Cystic Fibrosis came to be. 

Similar things can be said about heart disease, and diabetes, and cancer, and every other horrible thing that exists. Why hasn't covid-19 been eradicated yet? Because of human nature, to put it simply. Covid can be traced back to wildlife impoverished people had to eat to stop themselves from starving, while their government (and the governments of the world in general) literally get fat in dining halls guarded by golden lion statues. Again, if Americans gave up gambling and instead used that money to feed the hungry, we could've easily prevented covid-19 from happening, even though it came from a city in China, and saved numerous wildlife species and billions of human lives in the process. And, don't even get me started on the rampant anti-mask, anti-vax, "covid's just a cold" bullshit people have been spreading, especially among the Christian community. Again, what a wretched species we are!

But, I said it once and I'll say it a thousand times, focusing on the horrors of this world too much will poison our bodies and our souls until we're six feet underground and forever in the deepest pits of hell. I'll also reiterate that it's a constant struggle to choose positivity over negativity. To me, doing such a thing is like focusing on the beauty of a single wildflower while in the midst of a raging wildfire. Yet, it must be done. We must focus on the simplest positives no matter how bad everything else is. I'm not quite sure why, to be entirely honest, other than it keeps us going. Why does it keep us alive, I don't know. It just does. 

So, I'll keep driving north on Simms, then east on Quincy, then south on Wadsworth, then west and north on Chatfield, then west on Ken Caryl, then a circle around the valley, then back on Simms till a roundabout brings me to Quincy, blasting Charlie Parr and JJ Lawhorn and Otis Taylor through rolled-down windows for the world to hear, so long as it keeps my head above water and refreshes my soul. I know some may say I oughta donate the time spent driving the same damn roads for hours and hours for seemingly no reason on better things, like volunteering at a horse rescue or walking elderly neighbors' dogs. But, for now, my soul requires that I drive that same damn route for miles and miles, for no other reason than it keeps me going when my feet hang low, kinda like Tyler Childers sang in his song Whitehouse Road. Roving around the same damn roads just to listen to music and leave the house is probably better than snorting cocaine like Childers sang about, however. 

If I get all sick and depressed again, lots of bad things happen. People worry. Worried people start getting sick themselves. And, it's just a terrible cycle. A horrible butterfly effect. Perhaps, spending my stimmies on a 250cc four-stroke ain't so selfish, after all. Perhaps, in order for me to serve others, I must be healthy enough to do so. In order to be healthy enough to serve others, I need to tend to my soul by doing redneck shit every weekend, such as racing dirtbikes, making feathers fly with 20 gauge shotguns, and beating the ever-loving crap out of my Xterra on mountain trails that reach 14,000 feet in some places. 

 

I'm not quite sure where I was going with this blog or how to end it. Perhaps, I just needed to ramble, and some stuff just had to be written down for later. But, it's late on a Sunday night. It's been one hell of a week. I just wish my mind would shut up so I can sleep.