On mixed metaphors, parallels and the anthropomorphism of God...

Everything happens for a reason. People always say that, but usually, they mean it in the future, as if at some point eventually, things will make sense and without this particular event, other important events might not transpire in its wake. But when I say it, I mean it now. It's like how we're taught in high school English classes how authors of books write deliberately, choosing names that are symbolic in some way, times of day that are pertinent to the mood of the story and so on.

I have no idea what will happen later and to chalk something current up as a lesson for later irks me. It's like that other saying people have, "It'll be ok." Man, I hate that expression. That's all it is, really- an expression. Because you have no idea what will happen and have absolutely no assurances that it actually will be ok.

I remember failing a test one time, and I knew I'd failed it just because I didn't even answer enough questions to pass had I gotten them all perfectly right. And I came out and told a friend of mine that I'd failed it and she answered, "Don't worry. It'll be ok. I'm sure you'll pass." And I looked at her and said, "No, I'm telling you I failed." And she just kept reassuring me. I didn't get it. Facts are facts. I failed. There was no reassurance in the form of a potential for passing to be had. The only reassurance was that maybe the prof would alter the grading scheme overall and give this test less weight or something like that.

But I digress.

Everything happens for a reason.

And I used to sit in traffic every day for anywhere between forty-five minutes and three hours and the whole time, I'd listen to sermons. Well, sometimes, I'd listen to music, but I tend to listen to the same songs repeatedly and after a while, it just gets irritating (don't ask me why I don't just change songs...), so I'd end up back on the sermons. They're always different. And I quickly became overloaded with thoughts and newly learned things which stirs up the passion in me.

But lately, I've been working from home and trying not to drive anywhere and when I do drive, it's been so long since I listened to music that hearing the same song over and over doesn't irk me. And so I've fallen ridiculously behind in the sermons, which kind of sucks because I do miss the passion that was stirred up every time an awesome pastor would tell it like it is and I'd have the heart to listen.

Today, I found myself shattered. But not the usual shatterings that I ramble on and on about on my other blog. This one was different. Over the course of a regular conversation with a boy I'd been talking to a bit more lately, he said one word, in context obviously, and that one word shot my guard up so fast that I felt it. It spooked me so quickly and abruptly and completely shut me down. One word.

And the word?

Picnic.

I won't get into the context or anything, but it had absolutely nothing to do with me anyway. It wasn't like I was going to a picnic or I was invited to one in any way or anything of that nature. It was independent of me, but the important thing was my reaction to it. That one word took away every ounce of trust I had had in an instant. Every ounce of idealistic hopefulness too.

But everything happens for a reason. I got into my car because that's what I do when I need a breather, and I threw on a sermon. It was a relatively old one, but I'm so behind that it's new to me. And so my favorite theology pastor started talking in the sixteen or however many speakers my car ridiculously has and the first thing he talked about was how he was asked to preach but he's terrified of public speaking. He wouldn't give in to the shackles of fear, he said. And so there he was, standing up there in front of a crowd and speaking out of my pajillion speakers a month and a half later too. About fear.

Timing is everything.

I have to paraphrase because the more I start and stop my ipod, the shorter the sermon gets and I'm far too lazy to turn on my desktop and wait a half hour for it to finish doing what it does to warm up. I hope I don't get it too wrong...

At one point, he said something like, "Life is a river but it doesn't flow toward God. It flows away from God. [...] And if you lift your paddles, you drift downstream." Apathy creates drifting. Complacency. And he said he doubted that there were many people who actively decided to harden their hearts to God, but that's this sort of process that happens when you just stop paddling and bit by bit, let go.

But I think I am one of those "not many". If I am drifting away, because I know I've stopped paddling, it's not passive for the most part. It's angry and deliberate.

He went on to ask why we'd go back to these inferior things when Jesus is better? What Jesus gives us trumps all. Why would we choose to pursue other things, even minor distractions, instead of Him?

And I think of my anger and that's what it's about. I know what God wants or I know the basic idea anyway, but I just don't believe it. And that's what I figured out today, after being shattered by fear. My fear and my shattering were the result of me drowning in mistrust.

God's word that shuts me down is heaven. I don't believe it. No, that's not entirely true. I don't believe in it for me. And I don't know what it is exactly, whether it's an actual place or just being with God or getting to see the full picture to finally understand why we had to endure all this, but somehow, whatever heaven is, I don't mind not finding out. I don't expect to get to heaven, and more accurately, I expect not to.

So why would I paddle so hard?

I love that God loves me now. I love that He loves me right now, in my not-so-perfect state, without me having to tidy up my person and my life to impress Him first. And I do hope that God will love me forever, but I guess I don't trust that He will. Maybe I'm one of those vessels He'll use to draw other people to Him without me actually knowing Him in the end. Or maybe it's something else that I'm unaware of, but what it comes down to is even if I believe that God picked me and beat me with a sledge hammer so that I'd finally see Him, I still don't believe that we're in this for the long haul.

And so I stop paddling. And I still love God, and I still see Him everywhere and in everything. But I'm not worth the effort.

What the boy's word meant to me was that I was an insignificant one of many. So I stopped paddling towards him too, but the parallels between the two situations made me more aware of how much I still project my feelings of being unlovable on God too.

It's so hard to pray for me still, both prayers from others and me praying for myself. It makes me so uncomfortable. I am ok with being a sort of tool for some sort of purpose without actually knowing God in the end, not because I don't want to know God, but because I expect Him not to want to know me, but if He could at least use me so I could serve some sort of benefit somehow, then that's ok.

And suddenly, God is every person and in particular, every man, who has ever crossed my path. Especially the men.

My God is the great God of the universe, and I don't give Him more credit than that.

But everything happens for a reason in this story. I've often wondered how books, especially ones on controversial subjects can have multiple authors. I co-authored a blog for a while and when they'd change some minor formatting things in my posts, it pissed me right off. And here I am, struggling to equally co-author this life with God, trying to piss Him off enough so He'll leave so I can run this show alone. I mean I'm the Princess of this story, right? Nevermind that I wasn't there when they handed out the names.

But at the same time, as the pastor said, "If you want cement to harden, just stop stirring," I know that even before I let God happen in my life, I did stop stirring many times and God stirred for me. When I gave up, somehow I kept going. When I was completely trapped, somehow I got set free. And now I know it was God. It was God stirring my cement when I was determined to let it harden.

But I still don't trust Him. I don't trust anybody. I love people with all my person, but they can't love me back, not even God.

And so I hold up my paddles, look up to God, shrug and say, "I just can't do it," and let go, drifting downstream until I become invisible...

... secretly hoping He'd keep stirring my cement anyway.

On failing the "stuff"...

I'm angry at God lately and I couldn't figure out why. I don't understand why He couldn't have laid out this faith thing in such a way that it fit every day life a little more easily. Instead, though random conversations with random people, I get to hear constant reminders about how absurd Christianity is and how ridiculously thoughtless its followers are.

Can you have God without the religion?

In theory, yes. But then if you believe in Jesus too, you get into the part where you ask yourself how it is that you know who Jesus is? You know Him through the Bible and the Bible preaches the structures and doctrines of religion.

I can't help but wonder if we're in a third era of the Bible. First, you had the sort of angry God full of rules part, then you had the redeemed by Christ part which negated most of the rules so people had to live differently than they were before under the rule of the angry God, and now we have this part. It's the post-Jesus, post-Bible era. It's the part where we've learned not only how not to live a life focused on appeasing the angry God, but also to take the new relationship with God through the sacrificing of Jesus for granted.

And I'm not sure that the way to fix that, the steps to improve this situation, are to revert to the practices of faith written in the Bible. We're not those people. We're not the ones who prioritize rules and decorum over God. Instead, we're the ones who seek constant freedom without realizing that it's from God. We're the ones who run away from God by excessively loving the gifts He's given us. We're the ones who actually love God already, but refuse to call it that.

As time progresses, I feel like I am losing my faith simply because I can't follow the rules. (And yes, "won't" substitutes nicely there, but I'm implying a stronger and more beligerant "won't" based on the fact that if I try, I doom myself to failure every time. Same goes for the rest of this paragraph.) I can't go to church. I can't read my Bible extensively every day. I don't look forward to the textbook slash ritual aspects of what to me is simply religion and not God.

Yes, we have to learn and yes, we need community. But what if our community is in a different form than the ones depicted in the Bible?

If nobody in my circles would set foot into a church by their own will, how is Jesus using the church to draw people to Him?

On the other hand, if we live in such a way that we can find way to integrate God into every thought and every action throughout the day, such that He becomes like breathing or any other unconscious function of the body, then we will end up presenting a picture to the world of a life with God that is actually doable and reasonable.

But maybe that's lazy. Right? Not going to church, not being bound by the rituals of religion, not forcing yourself to read chunks of the Bible every day, sitting at home listening to sermons in your pyjamas... It's laziness, right? It shows a lack of appreciation for God. But on the other hand, forcing yourself to do all those things shows a lack of appreciation for God's grace also. And really, if you believe in an almighty God of the universe who knows your thoughts before you think them and who chooses who has faith and when, then wouldn't said God be able to guide you to a rich knowledge without the religion? Couldn't He pepper our lives with situations that reveal to us our heart and the nature of God? Couldn't He move us in some way to get us to see His character?

If God chooses somebody in some sort of religious desert to have faith, then wouldn't said person have all the tools necessary to have faith and to know God? If the great God of the universe didn't account for the absence of resources when He chose this person, then He's not really a great God of the universe afterall.

So yeah, I am lazy. And I asked God to help me with that. But in the meantime, why shouldn't I be able to love God wholly and feel God with me? Why does it depend so heavily on the "stuff" and not the heart?

But then, if I read the Bible, Jesus basically says that- it is about the heart.

Then why do I feel like I'm constantly doing it wrong?

So I am angry at God. He created a situation wherein He'll love me unconditionally provided I do the "stuff". He explained what real love was in Luke ch 6 in the sermon on the mount, a pure and selfless love, and then made it all meaningless if I don't wedge myself into a pew every week for an hour of false love and false community torture.

Don't get me wrong- maybe your church is your community and you love the people there. That's great for you. But I don't feel at home in church, even in my favorite ones. It feels forced and contrived and entirely unnatural for me. And the fact that I've been made aware that the love often stops when you stop attending the church, that it doesn't transfer into real life, doesn't help. Sometimes, it does though. Sometimes, Christians do actually love people, regardless of circumstance. And in those situations, it reinforces in me that the church is apart from the building, that the community is my own and the knowledge of God can be shared rather than learned from a textbook all the time.

All I know is that if God knows who I am, then He'll know how I express my faith and when I need help with it. And He knows where my heart is. And He feels me struggling. And all I need is exactly that- to know that He's with me and to know that He knows me. If I can keep that, then I think I just may be alright.

On idealism and the value of a person...

Alternate title: On prayer... again...

When I pray, which lately has become a little more frequent, yet not as frequent as it used to be, I remember Moses praying in Exodus 32:11-14:

11 But Moses implored the LORD his God and said, “O LORD, why does your wrath burn hot against your people, whom you have brought out of the land of Egypt with great power and with a mighty hand? 12 Why should the Egyptians say, ‘With evil intent did he bring them out, to kill them in the mountains and to consume them from the face of the earth’? Turn from your burning anger and relent from this disaster against your people. 13 Remember Abraham, Isaac, and Israel, your servants, to whom you swore by your own self, and said to them, ‘I will multiply your offspring as the stars of heaven, and all this land that I have promised I will give to your offspring, and they shall inherit it forever.’” 14 And the LORD relented from the disaster that he had spoken of bringing on his people.

He basically says, "if you kill the Israelites, everybody else will wonder what kind of God you are. They'll see you make promises you don't intend to keep and that your intentions are evil and you don't want that, right? Show them instead that you're merciful and gracious and love us. And that's how they'll see you."

And my reference for prayer, even if the usual suggestion is Jesus' teaching of the Lord's prayer later on.

If God answers prayers to glorify Himself, then the way we should pray should reflect that also. Instead of asking God to heal a sick child because she's suffering and in pain (which without a doubt God hates), I'll ask God to glorify Himself through His mercy and healing. I'll say to God, "Here's your chance to make yourself known. If you do this, they'll have no choice but to respond."

Of course, the majority of the time, I'm wrong. I'll ask God to do the impossible for somebody who doesn't believe, and God will do the impossible and I'll be filled with this sort of unmatchable awe and my friend, upon whom the results of my prayer are bestowed, rejects it all. Sure, they might be grateful for the healing or whatever else it was, but they still won't thank God for it. And so feeling a little humbled, I return to God and apologize for my arrogant certainty and my unrelenting idealism.

And other times, they do know it and God is glorified and it makes prayer all the more amazing and full.

But then there are the selfish things, which I don't understand how people can ask of God. "Please, God, give me this promotion." Or "Please God, let my kid win his softball game." I don't get those. At best, God will ignore you and teach you some more profound lesson you totally deserve to learn. At worst, He'll give you everything you want and you'll eventually stop looking to Him for things.

And I know part of it is my skewed perception, as one friend put it, that everything good is undeserved and the bad things are just my fate and so I never dared to ask for anything, except maybe a little bit of guidance and healing.

But lately, I've found myself asking for more. After getting a glimpse of what life would be like if I had a soulmate, I started to ask God for more. But I know He won't do it if it's just for me, just a selfish ask, and if by chance, He does, I don't want such a selfish prayer answered either. It's too risky. And then as I thought of reasons why God should listen to me on this one, I realized it might not be nearly as selfish a prayer as it felt originally. So instead, I found myself asking God differently: "Glorify Yourself in me too," I said. "Take this girl with a beat up, broken past who can't be loved and let her show the world what love can be like in spite of that brokenness. Because to let me live the end of this life too broken to love anymore... It just makes me a horrible example of Your mercy and grace and healing. Heal me while everybody's watching. Restore me so they can know how good You are."

Maybe it's still selfish. And maybe it's not meant to be. But I have to believe that God will heal me. I have to because it hurts too much otherwise.

So maybe it's selfish, but at the same time, I find myself more afraid of Him healing me and me losing this need to press into Him to get through the suffery bits, which is actually even more selfish because not only am I not glorifying God to those around me because everything relating to Him is in suffering, but also because I'm isolating myself and I'm not loving people the way I used to. It's not good for anybody.

On the other hand, if I pray for everybody and never pray for me, I'm not loving one of God's children properly. And I'm also not trusting that God loves me as much as anybody else either.

I just really hope that people don't look at my life for all its brokenness and use it as a reason to dissociate from God. I hope they don't say things like, "See? She believed in God and where did it get her?" Because you know, even if my life ends tomorrow, what it got me was God. I did get to feel loved for the first time in my life. And that's not nothing. That's everything. I just wish I could make it more obvious, even if I should know by now that even if Jesus Himself stood in front of some people, they'd still say He didn't exist.