Engraving

This morning I woke up at 8am (far too early for a Saturday, if you ask me) in order to wait for various cable/internet/furniture guys to arrive and make my apartment more of an actual apartment and less of an assortment of empty rooms.  I had planned to use the time spent waiting to continue tackling the gigantic mound of seminary reading that has been piling up around me, but honestly, who can read about the Gnostic movement and the library of Alexandria at 8am and actually remember anything?  It's all very interesting at say, 3:00, 4:00 in the afternoon.  But not at 8am.

So instead I watched "Breakfast at Tiffany's."  Better option?  I think so.

I like "Breakfast at Tiffany's."  It's got that whole charming-classic-movie thing going on, and I always end up singing "Moon River" in my head for several days after watching it.  And Audrey Hepburn is all glamorous and George Peppard is all dashing-old-movie-actor-ish, and there's a cat in it named "Cat," and everything ends up all happily romantic in the end.  It is therefore a good movie choice when it's 8:00 in the morning and you're eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and waiting for delivery people to show up.

Except for the gloriously romantic and heartfelt Hollywood ending and subtly emotional opening, my favorite part of the movie is by far the sequence of scenes where Holly and Paul run around New York doing a series of things they've never done before - like going to the public library and stealing masks from a five and dime.  Eventually Holly takes Paul to her favorite place in the world: Tiffany & Co.

Holly likes Tiffany's because she feels like she belongs there.  I won't give away the details of the movie in case anyone hasn't seen it, but Holly's had a pretty rocky life and doesn't really feel like she belongs anywhere.  That's why her apartment is full of boxes after living there about a year, and why the cat is just named "Cat."  Holly puts it like this:

"The way I see it I haven't got the right to give him a name. We don't belong to each other. We just took up one day by the river. I don't want to own anything until I find a place where me and things go together. I'm not sure where that is but I know what it is like. It's like Tiffany's." 

I don't know about you, but I've totally felt that way before.  That feeling of just not fitting in, or of not being sure where your life is going....still feel like that every now and again, to be honest.  Holly feels disjointed and lonely most of the time: except when she's at Tiffany's.  And that is why she takes Paul there on their day of doing things they've never done before.  Which leads us to one of my favorite scenes in the movie.

As they walk around the store, Paul offers to buy her a gift, but he only has $10 to spend...which is problematic, since they're in a store that specializes in diamond jewelry.  Nonetheless, they hopefully walk up to the counter, and explain to the salesman that they would like to purchase something on a rather limited budget.  Click on the link to watch the scene:

http://movieclips.com/watch/breakfast-at-tiffanys-1961/cracker-jack-prizes/

What I love about this scene is the seriousness at which Holly, Paul, and the salesman discuss the possibility of acquiring something of lasting value for such a modest price as ten dollars.  My favorite line is when Paul stutters out that the ring was "purchased concurrent with...well, actually, came inside of...a box of cracker jack."  And the salesman just responds "I see..."  Hilarious.

But at the same time, I like this scene because it resonates with me in its lighthearted portrayal of feelings of inferiority in a place where you desperately want to feel loved and accepted, the one place where you feel most at home.  

How often do we all try to buy our way into acceptance and love?  Really?  Stop and think about that for a second.  How many times, in small ways or big ones, have you sold out on yourself, your values, or the people you love in order to try and be accepted?  But in the end, you always fall short, or end up unhappy because you only had $10 and could only afford a sterling silver telephone dialer...

Sadly, I think that a lot of people see religion like that.  I think that people often walk into the church, prepared with a certain amount that they're willing to "sacrifice" or "spend," and if God calls upon them to give up more than that, then they're out.  Or, maybe it's different.  Maybe people think that by giving a certain predetermined amount of themselves - maybe by going to church, giving an offering, following all the rules - they'll find fulfillment and happiness...if for no other reason than that they've "done their religious duty."  They've paid their ten dollars.

But just like Holly and Paul couldn't buy anything worthwhile for ten dollars, you and I can't have a fulfilling and lasting relationship with God if we try to buy our way in, giving ourselves only superficially.  The religion that comes from a well-meaning approach of rule-following is nothing more than a pointless knickknack...I mean, who really needs a sterling silver telephone dialer anyway?  Like Paul says, I'd want something a bit more "romantic"...more meaningful, more heartfelt.

And that's why I love the solution that Paul comes up with.  Maybe he can't afford to buy anything at Tiffany's, but he can have something engraved...even something as modest and commonplace as a Cracker Jack prize.  Paul didn't really think anything of that ring when he found it earlier in the movie; in fact, he offered it to someone else, who rejected it.  But it's precisely this ring that becomes his gift for Holly, the thing that will allow her to feel a real connection with Tiffany's, and thereby a sense of belonging in a world where nothing else makes sense.  A cheap metal ring may be less fancy than a sterling silver telephone dialer, but the sentiment behind its engraving far outweighs its modest appearance.

That is what I love about God as well.  God is this super awesome and amazing being who created all these gloriously beautiful things that I can't own and couldn't afford even if there was a price attached to them.  And He even offers an opportunity for a real, intimate relationship with Him.  You don't have to be rich and successful to attain this relationship either.  You just have to be willing to give yourself to him, however modest you may be.  

God should be engraved in the very grain of our lives, not set aside like some attractive but useless trinket.  Real faith, a real relationship with God is so much deeper.  I think that people too often opt for the sterling silver telephone dialer, unaware that they could have had something much more special.  But the telephone dialer is easy, predictable: you walk in, you pay for it, you leave.  You've gone through the ritual act of being a Tiffany's customer.  But you're left with something that falls short of what you expected, and this confuses you...didn't you do everything right?

Maybe the one thing you need to offer God is much more unique...maybe it's yourself, exactly as you are.  Maybe you were looking to get an engraving all along.

And besides, everyone knows that sterling silver telephone dialers went out with rotary dial phones...

Just for thought...

I first saw this music video a couple of years ago, and it remains one of the most thought-provoking that I've ever seen.  Watch it.  Reflect.


The video's a bit questionable with visual/audio synchronization, so here's a link to a better version on youtube:


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XPOZifPfUsU


"The Unwinding Cable Car", Anberlin

Roller Coaster

So a couple of days ago I went to Six Flags.  I was peer pressured by my middle school friends that I hardly ever see, and therefore I couldn't say no even though I held a grudge against the theme park industry in general after serving up pizza for the masses of tourists that flow through the park gates every day last summer.  But being pulled in by the ties of friendship and the promise of a half-price ticket for going later in the day, I decided that maybe it was about time that Six Flags and I reconciled.

After all, we used to be friends...back in high school we got season passes that let us get in the park whenever we wanted to, meaning that we could go at obscure times to avoid the crowds and ride roller coasters all day long.  Many of my fondest memories are intertwined with the loops of the Batman and the up-and-down plunges of the Screamin' Eagle.  Even the pizza restaurant where I slaved away all last summer was once the site of a heated argument between my friend Ashley and I over the attractiveness of Orlando Bloom compared to Johnny Depp in the latest "Pirates of the Caribbean" movie, while our friend Nick simply ate his pizza and rolled his eyes.  

Back in the 10th grade, I could tell you everything about that Six Flags inside and out, with detailed accounts of the tracks of each and every ride in the park.

But then we stopped getting season passes, meaning that anytime we wanted to taste the thrills of a wooden roller coaster or get soaked on Thunder River, we would have to pay somewhere in the neighborhood of $45, besides the $15 to park and $20 we inevitably ended up spending on ice cream cones and turkey legs and frozen lemonade once inside.  Needless to say, we stopped going to Six Flags about the time we stopped getting season passes.  Three or four years later, being employed by the park basically killed whatever fond memories of Six Flags I had left, and I only associated it with rude customers, long hours, and bitter supervisors.  And neon yellow synthetic polo shirts.

Despite all of this, I passed through the turnstiles of the park gates on Friday night with a tinge of excitement about me.  I walked past all the places I worked and celebrated the fact that I was NOT working there, and went on with my friends to ride some rides.  We hit up some old favorites, like the Mine Train and the Rush Street Flyer and the Boss, before riding a couple roller coasters that had been built since my last escapades through the park 4+ years ago.  

By the time we got to our last roller coaster of the night, the enthusiastically named "Evil Knievel" coaster, the sun had gone down completely.  Having never ridden the ride before, I was excited for the unpredictable turns to be made even more thrilling by the dark.  I wasn't disappointed: the cars shot out of the gate and began the twists and turns and rises and falls of your standard roller coaster, and since I couldn't see any of it coming in front of me the intensity of the ride went up about 10 bajillion points.  Every time I thought the ride was over, the train jerked around another corner and twisted back away from the platform to fly around the curves once more.  When the ride finally came to a stop, we walked out of the park all giddy and hyped up on the adrenaline that a day at an amusement park will leave you with.

We naturally followed this endeavor with Steak and Shake and dares to eat their mysterious green peppers, because that is just what you do after going to Six Flags.  But that's a whole other conversation, and would get me off the train of my thought, so we're not going to talk about that.

Anyway, after what was the most fun night I've had in a long time, I returned back home to face reality again.  I'm getting ready to move to Texas in a couple weeks and go to Mexico in the meantime, and having just gotten back from Kansas City last Monday, this has meant that I'm essentially deconstructing everything about my life at present and packing it into boxes to reconstruct it 10 hours from home (and 17+ hours from my Kentucky home).

And it has been STRESSING

ME 

OUT.

Lately, I've felt like my life is just one transition after another.  I transitioned out of undergraduate college.  I transitioned to an internship across the state.  I transitioned out of the idea that I'd be completing seminary in Kentucky next year to follow a full-tuition scholarship to Texas.  I transitioned out of that internship back home.  And now I'm transitioning to graduate school and apartment rent and basically the full-fledged world of being an adult.  In less than two weeks, I'm moving to Texas with no job and no apartment yet secured.  All of these easily understandable stressors keep combining with goodbye-get-togethers with childhood friends before we all move across the country to begin the rest of our lives.  It's been crazy.

You might say that I'm on a roller coaster myself.  It's cliche, but you could say it.  One second I'm on the highest height out with my family or friends socializing and having fun, and the next I'm plunging back into the overwhelming reality that I'm leaving everything behind in a matter of days.  And even though I'm bound to fly back up to the top again, there's still that moment of fear where you wonder if the train is going to fly off the track.

So I started wondering....why do I even like roller coasters?  Or rather, why do I love and thrive off the uncertainty of flying across a rickety wooden roller coaster in total darkness, but freak out about the uncertainty of life in general?

This got me thinking.

I mean, have you ever stopped and thought about roller coasters?  I've never been totally convinced that a padded lap bar is enough to keep me from flying out of the car, but I get on the thing anyway.  And after waiting in line for 30 minutes or more to get on this death trap, I sit in a metal car, strap a seat belt across me if I'm lucky, press a lap bar down across my legs and trust that the 0.2 second tap of a teenager passes as a sufficient "safety check", and then I allow this train of metal to carry me at gut-wrenching speeds across a labyrinth of wooden beams.  And then it's over, and I'm all excited by the thrill, and go find another one to get in line for, and start the whole thing over again.

And then there's the real world, where I profess to live a life by a trust in a God that has the whole plan of my life, your life, and everyone else's life worked out exactly how it should work out.  And furthermore, this God has been keeping the universe in line for thousands of years before I was born.  This God also nudged my mind and heart into the path of a ministry career, and dropped a full tuition graduate education into my lap to get me into a place that He very clearly wants me to be.  But I'm still all stressed out by the change, because I can't see exactly where I'm going.  I mean, I can see the school and the degree, but I can't see the apartment and the job and the friends and the certainty that the life I'll build in Texas will be as good as the one I built in Kentucky and the one that I've built in St. Louis over the years.

I'd love to say that I trust God more than I trust the wood and nails that make up that roller coaster I willingly paid to climb into, but the fact of the matter is that a lot of the time, I don't.  I know that it doesn't make any sense.  I feel like that's human nature though; we like to know what's going on.  Maybe the reason people are so willing to get into roller coasters are because they know that they'll end up in exactly the same place when they're finished.  It's a wild and crazy and upredictable ride that leads to a very predictable conclusion.

But doesn't the Bible say that surely God knows the plans He has for us?  Plans for our welfare and not for harm?  Why are some risks easy to take, and other risks completely overwhelming?  

I think lots of times people want to believe that putting your faith in God will make everything easier in your life.  You get all the televangelist preachers telling you that God wants you rich and comfortable, and that nothing will ever be difficult.  Or maybe people want to think that God only loves them if everything is always easy, and if things get hard it means that God's abandoned them.  

But life with God is a roller coaster.  It's not a passenger train.  It  has ups and downs, and unpredictable turns, and all of it winds around in and out of itself in ways that only make sense to its Designer.  We can't see where we're going, but it doesn't matter because it's been laid out for us ahead of time.  And when the roller coaster finally comes to a stop, I believe that I'll get off where my life started: with God.  

So why should I worry about all the turns in the meantime?  Why shouldn't I be more excited then scared?  I'll pay $30 to get into a park and ride roller coasters for a couple of hours...maybe I should strap myself into God's plan for my life, uncover my eyes, and throw my hands in the air trusting that God won't let me fly off.   

And the best part is, God doesn't even make me wait in line. 

Group Photo

So I was looking at a group picture, and I thought of something.


Do you ever have those moments where you’re not really thinking about much at all, and then you see something totally ordinary that you’ve seen several times before, but this time it inspires some oddly inspiring thought that is just as profound as it is obvious? And then you sort of wonder why you never thought of it before?

Yeah. This was one of those moments.

The picture in question was of about 30 people or so (myself included), a mixture of adults and children all posed and pleasant looking, smiling at the camera; a picture taken at the end of church camp about a week and a half ago, although it feels longer. Church camp has a way of setting itself apart from the usual span of time, I think…you start to think that it’s everyday stuff to have eleven year olds hopped up on sweet tea as your breakfast/lunch/dinner companions and to dance around to silly camp songs even though you’re well past the silly-camp-song age; after doing all this for a week or so you sort of forget that the real world doesn’t include that kind of stuff. It becomes a memory so quickly that it feels like forever ago even if it just happened a couple weeks ago.

But that’s not the point, and not the profound thought. That’s just some other thought that ended up having some mild profundity involved.

The point is that at some point in the week, all thirty of us made it a point to all put on the same bright red t-shirt, lined ourselves up in rows, and take a picture, so that back in the real world we can all look at that picture from time to time and say to ourselves, “Hey, that sure was a crazy week, wasn’t it?”

And that’s what I generally thought when I looked at that picture. But this time I saw it, I had a whole other thought.

“Who are these people? And how in the world did I end up in this picture with them?”

Now I don’t mean that on a simple sense…because, simply speaking, these are coworkers and churchgoers and children from the church where I’m working this summer, and the reason I’m in the picture with them is naturally because I was a counselor for the week and people take pictures of such things. But that’s not what I mean.

Working at church camp, you get to know the kids (if you’re a good counselor, at least). And as I was glancing at this picture, my eyes happened to fall on a camper who I knew had a particularly sad past and difficult story. But there she was in the picture, smiling and looking pretty much the same as all the rest of us. And then, as I glanced through the rest of the picture, it just kind of hit me that everyone in the picture had a story: had their own past, their own struggles, their own ideas about the world, their own ideas about God, their own everything, really. I don’t really know where most of these kids come from, and I clearly have no idea where they’re going. But there we all are. It was like lines were shooting out of every kid and off the screen, a bunch of 3-D timelines telling life stories that I only knew the surface of, a bunch of different life paths that happened to converge at this one place this one time in the basement of this one lodge of this one retreat center in this one forest in this one region of this one state of this one country of this one continent in this one world.



Whoa.



I think that a lot of the times when I look at group pictures, my eyes naturally gravitate to me. You know, I’m familiar with me, so I’m relatively easy for me to spot. And I might think something along the lines of “hmm, not a good hair moment” or something equally self-centered, and then flip on to the next photo that so-and-so tagged of me from such-and-such a recent adventure that was deemed worthy of a Facebook album.



But there are 30 other people in that picture. How in the world can I only focus on me?



But we do that, right? We all do. 



We all kind of just focus on ourselves, bopping along on our own little timelines. And more often than not, we tend to think about how other people bump into OUR timeline and how they affect US, instead of stopping to think that maybe we’re the one who bumped into their timelines. We get so caught up in how other people are affecting our lives that we forget that we are equally affecting theirs. 



It’s like a car accident. Each person in each car will tell you that the other person hit THEM, but bystanders will say that two cars hit EACH OTHER.



We’re so self-centered. We don’t always see how we’re affecting people, but we can see clearly how other people are getting in our way, or (if we’re lucky) how other people are helping us out. It’s too bad, really, because I think God probably causes these timeline intersections for a reason…it’s too bad that we’re not usually paying attention, you know?



What’s even weirder about that picture I was telling you about is the ridiculous number of things that had to happen in my life to get me there. How I wouldn’t have known about this internship if my Dad hadn’t happened across a posting for it at work and forwarded it to me. And how I wouldn’t have accepted it if I hadn’t first turned down the opportunity to spend a year doing missions work in Europe in favor of going to seminary in the fall (an option that would have kept me in St. Louis raising support all summer). And really, how I wouldn’t have thought that a church internship sounded interesting at all if my life hadn’t intersected with the lives of a few key friends back in my freshman year of college who got me back on track with God. And how I wouldn’t have met those friends if I hadn’t gone through recruitment on a whim and pledged AOII, and started going to Cru with the girls I met. And how even then, I might not have ended up as close with one of those key friends if we hadn’t happened to be placed in this random Asian Art History class that one of the student leaders of Cru also happened to be in. And how none of that would have happened at all if I hadn’t wound up at Transylvania. And how I would never have gone to Transylvania if I hadn’t gotten rejected by the school I’d applied to early-decision (and how one of those key friends had the same story). And how I wouldn’t even have considered Transylvania if we hadn’t happened to see a sign for it as we were happening to drive through Lexington because my Dad happened to have to take a test at the seminary he’d been taking online classes at, which, oh yeah, happened to be just 30 minutes down the road from the place where God would work miracles in my life over the span of a 4-year education. 



A lot had to happen for me to end up in this group picture. A lot of intersections to get to this one intersection in the woods of northern Missouri, frozen in the form of a lot of smiling faces popping out of a lot of bright red t-shirts.



I wonder what sort of intersections everyone else had to cross to get there, you know? And I wonder why, in God’s grand and overwhelming plan of all of human existence, He had to get us there together.



Because you know He had a reason.

Maybe that’s how we should think about interactions with people. As planned occurrences and opportunities for awesome things to occur…or as do-or-die interactions that might just end up changing the course of someone’s life entirely, so vital to God’s plan that He HAD to get you or me and that other random person together for some amount of time. Because that meeting, that intersection, was



just 



that 


important.




So what do you think? Do you think that your life has an effect on other people? Do you think that our friendship, or the fact that we’re friendly enough to be Facebook friends, has some sort of reasoning behind it? Do you think there was a point to our meeting when we did, and our parting when we did? Do you think there’s a reason some doors open while others close, a reason why some friends last forever and some fade into memories of the past? How will our meeting, our interaction, affect the rest of our lives, and how will the interactions we have today, tomorrow, and the next day affect the rest of the world? 




Kind of makes you look at group pictures differently…

On God, and Religion

I watched Angels and Demons a few weeks ago...and it made me super love God again. Which, is not necessarily the reaction that is intended from that movie, but there it is. Anyway, after I watched it, I wrote this. 


Watch the youtube clip. Then read. I know it's long, but it's not like you have homework to do.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Kx0OKiW8GrQ

**************************************
What is belief in God? Is it just being religious, or is there more to it?


Is it better to know a religion inside and out, or to know God? Keeping your entire focus on religion is like relying on an Atlas to see the world. You can sit and stare at Yosemite National Park on a map all day and not experience the full beauty of the place. You have to, eventually, set down the map that got you there, get out of the car, and enter into the presence of Yosemite Valley in order to fully comprehend its natural majesty. Relying on religion is like spending an entire vacation in a museum gift shop: there are lots of fun little knick-knacks and expensive jewelry that may remind you of God, but are not actually God. 


To know God, or rather, to be known by God, is a privilege that no human deserves. And yet it is something that God allows us to do. God is greater than everything on earth. You can be religious without knowing God or knowing what it is to be a follower of Christ. The amount of love, the amount of power, the amount of compassion that God possesses cannot be matched. When it’s remembered, when it’s acknowledged, the wonder of God should overwhelm us. It should envelope our entire being, define our very existence, and alter our entire purpose of living. 


So why doesn’t it?


The world today wants to condense God down to a self-help manual, a manageable set of 
formulas that will allow us to attain what we want under the comforting premise that we are doing God’s will. Reducing God to religion allows people to schedule God into their calendars and set apart time to “be a good person,” while continuing to lead an earthly and socially acceptable existence focused on the self rather than on the eternal Truth that transcends the minute human existence. But God is so much more than religion. He is so powerful that to minimize him to a convenient, controllable set of rules and doctrines is an insult.


Religion messes up because it is man made. People are so quick to point out all the terrible things that have been done “in the name of God.” But is it fair to discount and diminish God because of the evil things that people have done using his name as a front? Imagine if a person went out and killed people in YOUR name. What if someone went out and committed a heinous crime and said that it’s because you told them to, or because they wanted to honor you? Anyone who actually knew you would know that justifying evil with your name was unfounded. Just because someone attempts to excuse their actions by naming a certain person doesn’t make it true of that person. So why do people think that it is okay to do this to God? God didn’t lead the Crusades, God didn’t initiate the Holocaust. People did. People chose to invoke God’s name as justification for their own ends. But maybe the reason people want to attribute these evil things to God and discount His existence is because we, as humans, are afraid to acknowledge our own ability for evil.


Or is man right about God? 


I took a class to cap out my undergraduate religious studies that was impressively called a “seminar,” though it can be more aptly described as a 3-hour weekly session of five college students making lofty analyses and assertions about things that a bunch of 21 year olds know very little about. Although religion is a subject that is often very emotionally charged, the discussion remained for the most part academic and objective, excluding the intermittent comments of how Christians are brainless fools who only believe in God because it is what they were taught as a child, who would as quickly belief in the existence of unicorns as they would in God. Needless to say, it was a tiring class both from an academic and spiritual standpoint. But, it was also an eye-opening class, particularly when the following conversation arose.


Discussing Dietrich Bonheoffer’s book, The Cost of Discipleship, one of my fellow students summed up the German theologian’s point with the statement that “If you take the path of Jesus seriously, it will call you to make sacrifices,” to which another student in the room replied “Wow, that’s radical;” a sentiment that was echoed through murmurs and nods of approval from the rest of the class, Christian and Atheist alike. Though I had been zoning in and out for much of the conversation, this comment snapped me back into the discussion in a split-second because, in my experience as a Christian, making sacrifices for your belief is a central and integral part of following God. The fact that all these people around me thought this was a radical viewpoint was at once horrifying and heartbreaking. These people were missing what I consider to be a key part of Christianity: the call to live a life that isn’t focused on the self, but is centered on living for God. 


But this surprise at the idea of personal sacrifice isn’t unfounded. The Jesus that lived and walked on this earth is not the Jesus that most people today want to make him. As Donald Miller points out, “the Jesus that exists in our minds is hardly the real Jesus. The Jesus on CNN, the Jesus in our books and in our movies, the Jesus that is a collection of evangelical personalities, is often a Jesus of the suburbs, a Jesus who wants you to be a better yuppie, a Jesus who is extremely political and supports a specific party, a Jesus who has declared a kind of culture war in the name of our children, a Jesus who worked through the founding fathers to begin America, a Jesus who dresses very well, speaks perfect English, has three points that fulfill any number of promises and wants you and me to be, above all, comfortable.” Is this the real Jesus? Is this what God is really like?


Not in the slightest.


Jesus didn’t despise people who were different from him and he certainly didn’t ask people to change before they were worthy of his love. He ate with prostitutes and tax collectors and fraternized with members of other communities that were deemed “unclean.” I think that if Jesus had come to our culture today, he wouldn’t be locked up in some church somewhere; he’d be out helping people. He would be making friends and eating dinner with homosexuals and atheists, not holding up signs on street corners proclaiming that the entire world is going to hell. He would stay in sketchy hostels rather than 5-star hotels, and his idea of a vacation would be helping bring food and water to a third world country rather than drinking wine on the Amalfi coast. 


Who is God? If God is real, if God exists, then who we say He is will not change the fact of 
who He is. You can say that Abraham Lincoln didn’t exist, and it’s not going to convince anyone. It isn’t up to us to decide if God is true or not. If God exists, he will exist regardless of whether or not we personally believe that he does. God is above the world, above the capabilities of the human mind. He’s higher than everything and everyone on earth. Religion, on the other hand, is man-made, a system created to facilitate orientation to a divine Being that transcends our understanding. God is above religion, because religion itself is not God. When God is reduced down to religion, to the do’s and don’ts, to the logistics, to the act of ritual, the very beauty and majesty that is the incomprehensible nature of God is lost. 


So let’s get back to the question: do you believe in God, or do you believe in religion? 


Personally, I choose to orient my life to the God who overthrows the social hierarchy that modern society wants to create, to the God who chooses to love people as they are, to the God who is so completely beyond my understanding that I can’t condense him down into a 5-Step Guide to Happiness and Fulfillment. Answering the question of whether or not you believe in God in reference to religion is entirely irrelevant. To get hung up on the bad things done in the name of “religion” by “religious” people and deny the presence of God based on these things is illogical. You may believe in God, or you may not believe in God. But I hope that you can at least acknowledge the difference between what is God and what is man. 

Faith

I wrote this poem while I wasn't paying attention in my international politics class freshman year of college.  Perhaps it is time for it to resurface?

"Faith"

The song rose on the wind

Taking flight as a majestic crane

Over field and plain, over stream and ocean.

Flying.

Away from the darkness of night

As gentle as a whispered, prayerful thought

Yet all for naught. The song had died.

Sinking.

Hope was shattered in the children’s fear,

Clinging to the tattered edge of mother’s dress,

Longing for rest, which would not come.

Silence.

No movement, no whispers, no gentle prayers.

A world without song, a lingering doubt

As time runs out. A need, a yearning.

Hope.

A stir in the quiet, a note in the dark,

Falling into melody. The song rises again,

Replacing the end with a beginning so sweet.

Strength.

A rolling thunder passes through the despair

A feeling unknown, a force unfelt before

In the depths of war within oneself.

Remembrance.

A fleeting memory of a far removed time

When with the grace of a crane a song

Had gone on with a love filled melody

Truth.

The song takes flight with a cautious wing.

A turbulent path, but a path of light

And a coming of sight to see the world anew.

Soaring.

Higher than ever, the song rises again

Flying on a wind forgotten by many yet desired by all.

To hear the call, to live a life of love and purpose.

Faith.

An Introduction

To get things started, my name is Celia.   I'm not particularly remarkable, except that I have a keen ability to rewrite song lyrics to fit any situation.  I get atypically excited about baroque theatre, and will speak in French at random intervals and without warning.  If I had any acting or dancing ability at all I would run off to New York to become the  latest Broadway sensation, but instead I just sing in the car.   I like to eat pastry while walking down the streets because it reminds me of the semester I spent in Paris.  My favorite animal is the Speke Gazelle, and I like to stand on subway trains without holding onto the handrails.  If there is even the slightest amount of water on the floor, I will slip and fall.  People tell me that I talk to fast, but I like to think that their minds just can't keep up.


I used to be narcissistic and egotistical, obsessed with a constant worry of what other people thought of me. I was self-centered and prideful, and always had to prove that I was better than everyone else. I blamed other people for my unhappiness before admitting my own shortcomings and held grudges in an ironic attempt to prove that I wasn't truly hurt by the people who hurt me. Because I always had to be better than everyone else, I let comparison to other people consume my thoughts and actions. When I couldn't measure up, my ultimate goal was to blend in with the wall and avoid being noticed.


Before, I always felt inadequate and judged. I felt like I couldn't be myself without risking social rejection.


But now, I don't need other people's approval to feel good about myself. Now, I don't have to work to be accepted by other people because I know that I already am accepted. Now, I don't always have to be the best, but I can recognize other people's talents and be excited for their accomplishments. Now, I'm okay with not being perfect, because I know that I don't have to be.


Now, I'm happy. Now, I'm free to be who I am.


Now, I'm alive in Christ.


Lately I've felt the need to write.  Not to glorify myself, but to glorify God.   So that's what this blog is: a place for me to reflect on God.  Hopefully this will be of inspiration to someone.