Why Am I Doing This!?!?

I guess I could blame this on my blogging friend Sue over at Heart Mind Soul Strength.

I occasionally read her blog and others and then (because I couldn't figure out how to make the stupid "Comment" thing work) I'd e-mail her a rambling dispatch about something. She kept saying, "Dude, get a blog!"

I've spent several months reviewing all the very good reasons not to do so.

There are a bunch of them: I could easily embarrass myself, or hurt someone. Practically, I could find the whole experience addictive (I'm an addictive personality, so that's not a groundless fear) and ignore my work deadlines and other responsibilities and get entirely too wrapped up in the whole thing. ("Do I really have time for this?") Besides, I'm technologically challenged in a really big and embarrassing way. "Can't figure out how to do the "Comments" on other people's blogs, so now he thinks he's going to create his OWN blog!!????!!!" Yeah, right. (I could go on.)

One big one is that the very worst in me really, really, really, really, REALLY wants to do it. The piece of me that wanted to get into music to get girls. (I'm still into music, but outgrow the other part ... I think.) The part of me that wants to be famous, influential, admired, adored, fantasized about ... or even hated for being so darn smart. (Right now, for instance I'm working real hard at making this, my very first post on my very first blog something people will chuckle over and say, "Interesting. I'll be back tomorrow to see what this character might get up to.") The part of me that would rather be plastered all over the National Enquirer than die in obscurity. The translators who gave us the Bible in English called that part of me the "sin nature." George Lucas made jillions calling it The Dark Side. Jung called it the Shadow.

Another reason is that I wonder if I have anything really useful to say. This, in fact, is the objection that has most inhibited me, thus far. What gave this objection its stopping power, in fact, is that for some time, I have assumed it was proceeding from the Light. "In humility," this seeming Light says into my ear, "Please consider: What are you likely to accomplish? Who do you think you are? What can you hope to add to the discussion?" In fact, many of the people whose blogs keep me coming back are quite educated. Seminarians or seminary graduates. Long experienced in Christian ministry. Voracious readers of philosophy. Partakers of in stuff like Contemplative Prayer, therapeutic models. I feel like an outsider looking in.

But you know what? That particular objection, I've come to realize, is not from the Light. It is classic Shadow stuff. Subtext: You have no value. You have no right to be heard.

Who says? My friend Phyllis over at "phyllisophie" (see, I'm already name-dropping) would have jumped all over this one and exposed it as garbage in a millisecond. But ... I didn't ask her. Why? Because the Shadow doesn't ask for help or advice (or directions, which means that most men live deep in the shadows ... it's a joke, guys). It's in the nature of the The Shadow to stay hidden. The Shadow is powered by fear.

Fear has been my constant companion these 56 years. Fear is still there. But Jesus said, "Perfect Love casts out Fear."

I guess I am finally doing this because something in me broke yesterday:

I was driving home from work (yes, I worked almost a full day on a holiday -- another story) and was nearing home when I came to a corner on Wadsworth where you can occasionally see the people with the cardboard signs, asking for money.

I haven't given any to a person on a street corner for a long, long time. One reason was I read a magazine article that described the little syndicates (alms pimps) that drive professional alms gatherers around town, depositing them at high-profile street corners. Some make pretty good money, most of which goes to the alms pimp). Another was, I thought that if you're' resourceful enough to come by the cardboard and a marker and get yourself to that street corner, and spell the words right on your sign, then maybe you're employable. There are temp work places. Blah, blah, blah. And I'm sure some are shams. Some are lazy, and prefer freeloading to work. Some, sadly, are mentally ill. And some are a new brand kind of slave, working for another kind of pimp. And God only knows what kind of "arrangement" they live with. So I ask myself questions like, "What good will it do? How can you know if their needs are legit? And I tell myself, "There are better ways to help."

But sitting on that corner was a young woman. She wasn't standing, or waving, or entreating passersby. She was just sitting, her head on her knees, braced against the late afternoon chill, holding her sign. It identified her as a single mom, escaped from an abusive husband and in need.

Something in her face just got to me. When the line of cars began to move, I remembered I had a $20 bill in my wallet. I also have debt, and had been wondering on the way home how the heck I was ever going to pay my bills this month. But something in me wouldn't let go of it.

I turned the corner in tears. As I moved closer to home, I couldn't stop the waves of tears. I found myself saying, over and over, "I don't know what to do. I don't know what to do." Part of me just wanted to go home. Another part wanted to go back and find her. Give her that $20. Which part is Light? Which part Shadow? I didn't know who to listen to. And I didn't even know who was saying what.

All I had was a question that has lurked in the back of my mind for several years. It's my tie breaker. It's the question I ask when sense, reason, advice and desire conflict. When you stand before Jesus to give a account, what are you willing to tell him? In a tough situation, when you have no idea what's the right thing to do, what option are you willing to live with? To answer for?

I was almost home, when I turned around, drove back and gave her the $20. I was relieved, in fact, to see that several others in the line of cars this time, also gave her money. I wiped my face clear of all the tears, of course, before I gave her the money. (Can't look vulnerable, can we?) But then I cried most of the way home.

And I still have no idea if she was really a single mom. She could be. And my $20 could feed her kids. Or not. What if she was lying? Well, desperate people sometimes lie. Maybe she thought "no one will give me anything if I tell the truth: I got fired for coming to work high. Or: My husband left because he caught me with another man, and then took the kids. (That thought occurred to me. "If you're out on this corner, who's watching the kids???") It really doesn't matter.

Something in me rose up and said, against my "better judgment," that this time, I needed to act.

I wasn't sure who was doing most of the talking (Light or Shadow) at the time ... or now, for that matter. All I can do is ask the "When I stand before Jesus ...." question. I think it was a thing I needed to do. I can't explain it, but I am willing to stand before Him and own it.

That's all I've got. But it's enough for now.

When its all said and done, maybe I just did it to make myself feel better for an hour. I can think of all kinds of reasons, in hindsight, to question my motives during the event. But "God works all things together for good, to them who love God." Even my Shadow. Even yours.

So here I am. I don't know if it's the "right thing" to blog. But ... sometimes you jsut have to go with something. So ... here goes. What if there's something of Light in me and I refuse to share it, in fear of the Shadow? Am I not that ungrateful servant who buried the coins he'd been given?