"My Dad, Stop Pushing God!"

O.2008.9.2.10ppj.L4.163.
L.2008.9.3.8apj.L4.SA.Hillsboro.Corps.

9pm: Tuesday night (last night), in my new favorite show, House, the lead man doctor ended up having a heart attack, and he ended up risking his life in an attempt to save a friend, this girl, a patient.

As my dad slammed open the front door, as he came home, shot with whiskey and alcohol, I felt like I was going to have a heart attack, just like that show I was just watching, House, right then.

My dad is quite bothered with my integrity, with my honesty, with my boldness, with my drive against the very lifestyle that he chooses to live, with my ability to actually influence his girl friend, Debbie.

Debbie had enough, she proclaimed, Monday night, in the mist of the usual midnight nightmare fight, between my dad and whatever woman that he has (depending on the day, in his life): they were just having one of those things that drunks and addicts do: a yelling fist-fight match of third-grade name-callings, put-downs, negativity, blame-shifting, God slamming, and too-loud-for-the-neighbors of a show, a show that my dad puts on almost nightly with more consistency than Jay Leno, Conaan O'Brien, David Letterman, or any other Late Night Talk-show host. Beyond that, my dad does not even talk, to say the least, like talk-show hosts, but rather yells, whines, curses, and anything else that you will find a five-year old girl (with a temper tantrum) doing. My dad must of soaked in the art of such yelling and people-skills from his adopted dad (who must of tormented my dad's adopted mom), beyond the shadows of their Mormonism, from his own journey through the depths of alcohol. Obviously, the details to all of this is clouded and mostly unknown to me, but the effect, from it, is still quite obvious beyond the unknown, nonetheless.



Debbie said she had enough, two nights ago. I can always hear the daily fighting from my room, on the other side of the house. The older I get, the more it breaks my heart to listen to all of it. Several times in my life, I have got in the mix of those nightly tornadoes, those nightly fires, and tried putting out the fire. Usually, I end up fighting fire with more fire, sadly enough. I find it hard to sleep in the mist of these kind of winds. I find myself staring into space, confused and alone. Sometimes I have wished that I was never born. Or I wish that I could go and kill my dad, arrest my dad, change him, or leave from this place. Thinking about these kind of things, became the hardest during my last two years of high school, and I always find myself running away from these issues, running to basketball, to video games, to anything to get my mind off of such a life that I was born and raised with. Right now, I find it quite ironic to be back where I was born and raised at, in the ghetto, where I basically started, where it all started, you know. For the last couple of days, I have been thinking that I also have had enough, and I have wondered if I am meant to be where I am right now in my life and all. I come close to questioning God, like Job, or like Jonah, those prophets of old, and I come close to hating God, to blaming God, to pushing God, to running away from my God like my dad. I have observed the monster inside of me, a guerrilla, similar to the beast that roars out of the flesh of my own father. I have seen my ego rise in constant defense, in negative thinking or questioning, in argumentative debate, or even in a role of blaming, of accusing, of trying to be better than others. This disease stirred to an all-time high, within me, while in Revolution Hawaii, as I was a rebel with a cause, to say the least. While in Hawaii, I notice the decay of my own soul, a lack of calmness that is needed for clarity and peace. While in Hawaii, I kidnapped my own talents, I hijacked my own characteristic, I covered up my own integrity with a developed mutation of logic and purpose, a new twist in my L4OJ, a new short-cut to being all that I can be. I mean, while in Hawaii, I started making excuses, I started sponsoring experiments, I started taking short-cuts, I started test-driving an anti-trust theory with my friends, I started trying to make a difference without being a difference, I started trying to force instantaneous change in others through the persuasion of speech, I started thinking about too many things, I started trying to do too many things, I started day-dreaming about my God-given goals for my whole entire life, I started getting too deep and too involved in deep and confusing theology thought, and beyond that, while in Hawaii, for about ten months, until Jun of 2008, I just failed at a better communication, to my friends, at better identifying how I was doing in all honesty, that I can't do it all by myself. In other words, the older I get, the more that I have found myself twisting truth to my own opinion. While in Hawaii, I would rarely stay calm in the mist of debate. I took matters too serious or too speedily. I became a monster while in Hawaii. And in doing so, I started praying that I would creep away from such reptile habits. But I mean, in my life, I have found myself rot with the tormenting themes of my own papa. In awareness, in honesty, in repentance, in defense, and in recovery, I stand, I pray, I seek out the counsel of others, I seek after the art of calmness, the art of security, of holding on to the pole, for when the tornado comes, as seen in Jody Foster and the guy in the movie, Twister. And I gave that illustration to Debbie, my dad's girl friend, and I started describing the art of calmness, of clinging to the pole, for when the twister gets back up from his room for a midnight snack of hot dogs, or a half eaten burrito that he ends up throwing onto the ground. Stand your ground, go after what you believe, I say, as my heart trembles, still.

Debbie had enough, that Monday night. Debbie hopped in a taxi and returned to her apartment in Portland, OR. It seems like Debbie was not going to return. She had enough, but just for that night, and she had to pay for her rent, for her apartment, the one she does not actually live in, since she is always at our trailer.

Monday and Tuesday, I have been talking more with Debbie, via her own request. I even walked her over to her Uncle Lloyds, near Safeway, over a mile into the heart of Forest Grove, OR, so she could pay him back for beer, cigarettes, and groceries. On the way, she had several Caesars, in which she did not want anybody to see.

Tuesday night, now, my dad demanded that I called Debbie. I held a calm voice somehow, was able to modestly chuckle a few times as I conversed with him, as I understood what he was going to say next and all. I left a message for Debbie, that my dad wanted to know where she was. I continued talking to my dad about almost everything. As a son, I took advantage of knowing exactly what to say to him, as if I was guided by some hidden force or spirit. I was questioning my dad, convicting my dad, and going down deep, all with a low, steady, calm voice, somehow. I rarely ever have a calm voice. My dad kept on raising his voice at me, cursing my brains out, and he started becoming physical, too. I held his arms, a few times to keep him from hurting me. But at that moment, I felt safe and wounded, all at the same time. I felt very mad, full of anger, resentment, regret, hate, and all that kind of evil, inside of me, and I felt like I was dealing with all of that in several ways, last night, doing so in good and bad ways, but also in a way of flushing out my system. I mean, if you were to want me to deal with things, to finally confront my father, to be a man, to do all those kind of good things, then I could honestly say that I did all of that. On the other hand, you can question everything that I said, my methods, how long I stood my ground in my confrontation with my dad and all. We can conclude that I pushed God up my dad's face, similar to several other times that I stood up to his ways and all. You can send me back feedback and tell me what you think. And I cannot get mad and say that you are wrong. But at the same, I felt like I had to talk to my dad, last night. We talked from around 10pm until past midnight. I mean, we didn't actually talked, but I was seeking to almost verbally abuse my own dad. Ok, I am sure that somebody will take that last quote, from me, out of context. But you should listen to all that we talked about.

My dad will always blame God for all the bad that has happened in his life, but he will never blame Satan or himself. I was telling Debbie that we all end up blaming God in our lives, I think, because when you do, you basically disqualify God from being perfect, from being in control, from being good, from being our Savior and all, and therefore, you give yourself that throne of Lordship, that authority of divinity, of right, of freedom to do as you wish. I mean, we all have the freedom to do as we wish. If God is not perfect then I will blame him and I will go on to live life in my own way. Debbie wondered why he would hate God, and I continued, that it makes us feel better if God does not know what He is talking about because that will enable us to then know what is best for our own lives, to do as we wish, to not let God control our lives, and to do as we wish, because why should we let anybody or anything tell us what to do? Unless if they are perfect and that they do know better. But my dad will never blame the devil, because in doing so, you become guilty for even getting involved in Satan's business, in his lifestyle of living, a lifestyle that Satan chose to live in, from the beginning (Jn.8:34). My dad always get mad at people who pushes God at them. I object with, "No, you're pushing God," I continued in a taunting devil whisper, "Stop pushing God... You're pushing God... Stop running away from God... From your own son... I thought you loved me... I love you... God loves you... Come back..." I said a lot of things, and I always had a comeback. He told me, "You're lucky you're living in this house," and I responded with, "You're lucky that you are still alive... You're lucky that God has given you so much grace, to keep you going... You are lucky that God has kept your livers from dying... You are lucky you survived all of your car and bike accidents... You are lucky that your drinking has not killed you yet... Your life long friend, Jimmy Williams (my uncle), was always there for you, but he was wounded that you would not quit drinking like he did, and now he is gone, but i am still here for you because I love you and I will always love you no matter what you do or say... There is nothing that you can do to keep me from loving you because you are my father and you will always be my father no matter what... I love you and God loves you... And secretly deep inside of you, you love me and you still love God inside you, and I know this because I am in your head and when you look at the miror, you will see my face and remember this... That I love you no matter what and that you have pushed God long enough and that God is now telling you that He had enough!" He added that I would have to move out, in a couple of days. In other words, my dad reversed his earlier words about how I can always feel welcomed at the trailer, that I can always stay at the trailer for as long as I would like, free of rent, as long as I helped with a few chores, perhaps, and such, and he replaced those promises with a pure hate for me. At that point, it seems like my dad was saying that I could actually only stay at the trailer, the one I was raised in, as long as I kept my mouth shut from anything that matters, as long as I did not interfere with the lifestyle that he has chose to live in! And because I confronted him, because I told about Jesus, this came out in a flute of pain: but I was not telling my dad that he has to follow Jesus and all, but I was simple telling my dad about the kind of lifestyle that he has chose to live.

This lifestyle of your choosing, was not your first choice!

I reminded my dad that he has my face. When he looks at the mirror, he will see me. And I am in him. And the very hopes and dreams inside me has been the very ones of my own dad. And he is my dad and I will always love him. And I was telling him that I loved him last night but he would not say that he loves me back. He would always say that he loves me, all of my own life, except for last night. And my dad always like getting people mad and all this when he yells every night. He tried that with me and I told him that it would not work and that he was silly for trying to emotionally abuse me with scars of invisible permanent. My dad made up random lies about my siblings, friends, or whatever, how they hated me or whatever, all in effort to make me mad, to change the subject and all. I have never been so forceful with my dad. through, I was not physical with him, I was trying to get inside his head for the first time in my life, or in his. I think that my mom has got into my dad's head. But I went at getting into his head, too, especially since I resemble him in, physically and in characteristic. My dad excuses people of not being perfect, especially since he desires to be perfect. I know this because I have always been a perfectionist, all of my life.

Debbie returned, Tuesday night, and starting yelling at my dad.

"You do not even talk to your worse enemy like that... You do not yell at your son like that... Your son is talking to you... You can't even tell your own son that you love him..." she told my dad, over and over, and she continued, "From the short time that I have known Joe, I know that he is not a prick... Why can't you tell your own son that you love him?" At one moment, Debbie had a Caesar, collapsed, and lost control of her body. My dad demanded that I look at what I did to her! I told him that he was the one doing this to her and that he has Caesars everyday because you have chose this, because you are running away from God, because you are pushing God.

Deep inside you, I told him, you still want to come back, and that is why you are still alive, and deep inside of you, you want to live a different life, just like Debbie, because deep inside, you still love Debbie, and you still love me, and you still love God, and you can still be on the right side of history!

I told my dad that he does not want to go to Hell, for that is a lie, and that it is not about being perfect, but instead, it is about following the One that is!

Right now, I am scared of being at home or near my dad. I would never want to admit to this, but I am scared of it. I don't know why. I have security and all, but I also have this feeling of completeness. I feel like I have done all that I can for my dad and that it is time to move on to Living For Revolution.

I have been told that I am good with the Bible and with the kids and all. All of this is coming at me, so fast. But the hard thing for me is I don't really know if it is time to start teaching the Bible and time to start going into full-time ministry in youth work and all. I feel like all these opportunities are all over me and that they are coming right at me. On one hand, I feel disqualified or unqualified, but on the other hand, I never really liked school too much anyways, so let the games begin. I need to find that balance and stop pushing God, likewise, or however!