September 5th 2012, 5:35 pm, Hickory Grove, Wisconsin
With his Sunday responsibilities over, Jed had relished the thought of an afternoon and evening free from intruding ministry obligations. But, like so much of his free time over the past years, it seemed easier to fold motor oil than to truly relax and rest.
.
He was actually beginning to hate this recurring motivational meme that looped within his inner monologue. Though this hatred only served to bring upon him more feelings of guilt and self-loathing.
Snapping back to the present moment, Jed's attention was briefly drawn from this crazy cycle by an awareness of easy listening music playing in the background; an old Michael Jackson hit from the '80's put to string orchestra. His gaze moved from inward to outward as he noticed for the first time how the setting sun fought valiantly through the fortress of blinds to compete with the pasty fluorescent bulbs of his favorite Sunday night haunt, Barnes & Noble. Jed stood in line for the third time this month at the sprawling bookstore, wasting another perfectly good Sunday evening wrestling with the scruples of conscience that prodded him to return the novel he had begun to read two days ago.
He'd become so weary of the inner stream of conscious looping incessantly over the past 48 hours.
The argument, though painfully familiar by now, never failed to convince him. When the Critic's voice got loud and insistent enough, Jed always caved. It just wasn't worth the emotional energy it took to fight it off. Reading was supposed to be relaxing, right? Inevitably, he'd take the book back to the store and attempt to find something "safe" and "godly" to read. The problem seemed to be that the criteria for a "safe and godly" novel was getting more stringent with each passing month.
He'd rehearsed this cycle countless times: the conscience would soften enough to seek out another fantasy fiction title (Jed's secret but favorite genre), then building guilt feelings would compel him to question if reading this book was really .
Rinse and repeat.
Jed looked at the harried mother of two standing just in front of him with her Ritalin–laced urchins held in a matronly vice–grip. He wondered if she or anyone else in this bookstore would think him totally crazy for returning a book half the teenagers at the local high school (not to mention his church's own youth group) had read already. No matter. Jed was God's man. God wanted Jed's devotion. And what God wanted, Jed gave.
The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
The mid–40's clerk smiled disingenuously as she told the book from Jed's hand.
"
Is there anything wrong with the book?" asked the clerk."
No," said Jed, "I just decided not to read it."
"Oh, didn't you like the story?
Trapped. Jed hated to get painted into a conversational corner like this. His conscience wouldn't allow him to lie; he was thoroughly enjoying the story. But, he also didn't want to look like a fool or give an answer that his inner tormentor would later chide him for as being legalistic.
"It just wasn't for me."
Seemingly satisfied, the woman accepted back the "almost" new
Christopher Paolini fantasy novel and let Jed exchange it for a "safe" copy of C. S. Lewis' .
Relieved that the experience was over, Jed checked his watch and headed out the door.
The cool, fall breeze tickled the thick brown hair (a blessing from his paternal forebears) whose sides were beginning to show some streaks of gray (a blessing from his maternal forebears) as he headed for the family minivan.
Pulling out his iPhone, Jed perused his schedule for Monday morning while making his way across the crowded parking lot. It never ceased to amaze him how the life of a typical pastor in a church of 150 was less "spiritual" than the average person might think.
While it may have once been the norm 100 years ago for the bulk of a minister's time to be occupied with prayer, study and the visiting of shut-ins; today's pastor functioned more as a CEO than shepherd. Emails, staff meetings, financial reports and endless phone calls took up the bulk of Jed's day. While the counseling of troubled souls (most often with the same counsel he had given those same souls last week) took up most of the rest.
, he thought.
As his brain drove home on subconscious autopilot, Jed mused about how he used to be a people person. But, that was before the Critic appeared. He couldn't remember the day or hour, but he remember the season when the Critic first rented space in his mind.
As a College Student, Jed had used fiction to divert his mind from the rigors of study. One novel that impacted him greatly was , by Frank Peretti. The hero in the story was a small town pastor who had a remarkable ability to discern the voice of God speaking to him throughout his day. In response to the book, Jed resolved to be more attentive to God's voice in his own decision making. What he didn't count on was the legalistic spin his brain would place on an otherwise wonderful truth.
Jed began to consider most all "promptings" he received in his mind as being from God. This led him to question every thought and action, then rack his brain for appropriate ways to make restitution.
While on the surface all of these things seemed like good, purging, things for a young man of God to accomplish, these "promptings" became stricter as the days, months and years went by.
The voice prompted him to pursue morality to the point of absurdity, to confess to God the most minor scruples and avoid giving offense to anyone.
That voice eventually drove him to a psychiatrist where he was diagnosed with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. Jed still fumed when he thought about it. That voice was God. It was a squatter in one of his mind's apartments.
.
It was his own brain separated from joy by one teaspoon of chemicals.
The diagnosis came five years ago along with therapy, meds, and shame.
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