What if?

What if we have it backwards? What if we need the misery and God's just accommodating that need? What if we are born divided from God, but not because God divides Himself from us but because when we acknowledge there is a God, suddenly, we become so inferior that we need some way to make up the difference? What if God is like, "Alright, fine, be bad, and when you'll feel like that badness divides you from Me and you start to feel guilty about the horrible things you do, I'll give you some rules to make you feel connected again. And when you rebel against those rules, I'll give you some sacrifice procedures to follow. And when you still can't keep up, then I'll do something of which you won't be able to deny the power and significance. And then maybe you might see that I love you no matter what, even if it seems like your goal in life is to be a failure."

And God will judge us on the last day, and we assume that'll be horrible because we're so terrible, even if He loves us no matter what.

What if rather than creating a God because there is an innate need to explain things, we've actually created suffering to make sense of this world? Or rather promoted it? What if we need the suffering? What if we need the pain and the separation from God to make sense of this world?

As an agnostic, it did make more sense. It made sense to believe there was possibly no God and we're just alone, abandoned by nothing to live on this planet for no reason. It makes more sense at a core level when your life has no meaning and no purpose and very little meaningful love and is riddled with abandonment.

We do crave the suffering. We crave mistakes and regret. We call it rebellion, and even if it has a name, we refuse to admit that that's what we're about.

We want to be in control, even if that control is the equivalent to a passenger grabbing the wheel of a car somebody else is driving. It's pointless and requires far more effort than letting the driver get on with it. But we have trust issues, so even if we're swerving dangerously, we've got the wheel and that's all that matters.

So what if God's all, "Ok... Seatbelts. Let's do seatbelts." And then we swerve more. "Alright, airbags." And still, we come dangerously close to death because of our rebellion and need for control. The next step? Automatic driving sensors- an autopilot. We'll be in the driver's seat and we'll have the illusion of driving, but we won't be in control at all. And being that we'll feel like we're in control, we won't give any credit to the actual driver. Maybe we have to crash every now and then to realize what we're doing, what it's costing us.

And what if all those rules and the procedures are meant to amplify that rather than actually "get good with God"? What if they're just the brick wall we're meant to hit before finally realizing the grace and mercy of God?

The other day when my car's wheel almost fell off, I praised God a thousand ways till Tuesday for what He did. I pulled over just in time. And my entire life built up to that moment. All the knowledge I had acquired about cars culminated into me pulling over at that moment. Other women I know wouldn't have stopped. And so yeah, it might just be my knowledge and a bit of luck, but naw. God is good. And I was so grateful. He saved my life. Or at least my finances. And a heap of time and trouble. And probably the same for whomever else became a casualty of my stray wheel.

Fast forward a few days, and the topic of prayer comes up in conversation. And a few people have told me it's a gift I have. Stuff happens when I pray. Incredible stuff. But it terrifies me because I know it's not me. I know that it can disappear any second because it's not mine. And I dread people becoming dependent on my prayer for that reason. It glorifies me and it's not me. It's God. And so in this conversation, I told the person it may be a gift, but I'm in denial because I don't like the responsibility it brings. It's like a dichotomy. God answers my prayers and then people come to me instead of to God. And I point them to God, always, because I know it's not me, but what happens if I lose it? Will they all lose God? Will they all start to wonder about their faith?

God answers prayers. I just think that He answers mine more explicitly because I believe He will. And that's not to say the people who ask me to pray don't believe, but they just believe more through me. It's more explicit when you tell somebody to do something and you let it go and it happens outside of your control.

It's why I praised God for my wheel. It was completely out of my control. It could have been gnarled up suspension parts. It could have been thousands of dollars' worth of repairs. It could have been deadly. It was outside of my control, and God gave me the tools to fix it. He gave me knowledge, a jack and a tire iron. Not to mention the physical capacity to jack up a car and remove a wheel. He gave me the inquisitiveness to have asked questions in the past that led me to assess that my suspension was indeed perfectly safe and fine. Nothing was in my control. In that moment, it was clear that my life was not in my own hands at all.

And that's what I believe my prayer does for other people. It separates them from the consequences. It separates them in such a way that they can't accidentally take credit for the things that happen. They can't brush it off as coincidence or as their own accomplishment.

And I have to admit, every time a prayer is explicitly answered, I love it. I love that this girl who hated even the idea of God is now not only heard but heard in such a way that deeply affects those around her. I look at my neglected prayer list and everything ends up done. It's the most bizarre thing ever. It's the only "to do" list I have that actually gets wiped clean. It really is a beautiful thing.

And it scares me. It really does. And so I don't pray. And I deny that I have a gift. Because I really don't. I'm not more special than anybody else. And one day, without a doubt, I'll feel like God's not listening. Well, actually, I'll feel it again. And again. And I could either start the processes to "get right with God", or I can stop praying for the wrong things and ask God to help me pray for the right things.

I can stop trying to drive the car and instead, use this opportunity to become more aware of my surroundings, all while pointing out the things I love as He drives us by all the people and places He built for me and show my gratitude and appreciation by letting Him take care of it all for me.

Because He loves it all too.

And somehow, I think He wishes we didn't need the suffering to understand that.

But it's merely speculation. God is God and even if I won't presume to know what any of it is all about, He gave me the drive to wonder. :D

On faith and unknown unknowns...

One thing my meanderings into Christianity has brought me is a new perspective of truth. Pastors seem to like the elephant analogy where a bunch of blindfolded people represent all the religions, and each religion representative touches a part of the elephant and has their own version of the truth of what the elephant looks like based on their tiny fragment of it and combined, they form the whole picture, the one which the self-proclaimed outsider claims he sees when they don't. And they like it because it shows that the outsider thinks they know more about truth than everybody else, and it illustrates the sort of arrogant self-righteousness of that particular truth claim.

But from the other side, none of the blindfolded people will ever think they're the blindfolded ones either. Yes, the atheist or agnostic or Oprah can make a truth claim and we can laugh about how they don't think it's a faith-based truth claim because they think they have no faith in anything but science, but where does that leave us?

The problem is the categories. When you categorize a Christian, you say things like, "All Christians think they know where they go when they die," or, "Christians think they know what is God's will." But I don't know those things. I don't know where I go when I die. As a Christian I think I'm supposed to believe it's somewhere with God? But only when He decides it's over? I don't know.

[Whoever does the supposing in the "Christians are supposed to" statements and whether they are of any worth is beyond my realm of knowledge also.]

I used to be firm in my belief that death was a grocery store of possibilities. Aisle six had the possibility that we reincarnate. Aisle seven, that we reincarnate irrespective of time. I could be Jim Morrison in my next lifetime. Or my last one. Another was that we're one collective soul, split up into fractions, each fraction left to fend for itself and only when we work as a collective will we ever end this suffering. Another still was that we are all God on holiday. God was all, "I want to know what it's like," so he split himself into the billions of people and animals and things and is experiencing every breath of everything simultaneously. And when we die, we will be one again.

There are endless possibilities really. And even if I like my Jesus, I don't presume to know how it ends. Jesus says there's a paradise of some sort, but God also says, "Never presume to understand what I mean or intend because your little pea brain really has no idea." Paraphrased, of course.

My point being that Christianity has taught me a lot about truth in that none of us really has any idea what's going on. Not even the atheists. Not even the agnostics (like me) who think they know they have no idea what's really going on.

I do like that Bush quote, even if it makes me a social outcast- the one about how there are known knowns, known unknowns and unknown unknowns. Because he's right. Known knowns are science. Known unknowns are the breaches of faith and unknown unknowns are... well... who knows? And in my humble opinion, none of us can make a full truth claim until we can actually see all the unknown unknowns.

In the meantime, we have partial truths that end where faith begins.

All of us.

And that's my truth claim. :D

On white-knuckles and trust issues...

God will be glorified in me regardless of how I live my life. Whether it be through His mercy or through His justice, my life will be a means through which He will show Himself.

And in the meantime, my failings as a Christian don't change that. Nor do they change the world. I am not that important and my failures and faults aren't surprises either. If I am a piece of a puzzle, I can't suddenly change shape. Even if I rip off the sticky outy bits or patch up the dents to either better myself or ruin myself, God will still find all the pieces, clean me up and make me fit.

And there's nothing I can do to change that.

And in the meantime, the things I do, the habits I fall into, the things I refuse to ask for help with, all affect my joy. They're all to my own detriment. They don't affect my relationship with God on His end. Because you know what? Even if I conquer all those things, all the things I perceive to be detrimental to my relationship with God, they are but the tip of the iceberg. And to believe that I will be able to somehow be good enough for God one day is to underestimate God's righteousness and undeservingly amplify my own.

Repent. I think that's what I'm having trouble with. Repenting without action is a meaningless admission of flaws. Repenting with action is behavior modification, which often leads to the replacing of one behavior with another, rather than absolving the need for the behavior to begin with. It also seems like a way to control your salvation. So where's the line between futile, self-important repentance and real repentance? Asking God for help? Asking God to remove whatever it is? Asking God to be more satisfying than the benefits of the behavior? Asking God to change your heart?

But what if that behavior pattern or lifestyle is the only facet of your life in which you have any sort of certainty at all? What if that is where you're comfortable and you don't want it to be removed? What if without it, life just doesn't seem worth it?

Obviously, there are a whole bunch of underlying issues there. But they're there regardless. This is the hand we've been dealt and in some ways, it's a bad one. In some ways, we need something to hold onto for fear that if we let go to merely hold onto God, we'll get dropped.

I'm the girl who, when my dad would carry me on his shoulders as a tiny child, would grip his hair so hard in an effort to keep myself from falling that he'd get a headache and lose handfuls of hair. Every time. God knows I can't let go. Not yet anyway. And I like to assume that He knows I would if I could and I wish I could.

And in the meantime, I guess all that's left is to pray that God might protect me and watch over me while I make my mistakes so that eventually, I might realize He's got a tighter grip on me than any grip my tiny white-knuckled fists could ever muster on their own.

It's true...

"[God] is not glorified in begrudging submission."
- Matt Chandler

[... in the Culture & Theology talk thingy he gave last week on homosexuality. You can watch it here. It's long. Lonnnng. But it has funny bits... And some moments where you're like, "Yes! Thank you for saying that in a room full of churchies..." And only a couple of moments that really make you cringe. And by "you", I mean "left-wing, ultra liberal me". But I digress.]

It's true though. If you make God seem like a chore, how does that glorify God at all? How does that stir people up to challenge themselves and their faith/spiritual beliefs?

Nobody looks at a dog owner as they squat down to load up a baggy with dog doo and says, "Man, I want a dog."

Well, unless they're being sarcastic.

So if our life starts to revolve around those particulars which cause us to mumble and grumble incessantly, not only do the people around us not see God through us, but over time, we start to detach from God as well. Why follow a God who is nothing but a pain in the ass? Why worship a God who does nothing but impose impossible rules on us? Why adore a God who makes us feel like a constant failure in everything we do and feel?

And I think when we [I] start asking questions of that genre, that's when we've [I've] forgotten what it's all about.

On setting yourself up for failure...

Lately, I'm having a lot of trouble with the rules and exclusions of Christianity.

We spend our entire lives setting rules for ourselves, rules that not only do we intend to keep, but that are actually easy to keep. Often, they're even rules that would better us in some way, or at the very least, make our current lives a little more tolerable.

Take, for instance, milk. If I eat dairy products, not only do I have symptoms of lactose intolerance, but they also give me migraines. And once a migraine is triggered, I risk months and months of a low level migraine in its wake. So, obviously, I have to set a rule in my life: no dairy. Based on the consequences and the alternatives available to me, one would think that "no dairy" wouldn't be all that difficult a rule to follow.

And then you realize how milk products are in everything- bread, cookies, um... that's all I can think of right now, mainly because I've had a fierce craving for cookies for like a week now. But I digress.

So it's not that easy to avoid milk products, but still, it's doable. I've spent every day since I was ten years old watching out for oats in everything, and that too is difficult, but I got used to it. Along with the wheat intolerance that came later. Then the citrus intolerance. And so on and so on.

It is absolutely possible to do cut stuff out entirely.

Vegans do it...

Today, I was hungry, so I ate cheese. And then I decided that cheese wasn't enough, so I went to the store to buy supper materials, came home and on the way, ruined my appetite with milk chocolate.

Oh, yes.

It was tasty.

And it got me wondering. God is supposedly all about knowing how we operate and working around that. He's also all about the rules that are really to our own benefit. They benefit our soul. Right?

But how can this God know us at all if He supposedly decides who is in or out based on a set of intangible rules?

I can't even go a day without eating some sort of dairy product, and in the grand scheme of things, that's a drop in the bucket.

So then Jesus comes and He says He fulfilled the Law, and yet, establishes a whole bunch of new laws. Or, rather, they're the same ones, but since He fulfilled the old ones, they're new again...ish? And then He dies on the cross so that our sins are washed away and we can be with God... but only if we try hard enough? Only if we go to church? And let's not forget, we have to recruit new members for the army (otherwise they'll be excluded).

Ah, the exclusion part. That's where my agnosticism kicks in. I still can't imagine a God who creates us this way, ultimately sending us straight to hell. I can't imagine that some of the things we do to help each other out in this unbelievably messed up world are things on the list that also lead to damnation.

"There are no levels of sin," they say. "Sin is sin."

So if a rapist rapes, if a victim aborts, if a friend lies to protect the victim, sin is sin. And God abhors sin.

If a priest molests a kid, if a man moves in with his girlfriend, if a woman can't forgive her mother for the horrible pain she has caused, if two people of the same gender intertwine souls, sin is sin and it's all the same.

There's just no way. There's no way that a) God would give us this "sense of justice" that supposedly reflects His own and then have us believe that "sin is sin" and b) God cannot be God if He doesn't know that we're terrible at rules.

In theory, b) is easy to rationalize away. He knows we suck at rules, so that's why He sent Jesus. Right? Except that Jesus left us with rules, so that's kind of a circular argument.

Unless...

If it really is "just Jesus", then it makes sense. Then we aren't expected to follow any rules, rather they're guidelines and Jesus, being full of empathy after having lived in this busted up world, knows that it's almost impossible to stick to them all the time.

I mean, really, the guy only lived till thirty. It's kind of like Marilyn Monroe. You wonder if she had survived a little longer, would she have aged well? Would she have stayed sexy like Sophia Loren? Or would she have ended up a washed up mess with no dignity? And sure, Jesus was God so He had that, but depending on your view of Him, don't you wonder if He could have made it till ninety without sinning? Of course, as a good Christian, you have to answer, "yes," right?

But my point is if Jesus came here and endured this and has empathy for our situation as a result, why is everybody going to hell? It's so bizarre and twisted. Why, if our God is so loving, is the default hell? I don't get it.

God created us this way. God knows who we are. God knows what we'll do before we do it. God loves us. So then clearly it only makes sense that ultimately He's going to ship us to hell by the bus load? And don't forget- if you don't believe that, you're bumped up to the first bus.

Fantastic.

So yeah, lately, I'm having a lot of trouble with the rules and exclusions of Christianity. :D

Old habits die hard...

Of course, after dissecting Genesis 29:15-35 as guided by Tim Keller's podcast, I had to read chapter 30.

I can't help but chuckle at how in verse 35 of chapter 29, Leah realizes that if she puts her focus on God instead of on her husband, this need to have children and be the perfect wife to please him dies, but a few verses later, she's having basically a battle of fertility with her sister again. And the first thing that came to mind when I read that was the whole "you can't lose your salvation" thing that the Protestants seem to bask in.

You might not lose your salvation once you had it, but how do you really know you ever have it?

If Tim Keller's interpretation of Gen 29 is accurate, I don't think Leah was lying or wrong when she thought she was devoted enough to God to stop seeking fulfillment in bearing children. I think she really meant it. But then times change, circumstances change and so on and she ended up back where she started. And even though the superficial reasoning was different, the root was the same. She was looking to be good enough by a standard outside God.

I like to think that over time, the reasons we turn from God, the things we look to to give us value become more and more profound and harder and harder to fully conquer. And the reason I like to think that is because if I'm right, then no behavior modification in the world will ever work, and not only that, but it will actually prevent us from getting to a point of metaphorical bushwhacking through what is really at the core of our being.

Just as when you stay on the main road all the time without deviating, focusing constantly on what's ahead and whatever bumps you're headed for in an effort to see them coming ahead of time to drive around them, you'll end up missing the scenery entirely, so is focusing on behavior rather than discovering the true nature of your heart.

And so if Leah means it when she puts her fourth baby in the hands of God and quickly finds herself back in the trap of idolatry (in this case a sort of idolatry of comparison), then we should probably expect similar cycles in our own lives. Like they say about getting over habits, you have to replace the habit with something. You can't just quit cold turkey. And if you replace your idolatry with God, then you probably stand a chance, but most of us can only hold onto God as a replacement for so long before we slip back into a habit in which we have more control- or more perceived control anyway.

I guess there's nothing we can do but do our best and learn from our falls, growing continuously, instead of spending our lives so actively trying to avoid everything. *shrugs*

I know, it's a crap ending to this post, but I've been sitting on it for two days now and couldn't think of any way to wrap it up. It just... ends. :D

"The Struggle for Love"... the [very] long version...

Alright. Continuing on with the sermon mentioned here, first I'll write what catches my ear upon my third listen and then I'll say stuff. So in this first part, even if they're not direct quotes, assume the thoughts and ideas are Tim Keller's, not mine. Unless I've altered something in a bad way, then that's not Tim Keller but my own misinterpretation of his words. ;)

Genesis 29:15-31...

One of the first things pointed out is how even though Jacob has begun a relationship with God, it is not an immediate remedy for his inner emptiness, rather it starts a process of transformation through mistakes and disasters. God is at work in his life and those around him anyway, even if he's not finished making mistakes and so on.

People with an inner emptiness give themselves to a hope- the idea of that "one true love".

So Tim Keller divides it into three sections:
1. What is behind that hope in the one true love?
2. There is a disillusionment that always follows.
3. What gives ultimate fulfillment is God.

First, Jacob arrives on the scene, fresh off of life failures, and Tim Keller asks, "How is he coping?" Well, he copes by making a deal that allows Laban to take advantage of him because he's so in love with Rachel. He copes by suddenly putting all his hopes in her. He works to get her and lives for her for seven years. He believes that if he could just have her her, finally something would be worth it, his life would be worth it and his mistakes would be resolved.

He quotes Ernest Becker's Denial of Death, wherein he describes how in ancient times, romantic love wasn't the goal, whereas now, we make up for a lack of inner spiritual fullness by trying to find that "one". We need to feel that our life matters and without God, we do it through the "romantic solution". We look for it in the love partner. "We want to be rid of our faults. We want to be rid of our feeling of nothingness. [...] We want redemption and nothing less."

When Jacob presents his deal to Laban, Laban sees that Jacob is vulnerable and he doesn't say yes. In verse 19, he answers, "It is better that I give her to you than that I should give her to any other man; stay with me." But he doesn't actually say yes. Jacob hears yes because he wants to hear yes.

And after Jacob confronts Laban about tricking him into marrying Leah, in verse 26, Laban says, "It is not so done in our country, to give the younger before the firstborn," which was exactly what Jacob did to Isaac when he tricked him into thinking he was his older brother, Esau, when Isaac was dying.

"He's doing to me exactly what I did to my father."

"Leah is the unwanted one, the one who everybody sees through, she's the ugly duckling, she's one who has been rejected, she's the one people have looked right through, she's the one who has been ignored for years and years and years." But maybe all that makes her Jacob's real soulmate- Leah fills her heart from the brokenness from all those years of rejection by being the perfect wife and mother. If she is successful in family things, she'll be somebody, have worth and be important. But in the end, this situation is actually worse than if she had never been married because she's looking to Jacob for this fulfillment and he's in the arms of the woman whose shadow she has been in for her entire life. "She's in hell."

She has four sons, the names of each carrying a particular meaning:
Reuben: see- God saw her affliction and now that she's had a son, maybe her husband will see her instead of looking past her.
Simeon: hear- God heard she was hated and after a second son, now maybe he'll listen to her.
Levi: attach- now, finally, will her husband love her and be attached to her.
Judah: Praise- she puts her hope on God and stops having children. The need is no longer there.

Tim Keller goes off on an aside for a bit, and in it, he explains how Christianity is the only religion where broken people reject God's grace constantly and God just sort of keeps after them anyway. God chooses them, whether they like it or not, and works through them. They don't earn His place in their life. And the result is all these broken "heroes" of the Bible (that so many people use to argue against Christianity because they're looking at their character rather than the work God does through their life).

"Morals won't get you into God's story but God has to come into your story."

[He also makes a second point about how even though the characters may be involved in some shady deals and practices, that doesn't imply that God nor the Bible condone that behavior or practice. If God works through broken people, those broken people are bound to do some broken stuff still.]

Back to the story-
Jacob goes to bed with "the one" and wakes up with Leah- "In all of life, through every event, though every aspect of your life there will always will be a ground note running, a ground note of cosmic disappointment."

"Leah represents something.[...] In the morning, it's always Leah. You go to bed with Rachel and in the morning, it'll always, always be Leah."

And then he quotes CS Lewis:

Most people, if they had really learned to look into their own hearts, would know that they do want, and want acutely, something that cannot be had in this world. There are all sorts of things in this world that offer to give it to you, but they never quite keep their promise. The longings which arise in us when we first fall in love, or first think of some foreign country, or first take up some subject that excites us, are longings which no marriage, no travel, no learning, can really satisfy. I am not now speaking of what would be ordinarily called unsuccessful marriages, or holidays, or learned careers. I am speaking of the best possible ones. There was something we grasped at, in that first moment of longing, which just fades away in the reality. I think everyone knows what I mean. The wife may be a good wife, and the hotels and scenery may have been excellent, and chemistry may be a very interesting job: but something has evaded us.

"In the morning, it's always Leah."

Without realizing that, we look to fill that longing on our heart with new things, different things, better things, instead of understanding that no matter which things we choose, that fulfillment just won't come with them.

There is something in your heart that you want that nothing of this world will satisfy. The "one true love" cannot be any human being. If you put [whatever you put your hope into] in the place of God you will have absolutely nothing.

Leah calls out to God at the same time as she's looking to her husband and family as her savior. The moment she realizes that and takes the deepest passionate desires of her heart away from her husband and puts them on the Lord, she becomes free.

Judah is born and "he is the one through whom the King, the scepter, will come." God chooses the ugly woman, the one nobody wanted, the one who is unloved and unlovely and says, "You're going to be the mother of Jesus."

"When the Lord saw that Leah was not loved, He loved her."


Now my words. I'll break it into sections.

A) Emptiness.
B) He heard yes.
C) Laban did what Jacob did to Isaac.
D) Leah is unwanted, unloved and invisible.
E) The aside.
F) In the morning, it's always Leah.
G) Leah cries out for the wrong things, and God leads her to Himself anyway.
I) And He loves her.

A) Emptiness.
I think that we all have that. There's a longing we feel deep in our soul that can't be fulfilled by earthly things. I blogged about that a little already, in the context of that sort of longing for home, after reading Tim Keller's Prodigal God. But along with that feeling of home is also this deep-rooted desire to feel like we have worth. And that's part of what made me struggle so much with this sermon- I don't feel I have worth. And I know that money, success and family won't give it to me, but I haven't yet learned that relationships won't. Or, not even relationships but the simple validation of men. That is my most obvious emptiness. I still do feel as though if I found a guy who gets me, life would be better. Life would be more worth living. And I would have value. I would be important enough to somebody that my life would mean something.

And how am I coping with that?

Well, now's probably not the best time to ask because I don't feel I'm at my worst at the moment so I might end up saying something ridiculously cocky that I'll regret later. But for now, let's just say I'm actually working on it. I'm working on first, dissociating my value from men, and second, actually finding value in God. I know it's there, but I have yet to fully believe it.

But on a bad day? I cope with it through so-called harmless flirtation and the more harmful occasional escalation to proposition. Thank God my baggage and fears have kept me from doing anything too stupid lately though. ;)

B) He heard yes.
Jacob heard Laban say yes because he wanted to hear yes. Tim Keller jokingly asks the people listening if they've ever dealt with that. My last "relationship" was plagued by question answers. I would ask him something that required an opinion, and he would answer in a question.
me: Are you excited about coming to visit?
him: Why wouldn't I be?
And I did exactly what Jacob did- I heard the yes I wanted to hear. Every time. And I put so much hope into him that even though it was obvious that he wasn't into it, I just clung onto my own obliviousness just so I wouldn't have to face the disappointment that was inevitable.

No more question answers.

C) Laban did what Jacob did to Isaac.
This one bothered me. Jacob was so quick to quit fighting Laban on what he'd done simply because he seems to have felt he deserved the treatment he got. I'm not a revengey kind of girl. I'd rather people grow as a result of becoming aware of the pain they've caused and the betrayals and things than to learn it via a massive slap in the face like this one. But maybe that's just my empathy talking. No matter how much ill somebody may have caused me, I don't really wish the same on them. Justice, yes, but not sheer brutality. But maybe some people only learn the hard way. Maybe some people only realize what stuff feels like if it happens to them.

Or maybe, what bothers me about this section is that Jacob just seems to have no sense of justice at all. What he did to his dad, and then what he lets Laban get away with... Even if I might have made mistakes in my past, that doesn't forgive other people wronging me in the future. You can't create karma. You can't use a karma-type system to take advantage of people who have wronged others in the past. You know what I mean? I understand why Jacob relented. But I don't understand Laban's moral standing.

D) Leah is unwanted, unloved and invisible.
When Tim Keller talked about Leah, she became the first woman in the Bible to whom I really related. I never went through a long-endured phase of gawky awkwardness or anything, but a lifetime of worthlessness has left me with a certain amount of "ugly duckling syndrome" that I can't seem to shake. It's like I know I'm alright-looking and I should appreciate that, but I really can't feel it. And it's not just on the outside either. My closest friends tell me what makes me special, and on a superficial level, I understand, but deep down, I don't feel it at all. Deep down, the core of me is self-loathing, broken and really doesn't see all that much good in my person- inside or outside.

And here's Leah feeling pretty well the same way I do. And even though the people around her made her into nothing, God made her something.

E) The aside.
I liked that aside because I know how often people around here bring up Sodom and Gomorrah as examples of the Bible supposedly condoning terrible things. Just because the Bible's characters find themselves in immoral situations, it doesn't mean the Bible is condoning the behaviors or lifestyles.

F) In the morning, it's always Leah.
No matter what earthly things we put our hope in, we will always be left unfulfilled. And even though on paper, that's really easy to grasp, in reality, we're constantly looking for that fulfillment from so many things in our every day existence. I thought it was interesting that C.S. Lewis used travel in his example. I know quite a few people who put their hope in travel. It's that sense of awe they get that fulfills them temporarily. It must stir up their soul in a way that nothing else can- except worship, I guess. But the travelers I know aren't likely to drop their bags and throw their hands up anytime soon.

On the other hand, somehow, being in awe of God's creation and letting it stir your soul, even if you don't attribute it to God, seems a healthier outlet of idolatry than seeking out validation from men. They're probably equal in some way. I mean, technically, they're both worship of created things. But the awe seems to stir the soul in a more positive and powerful way than the validation does. Or maybe that's just my own lack of fulfillment and failing idols talking.

G) Leah cries out for the wrong things, and God leads her to Himself anyway.
I like this part. It's like God's just waiting for her. And then finally, she comes to Him and they live happily ever after and she doesn't have to try so hard to feel worthwhile. A fairy tale ending, I say.

I'm still working on mine. And frankly, still working on all this stuff too.

Processing. Progressing. Bit by bit.

Thank God for His patience.

I) And He loves her.
And when the Lord saw that she was not loved, He loved her. He loves her. And maybe one day, I'll be able to replace "her" with "me" and actually believe it.

Something to hope for?