faith questions 29.May.2008

I’m sitting in an interview at the Union Gospel Mission with a guy named Paul.  I have to be  interviewed to help the homeless.  Paul asks me why I believe what I believe.  I say, “The short answer is ‘faith.’”  But, I tell him, I feel the Spirit of Christ living within me.

I feel forgiven.  Paul lets me know a Buddhist or a Hindu or a Muslim or an atheist doesn’t care much about my feelings.  He asks me if I think truth is relative.  “No,” I say.  I’m thinking of Ravi Zacharias, and how he said when you’re told that truth is relative, to ask the other person if that’s a true statement.  It sounds better when he says it.  So instead, I mention the alliterative argument of C.S. Lewis in Mere Christianity, that Christ was either a lunatic, a liar, or the Lord.  I say that no one could make the claims about himself as Christ did unless he were crazy, flat-out lying, or… telling the truth.  I happen to believe Jesus, based on the Old Testament prophecies, I tell Paul.  That’s actually one of the best arguments I’ve ever come by.

But lest Paul think I need some Scripture references:  “I just keep thinking of the place in the Bible where Jesus says, ‘No man comes to the Father except by me.’”  That should explain why there can’t be any number of rivers (or religions) that flow to the one sea (God).

But Paul doesn’t like any of my answers, and I feel very small.  No one told me I had to be a theologian to help the homeless.  I’ve grown tired of nit-picking over the details of eternal security.  I wanted to just let all of that go, and live a life of simple faith — one that still believes everything Jesus said, but not one that reads more into it than what I see at face-value.

Then another blogger writes: “God doesn’t let people go to hell because they misspelled the name of Christ. God doesn’t let people go to hell because they were mis-informed. God doesn’t let people go to hell to ‘burn for eternity’ because their notion of God looked more like Mohammed, Buddha, or Kwan Yin.”  And I want to yell and scream and ask how he could be so deluded.

And then I remember I don’t have much of an argument either.

Paul says I need a logical defense of my faith.  He draws me a picture of man and God — God at the top of the paper, man at the bottom.  He says every human is born and dies; there are no exceptions (well, unless you count Elijah and Enoch).  For all our good efforts, we cannot reach God.  I remember the time I visited a mosque and I saw the men praying to a God who gave them no assurance of salvation.  They just had to keep doing good… and hope they would make it (maybe crossing their fingers was more like it).  Paul tells me that Jesus was a human not born in the natural way.  Being fully God and fully man, he lived perfectly and then died to take care of our incessant sin problem.  No other religion’s “guy” could do that for humans.

And I nod because that’s good enough for me.  Paul must think it’s good enough logic for everyone.

But I know it’s not.  It’s not good enough for my blogging friend Matches.  And I wonder if I can ever find a purely logical argument that will answer everyone’s questions.  Isn’t logic of such a nature that I should be able to plug it in like a formula?  Push a button — voila.  Or can I only pray that God will convince everybody of the parts of the story that will always sound illogical?  Am I deluded to expect God to reveal his own intricacies to those who don’t know him as the father of Christ Jesus?  Or if I genuinely believe Jesus is the best good news ever, won’t I naturally do everything in my brain and heart and will and physical power to learn and spread the news with complete clarity?

I want to blame somebody for my lack of defense.  “Well, I didn’t grow up with a particularly theological background.”  “My parents never made me learn it.”  But it’s not their faith.  It’s mine.  And somehow that intangible thing called faith has to come out through the tangible things – words and actions and human skin.

she called me crunchy 28.May.2008

So first it was recycling.  And then cloth grocery bags.  The Diva cup.  Walks to the store.  And dreadlocks.  And now raw vegan (plus honey)?  My sister said I was pretty crunchy.  I took it as a compliment.  Really, me?  Crunchy?

It would be easy right now to fall into the tree hugger persona.  To fulfill the next expection of the awaiting crowd.  But to tell you the truth, I don’t even know what Green Peace is. (Oh, look!  I can find out with one click of the mouse.)  I haven’t constructed a compost bin.  I don’t have an opinion on global warming… yet.  (And I have cravings for cookies every day.)

I want to be a temple.  I want to be pure and lively, guiltless and free.  I want to remember to love my time with my boys – Kyle and Isaiah.  I want us to all live the most full lives possible while we’re here.  It’s pretty cool being a crunchy temple.  But then again, I doubt the Temple-dweller cares about my labels.  He just wants it to be comfortable.

reflections from a morning walk 26.May.2008

We walked today — Isaiah and I.  The milk was gone, and the apples were in short supply, so we walked to the store.  There are days when I heave an inward groan at the thought of taking the stroller instead of the car.  Muggy summer air hangs over north Texas now, and the wind whips itself into your face.  But today was a good day for a walk, despite the weather.  Besides, we only needed a few groceries.

I realized this was my third destination walk in one week.  There had been one other grocery walk, and one walk to mail adoption paperwork.  In a suburb where busy streets don’t seem to be friendly to pedestrians, it seems that this practice has been making itself comfortable in our lives.

We walked across the park, and I smiled to think of my plan to become a guerilla artist this week, spreading some wisdom across my neighborhood by chalking quotes on sidewalks and tying poems to trees.

Right on cue for the day, I found a plastic American flag on a wooden stick rolled up and wedged beside the sidewalk.  I gave it to Isaiah to wave all the way to the store.  We were patriotic this Memorial Day.  I was thankful to be in the United States, as much as I mourn the nation’s shortcomings.  This is the way we celebrate our freedom, fought for by veterans honored this day:  we walk to the grocery store with cloth bags.

There is litter along the road to the grocery store.  Every time I pass it by, I wonder if I should have stopped to collect it.  We saw empty food containers.  We saw a whole cob of corn and two halves — all eaten.  And then there were scraps of metal.  I don’t know what they used to be or who comes along to pick them up and send them to the landfill.  But I wondered if Kyle and I could begin to create art like this, transforming waste to beauty.

wishlist for society 26.May.2008

While having to endure frustrations may make me a stronger person, there are days I just make a mental list of how I wish things in America were.  Couldn’t fast food restaurants be annihilated, at least the greasy French fry and paper-wrapped part of them?  And if subdivisions were prohibited from being so monotonous and artless, wouldn’t America be a much more beautiful place?  I guess there is hope in America’s freedom.  While the things allowed in the food industry are appalling right now, the good news is that no one has to raise their chickens and cattle in their own manure, and no one has to live in cookie-cutter houses.  It might cost you an arm and a leg not to, but sometimes it’s more rewarding to go around limbless than to submit to a life void of creativity and justice and purpose.

 

So, with no further ado, my wishlist for our society:

 

1. All crops are raised organically with sustainable agricultural practices.

2. Franchises and chain businesses cease to exist.

3. Communities are built with a grocery store, library, fabric store, hardware store, school, and park within two miles.

4. Churches are no larger than 1000 people.

5. Bartering and freecycling is commonplace.

6. Well-planned train systems sprawl across large cities.

7. Everyone has had training in gardening, the arts, and healthy food preparation.

8. Locally designed and sewn clothes are widely available.

9. Businesses are all closed on Sunday.

10. Disposable grocery bags have been discontinued.

11. All restaurants require bring-your-own take-out containers.

12. There are no tanning salons.

13. Roads are built primarily for pedestrians and bicyclists.  And maybe horses.

14. Houses are built to last at least 100 years.  Builders are independent architects, who care more about making a structure beautiful than they do about making it quickly.

15. There is an art or historical museum for every movie theater.

16. Paper is produced from renewable resources.

17. There is one street musician and one artist for every person with a desk job.

18. Free high-speed wireless internet access is provided everywhere, but not at the expense of undeveloped land.

19. Electricity is powered by wind, sun, and people riding bicycles at the gym.

20. There is a concert for every sporting event.

21. There is a park for every square mile of city.

22. One book is read for every movie that is watched.

23. Teachers and farmers are highly paid professionals.

24. We know the people who grow 75% of our food.  We know the other 25% secondhand.

25. Families have no more than one car.

26. Homebirthing is common.  Breastfeeding is the norm.

27. Churches are staffed by volunteers. Fulltime volunteers are provided for by the gifts of those they serve.

28. Drugs are last-resort health remedies.

29. Lawns are watered with waste water.

30. Fair trade abounds.

 

I imagine I could go all the way up to 100 if I put my mind to it, but I will spare you from more of my idealism.  Idealism is wonderful, though, and it gives me a place to start and helps me dream.  I am not hoping for a heaven on earth.  I am hoping for a society intelligent enough to be good stewards, creative enough to imagine a Creator, and responsible enough to pass on a legacy of justice to generations to come.

What’s on your wishlist?

enter: dreadhead 24.May.2008

It’s been over a month now since my new, dear friend Julie backcombed and rolled my straight, smooth hair to dreadlocks.  For eleven hours, Julie and I got to know each other while our babies played together.  I drove home at one-thirty in the morning, looking like a crazy woman with a gigantic spider on her head.

My hair is nothing beautiful now.  It takes months for dreads to develop, tightening up into knotted, matted locks.  I imagined going back to Sabetha, convincing my rural roots with a single glance that urban life leads to certain insanity.

Sara at walk slowly, live wildly was my dreadlock inspiration.  She explains her reasons for getting and loving dreadlocks so beautifully in these posts.  I met Sara when she and her husband Matt drove their veggie oil-powered RV through Dallas, and I was able to see her dreadlocks firsthand.  She wears them gracefully.

I mulled over getting dreadlocks for weeks, maybe months.  I prayed about them, asking God how much he cared about what I did with my hair.  I was intrigued that once they develop, dreadlocks take much less maintenance, washing, and hair products than standard American hairstyles.  I wanted them to be an exercise in patience as well, and a statement against our fastpaced, hairsprayed society, where everything looks like it’s in place.  I stand a bit apart from my society, hoping that I’ll get a glimpse what the homeless guy on the corner of 75 and Park feels like, looking different.  (“Can’t he just pull himself together?”)

And Kyle gave me another reason:  he suggested that we get dreads to mark our adoption journey.  We decided Kyle’s hair was too short, but now for me, my dreadlocks are a symbol of my surrender.  As they take their year or so to develop, I also wait a year for our baby to come home.  I depend on the courts and the agencies to sign a child over to our care, while I know it’s all really in God’s hands.

My hair has a mind of its own now, so I don’t have to think about it as much.  I’ll try to keep my mind on bigger things.

two inches to go 24.May.2008

Having polished off The Ragamuffin Gospel yesterday, I thought, “Hey, that’s wasn’t so bad.”  I told myself I could tackle the other books of which I’ve been in the middle forever.  So I picked up the next-best one: Les Miserables.  Should I tell you it has 1463 pages, or should I just tell you it’s three inches thick?  It looks downright obnoxious sitting on the counter beside me.

I love the story behind the musical; I love the movie — even the severely abridged version.  Ever since my high school choir teacher introduced the songs from the musical, I’ve just wanted play the part of the hopeless, beautiful prostitute Fantine and fragile little Cosette and spirited Eponine.  When I’m alone in my house, I’m a remarkable actress, you know.

But I just wanted to give credit to the mind behind the story.  Victor Hugo produced with intricate detail this astounding story of forgiveness and second chances and revolution and broken hearts, and for the most part, we just shorten and modify it without giving his work much more than a head nod.

I do question Vic’s sanity, of course, when I’m in the middle of a hundred-page description of a convent or a city, when I’d really just like to get back to the main plot.  And that’s why I ended up setting the book down for, uh… two years.  It’s just a marathon to read it.  But, you know, one chapter at a time.  There is a last page.  I’m only two inches away.

from brennan manning 23.May.2008

Disclaimer: I’m finding much truth and hope in the words of Brennan Manning tonight.  It’s as if God saved these words for me at this time in my life because, suddenly, The Ragamuffin Gospel is much more poignant to me than it was when I wrote this.

“The mature Christians I have met along the way are those who have failed and have learned to live gracefully with their failure.  Faithfulness requires the courage to risk everything on Jesus, the willingness to keep growing, and the readiness to risk failure throughout our lives” (Brennan Manning, The Ragamuffin Gospel).

When I was working through my Easter-to-Easter year of disciplines, I had some precious moments with God, and that made the whole journey worth it.  But I also think I was trying to chalk up some points with the Deity.  I do that a lot.  Every month, I cowered in shame before you readers, trying to gloss over my mess-ups without being dishonest.

Tonight I was reminded how futile my human efforts are.  It takes the most humility to stand before God and everybody else and admit that I am a failure.  He will not be surprised by that admission.  As Brennan Manning heard Jesus say it one morning: “I expect more failure from you than you expect from yourself.”

women of Spirit: three portraits 20.May.2008

I have often prayed for spiritual mentors — older women who just know how to love Jesus.  I thought my spiritual mentors would come in the form of wrinkled faces and saggy arms, hands that were agile in the kitchen and in the garden.  I expected gentle counsel on how to potty train Isaiah, how to put him to bed at night, and how to get him to eat his vegetables.  I thought my mentors would be, like, 50 or 60 years old.

Instead, it turns out they’re my peers.  They’re women close to my age, women I developed acquaintance with quite by accident, or so it seemed at the time.  They go through their struggles with grace, inspiring me.  Sometimes I fear being too vocal about Christ on my blog.  I don’t want to turn away people who don’t believe in Him.  But to these women, life is Christ, and because of them, I am challenged never to treat Him as an appendage but rather as my breath and my heart and my soul, out of which comes all my other interests and passions and talents.

Rachel loves the Lord with seriousness and dedication.  She has been my sanity in this city where friends are so hard to come by.  She gives so much, blessing other women with the gift of community and fellowship.  She teaches her boys to love God, to have respect, to know right from wrong.  I have never seen her waver, never heard her badmouth someone, never watched her go bad on her word.  She’s solid, she’s faithful.

Danielle — she is amazing.  She’s packing up to move to Iraq as a missionary.  As I’ve learned to know her during her time in Dallas, she has been solely focused on spreading the gospel.  That is her reason for living.  She has had me pray about whether marriage should be part of her future, and she is determined to not marry anyone who is not equally compelled to preach the good news to all nations.  Her parents died last year in a flood, and she came through the turmoil believing that their heart for missions was the legacy they were passing on to her.  And so she’s leaving, quitting her high-paying job, to love the lost of Iraq.

And then there’s Jessica.  I barely know her, I’ll admit, though I hope that changes someday.  But as I read her blog, and she talks about her day and the little baby growing inside her and her love for her husband, I am just abudantly, exceedingly blessed to watch those parts of her life.  She loves the Lord.  She dedicates herself to developing the roles in which God has placed her, and she does it with joy.  She seems so excited to live with fulness of life, even if it’s in the middle of Nowhere, Kansas (you know, where I grew up).

These women give me hope — hope that messed up, wavering me can live with purpose.  Hope that maybe if I lift this dirty, colored glass up to the sun, Jesus can shine through me like he has through Rachel and Danielle and Jessica.  And hope that maybe I can be beautiful, too.

gasping for breath 20.May.2008

The past couple months have been a whirlwind.  I wish I could write that artistically, but all I can muster is cliche.  I have felt drawn to pursue new passions — living greenly and unapologetically, eating responsibly, loving (Loving.  Why is it so hard?).

I have wanted to post to you dear readers about my head full of new dreadlocks.  I wish I could have told you that already they are helping me be a more patient person.  I wanted to tell you that I have learned how to live without feeling rushed all the time.  I wanted to say that I mastered a diet of all raw vegan food.

But then things like cookies and impatience and my flesh got in the way.

I am so tired tonight.  Not physically; I don’t feel like sleeping.  I am worn out.  I had so hoped that this week, in which I have nothing scheduled, I could get ahead.  I could get the house clean, I could start reading books and blogging again. (Oh, wait.  I am blogging.)  But Isaiah was grumpy and disobedient and whiny today, and somehow that made everything seem like it was crashing down on me, leaving no room for escape.

Green living is tiring, and that makes me angry.  I get angry at society for not making ecological, healthy, responsible living the norm.  Ditto for healthy eating.  I have read so much about eating raw, enzyme-rich food in the form of fruits, vegetables, nuts, and sprouted grains.  All of sudden, I realized how ludicrous it is to eat based on taste alone.  It’s like saying to go have all the sex one wants just because it feels good.  I have gone full boar on my diet for days in a row, drinking green smoothies and vitamin-rich salads, and then found my weaknesses in the form of cookies and fast food.  I feel like I can’t find a happy medium because my self-control is so shallow.  Like I must either go 100% raw, or throw the whole idea to the wind.

I want to do my laundry in an earth friendly way, but my laundry has just been stinking lately.  Either my homemade laundry detergent isn’t doing the trick, or the air drying isn’t as fresh as it sounds.  Can I just blame it on pollution or something?

I want so desperately to know how to live life with simplicity.  I want to fling material things from my life, so that I can find pleasure in sitting in the dusky glow of the sun with a cup of tea and a blank sheet of paper.  I feel the shackles of this sinful world so heavy on my head, and I worry that I’ll either become haughty about my own success to overcome the world, or delusional that I’ve actually conquered the flesh when it’s actually the very stuff in which I’m bound.  Maybe those two things are one in the same.

The business (busyness) of life angers me.  The chemical spraying of food angers me.  The idea that someone would make something dangerous for money angers me.  Those dirty dishes by my sink anger me, and the high prices on healthy food.  I am angry that drug companies care more about a profit than helping an African with AIDS.  I am angry that I lack the desire to sit down at six in the morning to have a talk with God.  I’m angry that this world is so divided.  $3.78 for a gallon of gas makes me angry.  And I sit, and get behind, and there’s so much to do.  And that makes me angry.

And when I’m so angry, all I can do is feel weak.  And I just say, “Oh, Jesus.  Help.”