"But put on the Lord Jesus Christ, and make no provision for the flesh, to gratify its desires" - Paul, Romans 13:14
Fear seemed far from me- my change of scene had made me a stranger, an outsider, someone different... but I liked it. I liked standing out in a crowd- far from intimidating me, it made me bolder. It gave me an edge- the mystery about how we did things "where I was from" caused people to have doubts about me, second thoughts about who I was... about what I could do. They had it revealed to them that they didn't know everything about me, or about what I had come from. And in those areas of uncertainty, I was able to mold their perception of me. I was free to have them see, or THINK they saw, what I wanted them to see. In so many ways, the minds of the people around me did the hard work for me. They created stories about me without me having to say a word.
For example; where I'm from, any kind of aloof or nonchalant attitude is not taken seriously. Far from being reserved, if someone has a problem with something about you, stranger or friend, you WILL know about it... and you're expected to give the same blunt honesty towards others, ESPECIALLY if you're a local.
But I found that, in this new country, in this new culture, a little silence went a long way. By adopting an attitude of stony-faced tolerance - at the market, at the club, in a taxi - people tended to caution themselves with a foreigner, because they weren't as sure as to what to expect as they were with a local. Unfortunately, in acting in this, I quickly developed an over-inflated ego, with the accompanying idea that I was free to act however I wanted here...... and it will not surprise you to learn that I abused this idea.
Remember the young man who was scared of everything? Well now, he was set loose, believing he had a mandate to run wild in a foreign country... and he didn't hold back.
2 weeks into my arrival in this new city, I was in the most popular club in the town. It was 1a.m., and the place was rammed with people, and pumping. I, along with my brother (who had come to join me on the first 3 months of this foreign adventure) and 2 friends, had been drinking since early evening, and we were still in full swing. Women were everywhere- on the sofas, on the dance floor, in the corners, on the bar. Men were desperately trying to hook up before the place closed, although they had another 4-5 hours before daylight forced the bouncers to clear the place out. It was optimal play time, and we were mysterious strangers in town.
I don't know why Carla picked me out- she later admitted to me that she normally hated men from my country, because of the accent. But whatever the reason, all of a sudden I was talking, shouting, to Carla directly into her ear, over the booming and relentless music. I made out the words ".....New Zealand!" and "... holiday" in the answer she shouted back into my ear. She smiled at me, her olive-tanned skin and dark brown eyes framed by medium length jet black hair. Her tight white jeans shrank around her hips, and her turquoise tank-top revealed her toned midriff.
We shortly disappeared into the cool and comparatively silent night street outside, leaving my brother, my friends and her cousin all guessing where we'd vanished to. At least, I can only guess that's what they were doing- possibly they were all too drunk and distracted by their environment to even notice. Anyway, once outside, we didn't ask too many questions- she was 29, I was 21, and we both wanted each other. We kissed almost instantly, and for a long time. We couldn't let her cousin see, she told me between kisses. I accepted it because I didn't really care why not...
She was adventurous and exciting, and for the next week we kept each other entertained with our fling. We didn't just have sex in our hotel rooms- it was in a hot tub, on a deserted street corner, in the doorway of a hostel in a secluded part of town, and also in a quite alleyway (that time was when her cousin was just round the corner, on an extended phone call). Like I said- I was out of control. We both were. We had a mutual attraction to each other, and no negative feeling about expressing that in places and at times that suited us... On my part, I felt that I was away from "home", young, free and without limitations...
On her part, as it turns out, there was a surprise in store.
After a week of this unashamed behaviour, she went back to the capital with her cousin, to spend the rest of her vacation there. Once she was there, she said she needed to call me, and that she had some news that she didn't want to share, but had to. I was more curious than anything- I don't think there were many things at that point that she could have said that would have put me off her, I was that obsessed with her. I still remember the exact phone conversation:
Carla: "I really don't wanna tell you..."...
Me: "What is it?"
Carla: "But you're going to hate me... and you'll never want to see me again..."...
Me: "I PROMISE I won't..."
Carla: "... I'm married"
But upon hearing that, strangely, perversely, my heart didn't sink. I expected it to. I waited for the penny to drop, for me to be distraught and infuriated by the unfairness of it... But I wasn't. I was disappointed, yes, because I realised it complicated things... but I didn't feel anything against her for not telling me sooner. I still wanted her. In a way, more so, seeing as now she was forbidden fruit. She was clearly a catch, which is why someone had put a ring on it. I realise that this sounds callous, and it is, but those are the exact words that the callous, lust filled side of me said once we both hung up the phone. That was my first thought, my primary reaction- instantaneous, and blunt. It was this voice inside of me which, I'm now sure, guaranteed that this would be my first extra-marital affair... but it would not be my last...
To continue in the present, though; there was more to my reaction than just a callous indifference to a man half-way across the globe, who probably suspected little of his wife's distant exploits. This secondary reaction was on a deeper, more emotionally sensitive level. I empathised with Carla; I felt for her situation. And I think, on more adult reflection, that was because she reminded me of myself. I thought about her, about the 2 weeks we'd known each other, and I realised she was a broken and hurt soul, who had, for whatever reason, been deceived by her previous internal perceptions of the world.
For the rest of the day, I pictured her a couple of years earlier, joyous and glowing at being a new bride, optimistic and expectant for all the adventures she could hope to have in married life. But the following few years clearly hadn't been like that for her- just like me with my idealization of Anger, she had been let down and hurt by her limited perception of how she had expected things to be. Just as I had, she had followed a path that she thought would lead not only to her survival, but to her salvation. She confessed to me, once, soon after that phone call;
"I thought I would be happy, once (me and my husband) got married..."...
Just like me, she had realised she had been wrong, that she had made a mistake. How could I be angry with her for that? And how could I condemn her for wanting to be with me, despite her marital status?
She expected me to be upset with her, because I think she expected a normal, human-emotional reaction from me. But she didn't see, or simply ignored, the fact that normal human emotions featured very little in my life. It's not that I didn't have emotions, its just that they were constantly being over-powered by my sins and basic desires. In this case, many people would have reacted with righteous indignation, at the betrayal of trust, the omission of key information, and the fact that she'd covertly dragged them into an affair. I might have too, but Lust got in first. Lust was determined to get what she wanted, irrelevant of the circumstances. And what Lust wanted was constant public and private sex with Carla.
In Romans 6:20-21, Paul says:
"For when you were slaves of sin, you were free in regard to righteousness. But what fruit were you getting at that time from the things of which you are now ashamed? For the end of those things is death"
Looking back now, I can see that I WAS free back then, because my perception of positive and negative behaviour was like trying to see your own face in a puddle when it's raining heavily. Every time the water settled, another little thought, a bad influence, a distraction, would fall into it and create a disturbance. I could never get a full, clear image of my face, because the drops were so many, and they were constant. By the age of 21, I was far too used to this reality to start looking for the still image again, or protecting it from the raindrops. I was also far from interested in disciplining myself, in resisting these temptations. My apathy towards having clearly defined moral lines and boundaries was what made me 'free'. "Others can live by rules, if they want,", I thought... "I'll just do what I want all the time".
This meant I was conceding to all my passions, all the desires of my earthly nature. If I wanted to get crazy drunk on a Friday and Saturday night, and spend the whole of Sunday nursing a hangover, then I did it, without any feelings that it wasn't good for me, and certainly no feelings of guilt. If I wanted to act aggressively towards someone, in order to bully them into giving me my way, then I had nobody to stop me... least of all myself. And if I wanted to carry on with a woman, despite the fact that she had a legal and moral obligation towards another man, then neither of those obligations bothered me, and certainly wouldn't hinder my progress. At the time, largely due to a lack of experience, I saw no problem with doing any of these things, and more... I was truly living out my sin. My actions were my sins plans for me.
But there's a line in "The Pilgrim's Progress" by John Bunyan, which says:
"He that lives in sin, and looks for happiness hereafter, is like him that soweth weeds, and thinks to fill his barn with wheat or barley"
I had decided that I was destined to be bad, to do wicked things, in order to satisfy my nature. I thought nothing of it- I saw it as a lifestyle choice- to me at the time, it was no different from getting into yoga or going vegan. And I certainly didn't feel bad about it. Of course, I'd heard of the phrase "You reap what you sow", but never made the connection between doing good, being disciplined and self-sacrificing... and being truly happy.
It's not like nobody had advised me to modify my behaviour- I had always been given other reasons not to do certain things, but without my conviction in the key reason- "You WILL be happier if you stop acting like this..."- there was simply too little motivation to change. Take the three examples above: at times, I was warned by people about getting drunk every weekend. The reason:
"You could fall".
I didn't care about that. I was young and fit, and a careful walker. I wouldn't fall. I never fell. So I carried on getting drunk, convinced I had beaten the system.
"People won't like it if you shout at them..."... I was told as a way to curve my temper. Although I wanted people to like me, I wanted to get my own MORE. As it seemed that only one of those things could happen, the approval of others lost out every time...
And as for the affair? The reasons given were numerous: "She's just using you- she'll dump you as soon as she's divorced". "She's married- why not go for a single woman?"... but like I said, these reasons couldn't stand up to Lust. So, they were basically ignored.
Had I been convinced at the time, as I am now, that by distancing myself from this type of behaviour I would gain mental peace and internal serenity, on top of countless other wonderful spiritual gifts, then surely my reaction would have been different.
In a nutshell, I acted entirely out of what came naturally to me, and I didn't try to change because I didn't believe that acting differently would benefit ME. I acted according to how I wanted to act. Because the way I wanted to act was immoral, the conclusion we can draw is that I was, in my very core and self, an immoral man. If it weren't so, then why was it so easy for me to act that way, and felt so unnatural to act differently? Left to my own devices, as I was at that age, I was like a wild animal, acting on whatever feeling came over me at the time. Furthermore, I had neither the means nor the motivation to change.
Because I hadn't made the link between acting in certain ways and therefore feeling certain feelings, for the following few years, I caved in to my human desires. I acted how I wanted, how my nature dictated. I was so like a child- all I wanted to do was eat worms, stick my fingers in plug sockets, pull the cat's tail, and cut my own hair with scissors. And, like a child, I didn't understand WHY I couldn't do these things. It seemed unfair that I would be told to act differently. Like a child, I was blind to the fact that these things would have a negative impact on me if I kept doing them. I did keep doing them, and they kept being bad for me. I kept living a sinful life driven by my desires, ignorant of the importance of receiving spiritual gifts. I didn't WANT to be "good", because it would mean I would have to make sacrifices, and I didn't believe in the benefits. So I neglected inner strength and light, and in doing so stockpiled nothing. The result would be that, a few years later, when the moment came in which I really needed those spiritual gifts, I found my barn empty...
---
Let's take a pause from the story here, so that I can reveal something important to you. This is not an easy thing to admit, so please read the whole paragraph, and meditate on its meaning to make sure you fully understand. The man I am describing to you in this chapter- he still exists, somewhere. In my weakest moments, he comes close. I cannot say with confidence that he is dead forever...
In a way, he might never be gone for as long as I live. But the truth is that the only reason I no longer act, think or speak like that man is because Jesus Christ lives in me now, and keeps him at bay. I go to church with such joy, I sing psalms and hymns at home so loudly, and I pray with such incredible vigour because I know that the closer I am to Jesus, the brighter His light shines within me, the further away my dark former self is sent. And I do these things often, because I know that the way to keep my former self away is to praise Jesus in his presence. He cannot stand it- he flees. But if I go for too long without searching for Christ, I give that man who I was the chance to creep back into my life, and tempt me.
Every day when I wake up, I know that unless I seek Christ, I will be tempted into reverting to old habits. Every single day is spent resisting the lies, pushing away my evil nature with the cross, and keeping as close to Christ as I can. Now, can you understand why this testimony is called "The Path Uphill"? I consciously search for Christ everyday, because I know that he is the only chance I have to get to the top of the hill. Without Him as my guide, it wouldn't be very long before I was lost, and started walking back downhill... Every day ends, and if I get to the end of it without having lived out the passions of my sins, it's because I searched for and found Jesus, who then gladly acted as my aspiration. And every night when I go to sleep, I thank Him for helping me overcome the temptations of the day, and I ask Him to look over my subconscious as I dream. Finally, I thank Him for being there when I wake up, to start the climb again, another day in a lifetime of daily uphill climbs...
---
Lust exploited my ignorance, and apathy. She knew that at that time I didn't care about what was right or wrong, beyond the very obvious. Because her desires didn't fall into the "very obvious", she was off the hook, at liberty to work out her plans from within me. Besides- even if I had cared, I was far too lazy and unconvinced that I needed to change to have done much about it. Lust, like her predecessors, discovered that I was willing to obey her, largely because it was easier, and I was ignorant of how unsatisfied she would eventually leave me...So with that, she started to get to work. She knew that the quickest and easiest way to get what she wanted was firstly to get Carla to come back to town, to spend the last week of her holidays with me instead of with her family...
...and, in the longer-term, to support her decision to get a divorce.
---
I couldn't stop the images of my memory from moving forwards forever. As I saw Tom's darkening face clearly in my mind's eye, I realised I could pause what I was seeing, rewind it a bit... but even then, the events repeated themselves, determined to complete their story...
I sighed to myself in the silence of that dark cell. There was no-one to rescue me from re-witnessing what I knew was coming...
I could tell that Tom hated the homeless man, and I instantly knew why.
I knew him well enough. Tom was arrogant, and boastful. He would often regale me with stories of his exploits and adventures. I remember several times listening to his stories intently, laughing in delight that this man, my hero, was able to be so audacious and worldly. Whether they were true or not wasn't a point I was willing to consider. Either way, I wanted to believe him, to believe everything he told me. The world around me was a fast-flowing river, full of danger and rapids, waterfalls and rocks. By attaching myself to him, by believing him, I supposed I'd have an anchor to hold onto...
Tom was strong, talented, and admirable. He knew that others looked up to him. He fed off of that. And I knew that Tom hated "weakness". It annoyed him that he should have to tolerate others who didn't show these qualities. Although he would never admit it, his actions betrayed his true feelings. The people he surrounded himself with, and those he avoided. The people he talk about, and those he ignored. The greeting he gave to some, and the dismissals he gave to others. These things spoke louder than any words could- they were how I knew what Tom really felt inside.
When he DID speak about his philosophies, it was always with an air of profound wisdom. "This world is hard", he said stoically as a summary of one of his stories in which he'd acted unkindly, forced to survive in a difficult situation, and proved himself stronger than a less capable foe. We were both standing at a bar, waiting for our drinks, and he was staring intensely at me, ready to pounce on whatever reaction I gave. Without making direct eye-contact with him, I nodded in agreement, and before I had time to speak, he added "...and we need to be harder, in order to overcome it. Do you understand?".
I nodded, because I thought I did understand. It was a hard question to answer honestly- my honest answer was "No. I don't understand". Why WOULD I understand? To be born into a world without request, in which we're forced to fight, tooth and nail, just to survive... seemed so unfair. To be left alone to fend for ourselves, when we had no choice in being born. There was a strong feeling of injustice, of foul play at hand... but these feelings were buried, hushed up, kept away. I knew that Tom wouldn't tolerate my arguments. And even if he did, he certainly wouldn't understand them. Knowing that he was the man I had chosen to imitate, he demanded loyalty and agreement at all times. Any sign of rebellion would weaken his stance of power over me. Subsequently, self-doubt would be allowed to creep in about his theories of life, his whole belief system... and Tom was certainly not willing to start believing that he might not know as much as he thought he did.
So, every time, instead of giving Tom my honest answer, I gave him what he wanted- by agreeing with him, I inflated his ego slightly, confirming his position. And with that, smiling curtly, he would sit back and take a sip of his drink, or lean forwards and put out his cigarette, or turn round and gob on the ground- anything which would break his stare at me, and punctuate his point. I would look at my hands, pretending to consider the point he had made, but really just lamenting the fact that, at the time, his words sounded like truth...
Tom was of the opinion that he had the formula for life figured out, although he wasn't stupid enough to admit that directly. Instead, he would mask his teachings with phrases like "Look: I'm just a guy. But I've lived a lot... and in my experience..."..., or "Here's what you've got to learn..." (Never "Here's what I want to teach you"). Once he'd said these words, he was free to say almost anything he liked, secure in the knowledge that I'd be in awe of his modesty and wisdom. Like many of his age, he would share this formula with pretty much whoever was willing to listen, and agree.
"Happiness", he'd tell me, "has to be earned". Tom worked hard- there was no denying that. He loved his job, had a flaming passion for it. I could see that whenever I'd watch him at work. He'd tell me that his job was his reason for being. It was his very heart and soul, which was true even if he was never able to bring himself to express it that way. It was his love. For him, his job was not simply a means to an end. It was the end itself. If he wasn't celebrated at work as being good, GREAT, at his job... then life had no meaning. He would boast at how much love he had for his work, pitying those who either disliked their jobs, or even those who weren't willing to put their work above all- above family, above friends, above life... He pitied them, and he didn't understand them.
What drove him? What pushed him to work so hard at certain projects, and to dismiss others has irrelevant, or useless? I guess it was the idea -what a powerful thing an idea is- which he had inherited from his father, and his grandfather before that... the idea that greatness is measured in what you can see.
"You see that guy over there?", he'd semi whisper into my ear at the bar of a party; "He doesn't look it, but he's loaded. You should see his house- it's enormous...".
"And him over there? He's ugly, right? But he gets so many fit girls, it's unbelievable! I think the one he's with now... ah, there she is! In the red dress next to him... she's a model... Lucky guy, eh?". He'd wink at me, nudging my arm with his elbow, and I'd instantly agree...
"And those two..."... he'd point to a couple, "travel every year to..."
These people, I gradually realised, were TOM'S heroes. They all had something he wanted, something he craved, something he secretly, between him and I, lusted after. Whether it was money, women, or a certain lifestyle, when Tom entered a room full of people, he'd go window shopping for things he'd like to own, or do, or BE one day.
Back in my cell, with the moonlight illuminating the darkness slightly, my arms outstretched, I tried to remember if Tom had TAUGHT me this window shopping state of mind, or if I had always secretly craved these things too, and Tom had merely given me a reason to believe that these desires were appropriate... no, more than appropriate... NECESSARY to express...
Either way, with Tom's non-stop influence constantly in my ear, I was starting to become convinced that these things were, indeed, greatly valuable... and that by not having them, I was sabotaging myself, denying myself happiness...
Tom was ambitious, and surrounded himself with other ambitious people. Therefore, to be close to him, he would subtly tell me that I had to be ambitious, too. I had to want what he wanted... otherwise, I was labelled as a negative influence. Perhaps even unbeknownst to himself, he constantly sent this message to me. "There's nothing wrong with having ambition". He never said this to me, but then he never had to. I could see it in the way he'd look at me whenever I didn't act impressed enough. I could hear it in the tuts he would give as he took another sip of his drink, and lean away from me to talk to another companion. I could feel it in the passion he talked about others that he respected, admired, loved... and I could experience it in how much he encouraged me to agree that these things were desirable.
Subtly, I was made to feel abnormal for not putting a high enough price on what Tom deemed valuable. As if my undervaluing of these things somehow decreased their value. Maybe, in a way, it did. In the same way that gold is only valuable because people tell us it is. And because we're told that gold is valuable, we're willing to pay higher prices for it. If people stopped willingly paying those prices, then the gold wouldn't sell as much, the prices would have to drop, and the value would fall.
The foundations of Tom's life, mentality, his very being, his self-worth, were that people saw that he had certain things, and that they agreed that they were valuable. This was vital- this was how one measured success. It was a simple formula to follow: the more people envied your lifestyle, the better you were at life. This was Tom's message to me, the mindset I inherited from him.
The homeless man was an example of someone that Tom saw as a weakness. I knew very little about him- certainly far less than I knew about Tom. But even so, I could plainly see that he wasn't conforming to how Tom believed all people should act. He didn't have a house. He wasn't rich, or at least striving to be rich. He wasn't well dressed or groomed. And, most significantly of all, despite all this... he was striving on. Maybe, even... he was happy inside. He was the complete opposite of Tom, who used his exterior to mask his interior darkness.
And so, when thinking about that homeless man, sat against the brick wall of the pub, his messy hair looking like a thorn bush, his beard uncombed and wiry, his clothes with visible holes.... I realised that he had none of the things that Tom valued, or desired. A part of me thinks that that alone was not enough to agitate Tom, though. After all, he was surrounded by people who he didn't envy, who were "below" him. But he wasn't just conflicting with Tom's formula... somehow, just be existing so very simply, and still finding the courage, the peace, the ability to smile, the energy to continue forwards, he was creating his own formula- one not based on what we could see. He was living by different rules- he was demonstrating a different way.
And THAT, I remember thinking as Tom moved me aside to clear his path to the man sitting in his sleeping bag, was a rivalry that Tom would do anything to rid himself of...
