10 Wonders

I think a child's sense of wonder is a beautiful thing. The older we get, the more we forget about simple joys. I'll make a list of 10.

1. I looked out my window today and the world had turned white. Wonderful.

2. The Nutcracker music by Tchaikovsky: Wonderful. That man was a genius.

3. Printers baffle me. Yes. I think printers are wonderful.

4. Our hallway is decorated in dozens of strings of christmas lights. Wonderful.

5. Hot chocolate with a scoop of peanut butter. Wonderful.

6. Mechanical pencils. Wonderful. No more need for pencil sharpeners.

7. Glitter. Just stare at it. It is wonderful.

8. Hugging someone who is wearing a puffy vest. Wonderful.

9. Checking out a new book at the library. It smells old, but it is like a new Christmas present. Wonderful.

10. Water. So wonderful.

The end.

Jake Barry makes me think.

I have the most interesting conversations with a guy named Jake Barry. He thinks Christians are dumb, but we're friends, regardless of his negative view.

We talk about all the things he doesn't like about Christians. He can't understand why Christians hate homosexuals so much. He hates hypocrisy, he doesn't understand why Christians love a God that seems so far away and so uncaring.

A lot of the times I don't have any good answers, and I am a Christian myself. I'm part of the group he dislikes so strongly. I don't know what to say.

He's honest. I am glad he is honest, despite how it stings sometimes.

"Christians are supposed to be loving, but they hate fags," he would say.

What could I say, a knew lots of people at my church that held this view. I didn't agree with them, I didn't think Christians should be so full of hate.

So what can we do? How can we change this negative view non-Christians hold?

Well, for starters, why don't we love people like Jesus did? When will we stop condemning for sins and start loving them?

Why don't we engage in random acts of kindness. Paying for groceries, making food for a neighbor, buying someone flowers for no reason?

Why don't we listen more? There are broken people in the world...really broken. They want to be heard....to be accepted. We are refusing them.

Why don't we open our homes? Bring in people for holidays, for friday night gatherings, making them feel welcome?

Why don't we act like we have hope? Why don't we exude a thirst for higher things, for the future, why isn't our joy contagious?

There is a lot of things we could change.

Granted, Christians will be persecuted...the Bible says it.

But why are we known for our hate instead of our love?

The Story of Adam and Eve (with never-before-seen-alternate ending)

There was once a man named Adam. He had a wife, Eve, and they both lived in a beautiful little plot of land in the east called Eden. In Eden, there were trees that grew as tall as skyscrapers. There were flowers that bloomed all year long. The streams that ran through Eden were so clear you could count the pebbles at the bottom.

Adam and Eve lived in Eden ate fruit from the trees. Right in the middle was a bad tree. The only tree in the garden that was bad.

So Adam and Eve avoided the tree. They spent their time with animals, naming them and such. They enjoyed tending the plants as well. Adam and Eve were very happy there in the Garden.

One day, the serpent came slithering up to Eve. The serpent was very crafty, and told Eve she should eat the fruit.

"No," she said, "It is bad. I don't want to."

Adam came up next to her, and the serpent tried to convince him as well. He refused. He then proceeded to kick the serpent between the eyes and hang it up in the tree (now if this was really the Garden of Eden, there wouldn't be any evil and therefore Adam would have no urge to roundhouse kick the snake, but bear with me. The world has fallen and I want the story to end with a roundhouse kick.)

Adam and Eve then wandered off into the garden and proceeded to hang out with animals, eat fruit from trees, and talking with God. And they lived happily ever after.

He says it Himself.

In church on Sunday, the Pastor said there are twenty couples that have been married longer than fifty years in the congregation. He said that is 2,000 years of marriage between them all. Everyone clapped.

There is something beautiful about a long marriage. I am always encouraged in my Christian faith when people announce things like that. I'm not sure why... maybe its the actions of a Christian being lived out in a marriage....maybe it is because marriage is supposed to symbolize Christ and his Church, and its nice when the two stay together.

"I hate divorce," says the Lord God of Israel (Malachi 2:16).

He says it himself. Its in the Bible.

I don't think Christians should get divorced, except on the grounds of one spouse being unfaithful. Its in the Bible in Matthew and in 1 Corinthians 7 as well.

I'm blessed to come from a family where divorce is almost unheard of. My second cousin got a divorce, and it really affected our whole family. I say this, not to boast on the fact that my family should be put on a pedestal, but because it is proof that people can work through their problems and stay together.

My mom said divorce was never an option. When she and my Dad got married, she said divorce wasn't even a plan B, a plan C, a plan D, it just wasn't an option. She made it a point to never even joke about divorce. They've had their arguments, and they fight sometimes. But no divorce.

That kind of attitude is very Christ-like, I think. For those among the Christian throng that are not outspoken evangelicals, marriage is a powerful example of Christ. Living a life that honors and loves a spouse is a loud voice in today's society. Show the world a beautiful marriage and you show them a bit of Christ.

We do not accept cash, credit, debit, or check.

There are lots of things you can earn.

You can earn a reputation.

You can earn a living.

You can earn a promotion.

You can earn a swift kick to your rear.

But you can't earn your way to heaven.

There is a woman with coiffed hair. She dotes on her children, she meticulously plans to read five chapters of her Bible every morning. She never misses a single sermon. She bakes pies for newlyweds, she visits the sick, she works in the local soup kitchen. She does all of this with a tally book in hand. Being hospitable: check. Working for a charity: check. Loving: check. Sunday School: perfect attendance.

She is gripping her tally book quite tightly, her fingers like forceps around its carefully documented pages. When she dies she wants to keep careful hold of this tally book, so she can show it as admittance at the pearly gates. She has proof of her works. She has earned a free pass into heaven.

Or so she thinks.

I see this scenario far too often. This woman is running in circles, she is missing the point.

Going to heaven is not something we earn, like a reputation, or a pay raise, or a boy scout medal. We cannot pay for it in cash, check or debit.

We need to stop trying to earn our way to heaven. We'll come up short every time.

Tithing

Should Christians tithe?

Yes.

What percent?

10%

Do I tithe?

Yes.

Easy enough. Tithing is the church's basic money management system. We tithe, the church stays running, life is good.

What is so complicated about that?

Fruit baskets, atomic bombs, and Jesus

I think society sees Jesus as a gift-wrapped fruit basket.

The population realizes this man, Jesus, is something special, hence the gift-wrapping. He stands out as something that has been given as a present. Society has no problem saying that Jesus was a great teacher, a rabbi, some might even say he was a prophet. Everybody likes a good fruit basket, there isn't a threatening thing about a bowl full of fruit (except perhaps an occasional bug). The general population wants Jesus to be something safe and subdued, like a basket full of fruit.

If Jesus were to ask the Christians who they think he is, most would reply, “The son of God”. The Bible nicely outlines this response when Jesus asks Peter and Peter replies and says that Jesus is the Son of God. Then Jesus tells Peter to keep in on the DL, and its all right there in the Bible.

Instead of seeing Jesus as a fruit basket, Christians see Jesus as an atomic bomb. No, I do not mean to say Jesus has the destructive capabilities of an atomic bomb, I just want to focus on the power of an atomic bomb. Atomic bombs have power, they get people talking, they shape countries diplomatic relationships with each other. Jesus has that kind of power. At the mention of the existence of an atomic bomb, things change. At the mention of the existence of Jesus, things change.

If the population came to realize that this nicely wrapped gift was not harmless bananas and apples but was instead full of power and would change the world, I think things would be in perspective a bit more.  

Mom, Dad, I want you to meet him. I think we're in love.

I was riding home from a soccer game with my parents and my older brother. I asked my parents,  "Mom, Dad...I just wanted to tell you I met a guy from Zimbabwe and we've been talking a lot. I want you both to meet him. I think we're in love."

At first my parents were incredulous because they wondered how I could meet and fall in love with a guy so quickly. It was the first month of my junior year and it was a month after I broke up with another guy-an all-american type from Michigan. 

"Are you serious?" my mom asked.

"Yeah mom, I want him to come home for Thanksgiving."

"Well," my dad said, in all of his wisdom, "Is he a Christian? Does he treat you right?"

"Yes. He's great," I replied. 

"Thats fine by us. Thats all we ask."

"So its no big deal he is from Zimbabwe?" I asked them.

"No, I dated a mulatto girl in high school," my Dad said.

"You did?" I asked. My brother and I looked at each other with raised eyebrows. My Dad always kept his life so secret. Apparently my mom was surprised as well.

My mother quickly piped in, "The only thing I ask is that he doesn't take you back to Zimbabwe because then you would be really far away."

Her comment was so typical of my mother. Her only concern was proximity and had nothing to do with skin color.

"Well thats cool," I said, "You don't have to worry about that because I just made that all up." 

With that, I turned back around in the front seat and told them it was a question posed by a web writing class I am in. It was an experiment in racial differences. I think they passed. I was quite thankful to be raised in a family that would let me marry someone from Zimbabwe, or Korea, or Brazil, or anywhere really. 

The country has come a long way in terms of racial reconciliation, and a conversation with my family on the way back from a soccer game is proof.

A Bicycle Built for Two

I rode fifty miles on a bicycle built for two. It wasn't like the song, though. I was not riding it with some handsome hunky man or anything. I was riding with my best friend. We've been best friends since second grade. 

There are a surprising number of perks when you ride a bicycle built for two with your best friend rather than a future husband. She farted numerous times when she was in front, with a gleeful laugh every time she let one loose without warning. I couldn't imagine a similar scenario with the opposite sex. I couldn't do anything, because we would veer off the road with any sudden motion. We veered off the road anyway, but I did my best to prevent further occurrences. 

The first hour and a half I sat in front and she in back. My legs had a surprising burning sensation that first hour, despite the fact that I am an avid biker and collegiate athlete. I guess I just wasn't used to pulling two people. She was just sitting in the back, legs out, along for the ride. She was quick to admit her lack of effort after the ride, but when faced with the multiple confrontations of, "are you pedaling," her reply would always be an unconvincing "yes". The pedaling suddenly got easier after she replied. 

My best friend is a complainer. I think I have reign to say things like that, because it is the truth, and because we would still be best friends whether she is a complainer or not. She wanted many things on that first hour of biking: energy, some grapes, sleep, a sweatshirt, home, my back as a headrest, a hug, and a bigger seat. That was just the first hour. We were biking for four hours. 

While she is a complainer, I tend to be an over-enthusiast. I get it from my mother, she used to be a cheerleader (and not just any cheerleader, she was the epitome-the captain, blond, dating a guy on the football team). She can make up a cheer for anything. Some of her enthusiasm has bubbled over into her daughter. I am a cheery-eyed optimist who ignored the fact that my butt was a little sore, and that my legs were burning. 

My best friend just reminds me of these things, and I remind her of the ice cream waiting for us in fifteen miles, and the fact that we have a little patch of downhill ahead. 

At the halfway mark we switched. She was in the front, and I in the back of the bike. In the first ten feet we almost crashed into our friend Joel, who was wearing spandex and had a bike worth thousands of dollars. I'm glad we did not crash. I heard a comment from one of the parents behind us, wondering out loud if this was a good idea as my best friend and I went careening off down the bike path. 

Twice we almost collided with bikers going by, and I couldn't count how many times we skidded off into the grass, somehow regaining our balance and continuing on our way. I kept trying to look over her shoulder, to see where we were going, and the bike would swing as my weight shifted. After about ten miles, we had a nice rhythm going. We were both pedaling, cruising at 17 miles per hour, she had the steering figured out, I was content to stare at the back of her head so as not to upset our balance, and her complaining was at a minimum. When I was in front, we were going 12 mph. Nature seemed to be in somewhat of harmony as we pedaled through small towns and under overpasses.

We reached our destination and lunch was waiting. We both took hamburgers, she took hers without the bun. I don't know why she doesn't eat hamburgers with the bun. I took four desserts, she took lots of fruit. 

After lunch, we drove home. Her boyfriend called. He is away in Iraq. She rode home chatting with him. We got out, she was still on the phone, lent me an unspoken hand in getting the tandem bicycle off the car. She left and drove away, still on the phone. 

I shrugged; I was not offended. Rudeness had left our friendship years ago. We had found our rhythm and balance, and we just riding through life on a bicycle built for two.

Of this I am sure.

I believe in a literal heaven and hell. I'll say that with conviction and without being wishy-washy. 

I not sure about the particulars, like if hell will be down below us in the center of the earth and have fire and different levels. But I do know it is an awful place. The Bible always says hell has a "weeping and gnashing of teeth". It sounds very sad and very bitter to me.

Heaven will be a shiny place, with streets of gold and a gate that has lots of glittering rocks in it. It will be a wonderful place. And I'm sure I'll just want to trail Jesus around like a puppy. 

What about the people that never heard the gospel, you might ask. My Sunday school teacher in elementary school addressed the subject of purgatory and I have this mental picture of a giant glass container, kind of like a fishbowl, that all the people who haven't heard about Jesus go. They are in this glass container, all stacked up and kind of squished together, and then Jesus comes riding in and they all scramble to look at him. Then they believe and the glass container opens up and they parade up into heaven.

Oh boy, that is embarrassing to have written out my view of purgatory, and even more embarrassing to have maintained that view for so long. I believe God is fair and just. I like to think people can plead ignorance (but only if they really are) in hearing about Jesus. Some people just have not heard about this thing we call Christianity. I think some sort of holding place exists where people are in a waiting place until Jesus returns. I don't think they will go straight to hell, but I don't think they will go straight to heaven either.

But heaven exists, and hell does too. Of this I am sure.

I'm just not sure about this whole sanctification thing.

I just consumed a brownie, a cookie bar, and a mini twix because the question of sanctification is stressing me out. Here I am trying to play the part of a theologian and solve why the whole world does not follow the Christian religion. There goes another mini twix. Ok, deep breath.

Scenario one: Sanctification is God's responsibility.  That means God is in charge of scoping out those he wants to save, he is in charge of making people Christians. 

So why don't we see more "sanctified people" around us? 

According to my limited reasoning skills, maybe God just wanted Christianity to be sort of an exclusive club, like a country club or the mafia. God handpicks the people he wants to be up in heaven with him. I don't really blame him for this, I would want to pick the people I'll be surrounded with forever and ever. But then I wonder why he picks some of the people he does... the club thing can't be right.

Maybe God has the biggest game of dice going, maybe God rolls one for each person, or maybe he flips a coin. That can't be right either, math class has taught me that coin probability would make half the people in the world Christians. 

Maybe God wants to keep us guessing. He's sure doing a good job of that.

Scenario two: Sanctification is our responsibility. That means it is up to us humans to find a Bible (luckily, Gideon has placed one in every hotel bedside table), accept Jesus into our heart, and learn how to live like a Christian. 

This would explain why we don't see more "sanctified" people around.

I'm not sure if this applies to the whole human race, or maybe just college students, but the truth is, we don't like to take responsibility for things.

Look at all the effort it takes to be a Christian. As if we don't have enough textbooks to read, now we have to read about people that lived a long, long time ago in the Bible? We have to "ask Jesus into our heart" (I've always disliked that phrase. I just don't really get it), we have to live like a Christian? That is tough stuff right there. 

It is not human nature to forgive a person that has wronged us. If a girl down the hall takes my favorite shirt without asking and rips it, I don't want to forgive her. I want to go to her closet and dump bright green paint all over her clothes. Little forgiveness is hard, but how much more difficult is it to forgive something of significance? 

It is not human nature to say I'm broken and crummy and all gross on the inside and quite self-centered. But the Bible says that is what we are. Thats tough to swallow, even with a spoonful of sugar.

It is not human nature to believe and hope and trust in something unseen. 

That is why I think sanctification is our responsibility, and that is why we don't see more sanctified people among us. Because living like a Christian is tough.

And this is my disclaimer, that is what I think after thinking about it for twenty minutes, and from my twenty years of life experience and from the sugar high that I am currently on. 

The truth is, I don't know if we can figure it all out on this side of life. 

Speeding Tickets

Is sanctification our responsibility or God's?

Sanctification is being forgiven. Can we forgive our own sins? Nah, I don't think so. I can't do that stuff. God forgives sin.

Sanctification, as far as accepting God's forgiveness, well, there are people refusing that.

I'm no good at theological debates, but I do like telling stories. I guess I see this whole debate in terms of a speeding ticket.

There is a guy cruising down the street, correction: he is whizzing down the street. He is going 70 in a 55 mile per hour zone. Bam! School zone sign that says the speed limit is 25 mph. So here is this guy going 70 in a 25 mile per hour zone with little kids. Big no-no.

So, of course, a flurry of red and blue lights appear behind him, and he gets pulled over and issued a ticket.

On the ticket, it says to show up in court on such and such a date and your fine will be lifted.

“No Way!” the guys thinks. Thats dumb, why would he get a ticket just to have it lifted two weeks later? The guy is incredulous and doubtful, not so sure about this. Where are the loopholes? Where is the fine print?

The guy decides to go to court on the date. The judge knows he was speeding, knows there were children around, but the ticket is lifted. It costs the guy nothing.

The guy starts asking the judge tons of questions. Why would people miss this? How does this work?

The judge shrugs and looks at the guy. The judge says the ticket has been paid. Thats it. He doesn't say anything more.

Baffled, the guy walks away. Thankful and slightly confused.

The end. Well, sort of.

That is how I see this whole process of sanctification. The guy's reaction is all too familiar. I can't wrap my mind around this concept of grace that simply states, “it has been paid.” I know my theology is missing a few key points, like Jesus and being born again and the Holy Spirit and life after being forgiven. But I like to think of it simply, just like this. I like thinking about it simply because it shows that it is nothing that we did to deserve it, we just had to show up and accept it.