Am I a Christian or an American?

Author's note: This post was inspired by the documentary "Lord, Save Us From Your Followers". I highly recommend it.

I'm a person who likes to debate. Actually, "like" might not be the right word. I don't really enjoy debates, and yet I often find myself participating in them. I feel urges to be heard, to be right, to let my opinion be known.

In other words, be totally annoying.

Part of this is personality. I'm strong willed. Part of it is sin. I'm prideful. Part of it is inherited. Have you seen some of my Dad's facebook statuses?

Debate has become a huge part of American life. No matter what the issue, this country is pretty much split down the middle. Healthcare. Economics. Foreign Policy. Gay rights. Abortion. Education. You name it, we've all got an opinion on it. Liberals blame everything on conservatives. Conservatives blame everything on liberals. Politics in this nation has literally severed relationships, sometimes before they even start. Personal opinions have become more important than human decency. We yell, we riot, we ridicule and belittle. Somehow, it's honorable to believe in something so dogmatically that we must mock the opposing side.

And we Christians can sometimes yell the loudest.

I'm no stranger to this. I know what it's like to feel so angry and frustrated that someone could actually believe in something I find so illogical and loathsome. It makes me want to fight for the truth I believe in, especially when Scriptural principles are attacked. After all, if Christians don't protect truth, who will? What will happen to our society if we stay silent? We are God's mouth, right?

It's so easy to forget that being a Christian does not make you a super-American. And being American is not as important as being a Christian.

Unbelievers are taking notice. So many people have heard only judgment from the church. Somewhere along the way our message turned from "Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ and you will be saved" to "You are going to Hell, you filthy sinner."

Now, it's true, anyone who doesn't have a personal, atoning relationship with Christ will go to Hell. But somehow, we've decided that the world's sin is worse than our own. And we yell about it, from pulpits, from stages, at protests, in books, in blogs and social network sites.

And somewhere in our yelling, the love of Jesus is lost. No one ever sees it. Instead people see arrogance, a people prone to judgment and ostracizing, a people consumed with their own "rightness".

Is that really how we believe Jesus was?

I'm hard pressed to think of a passage where Jesus was argumentative with unbelievers. I can think of times when he rebuked his followers and the religious leaders of the time. But over and over, Jesus showed compassion to the "sinners". The tax collectors. The prostitutes. The demon possessed. The liars and cheaters. The unlovables. Jesus was not too good to be associated with these people. He ate with them, hung out with them. Spent time with and took interest in them. He broke social barriers that made the religious people cringe. Think of the story of the "sinful woman" we are told about in Luke 7. She was sinful enough for every Pharisee in the room to know they were above her. Yet she anoints Jesus' feet with perfume and tears. Jesus doesn't judge her. He doesn't list her sins. He doesn't say to everyone else in the room "Don't be like this woman".

He forgives her. He tells her that her faith has saved her and fills her with peace.

Now, on the surface, that story doesn't bother us very much. We've heard it hundreds of times before. So many times that we can breeze right through it without so much as a second thought to what was actually happening.

Imagine that same story, but instead of a sinful woman, it's a gay man. An abortionist. A socialist or even communist. A drug addict. A child molester.

Did it make you flinch a little bit? Jesus wouldn't have.

You could argue that Jesus was compassionate because this woman was showing repentance for her sins. But there are numerous accounts of Jesus showing or encouraging love without first demanding repentance. Read Luke 8:1-11. Matthew 5:43-48. Mark 12:28-34. Luke 10:25-37. Romans 5:8.

I think we have several problems as a church. One is that we see varying degrees of sin. We like to think that homosexuality is a worse sin than gossip. Or abortion is worse than bitterness. Or alcoholism is worse than gluttony. But I don't think Jesus looks at each person with a list of each sin. Certainly, he could. He knows our every thought and deed and would have no trouble recalling them. He would have every right to judge, since he is the one who paid for all those sins. Yet, instead of keeping tabs on our every sin, he sees us plagued by the result of sin as a whole. He sees us struggling with the burden of sin, suffering under the oppression of that overwhelming darkness. To Christ, sin is sin. It's not big sins and little sins. There aren't varying levels of depravity. And there aren't varying levels of forgiveness.

Another problem is this isolation mentality we are getting as believers. We exist in Christian "bubbles". We have taken "in the world but not of the world" to mean that we should not have relationships with unbelievers. We shouldn't go where they go or spend great amounts of time with them. After all, we've all heard how it's easier to be dragged down in a relationship than to be the one lifting up.

The older I get, the more I see my bubble for what it is: Shallow faith. Selfish faith. And a clear lack of love. I've got to get past this "us vs. them" mentality that is so easy among Christians. The unbeliever is not my enemy. The liberal is not my enemy. The lesbian is not my enemy. These people are just like I am, victims in a war Satan wages against God. Instead of being repulsed by their sin, I need to take a good look at my own behavior. It is more repulsive for a Christian to act nothing like Christ.

A while back, my husband was working a second job as a valet in a hotel downtown. Right across the street was a bar. One of his co-workers from his main job would frequent that bar on the weekends, as his girlfriend worked there. Seth felt a strong pull to spend time with this coworker outside of work. To get to know him on his terms. And since Seth was working two jobs, the only time he had to do that was when he would get off from valeting at midnight. He'd stop by the bar as he left and spend a little time chatting with his friend and girlfriend.

Scandalous, right? It frustrated Seth that he had this residing hesitation just to enter a bar. That it had been ingrained in him that such a thing was not a form of acceptable witnessing. That somehow, walking through the doors of a bar made him less of a Christian.

But we've both come to be convinced that personal relationships is by far the best way to share Christ. Handing out tracks in a park, not so much. Knocking on strangers' doors and asking survey questions, please. Shouting "Jesus saves!" at a political rally, uh-uh. In fact, I'd argue that these things actually harm our testimony for Christ. We aren't showing personal interest in these people. We aren't sharing a meal with them, learning the names of their kids, or hearing about their struggles. We aren't seeing them as people with heartaches, joy, frustrations, and questions. This drive-by witnessing has got to stop. Personal relationships require time, investment, and sometimes, putting aside our personal opinions. It's about Jesus looking good and shining through, not about being right.

We also must remember to keep our political opinions in perspective. As much as we were taught otherwise, America was not founded as an evangelical nation. Most of our forefathers were deists. They believed in God. They knew a lot of Scripture. But that doesn't mean they were born again. We spend a lot of time fighting for "our" country. I'm not saying we shouldn't stand up for what we believe in. But how we do that is important. We can vote. We can work on being people of quiet integrity so that those we come in contact are willing to listen to us when we share our convictions. We can stop vilifying anyone who doesn't share our beliefs. We can get to know people who disagree with us. We can't control our government or how others vote. But we can control our words and actions and make sure they aren't doing more damage than good.

"You have heard that it was said, 'Love your neighbor and hate your enemy.' But I tell you: Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be sons of your Father in heaven. He causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous. If you love those who love you, what reward will you get? Are not even the tax collectors doing that? And if you greet only your brothers, what are you doing more than others? Do not even pagans do that? Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect." Matthew 5:43-48

So...the new member of our family is not flesh and blood, but it's very welcome nonetheless.

A few months ago, my dear Gramma passed away, as you know. Being the kind of grandma that likes to spoil, she left each of her grandkids a portion of her and Grampa's inheritance.

I've mentioned before the financial hardship we have endured the last few years. I am so so so blessed to be able to say that things are improving. It wouldn't have been possible if not for the generous help we received along the way. We are so grateful for the kindness and prayers of our friends and total strangers alike. God has provided when we were sure the mess was too great. NOTHING is too big for our God to handle!

I'm also grateful for my hardworking husband. Without his incredible work ethic, things might have never gotten better. I am beyond proud of him.

Anyway, when my aunt sent me the check from Grandma about a week after her funeral, I sat on my couch and wept. To say there is a hole in our family now is an understatement. The two leads of this play are now gone from our stage, but are in a much better place!

I miss them and think about them everyday. And to receive that generosity from them after they were gone was just overwhelming.

I didn't spend that money right away. We're not so financially secure yet that I still don't have concerns. After you've lived with money-woes for so long, worry in this area sort of becomes your default. I've gotten so used to not buying anything that wasn't absolutely necessary that the idea of spending it seemed scandalous.

But a few months later, after a little more money made it's way into the bank and a bit more debt was paid off , we started talking about using that money. I knew I didn't want to waste it. I wanted to use it for something that would have made Gramma happy. Something that honored her in some way.

I decided to get a new camera.

Not just any camera. A digital SLR. A Nikon D90. Oh yeah.

Gramma took a lot of pictures. She left behind hundreds, if not thousands of photos that her family enjoyed sorting through and reminiscing about recently. She wasn't overly concerned about the mechanics of photography or fancy equipment. In fact, she used a Polaroid that would allow her to see the picture immediately. She could be a little impatient, and this was before digital.

What was important to Gramma was the subject of her photography. The faces of her loved ones.

However, I did inherit my Dad's love for photography as well. Not just snapshots. My Dad has had a knack for photography and a camera in his hand since his teens. When I was a senior, I decided to follow in his footsteps, mostly because I wanted a hobby and my mom's (birdwatching) was way too boring. Trust me. I tried.

So I took photography my senior year, buying an ancient Pentax SLR so that I could use my Dad's lenses. I found that I love taking pictures, even if I'm not really that great at it. Right after we were married, Seth bought me a Nikon D65. It was fabulous...until film stopped being the way to go. So for the past few years I've made do with a cheap digital point and shoot and my cell phone camera.

Well, not anymore, Baby.

Between the day when I ordered my camera to today when it arrived, I've been a bit nervous. Spending great chunks of money in one day is not my norm. I'd much prefer to fritter it away on five dollar sweats. I didn't buy a lens, because after investigating I found that the new camera should work with my old lens. That would make the purchase much smaller. But it felt so risky.

Well, I am so happy and relieved to report that my lens works perfectly, the camera works perfectly, and I'm so happy I got it. I love the click of the shutter, the smell of the lenses (it really does have a scent) and the feel of it hanging around my neck. All of it makes me nostalgic. I think of Gramma. I think of Dad. I think of Photography class. It was definitely a good purchase.

I'm trying very hard not to be materialistic. It is just an expensive
piece of equipment after all. But I also love having a way to not only capture priceless images of my loved ones, but also to express my own art. I can't draw. I can't craft. I can't paint. So this is sort of a creative outlet for me.

I'm sure this was by far the most boring post I've ever written. If you're still reading, my sympathies.

Thank you Gramma & Grampa!

So....

So it's been a few days since I blogged. If I let this go, it will turn into months before I post another thought. So this post is entirely my attempt to simply keep my feet in the blogging pool. I told you I had a short attention span.

Things around here are pretty busy. The Hubs is playing the bass for an area school's production of "You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown", so he's been gone most evenings for rehearsals. That's sort of a drag, but the silver lining is that Thing One discovered the practice cd and we have been enjoying (enduring?) every song every time we get in the van. He is way stoked about this play. "I can't wait to see this in action." His favorite song is "My New Philosophy." Thing Two's is "Little Known Facts" because he loves to holler "Oh, goo gweef!" with Charlie Brown. When I told Thing One that his Daddy played Snoopy in highschool his eyes nearly bulged out of his head. Some kids might think it's cool when their dad is a pilot or something. Mine gets excited about his dad wearing a dog costume and singing about suppertime. Sounds about right for this family.

We're also in the throes of the hiring process with the fire department. Seth has been on the waiting list for eight years. Eight years of absolutely nothing happening. I think there were only one or two classes in the fire academy in those eight years. We had begun to give up on that dream. Then suddenly, it feels like we're racing through the process. He's done really well so far. The written test, physical test, background investigation and interview, polygraph and oral boards are all behind us, and he's passed with flying colors. Now just waiting on the stress test and psych exam. There's a class in June and a class in December. Not sure which we'll be in yet, but it's totally crazy and awesome that this is all happening. It's perfect timing actually. This is a good time to transition. The pay is nearly identical to what he's making now and he's still young enough to begin a new career. He's also in the best shape he's ever been in (thanks, diabetes) so it shouldn't be too hard to pass the stress test. My mind is blowing at the thought of having him home more. I'm imagining all the odd jobs around here that have been waiting since the dawn of time for a big burly man to take care of.

We've also just come through two weeks of parenting craziness. Thing One went through a bit of a rough patch there, which is my way of nicely saying that his behavior made me want to insert needles into my eyeballs because that would have been more pleasant. We seem to be in a better place now though. I pray daily that God will develop him into a man of integrity and compassion...and keep him out of jail. Or worse yet, living with us for the rest of his life. I also pray for his future wife. Wherever you are, honey, you've got your work cut out for you.

That's about it for now. Well, there is the news of a new addition coming to our home...but I'll leave that for next post.

The Morning Person

Thing Two is far too cheery in the morning.

He comes to my room bright and early.

Climbs up on my bed and starts being cute.

Making faces to his poor, half asleep mother.

Who only has enough energy to reach for her cell phone to take pictures.

This one showcases his bed-head comb over.

It doesn't bother him that everyone else is still asleep.

Because, for Thing Two, the day starts the moment sunlight touches the house.

He's no child of mine.

This was in response to me saying "Make the face." He's sorting through his mental Rolodex of faces.

Then he decides to scamper into the living room.

Leaving me no choice but to heave my sorry self out of bed and follow.

Because I have a desperate need to capture "the face".

And he has a desperate need to make it difficult for me.

Then Thing One awakes. Not so bright and cheery. This is my son.

Thing Two comforts the newly awakened.

A smile! This early in the day!

Finally, a clear shot of "the face". Too bad the dumb pacifier was in his mouth.

"If you smile, I'll get you breakfast."

Bribery is the cornerstone of my parenting technique.

The Holding of Babies Should be Regulated

I'm a rational person. I wouldn't characterize myself as flighty, bubbly, or overflowing with optimism. I lean toward pessimism, realism, sternness and stubbornness.

But, doggone it, I'm still a woman.

And as every woman knows, especially a woman who has borne a child before, holding a newborn that is not your own is dangerous.

My sister just had a baby. And when I say "had", I mean "suffered to get". There was very little that was positive about the events leading to the baby, other than the pregnancy test. There was horrible "morning" sickness (which would better be described as breathing sickness). There was heartburn from the fiery pits of darkness. There was high blood pressure which led to swelling like an oompa loompa. There were debilitating migraines that led to hospitalization. There were constant remarks the likes of "You sure there's only one in there?" Then there was the actual delivery, which entailed 17 hours of grueling labor, only to have the baby get stuck. There was an emergency c-section and all the wonderful recovery that entails.

But then there was a baby.

A sweet, sleepy, cooing ball of wonderfulness.

Now I can relate to most of the wretchedness of my sister's pregnancy. I'm not one of those women who you hear gushing about how much they love being pregnant. I think of pregnancy and I remember a million horrible little details. The big pains, like the ones listed above, and all the little annoying ones. Like the fact that I still gag at certain smells that were once lovely. Like the fact that my belly button pops out about halfway through the pregnancy and everyone feels the need to comment on it. Like the fact that everything swells up to thrice it's normal size, including my eyes, nose, fingers, ankles, double chin and certain areas that would put Beyonce to shame. And all the aches and pains that start earlier and earlier with every pregnancy. The losing sleep. The clown shoes. The horrid maternity clothing makers that don't realize that girls in my family need about three extra yards of fabric on their shirts to cover their stinkin' huge bellies. The disappearance of any emotions other than hunger and apathy.

You men better be counting your blessings, for the fact that you don't have to suffer all that and that I'm not listing the really bad stuff.

So here I am, knowing and dreading all of those little details of pregnancy. Being the rational person that I am, all of those reasons keep me from really deciding to take the plunge and try for a "Thing Three."

But then I held the baby. I tickled his chubby cheeks, and spiked his soft hair, and touched his teeny lips so they pursed up even teenier. And heaven help me, I sighed.

I'm a glutton for punishment.