More On Change

I was a pretty good kid.

I mean, I colored between the lines. I knew the difference between mischief and trouble. I didn't drink. I didn't do drugs. Through an eclectic mix of insecurity, awkward social skills and being surrounded by "nice" girls I wasn't having sex. I could throw a tight spiral with a football, hit a baseball from both sides of the plate and occasionally hit a drive off the tee about 230 yards and put it in the fairway. I got one traffic ticket (it was the last one) despite having a car that would put dollar signs in State Trooper sunglasses. I was president of my class. I made decent grades--nothing flashy, but hey, I was the last one in the top-third of my high school class. I went to church.

But I had my own private undertow. A rip-tide underneath an apparently calm sea.

(Yes, there are others. Many, in fact. But I'll talk abou this particular one in this public forum.)

Anger.

By the truckload.

And, most outsiders would say that I "came by that honestly." Having your father die unexpectedly when you're 13 gives you a lot of excuses in the eyes of others. I could've started binge drinking or living on the edge or doing drugs and people would've said, "Well, that's too bad. But, you know his dad died 3 years ago, right?"

But I didn't take that off-ramp. Mostly because I didn't want to make my mom cry. There'd been enough of that and a great deal of my decision-making was, "Well, tell you what, boys. You drink the beer and I'll drive. If my mom smells beer on my breath, well...just give me the keys. I'll drive."

But there was still anger.

By the truckload.

Visually, it manifested itself in punk rock. It was big in the late 70's, but didn't filter into Alabama until the early 80's. Pre-MTV. Pre-Internet. The world seemed bigger then.

The vinyl collection quickly morphed from Kiss/Ozzy/AC-DC to The Ramones/Sex Pistols/Social Distortion. At the risk of sounding too graphic, I think I can understand why teenagers "cut." They describe a feeling of "release"--like the bleeding helps the pressure come out. When I'd put a cassette tape (a way of playing recorded music that came between the 8-track and the Compact Disc) of, say, Black Flag into the deck (a way of playing cassette tapes) and it was like somebody would open a pressure valve somewhere.

But it was an endless cycle: Anger-relief. Anger-relief. Anger-relief.

And I pretty much figured this would be a lifestyle. Anger management, self-diagnosed and self-musically-medicated.

Until Charles told me it didn't have to be that way. He asked a very simple question to me one day, "Why do you want to manage what the Bible calls sin? I mean, married people don't have 'adultery-management' seminars, do they? Wouldn't you like to change that pattern?"

I was 20.
This was news.
We talked...but not about anger.
Not about anger by the truckloads.

We talked about God's grace (see the verses I quoted in yesterday's entry).
We talked about how it's like a sunrise, how it comes over the horizon slowly but makes it more clear as the "day" goes on (it's in the Greek, or so Charles said, and seminary later verified).
We talked about how Christ wanted genuine transformation, not "sin management."

And how that transformation would have to come from the way I thought.
That I had to think "truth."
That "true truth" came from the Bible.
That it was my mind that had to be renewed regarding anger.
Anger by the truckload.

That inward change on the way I thought would have outward manifestations, to be sure.
That my thoughts would affect my emotions...in a Scriptural way.
That my thoughts lining up with God's thoughts would lead to peace.
And that peace would enhance my relationship with Christ.

Inward.
Outward.
Upward.

Now, don't get me wrong. This conversation lasted about 2 years. It was definitely a process.

But, you know, nearly two decades later, I'm not seething inwardly any more.

I'm a pretty much a predictably happy person.

I've made my peace with God, much like Lieutenant Dan in Forrest Gump.

Because I understand that Christ isn't interested in behavior management. He's interested in transformation. Preparing a people for His own possession.

Now, don't get me wrong. I still enjoy hearing some old punk on the Mp3 player (it came after the CD but before whatever else is next). It just doesn't release a pressure valve anymore.

It makes me smile because I hear it with different ears now. A reminder of what it used to do against what it does now. It's more nostalgic now...reminding me of specific people and places of events in my past of being a good kid with a punk-rock problem.

No anger...in a latent, consistent sense.

Certainly not a truckload, anyway.

Because I'm different.

Transformed. A new creature. Free.

By His grace...alone.

And, that, is quite an epiphany.