Texas & extra syllables

There's been a small, but significant shift in my thinking, ever since I went to Texas and learned that I have a pitiful Southern accent and should raaahhlllly sllloooow dooo-ooo-wwwn maahhhh uuuusse of saaaahtain wooooords.

In Christian circles you hear a lot about purpose. What's my purpose in life? Is my life purpose-driven? What am I "called" to do? What is my life's assignment? In non-Christianese: why are we here?

Most significantly, our purpose as Christians is to glorify God, but we hear that a lot. Will someone please get down to the nitty gritty of it? What the hell does that look like on a daily basis? And that very question is where I have been stuck for quite sometime. No one has been able to give me anything practical. And then I traveled to the land of cattle and oil.

I have always believed that God gives us passions and abilities for a reason, that reason being for us to use them; but I guess I just needed someone to tell me more than that, to tell me that it's biblical, to tell me something helpful about it. And they did. They asked us to think about what we're good at, what we love to do, and they said those things matter. But this one question they asked has really stuck with me, in an I-think-about-it-all-the-time kind of way.

That question is this: What disturbs you, giving rise to your sense of justice?

I have considered this of late because I feel like I'm writing things that are more Jesus-y, and I feel averse to it. Not that I don't want to talk about Jesus, but that I don't want to shove him down people's throats. I really, truly, deeply loathe that. You could very rightly say that I am disturbed by that behavior. So I find myself feeling like certain Jesus-y things need to be said differently and so I say them, here on my blog, or in conversation.

What really gets me upset is the way Jesus is often presented. The way the Church as a whole has behaved. The way the Gospel is misrepresented. The way people think following Jesus means following rules, when it really means being set free.

So the shift in my thinking is that maybe I feel strongly about that for a reason, and maybe I express myself best through writing for a reason, and maybe finding my "purpose" isn't quite so much about finding, but a little more about understanding, embracing and going for it.

That last part sounds like a Nike commercial.

Know Thyself

So advised Aristotle. It's good advice, I think.

There was a time when I didn't know how to be in a romantic relationship, because it was practically my only true relationship. Sometimes I think it's really too bad I'm only realizing that almost three years later.

One of my very best friends in the world is going to have a baby. I am so, so excited for her. And surprisingly, I'm not the least bit jealous. You see, for most of college, I thought I would be married and at least thinking about having kids by now. But I'm not even close to that, and I'm almost surprised to realize that I'm happy right here.

I am learning more and more every day about who I am. I am not lonely. I am not outcast. I am not lost or deeply hurting. For a very long time I believed I was all of those things. Granted, I still feel that way at times, but I don't believe that's who I am anymore and I think recently, it's a result of two things:

1. My friends-- real, true, call me at 3AM, make me laugh and cry in the same minute, talk shit with me when I need to talk shit, forgive me when I need forgiving, love me when I need to sit there and feel loved, laugh at my irreverence, ask me "how are you" with meaning in their tones-- they're those kind of friends, and they're spread all over this country. They are the kind of people who help introduce you to yourself, and that is a beautiful gift.

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2. The weekend I just spent on a little ranch in Texas. I went to a retreat that was basically a training weekend. Training for reading the Bible in context and applying it to real life, instead of hypothetical life. They didn't promise me my best life NOW. They didn't tell me I would know my purpose after all was said and done. But they did give me practical advice & application and biblical guidance. They gave me a bed in a lodge and they gave me their glorious Texas-Southern accents and they gave me sunrises over the river and diamondback snakes in the grass. (Okay, upon further study, it wasn't actually a diamondback, but a bull snake is not a good story.) I'm embracing my passions a little more and I'm wanting to work more towards the things I love that don't necessarily pay my bills. Yet. I'm learning more about the Bible as a narrative, as a whole story that points to one thing, one person really. It's like it's a new book, and I'm excited.

Well done, Grey's Anatomy.

You have succeeded where the Christian Church failed.

For those who don't watch the show, last night's episode followed a doctor named Callie, a woman who is gay and who became estranged from her staunchly Catholic father when she came out to him. He returned last night, assumingly to make amends; but, he brought his priest with him intending to "pray away the gay," as Callie's character said. The scene that was most riveting had him condemning his daughter for her behavior, throwing scriptures in her face.

Ohhh but glory! Callie came right back with the words of Jesus and ended with a remarkable and true statement: "Jesus is my Savior, Daddy, not you."

Like my friend Joe, I try not to talk about homosexuality often, because I live in two worlds: the one where people I love are gay, and the Evangelical Christian one that's scared to broach the subject. These two worlds don't often collide, but when they do, it doesn't tend to go well, and I find that incredibly unfortunate.

As someone who grew up in the middle of hard-right Southern Baptist conservatism, I have had to wrestle with my own beliefs about homosexuality. But I don't want to make arguments here for whether or not homosexuality is biological or environmental or some combination of both. Honestly, I don't care which it is.

But I do care about people. I care that the Church has chosen to ostracize a group of people based on their sexual orientation rather than the position of their hearts. I care that there are individuals who feel rejected and hurt by the Church, instead of loved and cared for.

I applaud the writers of Grey's Anatomy for opening up dialogue, for taking on not only the subject of homosexuality, but homosexuality within the context of Christianity.

I hope those of you who make up "the Church," the body of Christ, will be challenged by this. I hope you'll take it personally. Because when we choose, as the human representatives of Christ, broken as we are, to reject any group of people, it is personal to them.

The Jesus I know, the one whose words I read and teachings I follow, he made everything personal. It was personal when he forgave the adulterous woman at the well. It was personal when he cast out demons from a man and put them into pigs. It was personal when he made the blind see and the crippled walk. And it was personal when he died for me, for you, and for every other person who has ever walked this earth.

And what he wants is a personal relationship with every single one of us. As the Church, are we introducing all people to that Jesus, or are we leaving it up to the culture to fill our silent void?

NEWSFLASH: Seasons are all the rage this... season.

I've just finished reading Susan Isaac's new book called Angry Conversations with God: A Snarky but Authentic Spiritual Memoir. And I mean really? If that title doesn't make you a little bit curious, why are you even reading my blog? Before I dive into my thoughts, I want you to know that I highly suggest you read this book if you've ever wanted to (or actually) scream: "What the F**K, God?" Because I have, and if you haven't, I'd venture a guess that you're lying to yourself.

Moving on.

Isaacs talks about various relationships throughout her life, both romantic and not, and how they have shaped who she is in different seasons. I agree with her, that we are made for relationship; God made us this way. But somehow her words have made me look at that fact from a new angle.

I've always thought of dating as a process that is necessary to find The One. (Dun dun duuuuuuuuuuun.) You know, like your mom always said when you broke up with someone (again), you just take the good qualities from this guy and from the guys before him and you refine what you're looking for in a man.

I mean honey, at some point can the search be refined anymore? And can we please skip the awkward dinner conversations? Kthanks.

If a person seems likely a weeeee bit close to the Prince Charming in my head, and I somehow impress him with my overt sarcasm and propensity to chew the inside of my lower lip while reading, we might date for awhile.

BUT.

What if dating isn't always about finding The One? What if dating is God putting skin on for a season? By this I mean, I think God sometimes puts people in our lives to date for a period of time to change us. The relationship can help things die that need to die and help grow things that need to grow. And maybe there are several seasons of death and rebirth and growth, but still not all seasons. Perhaps God is giving us "our person" (that's my friend Sarah's phrase) only for a time.

God created us for relationship. Supremely, relationship with him, but also relationship with each other. Doesn't it stand to reason then, that even if a relationship is not THE Relationship, it is still something to work at, to embrace, to cultivate in its season? But further, it's something to let die when that season is over?

I'm bad at letting go.

Boom Boom Pow

I think I come up with some of my best stories in airports. I see people and then I start writing sentences about them in my head, and then I switch the words around to make them sound more entertaining. I am in an airport now, sitting here in my bubble, surrounded by people and conversations.

There is a man who went through security behind me. I didn’t see him until I sat down here at the gate, but I heard him. I heard his voice wave over me, above me, booming to the TSA rep who was very small and studying the large man’s identification. It was a voice so large I should have felt fear, but I found myself smiling at its strength.

I wonder if that’s what it will feel like when God speaks to us in heaven. Will his voice boom out over our heads, with the reverberations flowing around us so that we feel ourselves smiling and feel ourselves safe?