Crisis of Faith: Can You Help Me Out?

I’ve been going through a very strange change, lately. I don’t know if it’s a change necessarily or just a potential change. It feels like a crisis of faith, though perhaps that’s a bit melodramatic. It feels embarrassing, too, but maybe that’s only because I’m telling you about it.

Lately, I’ve been wondering about my faith, my beliefs, my everything on a very basic level. It’s very strange, as I said before, to be in this position, and I’ve had to face the very basic questions I thought I’d answered for myself a long time ago. Among these are the following: Do I believe that the Bible is the inerrant word of God? If not, what do I believe and what don’t I believe? And, do I really give myself the authority to choose? If not, who do I trust to choose for me? And, how do I know I can trust them?

Also, what is the relationship between faith and proof in my life? When do I care about empirical evidence and when do I not? And why? And, when I don’t look to empirical evidence, how do I explain my position to others? And if I can’t figure that out in any concrete way, how to I share my faith with others? How do I argue? Or, should I not argue at all?

Here are my thoughts on that first strain. The second will be saved for a later post.

1.) “Do I believe that the Bible is the inerrant word of God?”

Ask me three years ago, and I would have answered with a resounding, “Yes.” Ask me today, and I would say this: I think that Word of God is inerrant, but the hand of man is not. So I guess the only way to know if the Bible is the inerrant word of God is to ask God if the Bible is the inerrant word of God—to ask God if the hand of man got it right.

The only problem with that is that I trust my ability to interpret God’s words without error about as much as I trust the ability of the whole of the writers of the Bible, the whole of the Council of Nicea, the whole of Christian biblical scholars, the whole of interpreters and the whole of translators to interpret God’s words without error. Sufficed to say, I don’t trust myself (or anyone else, for that matter) not to make even little mistakes that might keep the Bible from being the inerrant word of God. I for sure have trouble trusting our interpretation to the letter (if that makes the intrusion on the sacred less severe).

2.) But, if I even have the slightest doubt that the Bible is the inerrant word of God, what do I believe and what don’t I believe?

Well, I can’t really answer that. I believe that the Bible is godly, for sure, if not inerrant. I feel it’s inspired, as I’ve practiced many of the tenements of the Bible, especially the Big 2, and they have always brought spiritual growth, have synced up with my prayer life, have brought joy and have healed, created and strengthened relationships in my life.

But what about the things I don’t believe? Well, it’s not that I can think of anything I don’t “believe” in the Bible. It’s more that I don’t believe in widely held interpretations all the time. Or, I don’t believe certain stories were meant to be taken literally. Or, I don’t believe that certain things were meant to be interpreted by everyone the same way—or applied the same way in everyone’s life.

I guess my experiences with God, if I can trust them (and I must, really, otherwise I have no faith and what would the point be otherwise?) tell me that God loves all different people—that he knows how to be a father (mother, parent) to all different people. That he says certain things for certain children to hear and certain other things for certain other children to hear. I guess that kind of thinking makes it easier for me to read the Bible. It makes me feel closer to it. But most importantly, that kind of thinking makes me feel closer to God.

But, of course, that brings up the next question:

3.) Do I really give myself authority to choose what to believe and what not to believe? Or, I think to put it more correctly, do I trust myself to choose what to apply to my life and what not to apply?

The answer to this question is what I’m probably struggling with most: do I trust myself to correctly apply the Bible to my own life? (By correctly, I mean apply it in the way God intended it to be applied in my specific life.) No, not totally. That’s what makes this part hard. I am still quite young, quite inexperienced, quite spiritually immature. How could I possible trust myself? I can’t.

But of course, how can I not trust myself to some extent? I’m the human being who knows me best. I’m not God, so I’m not omniscient (I realize that if you don’t believe in God or don’t believe God to be omniscient, this argument doesn’t hold water with you, but this is the framework I’m using). But I am me and I do know me—at least I fancy myself self-aware enough to know myself better than others. So, I don’t trust myself completely, but I do trust myself in part. And I would think that, as I get older and more experienced, my trust will grow.

4.) So, who do I trust in the meantime? Who do I let decide spiritual things for me if I’m unsure or find myself in a state of weakness?

I used to trust my pastor. But, I moved churches years ago and have since discovered that I don’t entirely agree with my old pastor anyway. That’s not to say that I wouldn’t ask his advice and consider it—I would.

I think I can trust my priest. But, I’ve yet to establish a relationship with him—with any of them—so it’s too soon to tell. (This is something I need to do.)

I trust my mother, my grandmother, my father, my aunties and my boyfriend to be great moral compasses. I don’t always agree with them, but I know who I can ask about what. Who never lies? Who never cheats? Who always loves? Who is patient? Who is kind? Who is neighborly? Who is brave? Who loves God?

But even as I listen to others, I still have to decide for myself. Which leads back to the previous question, which is really the question that’s hard.

Will I ever be able to trust myself? Is this an attainable goal? A worthwhile one? Am I just plain wrong and should go back to the old days of fundamentalism? Of establishing my life on an entirely literal interpretation of the Bible?

At the ripe-old age of 22, I predict that, no, I will never trust myself completely. Or, I will never trust myself to always be right. And, no I shouldn’t return to fundamentalism (though time will tell). Rather, I predict that I will grow comfortable with giving myself permission to live the best way I know how, calling on others in times of need—calling on God always.

I hope this is true. In the meantime, I’m trying to enjoy this change, this crisis of faith. I’m trying to enjoy growing up, despite the turmoil. I’m trying to enjoy a time on which I will one day look back and call “the days of my insecure youth.”

Brothers and sisters who are further along in their faith: did this change happen to you? I would love some community here, if you are willing to share.

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Violent words and the blood on your hands:

We’ve all heard it: sticks and stones may break my bones and whatnot. And, yes, we’ve all heard the twist (but words will hurt me!). But, I’d like to add another entry in the age-old sticks, stones and words volume, and that is this:

Sticks and stones will break people’s bones when you use your words to hurt them.

I don’t pretend to be overly clever; you probably get what I mean. But, if you’ll oblige me, I’d like to spell it out plainly, simply and crudely: violent words beget violent actions.

Always, you ask? No, not always—but usually. And the more violence is infused into certain semantics and the more widely accepted those semantics become, the more likely it is that those violent words will become violent action.

What am I talking about? Good question. Basically, this post was promised by my last. The last post, if you’d like to read it, talks about my frustration with the hateful language flooding Web 2.0, especially on comment boards. This post was supposed to be about anti-Muslim language (and it still is), but it hopefully serves a broader purpose: to remind us of the potential, if not inevitable danger hateful/violent language presents.

You may ask why I seem to be using “hateful” and “violent” interchangeably. It seems that way because I am. I’m hard-pressed to find a difference between language that is full of hate and language that is violent. When someone says they hate black people, for example, they hate them, they’re a cancer on society, etc., etc., it’s reasonable to infer that that person wishes black people would go away (either be eradicated through violence, legislated into servitude, sent back to Africa…whatever). And when the hateful speech of one person reaches someone who wishes to take that speech literally—hears “black people are a cancer on society, they should go away” and thinks, “They are literally a cancer. They literally are ruining people’s lives. I need to kill that cancer. I need to save people’s lives,”—violence is born. And so, to me, the hateful speech is violent speech because, even if the original speaker is not directly calling people to violence, when they tow that line of hate speech, they are (I think knowingly) inferring that violence is an acceptable reaction.

Maybe Frank Schaeffer, former user of hateful/violent speech and recent guest on the Rachel Maddow Show can put it more clearly:

“Like many writers of moral/political/religious theories my father and I would have been shocked that someone took us at our word, walked into a Lutheran Church and pulled the trigger on an abortionist. But even if the murderer never read Dad’s or my words we helped create the climate that made this murder likely to happen.

[....]

Angry speech has become the norm in American religion from both the right and the left. Words are spoken which — when taken seriously — lead directly to violence by the unhinged and/or the truly committed.”

He continues:

“And so people like me are responsible for what we said and what we did and the way we raised the temperature on this debate out of all bounds.

[….]

But I also think that pretending that you can call abortion murder and Tiller the baby killer, etc., etc., etc. and that these words don’t have an impact is crazy. So this is what helps unhinge a society, talking like that. And I apologize and I will apologize again. I am sorry for what I did.”

So, first of all, Schaeffer has a new book out, which is perhaps why he’s pushing this idea so hard. But, I think his argument is just as sound as it is self-serving: Pretending that you can say extremist, hateful things on a huge public scale and be innocent to the violence that ensues is “crazy.” Did Schaeffer pull the trigger on Dr. Tiller? No. Is he “responsible for they way [he] raised the temperature on this debate and…help[ed] unhinge a society, talking like that”? Yes. And so, in my opinion (and I think Mr. Schaeffer’s), speech that is hateful often incites violence, which is why I’d like to use “hateful” and “violent” interchangeably.

Whoo! You still with me?

Now to the meat:

I would like to use a few comments from a CNN message board as an example to the kind of hateful/violent speech that’s being used against Muslims. Keep in mind, like Mr. Schaeffer, these speakers of hateful/violent speech do not always understand the implications of what they’re saying. By “these speakers,” I mean lay people who post on CNN comment boards. By “these speakers” I do not mean the very public and powerful figureheads who preach this kind of speech from their pulpits, TV networks or radio shows. “Those people,” I think do know what they’re doing. “These people” may not, which is a major component of their danger. They do not recognize the violent rhetoric being used against them. They do not understand that they are a pawn being used to do the often anticipated, perhaps even intended dirty work of “those people”. And if they do understand it, then they just suck, I guess.

That being said, let’s dig in. These comments are from CNN’s newswire article called “World reacts to Obama Cairo speech” June 4, 2009.

This gem’s from “Dave”:

“Reminder, Candy 9-11 was caused by Islamic murderers who killed thousands of “innocent” decent Americans. Question, why did Obama hide his Muslim heritage during the election?”

By positioning “Islamic murderers” who killed thousands of “”innocent”, decent Americans” with the seemingly unrelated question: “Why did Obama hide his Muslim heritage during the election?” Dave is making a connection between 1.) Obama and Islam and, by association “Islamic murderers” and 2.) Muslim people and “Islamic murderers.” I don’t think it would be too much of a stretch to infer, as well, that Dave is pitting “innocent, decent Americans” against those with “Muslim heritage” (who are, being Muslim, easily associated with Islamic murderers somehow).

Of course, Dave could also simply be arguing that if Obama thought Islam was such a peaceful religion, why did he hide his Muslim heritage during the election? What, if being Muslim is not inherently tied to “Islamic murderers”, would Obama want to hide? If this is the case, though, Dave is overlooking the obvious reason Obama would need to (though I don’t think he did) “hide” his Muslim heritage: non-Muslim Americans like Dave are afraid of and often hate non-Juedo-Christian religions, immigrants and brown people. And, because of 9-11, as Dave seems to point out, the scapegoat of choice right now is the Muslim community.

But enough about Dave. Meet Dave the truth teller (wait, what? I don’t know if it’s the same Dave, but take a look):

“Muslims have shown that they are not willing partners in peace. They are little more than barbarians.” (Dave goes on to reference Star Trek, so who knows if this is a joke. Even if it is, it isn’t funny.)

So, this one is a bit more straightforward. “Muslims” are not willing partners in peace. “Muslims,” he says. Not “most governments of the Middle East”—Muslims. “They are little more than barbarians,” he scathes. Well, if we know a basic thing about war, it’s that in order to kill your human enemy, you need to make him less human. Saying that Muslims are “little more than barbarians” and “are not willing partners in peace” does just that. They aren’t human like you and I, so let’s kill them. (I’m sorry if this is getting upsetting. My stomach is churning, too.)

On that note, let’s stop. Anyone who has spent a decent amount of time on comment boards knows the examples could go on forever. People refer to Barack Obama as “Barry” instead of Barack or Obama, and they’re not just doing it to be cute. It’s an easy way to show disdain for him and, indirectly (though I feel it’s pretty direct) disdain for the brownness or Muslimness of his name. It’s disdain for his choice to return to his full name after using “Barry”—a passably white name—as a young adult.

Or when these commentators use the President’s middle name, Hussein. Again, they’re not being cute. They’re not all doing it because, “come on, it IS his middle name, isn’t it?”. They want to conjure up images of Sadaam Hussein on the one hand and Muslim names on the other. They want to “otherize” him, “otherize” the Muslim and make it easier to hate and incite violence against an entire group of people. (This isn’t supposed to be a defense of Obama, per say, it’s just another relevant example.)

In summation, this hateful/violent speech is a real bummer. While people have the right to free speech, they don’t, in my opinion, have a right to avoid responsibility for their words.

And on that note, I would like to say this to my fellow Americans, and my fellow Christians especially, who post these incendiary remarks: knock this shit off. Stop the hate speech, the bullshit, the inferred calls to violence. Look carefully at the words you type, understand their implications, and know your responsibility. The words you use are sticks and stones.

And eventually, you’ll have to answer for the blood on your hands.

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I don’t like your tone.

Yes yours. Okay, maybe not yours. But definitely that guy who came here before you. Okay maybe not his either…but someone’s. Many someones.

It’s been a long time since my last post. A very long time, indeed. I’ve been relatively silent for a few reasons: 1.) annoyance 2.) preoccupation with other things 3.) lack of anything truly interesting to say.

Let’s take annoyance. No, actually, let’s put annoyance last. Let’s start with preoccupation with other things. It’s quick. Basically, I’m preparing applications for graduate school and can’t think about anything else (and don’t want to). Quick—see?

Then there’s a lack of anything truly interesting to say. I think this blog post is obvious proof of that. Because of the preoccupation thing, and the studying for the GRE thing, and the working thing, I have been more or less uninspired. Yawn, right?

Okay, now to the annoyance issue. Number one reason, really, why I haven’t posted in a while: I have become increasingly annoyed with other Christian blogs. There are exceptions, obviously. My blogroll has a few, and I would like to give a quick shout-out to brgulker’s blog, which is fantastic (and which I have been reading regularly, though not commenting on). But the other Christian blogs have been bugging me. That and certain very vocal members of the Republican party—just bugging me (with a very emphatic “ugg”). I won’t name names. It’s futile, really; I don’t think that the people who are bugging me will read this post anyway. And, even if they do, they certainly won’t give it any merit or any thought and will come with just some pre-constructed sound bites to drop in the comment box and leave, never having experienced a damn new thing ever—EVER—in their lives, all the while telling everybody else what they should and should not be experiencing. UGG!

It makes me depressed, the kind of ridiculum I read on a daily—okay, hourly—basis on comment boards and blogs and news articles. (A quick aside: why on earth does CNN feel the need to let readers comment on everything? And, for that matter, why do I insist on reading those reader comments, even though they mostly bug the HELL out of me?) The kind of ridiculum, if you’ll afford me the phrase, that I’m talking about is the ridiculum that involves off-topic and, usually, hateful remarks about government, religion, politics, people who have 8 babies at once, etc., etc., etc. It’s annoying when people comment without thinking—even more annoying, and dangerous, when they comment without thinking and are very quick to hate.

I would like to tell myself that that catastrophic combination is just Web 2.0 hyperbole, but the recent political murders of an abortionist and a security guard makes me fear that it’s not. At least I can hope that the amount of people who will act on hate speech, ridiculous speech and ignorant speech in “real life” is much less than the amount of people who spout this bullshit on the web. There. Sorry for the rant, but come on. I am certainly not the only person annoyed (and saddened and frightened) by the tone many Christian blogs (and political blogs, as well as just plain old news articles) and their comment boards have taken.

My next post, which is related to this one in theme, I guess, will be about the very prevalent and widely accepted anti-Muslim rhetoric that’s being touted lately, especially in the wake of President Obama’s speech in Cairo. Hopefully I can calm down by then, but my disgust level is telling me otherwise.

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Am I really living up to the teachings of Jesus?

I have been meditating on a few verses about murder in Matthew that have made me realize, once again, the serious challenge of Jesus’ teachings. Here are the verses, courtesy of the NIV translation and Bible Gateway:

 

“You have heard that it was said to the people long ago, ‘Do not murder, and anyone who murders will be subject to judgment.’ But I tell you that anyone who is angry with his brother will be subject to judgment. Again, anyone who says to his brother, ‘Raca,’ is answerable to the Sanhedrin. But anyone who says, ‘You fool!’ will be in danger of the fire of hell.

 

“Therefore, if you are offering your gift at the altar and there remember that your brother has something against you, leave your gift there in front of the altar. First go and be reconciled to your brother; then come and offer your gift.”

 

Now, I am not a biblical scholar and won’t pretend to provide a full reading here. But, this passage has really stricken me in a way that it hasn’t before.

 

Jesus reminds the audience that anyone who murders will be subject to judgment. Okay, no murder here. But he then says that anyone who is angry with his brother will be subject to judgment. And to this point, I’m following like I always do. I interpret that Jesus is saying that being angry with your brother in the way that you call him a fool has the potential to land you in hellfire.

 

In my understanding, Jesus is saying that yes, murder is wrong and the Jewish law will punish you for it, but God will judge even those who are angry. Also, saying “Raca” to your brother is bad and the Jewish law will judge you for it, but God will judge even those who shout, “You fool!” Basically, there’s the Jewish law that judges actions, but God Himself judges actions and the heart.

 

So far, so good.

 

But then there’s the “Therefore.” Jesus says, “Therefore, if you are offering your gift and the alter and there remember that you brother has something against you…first go and be reconciled to your brother; then come and offer your gift.”

 

What I would have expected to follow the “Therefore” (again, this isn’t the first time I’ve read this passage, but maybe the first time I’ve actually noticed this) would be something about leaving your gift at the altar if you remember that you have a problem with your brother. But instead, Jesus says to leave the gift at the altar if your brother has a problem with you.

 

Now that’s a different kind of responsibility. While Jesus tells the audience that they will be held responsible for their anger towards their brother, he also seems to be saying that they are responsible for any anger their brother has towards them.

 

The following verse, which I did not include because I have made even less sense of it, talks about settling matters outside of court and seems to suggest that perhaps the angry brother is angry for good reason—like he was done some real wrong. But maybe that’s not a requirement.

 

And if it is not, is Jesus saying that as his followers, we are truly responsible, not only for the anger we hold, but for reconciling the anger directed towards us?

 

In context, it seems that Jesus is talking about anger between believers (because he’s talking about the Jews and the court and whatnot), and not necessarily about the anger a non-believer may have toward a believer. And, like I suggested before, maybe this only applies to anger that is warranted. But, again, maybe not.

 

There’s something about reading this passage this time, though (and I think it’s God laying something on my heart), that makes me think that I really am responsible for the anger people have toward me. And, if I know about this anger, if I remember it while sacrificing my gift at the altar, I need to drop what I’m doing and go make amends.

 

It’s kind of like when you fight with your brother and then try to cozy up with Mom, and all she says is, “You need to go make things right with your brother, and then we can talk.”

 

Tough stuff, but it would make sense for a loving and responsible community. And it would follow with Jesus’ progression that, yes “bad” actions are still bad, but the real battle is waged in your heart.

 

I think I have a lot of work to do.

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CNN: Religious Americans Support Torture (Oh, and by Religious Americans, we mean 400 white people)

See, CNN? I can make headlines, too. I usually try to avoid bandwagon things (note the lack of blonde beauty queen references on this blog), but I feel compelled to comment on yesterday’s CNN article about religious people’s views on torture.

 

The reason I feel compelled to comment is not because I’m sad that “the more often Americans go to church, the more likely they are to support the torture of suspected terrorists,” but because CNN and the Pew Research Center absolutely screwed the pooch on this one.

 

Let’s read the article together, shall we? You can also find it here.

 

WASHINGTON (CNN) — The more often Americans go to church, the more likely they are to support the torture of suspected terrorists, according to a new survey.

The Washington Region Religious Campaign Against Torture rallied on Capitol Hill in March 2008. More than half of people who attend services at least once a week — 54 percent — said the use of torture against suspected terrorists is “often” or “sometimes” justified. Only 42 percent of people who “seldom or never” go to services agreed, according to the analysis released Wednesday by the Pew Forum on Religion & Public Life.

White evangelical Protestants were the religious group most likely to say torture is often or sometimes justified — more than six in 10 supported it. People unaffiliated with any religious organization were least likely to back it. Only four in 10 of them did.

The analysis is based on a Pew Research Center survey of 742 American adults conducted April 14-21. It did not include analysis of groups other than white evangelicals, white non-Hispanic Catholics, white mainline Protestants and the religiously unaffiliated, because the sample size was too small.

The president of the National Association of Evangelicals, Leith Anderson, did not immediately respond to a request for comment.

The survey asked: “Do you think the use of torture against suspected terrorists in order to gain important information can often be justified, sometimes be justified, rarely be justified, or never be justified?” Roughly half of all respondents — 49 percent — said it is often or sometimes justified. A quarter said it never is.

The religious group most likely to say torture is never justified was Protestant denominations — such as Episcopalians, Lutherans and Presbyterians — categorized as “mainline” Protestants, in contrast to evangelicals. Just over three in 10 of them said torture is never justified. A quarter of the religiously unaffiliated said the same, compared with two in 10 white non-Hispanic Catholics and one in eight evangelicals.

Okay, now let’s point out the very, very, very serious flaws.

 

First of all, note that the survey is of 742 American adults. That survey number is entirely too small. Seven-hundred and forty-two? Really, Pew Research Center? You didn’t want to beef up that number or wait a while before releasing these results? Also, where do the 742 live? Did you cast a wide net at least? Survey from coast-to-coast? Check the political affiliations of your survey participants? Come on.

 

Second, they surveyed people over a week-long period during heated “debate” about the issue of torture. While the timing is perfect for a poll of this nature (for media musings and what-not), I doubt that the right time to ask people what they believe (and get any meaningful or lasting results) is during the heat of battle. Give our current torture fiasco a chance to flush out, and then see how people really feel. At the very least, CNN should do a better job of emphasizing that these results may only be valid for this given period (the period of April 14-21, 2009).

 

Third, the survey “did not include analysis of groups other than white evangelicals, white non-Hispanic Catholics, white mainline Protestants and the religiously unaffiliated, because the sample size was too small.” Now this, to me, says a few things. First, that the survey is even more irrelevant, since it has not a single representative for the approximately 100.7 million American minorities (that’s about 1/3 of the American population, according to this 2007 U.S. Census Press Release). And second, that when it comes to cranking out quick stats about American sentiments to feed the talking heads, minorities don’t count. Yep, once again, minorities aren’t essential to the American political conversation.

 

Before you think I’m being overly sensitive, ask yourself this: do you really think that the Pew Research Center or CNN would post results from a survey of 742 minorities under the headline “Survey: Support for terror suspect torture differs among the faithful” with the first sentence reading, “The more often Americans go to church, the more likely they are to support the torture of suspected terrorists, according to a new survey”? No, they would certainly qualify it upfront. The title would read, “Survey: Support for terror suspect torture differs among religious minorities” with the first sentence reading, “Let’s see what those quaint brown people are up to” (sorry). Or else, CNN wouldn’t have reported on it at all.

 

Fourth (that’s where we are now, right?), um…what about non-Christian religious Americans? Much like the race thing, this poll and CNN’s reporting of it (under the headline “Americans” with no qualifier of “only white Christians and white non-religious”) says Americans of other faiths aren’t really American either (by the fact that they need not one representative from this group to justify calling this survey a report on the American faithful).

 

That’s my beef with this article, basically. Jack Cafferty of CNN is already asking the public (on his blog) why religious people are more likely to support torture, as if this is fact, instead of stopping to question the validity of this survey in the first place.

 

And please don’t think CNN is doing their job of just reporting the news. The fact that they even published this article at this time, knowing full well that people rarely read past the headline and a quick blurb, means they care little about the truth and much about stirring up a political shit-storm.

 

But, then who’s really surprised about that?

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The Question of Perfection and a Little More Backstory

I’m not the same person I was when I wrote this–not the same Christian, either–but I think it’s worth sharing. This piece was written as I was dealing with sex, impurity and questions of perfection as a college student.

 

Though some of this may be a little graphic or “inappropriate,” I feel that if I don’t really talk about this…if we, the Christian Church, don’t really talk about this…then we’re somehow doing a disservice to our community. Especially to our younger members, like myself.

 

And, please excuse the swearing…it was the teenage angst in me.

 

Curing Cancer

Create in me a pure heart, O God, and renew a steadfast spirit within me. Do not cast me from your presence or take your Holy Spirit from me. Restore to me the joy of your salvation and grant me a willing spirit to sustain me. – Psalm 51:10-12

Alone again. Alone. Ashley’s off with David, Hannah is out having sex with the next boy, whoever he is. I think this one isn’t circumcised or something. I had to look up a picture on the Internet to get a good idea of what that would be like. Gross.

My roommate isn’t home and my boyfriend is out with his friends in San Francisco. Will call when he gets back. Nothing good on TV, and anyway I can’t stop thinking.

Homework’s done.

 

It’s dangerous tonight.

 

        

He said, “I can feel you fighting against yourself,” and that he would have stayed with me either way. I looked at him sideways and skeptically, until the day that I realized it didn’t matter. He can be there when I don’t want to think about anything—when I’m tired, when I’m done. He can be there when I think I want to be bad, but don’t want to get caught and can’t handle being judged. He can be there when I want to swear and I can tell him that “fuck” is one of my favorite words. He laughs and says, “Just don’t say that around Sheila.”

He called me “Leggy Brunette” that one time when I leaned against the wall of Todai’s and he called, “Who’s that leggy brunette?” I looked down to blush, but didn’t know if I should. It was serious time and I kissed him, saying, “We really need to talk.” We walked outside to the F-150 and the key was already in my hand. I let us into the cab, where he held my hand to his mouth, running his lips up and back across my knuckles. My hands, his lips, his hands—and I thought of last night under the oak tree and the moon. It sounds like a fairytale, until I throw in the detail about the green pup-tent that kept falling down on us so many times that we finally just said “fuck it” (that’s not a euphemism).

 

I had on the new bra and boy shorts Mom had bought me at JC Penny, and the guilt of having this encounter on her dollar did not make me feel sexy. But he did when he undid my jeans and smiled and said, “Mmm.” We drove up to his friend’s property in his yellow Corvette and got out and he was wearing a suit. And then he slid his hand into my boy shorts and I pushed him away at first and then didn’t again.

 

I’m stalling.

 

In the cab, I made eye contact with everything on the dashboard before I told him that last night was great, really, really great, but that it could never happen again. His eyes changed to a slight hurt and I wanted so badly never to have that affect. He paused only a little longer than he would have liked and said, “Whatever you want. I’m just happy to hold your hand.” I looked up at him to smile, as my eyes had been wandering about the center consul, but instead leaned over to kiss him. Lips on his lips, I kissed him absolutely harder than I was supposed to and pulled him into me, fingers sliding up the back of his neck.

 

Even now, I can’t remember if we did the same thing in the cab that morning as we did in the tent the previous night, but it doesn’t really matter. I know that now. Standing leggy against the wall before, I had just wanted to avoid the lingering smell of memory while sitting in the church pew. I hoped he would take over my responsibility of abstinence—share it, at least—and I could say, “Hold this behind your back and don’t let me have it.” And he would do that and want to participate in the game. Ah, it could be so easy, I would think, forgetting that he had said, “Whatever you want.” And that I had said…

 

It’s amazing how my three-word response had the immediate power to change all the planned words against them. I said what I said and it turned into action, and I finally understood the difference between promise and what I was actually capable of.

 

Capable, that’s not what I mean. I’m capable of quite a bit. Save perfection. But no, it doesn’t feel right to even say that. I’m incapable of being perfect, of course. Fallen world, fallen children—I’m not suggesting an exemption from that. But breaking perfection into its parts: obedience, perseverance…well, obedience probably covers it all, makes it seem that it shouldn’t be so impossible. Don’t kill, don’t steal, don’t lie. Okay. Love thy neighbor and the Golden Rule. Simple. I can always do better, true, but the point is that I look back on my mistakes and can say, “But, you know, I could have done right.” I could have, that’s the thing. And since I could have, I am able to, which makes me think perfection in its parts to be attainable.

 

But then, nobody is forcing me to do wrong at all, so why not do right? Maybe with perfection it isn’t a question of capability so much as one of will. Or of want. I don’t want to say want, but then what is will if not a conflict of wants? So, then, I do not want to be perfect, which is why I’m not. I am immediately disobedient.

 

But maybe that’s not the point. Maybe what I want isn’t supposed to be factor. Just do it. Or, in this case, don’t. Don’t have sex. Simple. You say, “I’m saving myself for marriage,” and then that makes it true.

 

It should really be that simple, and yet the want creeps in. Well, it really doesn’t creep in so much as it is in and wants to creep out. “Put it in,” I told him, but what I meant was, “Let it out.” Release, it’s out.

 

 

 

About a week ago, I took some of my guilt to a therapist who asked me, “Do you really think it’s possible to do all these things?” I paused before I said, “Why shouldn’t it be?” We talked about my childhood and how my aunties would say, “Go to Stanford,” and my grandpa, “No, go to Cal!” They would always agree on one thing, though, as I offered up preliminary professions for myself: singer, musician, archaeologist, model (I was six): everything I wanted to do, I should do, they would say, “After you cure cancer.” And “after you cure cancer” was what I heard for the next twelve years, until I decided that I wasn’t altogether great at science or math and that I much more enjoyed reading than anything else. I decided that I wasn’t going to be a doctor, but it was never because I thought I couldn’t. I said, “I guess I’m not going to cure cancer,” but kept trying to think of ways that I could.

 

I laughed about these things with the therapist and he was laughing too, when he asked what I said he asked earlier. He apologized that he wasn’t well-versed in religion, but that from other life experiences, he could tell me that an all-or-nothing attitude hardly ever works. I nodded with a down-turned smile but wondered why not? “Never say never” and “You can do anything you set your mind to”—these are the things I have been taught. And now I can’t say I can’t, but what’s the problem there? Cant’s get in the way of doing, and the doing is what needs to be done. I can’t say I can’t cure cancer; it would be denying a thing to be done.

 

Well, I’m a bitch, then. That’s the only possibility. Because if I do believe that I can cure cancer, I have the moral responsibility to do so. And if I don’t cure cancer without saying that I can’t, well then that’s just a big “Fuck you” to a lot of suffering people, isn’t it?

 

I can’t cure cancer. I mean I know I won’t do it. I’m not a doctor, I’m not even good at math…

 

It really should be a lot easier to just say that I can’t do everything, anything. It should be just that easy, since it has really been quite obvious. I had been determined to reach that marriage line, virginity intact, and I couldn’t—didn’t. I didn’t, even though I had been utterly determined for three whole years.

 

God. It sounded so noble then and yet, three years? I guess by the end of my life, it will hardly even be worth mentioning. So, why mention it now? Well, I guess I have to. No, I mean I don’t have to. Still.

        

 

Listen, I’m not an idiot and I’m not some spiritual moron. Well, maybe I am, but it isn’t because of a lack of dogmatic understanding in regard to such a base tenement of my faith – the tenement. I know that I’m not perfect and can’t be. Obviously. I know that. I know I need Christ as my Redeemer and all that. I know that. I feel that, I should say. No, I feel and know. Well, which is the better way to explain it? I feel in my deepest down bones that I am not and cannot be perfect and, therefore, need to be redeemed. I want to be, too.

 

I feel these things, but it’s the matter of knowing that’s harder. Because even though there are all these instances of the Bible that talk about the inability to be perfect and all that, well there are parts that say, “Be perfect!” Is it a trap? Some cruel joke? That’s why I had to change the verb just now from know to feel. But it still isn’t quite right. I feel what I should know, but I don’t know exactly what I feel. It’s harder, the knowing, because words can make my mind confused. The heart is exempt from all that word crowd.

 

Still, if someone tells me to aim for perfection, I consider perfection to be the mark and, more, for that mark to be attainable. More than that even. Like in fifth grade, when Mrs. Barton gave the assignment to write a sentence with nouns, adjectives, and adverbs, I came back with a seventeen-line sentence and colored illustration. Or in my senior year of high school when we were assigned to prepare persuasive sales presentations for economics and my group showed up in matching shirts, skirts, and ties with color charts and product samples. Or what about every other example of my stupid life that’s boring, but nevertheless true?

 

It’s not as if I obsess over achieving (yes, I do) or like my world is crushed when I don’t (I don’t sleep well), it’s just that…well, I don’t know what it’s just. I don’t know. I like to please. I like for people to say, “Brittany, I’m proud of you.” I like it when people tell me what to do, when they expect things, when they tell me where the mark should be. I look at it and say, “I bet I can do even better.” People come to expect things and even if they didn’t before, I like to be the person to give them something to expect. For the next time. I give it to them.

 

Am I easily manipulated or something, just because I aim to please? I don’t think that’s it. That’s really not it, even though I’m sure it seems that way to everybody else. I really wish they could see. But, no, they won’t. And they don’t know me and I don’t know them and I don’t care what they think about it all, anyway. No, I do care. I care that what I’m living and what I’m saying will make people see something good in me and that their staying will keep me company. Even though now I’m alone.

 

Maybe that’s why I listen when someone says, “This is what you should do,” and I love it. I have a 720 credit score, a 3.7 GPA (that could have been higher), and I’ve never been pulled over for a traffic ticket. Never. And I want everyone to know that, or not know that, but just benefit from my doing well, but it’s not like I think that I’m perfect.

 

I’m sorry I’m not curing cancer; I’m sure I could have been a better help. It’s just so ridiculous. Me, I mean. I’m ridiculous. I feel that. I feel ridiculous. Am I happy now?

 

 

I’m sorry. Thinking isn’t always the way to understanding. It’s just so hard not to do it all the time. Think, think, think, think, think. Sometimes it’s nice to let that go.

 

But I don’t know if I can. It’s hard when you realize you’re human. It’s hard if you’ve been trying so hard to overcome that, been promised and made promises that it can be done, only to find yourself equalized by a constant.

 

And then, on second thought, the equalizer, the constant, has a beauty of its own, perhaps more precious than what you were trying to attain. There is beauty in the dirt, love in the mire, and grace in the earth.

 

Then why do I feel like there’s no sense on earth for this? No sense, because truth be told, I’ve forgotten how to remember that there aren’t any holes in the Bible—that there aren’t any questions that can’t be answered by a cover-to-cover interpretation of tissue delicacy. I’ve forgotten how to remember to explain translation, context, and history, while simultaneously holding that translation, context, and history have little to do with it. I’ve forgotten how to speak at all, but I guess I never really knew. And now I wonder if I have to know—if knowing is really the burden that God has set upon me. I don’t know. And trying to know while knowing I don’t know makes me weary. Come to me all you who are weary and burdened and I will give you rest. I am weary of trying to know. And I think God knocked me on my ass for this purpose: to remember why I have faith—it fills the gap where rhetoric fails.    

        

 

I’m really sorry. I want to be better. If only I could say I’m a good girl; if only I could say I’m a virgin. If only I could say that I can’t cure cancer. But, no, that’s not it at all. If I could give someone my responsibility, have him hide questionable things behind his back, then life would be so simple. It could be so simple again. Tell me what to do—like that. But he said, “Whatever you want,” and all the mess rushed out. All the mess as I sat on the porcelain toilet, looking at my feet, forcing myself to feel unhappy, to cry. All the mess as I finally walked back to bed with his coaxing and laid my hand across his chest. All the mess as he woke up in the morning and caught my eyes and asked, “Are you sure you want to do this?” And I said, “Yes,” and then he kissed me and brought me white roses the next day. All that mess.

        

But maybe what [X] and I are doing is beautiful. Maybe what we’re doing is fine. Certainly what we’re doing is only between the two of us – so why does everybody else want to judge? The consequences are mine. And his. Our consequences are mine and his.

 

I think.

 

 

If I had a little more confidence, this would be more convincing. I used to go to the Bible for confidence and I used to go to church. Now, I don’t trust myself with either, but somehow feel God is with me, oozing through my skin.

 

My roommate just walked in. 

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Little Back-Story Pieces of a Christian Girl’s Journey

If you’ll oblige me, I would like to share a bit about my religious journey. It’s a lot about youth groups and rules and sex and breaking “sex rules.” I’m telling you this upfront so that if you aren’t interested I will have spared you a bit of a read.

 

If you are interested, I’d like to invite you to read, comment and otherwise engage at will. This will hopefully be the beginning of many story posts.

 

Here we go…

 

It is a trap for a man to dedicate something rashly and only later to consider his vows. Proverbs 20:25  

 

The thing is, I’m not an original. And if it all sounds cliché, I’m not surprised. But clichés come from somewhere, and the origin of mine is this: when good girls do it, it’s an excruciating trip.

Good girls, good Christian girls, who only want to do good and please God and be respectable are right now sitting in their rooms, alone, hating themselves for not knowing what to do or where they stand in regard to sex. And once these good girls hear about sex, think about sex, masturbate in the shower or finally have sex, they feel guilty and yet are confused. Because they can’t tell if their guilt is conviction or not when they listen to people talk about making love to the person they love and how it actually isn’t wrong, but right. 

 

These tender little Christian girls don’t know if they’re being seduced or not, tricked or not, because all the girls in their Bible study who warn them of the tricks aren’t really like them. All the other Bible study girls have married parents, and they don’t have married parents. And all the other Bible study girls listen to pop rock, and they don’t listen to pop rock. And all the other Bible study girls don’t really dance and never sang in a Catholic choir and never had to switch churches when they were young. And because these girls, these confused Christian girls, grew up in a town called [X] where people are middle class and upper middle class and conservative and Republican and drive SUVs and have two kids and one dog and Pergo floors, which was the better choice over hardwood, considering the dog’s nails and the kids’ foot traffic.

 

And also because, somehow, these good Christian girls have never been able to find any other good Christian girls who are convincingly like them. And they have a very real feeling that finding other Christian girls like them is supposed to make a difference.

And I guess that these good girls, and by good girls, I mean me, don’t know if they’re being evil or not. We don’t know if we’re fighting against a conviction that exists or for a conviction that doesn’t. We don’t know. And since we don’t know, we can’t sit in church anymore, because someone will say the words “sin” and “brokenness,” and even though we can go down a list of seven or eight or infinite things that we’ve done wrong and want to change, we just don’t know if sex is one of them. We just don’t know.

 

We don’t know, but I do know that the rumors are spreading as to why I didn’t come back to lead summer camp with the same group of girls. And I do know that everyone is waiting for me to just come home and start crying an honest cry, and even though I want to do good and please God and be right and go back, I don’t want to lie. But nobody seems to care about that fact, or understand that fact, expect for people who already know that fact, but those people are always so hard for us to find. And anyway, there is no going back—things are different now. Aren’t things so different now?

 

There must be people who feel like this too. But the problem is we good girls don’t know who or where those people are inside the church. No one sits us down and talks to us about sex in any sort of personal, message-voided way without also mentioning pregnancy and depression and STDs and infertility and purity and hell—and we’re too afraid to ask. No one else has asked. No one else is asking. No one else is asking or telling or telling us it’s okay to ask, to really, really, truly ask and ask and ask.

Except for our mothers. Except for my mother. But then she’s not always aligned with the church, and I’m aiming for different things anyhow.

 So, before anyone doubts that we good girls were ever good girls at all, we have to cover up, not speak and not tell our Bible study leaders unless we’re going to repent. We work hard to match up the rest of our lives with what our religious leaders say and what our religious peers are not doing. It’s easier that way. Isn’t it easier that way? Because then nobody will ask or notice the Catholic boyfriend or the late nights or the long showers and the downward looks, and it will all be okay because somehow things will just work out—if we never think again. And if we feel like we’re going to break and tell and bust open the seams, we go away and sit away and be away and be alone. Or surround ourselves with people who don’t judge—much.

But that’s tough, too, because we used to think. We used to think and we used to have the mind for religion, and we still love it, but we’re just a little confused. Even more, we’re confused because it used to be easy—explanatory metaphors keeping every sexual, spiritual, historical contradiction eradicated and tucked neatly away without creases to iron out later. Perfection.

I used to have the mind for it, too. And everyone says that to have the mind for it is to be on the right track. If it’s making sense, you’re doing it right, serving the Lord right, doing your religion justice. When you have the mind for it, you don’t need to worry that your questions will leave gaping holes where answers should be—they won’t. You’ll find the answer. Or, the answer will find you because you’ll pray harder, surround yourself with wise counsel and have an open mind if an answer comes along that challenges you. In fact, if the answer doesn’t challenge, you may want to reevaluate your heart and investigate your state of mind. Because you know and still know and have been religiously taught that too many people are of the wrong mind.

“You know, they act that way because God isn’t with them.”

“They think that way because they are misaligned with Christ.”

“They are living for the flesh.”

“They have insufficient faith.”

“They’ve become the leader in their own walk and we all know what that means.”

We all know. And the knowing only gets hard when we good girls get antsy. For we good girls, it gets hard, I mean. Not for the rest. Because the rest can just hide their ears, hide their eyes, hide their younger daughters, leadership positions and praise, and resign themselves to a fact that’s so obvious, they hardly have to think about it at all: the good girls can’t be trusted. They aren’t good girls anymore.

 

And it’s just as easy as that.

 

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Conformity VS Unity: Where Christians Can Get It Wrong

Nothing scares me more than a group of people who all believe the same thing. Let me amend that: nothing scares me more than a group of people who all 1.) believe all of the same things 2.) want to believe all of the same things, 3.) believe that believing in all of the same things is beneficial, and 4.) believe there is, ultimately, just one way to believe.

 

What scares me is a group of people—any group, regardless of political, religious, cultural or national persuasion—whose main goal is conformity in the name of unity. Conformity and unity are two very different animals. I’ll let freedictionary.com introduce the two words, even though I know it’s cliché and, generally, very lame. Still:

 

con·form·i·ty
1. Similarity in form or character; agreement
2. Action or behavior in correspondence with socially accepted standards, conventions, rules, or laws
3. Geology: the relationship between adjacent layers of sedimentary rock

 

u·ni·ty
1. The state or quality of being one; singleness.
2. The state or quality of being in accord; harmony.
3. a. The combination or arrangement of parts into a whole; unification. b. A combination or union thus formed.
4. Singleness or constancy of purpose or action; continuity
5. a. An ordering of all elements in a work of art or literature so that each contributes to a unified aesthetic effect. b. The effect thus produced.
6. One of the three principles of dramatic structure derived by French neoclassicists from Aristotle’s Poetics, stating that a drama should have but one plot, which should take place in a single day and be confined to a single locale.
7. Mathematics a. The number 1. b. See identity element.

 

Assuming we can toss conformity definition 3 (though, if I had a bit more time and you had a bit more interest, I would love to work it in), as well as unity definition 7 (even though, metaphorically, it illustrates a beautiful point…if I understood mathematics better, I would probably think it even more beautiful), we have a pretty good base to start with.

 

Conformity requires sameness and agreement. It requires obedience to socially accepted standards and conventions. It means, to me, to act, think, speak and feel “the same.”

 

Conformity is what I think of when I see politicians and voters blindly adopt their party’s platform. Conformity is the underlying principal that makes me barf when I scan volumes upon volumes of text prescribing proper dress code for women, proper emotional expressions of men, and proper worship style and behavior of all Christians.

 

They all get me gagging, but let’s talk about that last one: proper worship style and behavior of all Christians. What I am not talking about is basic tenements of the faith: that God exists, created the world, sent his Son to save it, requires us to live a life of love for God and our neighbor, and has the sole power to forgive us of our sins. What I am talking about is everything in between.

 

For example: “A true Christian will not drink.” “A true Christian will never swear.” “A true Christian doesn’t wear high heels.” “A true Christian is not gay.” “A true Christian will never have premarital sex.” “A true Christian follows everything their Christian leader says.” “A true Christian does not believe in Evolution.” “A true Christian knows AIDS is God’s punishment for sexual deviants.” “And the way we can tell you are a true Christian is that you believe what every other true Christian believes; you say what every other true Christian says.”

 

These statements may sound absurd. Of course, to me, they are. I even get a little annoyed with Paul in the Bible sometimes for some rules that he seems, to me, to pull out of personal conviction and preference. I hope that isn’t blasphemous.

 

The Pharisees, who led many astray and placed burdens on people that they were never meant to carry, were about conformity. Christ, from what I can tell, and what I believe, is about unity.

 

Unity does not necessarily imply sameness. It doesn’t really care about agreement. What it does care about, what it IS about, is harmony, singleness, oneness, the “combination or arrangement of parts into a whole.” And it is when those parts, and parts implying difference, join in “singleness or constancy of purpose or action,” that they are unified—they are one.

In the book of John, Jesus prays:

“My prayer is not for them alone. I pray also for those who will believe in me through their message, that all of them may be one, Father, just as you are in me and I am in you. May they also be in us so that the world may believe that you have sent me. I have given them the glory that you gave me, that they may be one as we are one: I in them and you in me. May they be brought to complete unity to let the world know that you sent me and have loved them even as you have loved me.” John 17:20-23

 

Conformity breaks people apart. Because if one does not conform to a group that requires it, the non-conformist is bashed and banished. Look at any Christian sect, ask them why they split from their head Church, and their answer is almost always a list of conforming principles. The answer is mostly not directly related to a differing belief about the supremacy of God, the reality of Jesus, or the need to love God and our neighbor. Sometimes is it. More often, it’s about style of worship, dress, atmosphere, or any other personal preference that people confuse with the Law of God.

 

Conformity also makes Christians stagnant. When a level of conformity is reached, and all “wayward thinkers” purged, disagreement ceases (not really, but on the surface it seems to). When disagreement ceases, thinking ceases as well. What’s there to think about? We know it all already. And, when thinking ceases, growth ceases—both spiritual and intellectual. I never thought more than when I moved away from home, away from like-minded people, and was forced to confront my beliefs. I also never grew more than in those moments.

 

Unlike conformity, unity encourages growth by bringing different people together. If one does not agree with the group—if the group, itself does not come to consensus on every little thing—it doesn’t matter. What matters is to unity is harmony. What matters is all of God’s individual instruments coming together to create the most beautiful music. A symphony of difference. A score rich in tone and varying in pace. A song and life of discussion and multiple perspectives. It’s a life and existence that is never stagnant; the unified group is much like an ecosystem—always in flux, yet somehow perfectly contained.

 

Conformity is not unity. A list of rules scrolling to the end of the Earth, covering every last topic imaginable, is not necessary. Conformity disrupts unity. And unity is necessary. Unity is good. It is with unity that the world will see us Christians and know that God is real, Jesus is His Son, and that God loves us even as He loved His own son. It is with unity that all of our differences can come together to be one.

 

Let’s unify.

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Is There Such Thing As A Conservative Atheist?

My question, I have to admit, comes from a particular definition of “conservative.” While conservative can mean many things, as “liberal” can mean many things, I’m operating with what I perceive to be a collective cultural definition of the term. By that I mean, when I think of “Conservative,” I’m thinking of an American political label adopted by people like Ronald Reagan, Sarah Palin, Mike Huckabee, and, more unkindly, Rush Limbaugh and Bill O’Reilly.

And, as I will explain more in a moment, I’m thinking more about social conservatism than fiscal conservatism.

Many hostile conservative pundits and politicians blame the “godless” liberal left for what they perceive to be society’s steady moral decline. They do this so much, one would wonder if they believe that “godless” and “liberal” are one in the same.

And, if these conservatives are calling liberals “godless,” it would suggest that they themselves are “god-full.” Which makes me wonder, ”Is there such thing as a conservative atheist?”

Now of course, I know there could be. The definition of “conservative” varies person to person, subject to subject. For example, one can easily be fiscally conservative and godless. Backing a particular economic philosophy doesn’t necessarily require religion. And for the most part, politicians don’t invoke God to defend their fiscal arguments.

I would guess that one could be socially conservative and godless as well, though this part gets a bit trickier for me. Conservative politicians (and ordinary citizens who call themselves conservatives) almost always back their social policy with religious beliefs. Banning gay marriage, promoting abstinence until marriage, and promoting “family values” (a term loaded with religious significance for most who invoke it) are just a few examples.

Of course, social conservatives usually defend the death penalty too, so who knows where that comes from.

I’m sure someone could argue each of these traditionally socially conservative tenants in a “godless” fashion, but the leaders and promoters of conservatism never really stick to it.

Sure, they may start out without a religious argument…”Teaching abstinence only is the best way to keep kids from having babies and getting STDs”…but when confronted with a bit more fact (studies show this style of “sex-ed” cuts down on neither of those things and can, in some cases, increase them), they ultimately appeal, either overtly or in a thinly veiled way, to the traditional religious belief that premarital sex is a sin.

Do conservatives appeal to religion because they believe conservatism is a political response to the belief in God? Is the heart of social conservatism truly Christian faith? Can you have conservatism without God?

And, if you can and conservative atheists do exist, are they embraced by the conservative collective or shunned as imposters?

I’d love to hear any further insight, especially if you are a conservative atheist. What’s your experience?

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Worry Warts: Turns Out, They’re Not That Benign

Worry is a disgusting sin. Well, all sin is disgusting, yeah?, so maybe saying worry is a disgusting sin is a little redundant. It’s a sin.

 

And worry, for me is a very peculiar sin. Peculiar because, up until about a year ago, I didn’t truly understand it as sin at all.

 

Sure, I knew that the Bible cited worry as a sin—I knew what that Jesus said, “Who of you by worrying can add a single minute to his life?”

 

And I knew that meant you shouldn’t waste your time worrying about things. Trust God. Trust Jesus.

 

But I understood it about as well as I understand my own 401K portfolio. (I don’t.)

 

It wasn’t until the Lord so mercifully put it on my heart that worry is a sin—probably my most persistent sin—and is quite detrimental to my sanity, my happiness and my effectiveness as a Christian.

 

I like God for showing this to me. Well, duh. But, I like that God showed this to me because it is such a clear reminder of what kind of Father He is.

 

Sometimes, like with Job, the Lord does things or asks us to do things without explaining them. Some people find this unfair. But, as a person who has worked with young children, I learned that often you need to be able to say, “Just do as I say. Trust me right now,” in order to keep them out of harm’s way. Sometimes, there is just no time to explain.

 

But mostly, and I think Jesus the Teacher is a very straightforward example of this, God answers our why’s when we finally sit down to really listen.

 

“Lord, why is worry a sin?” I prayed. “Because it’s the unsuspecting pinch of yeast that’s spreading evil through your whole life,” He answered. That’s what I heard from Him, anyway.

 

And as soon as the Lord revealed that to me, everything became very clear.

 

I don’t know why I have such a hard time giving worry up, but I definitely know why I need to give it up.

 

How many times in my life has worry shortened my patience? How many times have I acted in haste because of worry, instead of trusting God to deliver the right answer, the right situation, in His own perfect time?

 

And how many times has my hasty action, my worried heart, gotten me into situations the Lord never intended in the first place? Let me not keep you in suspense—many.

 

Because He’s a great Father, the Lord gets me out of those bad situations. He works even the worst situations to the benefit of those who love him.

 

But still, if I were Him, I would be thoroughly annoyed with me by now. Hell, I’m not Him and I’m thoroughly annoyed with me right now.

 

The good thing is, God has revealed worry as sin to my heart. He knows that, unless I confront the truth about worry, I will hold onto it forever. It’s a comfort thing for me, I think, worrying is. A control issue. Some mental grasp.

 

It’s not working out, needless to say.

 

But, I am eternally thankful that the Lord has taken time to speak to my heart on this issue. I’m thankful every day He reveals to me the dangers of my worry, no matter how painful it may seem at the time.

 

And, I’m thankful that the Lord has surrounded me with strong, very anti-worrying people who lift me up in my time of weakness and refuse to let me fall.

 

I thank you, Lord, for your eternal comfort, your eternal Love and your eternal patience with your hard-headed children. You speak to us all when you say:

 

Come to me all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light. Matthew 11:28-30

 

Amen.

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