The Epidemic of Misfit Toys

There is an epidemic rising which the devil has been oh so quietly plotting. 

It is the epidemic of misfit toys. The toys that don’t fit in and a culture that has only compounded the problem. It is the epidemic of one night stands, drunken stupors, and filling a hole in your heart. It has been around since the day of the fruit, but that’s the danger of this epidemic. It is a silent killer, always morphing and changing yet remaining the same. Like water filling a jar or vase-it takes on a certain shape, and may look different but the water is still water, the hole is still the hole, sin is still sin, separation from God is still darkness.

   

People need to hear, people need to see. This epidemic is not clearly defined-yet. 

This semester has been a personal form of hell. Sometimes I think as a storyteller I become over-dramatic, but that does not negate the fact that this semester, though the last one here at CCU, has been one of the hardest. It has been about self-awareness, it has been about the past moving into the future, it has been about my candle like faith being snuffed out by stuffy stodgy Theology classes. Speaking of God is an extremely dangerous and difficult endeavor to embark on. To do it well? Near impossible. 

Each week seemed to cascade into the next with all of the problems and pains with no resolution. It was a rather dark tunnel spiraling towards what felt like nothing. Many (and I mean many) tears were shed. Then about two weeks ago, something happened. To arrive at this point we must start where any story starts. The beginning.

"I don't know what to do. Things come to life when we talk about them."

"No, things come to light when we talk about them."

A struggle all semester. Exploring where life stops and light begins. I felt like giving words to my deepest darkest thoughts gave them life, and to be honest they did. They stuck to me like a shadow. It felt like this scary little monster with sharp fangs had been unleashed upon my soul. What we have to come to realize is that the monster is there whether we accept it or not. 

That is where I am at today. That is where I found myself two weeks ago. Dealing with the ugly tough life that my monster is, but also realizing that I am dealing with it. I am allowing myself to be fully me, and yet still working towards something more. It is such a beautifully broken paradox. The sharp fangs will always be part of my story, whether it is just a scar or a monster I battle until His glory returns. I am leaning towards the latter, unfortunately-but hey, that's life.

Do you know what the monster is called when left in darkness? Shame.

Do you know what shame is? Believing-not that you make mistakes, but rather that you are a mistake.

Do you know what shame needs to grow? Darkness, guilt, silence, isolation.

No shame. That is where I am choosing to life, or at least trying. 

You may be wondering how this comes full circle. To be honest I am not sure it does, but I do believe we would all be surprised at what monster others are dealing with.  The Island of Misfit Toys, a place of isolation and loneliness. This is why I say we have a epidemic rising. An epidemic of misfit toys, an epidemic of monsters being kept in darkness, an epidemic of scar riddled bodies that we are trying to hide under band-aids. The reason this epidemic is unknown and unidentified? Because we won't talk about it. Start somewhere, somewhere safe. I believe you would be surprised at how many times you'll start to hear "me too" as your monster is brought to life. Start taking hold of your story. Bring it before others and God. God show up, please. I am begging you.

+1 John 1.7