What a difference summer makes…

Wow… so I got looking on here and hadn’t realized just exactly how long it has been since I last wrote something.  There has been so much happening it’s almost hard to know where and when to start from.  Well, for starters I supposed I should mention that I’ve finally finished the divorce paperwork…at least until some lawyer looks at it and tells me how much of it I’ve screwed up.  Called a friend of my mother’s in the legal profession to see if she could recommend some names.  Now I just have to pick one and call.  Still struggling with that one.  Not because I have any lingering illusions or desires to “save this one.”  Oh no… that’s also part of this, things have definitely moved on.  I come from a family and faith tradition however that very much is of the 1 marriage for life school of thought and this is the second one of mine to fail.

Granted, the first one, we were both kids who both knew we probably shouldn’t but did anyway, at least in part just to rebel against people.  But still…there is some sting to the idea that I have had two divorces in my life – by the age of 31.  And I’ve never been married to my son’s mother…ah well, my family loves me anyway.

Work is good but crazy busy.  Our department has become even more crucial to the institution I work for which is great job security but means longer hours, more work and more stress.  But in the current economic environment I say… “Thank you.”  I’d rather have stress from too much work than not nearly enough.  I’ve been there, don’t want to go back.  I like paying my bills on time.

It’s hard to believe it’s been a year and a half or so since things ended.  I keep thinking about how long ago it was and suddenly get jarred by the fact that I suppose in the grand scheme of things it hasn’t really been that long ago.  But the person I am now is so very different… it really is almost like a before and after picture.  I know I feel it to.

One of my multitude of cousins (albeit a very special cousin) asked me a couple of weeks ago how my whole swearing off of women was going and I had to admit…well, I almost lasted a year and a half before I started thinking about it again.  I’ve begun spending a lot of time with an old friend who has known my son and I for almost 9 years and has had a good relationship with both of us.  We’ve gone on a couple of dates and talk most nights.  We’re trying to take it slow, for a lot of reasons, and by and large are doing okay with that.  I don’t mind the fact that I’m seeing her or spending time with her, but I don’t want to say we’re dating, not yet.  Although, for all practical purposes we are.  I suppose more than anything it has to do with the fact that although my divorce is done in all but name…it’s done in all but name…and because of who I am and who I was raised to be and who I am trying to  become, that matters to me.  I want it done.  I want to tell people, yes I’m dating again and have found this woman who I’m really into.  But I haven’t gotten to yet…although most of my close friends and some family know.  So I’m not really sure who or what I’m hiding anymore.

This summer has been absolutely crazy.

And, for the record, I HATE split parent, split state, split parenting.  I’ll spare you all the details  but suffice it to say that when I pick up my son, he will have been without his ADHD meds for two weeks and that the neck injury he sustained two days after I dropped him off at his mothers still is bothering him and still hasn’t been seen by a doctor.  That’s first on the list after we get home.  And then we begin middle school…wheee.

So.

I still haven’t gone back and read all these.  There are some things I don’t need to know or review yet.  I just need to know that I’ve written them, I’ve said them and they are out of me, no longer locked inside, eating me up.

If nothing else in the long run of my life comes out of this, although I have my hopes, there is that.  I have finally begun learning how to let go of things.  To truly experience ALL that life has to offer and not flinch or hide or ignore the pain, the fear, the anger.  It’s a smoother ride oddly enough.  But perhaps not so odd when you consider that now instead of a bomb going off inside fairly infrequently, it’s more like the fourth of July with little firecrackers going off more regularly.  And let’s face it, the little ones don’t really hurt.

Ghosts of memories past…

I was removing files from my old computer the other day and came across a journal entry that I had written almost 5 years ago.  I’ve posted portions of it below.  I think the thing that strikes me the most about this is that even all those years ago I already sensed at least in part, that if I didn’t open up things would get bad.  I have never found it easy to be open with people, to trust, to really be myself.  This past year as I have had to face the consequences of my actions of my late teen years and early twenties and even into my late twenties I’m ashamed to say, I have also had the opportunity to let some fears go.  And to forgive myself some of the burdens I was carrying.  It’s not that I’ve done anything criminal, never done drugs or abused someone or assulted someone or anything.  But as I say below, I’ve been arrogant, uncaring, manipulative vengeful and hurtful in my actions…and I should know better.  I was raised better than that.

I’d like to think that the face that I can even talk about this is a big step.  The fact that I can acknowledge what I have done, picked fights, dodged responsibility, undermined people around me does not make me a better person, but it gives me hope.  Hope that I can and have and will continue to change.  I can’t fix everything overnight.  There are some facets of my personality that I may never be able to get “right” if there is such a thing.  I asked God to break me…break me of my habits, behaviors and beliefs that were contrary to where God wanted me to be and contrary to who God hoped I’d become.  Part of that breaking was this – losing the comfortable facade, the public face of Me, and in return, allowing others to view me as I am, and finding out that I really can be forgiven and loved.  I chose the title of this entry on purpose.  Just like Scrooge I’ve had my Christmas Eve visitation and just like him – I hope to be able to wake on the morrow with a renewed appreciate of the wonders of creation around me, and a new found love for the people around me, all my brothers and sisters.

For those of you with whom I’ve been friends for some many years (and new ones as well!)…

Thank you.

And…

I’m sorry.  I’m glad you saw something in me worth hanging on for.  May our lives together be better for it.

I’ve burned a lot of bridges behind me.  Ones that others put up in some cases.  She once told me that “yeah, you don’t think of others a lot…what do you think about?”  How to know.  How do I tell her?  That the reason I don’t have a lot of friends is because I’m scared to let anyone too close.  That I’m ashamed … and I don’t want to have to lie to more people.  I lie.  God knows I’m ashamed of doing so…but not enough to stop.  I should beg forgiveness from the people I’ve wronged with my lies.  My fear and pride always get in the way, and I don’t…

When the person who you depend on doesn’t share your core beliefs it’s hard.  And that’s my problem.  I depend too much on someone else for the things, that any psycologist worth their salt would tell me, I need to find within myself.  I’m just too scared to look.

I just needed to vent.  Five minutes would have been enough.  I guess what I need to do if I am to consider staying in this relationship is to explain to her where this comes from and decide what we can do about this openly.

There are some doors that should never be opened.  I don’t know that I believe this any longer.

It certainly didn’t work so well the first time around.

Storytelling

My Grandfather and me

Being a storyteller is a dying art.

There is a deep and powerful tradition of storytelling throughout human history.  People would gather around fires, in dining halls, cabins, and numerous other places to hear a great yarn, or to spin one.  Stories were how people communicated history, identity, dreams for the future, rules to live by and countless other things.  People always have their own ideas as to what quality is MOST human.  Personally I think it’s our ability to tell stories.  Other animals use tools, pass on knowledge, require companionship and have some sort of social hiearchy.  Other animals feel/show pain, joy, love.  Other animals communicate through amazing means.  But I don’t see any of them gathering around to tell stories.  Granted, I’m not entirely convinced they don’t…especially whales and elephants…I mean what else are those big mammels going to do with all their free time…but anyway…

Stories are how we pass on religious truths, family traditions, the importance of heratige, and yet…all too often as a society it seems that we defer that responsibility to others.  TV, movies, books – those who are gifted at telling great tales have a celebrated place, as they always have.  Their audiences are wider and tools flashier to be sure.  But is that the same?  Sitting in a darkened theatre with fifty other people, staring of moving pictures of other people having adventures, then leaving afterwards quietly to go on with our own lives…is that what we’re reduced to?

I tell stories to strech my imagination, to share hopes and dreams with friends and family.  I tell stories because I want to recount funny memories, share important thoughts, share beliefs.  I’ve often viewed my role-playing hobby and the ministry that I offer to be very similar.  Both rely on a sense of the emotional moment, appropriate use of drama and comedy, both bring people together and can pass on knowledge or raise important questions.  It’s one of the reasons I try to read to my son at least a couple times a week.  We end up talking about the story and what words mean almost as much as we actually read.  Sometimes I make up stuff too.  It’s the sharing that’s important.  That’s part of what’s missing in the stories we tell each other today.  Where is the sharing, the common bonds that bind us together?

We often hear phrases like “global village,” “common humanity,” “shared future.”  But what are the stories we tell to make it real?  How do we transmit the importance (if you feel it’s important…I do obviously) of these concepts to our own personal community?  One person standing behind a podium lecturing us changes nothing.  Repeated video clips of people requesting help, challenging us to change, encouraging us to a brighter future…they may help for a time.  But stories are what endure.  Stories are what remain.

One of the best moments of the last couple years for me, came at one of the most difficult times – the death of my maternal grandfather.  He moreso than almost anyone I knew lived a life of stories.  As the last day of my grandfather’s life here on Earth began he had been moved out to the living room in his bed, so we could all be near him and present with him.  He was unconscious for most of the day, but there, at the end he woke ever so briefly – my son got to show him the last picture he ever made for him as well as some toys he’d gotten for that Christmas.  I doubt that image will ever leave my mind.  My grandfather, a man of virtue, love, laughter and stories, creating one last memory…one last story, there at the end.

We are made of stories.

The stories we tell ourselves to get by.  The stories we share with others to define how they perceive us.  The stories that are told about us that shape others outlooks on us and our actions.  The stories that make us laugh, the ones that make us cry.  The stories that bring us hope, hope that, in the end, it will all mean something.  I love telling stoires.  I love hearing stories.  They may be the same stories over and over again, but sharing them with people anew, every time they’re a little different.  I think that’s one of the reasons I like stories better than movies or novels.  A story is a living breathing evolving thing.  Just like us.

I don’t know where my story ends.  I hope not for a while.  I’m not sure of how my son’s story will turn out.  I’ll do my best to share with him the stories that I think are important.  Others will share theirs.  Hopefully mine are funnier.  He is already making his own story.  And his story, our story is impacting the lives of many others who have tied their stories to ours.  We are woven together with words.  We are the story of humanity.  One of the greatest reactions I ever got out of my Sunday School class was when I told them they are creating the next set of Bible stories.  All of us are, every day as we live, breath, love and die in this world.

You are part of someone’s story.  Maybe part of mine.  Just by reading this, you slip in, maybe not say anything, but your passing is noted.  Your interest impacts somewhere.  Stories are strange and mysterious things.  They have a way of starting one way and suddenly veering off in a totally different direction.  But in the really good ones – it all ties down together at the bottom.

Below is my eulogy I wrote for my Grandfather’s funeral.  As you read it, ask yourself this – “What’s my story?  And what’s it say about me?”

It should be noted in history, that by common consent with tear-stained cheeks and bittersweet smiles, this was one of the best Christmas’ ever.  It seems strange to say but I believe Grampie would understand, and agree.

The love and support that has been shown to me and my family has simply been overwhelming.  Couple that with the stories, the laughter and the sharing that my family has done with almost all of us here…it’s been a long time since this many of us were gathered together.

I can’t define my grandfather, but I can share with you this.  Grampie was not a particularly demonstrative man with his emotions, especially the soft-touchy feely ones, but I never have known another man whose life was so full of love.  He showered us with it.  Me, the skunk, the prune, all the George’s, we’ve never doubted his love for us.

I was blessed with a rather unique opportunity in that for eleven years I got to travel with my grandparents every summer to various reunions, sorry family camps now, all over the country.  As I’ve grown older the memories tend to blur together but there are many things I still remember, like sharing the tranatuala with Phil among others, Grampie showing me how to shake out my shoes for scorpions, him and that bag of rattlesnake eggs, grammie taking me out swimming in Lake Huron.  Grandpa teaching me how to play harmonica in the back seat of their car.  Many more memories have been shared this past week.

With mom in the hospital a lot as a child I can remember spending lots of weekends with my grandparents.  Much of that time was taken up playing games, among them Carum & Crokanal.  That was grandpa’s and mine’s special game.  We’be break out the pieces and spend what seemed like hours flicking those small wooden pieces all over the place and oh how he’d jump and laugh whenever we sent one over the edge.  Many was the time he’d get a look in his eye and nod over in grandma’s direction as she sat blissfully unaware in her chair and then grandpa would let fly and it’d land right in her lap and she’d be all a flutter. Or driving with him in the car and playing tag the bumper with the car in front, or complaining about “female drivers”, just to get grandma riled up.  Of course I couldn’t talk about him and not mention circus peanuts and licorice.  Grandpa had a special drawer where he kept his bag of circus peanuts right by the bed and he’d parcel them out every time I came over.  I was also his guinia pig when it came to hot sauces and cheese and I have to admit, my own son has suffered some of the same EEEghhhewww and AAAHHHAHHAAH as I have over the years from gorgonzola and goat milk cheese to jalapenos and habenaros.

We are a left today with a legacy of laughter and love.  I’m reminded of that even as my heart cries because of something grandpa said to me about joy.  It’s not that joy means we’ll never have pain, it’s that we believe in the hope and promise of what’s to come in the midst of our pain that we may thrive and live with glad hearts and good cheer.

Soccer Dad

So it’s been a unique experience this season, I got put in charge of helping to put together the contact list/snack list et al for my son’s soccer team.  I’m still trying to figure out exactly how I got “volun-told” to do this but all-in-all it’s been a good experience.  It has also made me realize just how much goes into planning and organizing kids sports…and all I can say is whew – glad I don’t have to do this for a living!

My son’s team had two games this past weekend, both close but unfortuneatly both losses.  We thought we might win the second one until the other team scored two goals right in a row in the last five minutes of the game.  They played their hearts out though.  I was very proud of my son,  although I realized that much of what I yell from the sidelines is advice on where to be running/how to be playing rather than encouragement…I have played soccer before and am an avid fan of the World Cup.  But it got me to thinking, especially with our theme at church today, “Tell What You Know” and I wonder…

How often as a father/teacher/etc do I offer advice/direction on what/how to practice belief, rather than encourage those on this journey with me?

I talked to my Sunday School class this morning about how the theme, which was taken from the book of Acts, related to Palm Sunday and the whole celebration/remembrence of Easter.  Because we are an outreach congregation we often get kids who have zero knowledge of stuff from the Bible, but I have to admit I was still a little surprise when one of my kids today said they didn’t know what Easter was about.  So we talked about what the Easter story represented and how God’s promise is alive in our lives.  I even made her cry (in a good way!) as we talked about how much God loves them, just as they are.  And then tonight at Praise Craze (a worship event for youth that I take my son to) we discussed a similar issue…also about how we hide and the maskes we use.

So, does the part of me that offers advice/criticism…is that a mask or the real me?  What is my goal and hope?

I believe that God loves me, God loves my son, God loves my ex.  I want to be a better person than I am.  A better father, better disciple…I’m just not sure how.  I feel like I should read more to my son, share the sacred story, hang out more…but I’ve already gotten the whole “Daaaad.  I am a TWEEN now, I am NOT a child!”  So I’m not sure just how far I can push it till I am no longer cool (although, that day may also have already come and gone!).  He still talks to me, that’s the main thing.  We argue, cry, shout, laugh, love and share together every day.  My house isn’t as clean or as organized as I’d like it, but we have clean clothes, my dishes are (mostly) done, and my bills are (mostly) current.

I can’t be perfect.

But I can be a darn good Soccer Dad – just watch me go!

Faith & Fatherhood…

I was listening to the radio today and heard someone refer to Miss California as our “modern day Esther.”  Seriously?  I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.

Maybe I walk in a strange place but as a practicing Christian I’m totally okay with the idea that America is NOT a Christian Nation.  It’s not like we have such a hot record on running countries/empires/nations anyway.  If I believe what I say I do, that God is my one-in-all then isn’t my allegiance really to God?  How can I just say “God Bless America” instead of “God Bless Us All?”  Too many fellow believers fall into a category I can’t take credit for but really like – people who are “RIGHT-ness-ous” rather than “rightous.”

That is to say that thier way is the one and only RIGHT way to be.

I do not have doubt that God exists, but I wonder what God thinks of people like that.  Course, I often wonder what he thinks of me…personally I just hope God laughs, and often!

But my knowledge is not the same as faith…and I wonder sometimes if that’s where my struggles lie.

If I KNOW something to be true, how can I hope for something I’ve never seen?  What if I’ve seen it?  I wonder about that seperation time and time again as a parent.  As my son was learning to walk, he could see other people walking and knew he could do the same…is that faith?  As my son has watched mother & mother-type figures leave him over and over again, reinforcing the pattern…where does faith come in?

Maybe this is the disconnect between experience and reason, between nature and nurture, I don’t know.

Maybe I’m just blathering because my head hurts, it’s almost quittin time and I’m wondering just what the next few weeks will hold as I get the divorce paperwork filled out and get ready to send my boy off for summer vacation with his mother…

I have faith that things will get better…

But I know they have to get a little worse first…

Movie Night and kickball

Tonight was a good night.  If in all the posts I’ve done over the past year I somehow have not made that point enough I just want to say for the record that tonight…tonight was a good night.  My son and I went to my kickball game (yes it’s for adults too!) where he helped keep score and played with some of the other player’s children.  Afterwards we played catch in the parking lot for a bit before going to the grocey store where I was talked into buying a mini-basketball and getting a movie.  We got home, fixed pizza, chips and salsa for dinner then curled up together to watch a movie before getting ready for bed.

There aren’t many nights like this.

But the ones that are, are ones that I cherish.  Makes most of the rest worthwhile.  By God, I love my son.  I wish him only the best.

Today…today, was a good day.

Caught by surprise

There are times I’m still shocked at what grabs me, moves me to tears, plunges right through any defenses I have.  I was watching the movie “We’re Back – A Dinosaur’s Tale” with my son and, for those of you w/o kids or who haven’t seen this film, it’s basically a story about Dinosaurs who are made smart and brought to the modern world to fulfill the wishes and dreams of many children and their adventures with two NY city kids – one of whom is running away from home to join the circus.  At the end of the film as “Rex” the T-Rex leader of the dinos has been turned back into a monster by the evil owner of the circus and as Rex breaks free and goes to eat the owner, the young man who has been his friend comes out and tries to reach the smart/kind/gentle Rex underneath, while the young girl who has traveled with them is in the shadows praying “Let no bad happen.  Let no bad happen.”

It caught me by surprise, the tears that formed in the corners of my eyes, watching this.  I had to step away from the room to catch myself, but all I could hear was a little child’s voice in my head saying over and over “Let no bad happen.”  I’ve thought of that a lot as my son and I have begun moving on this past year.  He’s already been through so much, I too have prayed, “Let no bad happen” over and over again.  Some days it seems like it’s answered, others not so much, even though I know it has.

Today was a real mix.

My family and one of my best friends walked in the MS Walk-A-Thon today.  We had basically a good time, got drenched in the rain.  However, my son and I had an arguement as he kept straying away from the group and occasionally out of sight.  I asked him several times to stay with us, got rebuffed, lost my temper and yelled at him.  And thus our journey this day began anew.  We had good times today, played two-square out in the parkinglot, played name-the-comic-charcter catch, watched a movie and played one of several trading card games he has.  But at the end of the day, as often happens, what was begun early in the day came out to play and he and I had to wrench ourselves through another session of…I don’t know…it may be theraputic but I don’t know that I’d call it therapy…at least not for me.  We managed to salvage the night after about forty minutes of talking to each other and I am SO grateful we can talk – even if not very well – about how we feel and what goes on behind our eyes.  It’s a trait I’m afraid he got from me, not being comfortable talking about what’s really going on.  Or how we’re really feeling.

He got into a scuffle on the bus yesterday, didn’t tell me till today.  Also means he struck out of the final day party at school – gonna struggle with that as well.  At every turn he’s fighting the word and still wants it so close.  I see his hurt and it just rips me up inside.  Course I still struggle with it, but in very different ways.  There is a part of me that misses my ex, but it’s getting smaller everyday.  I can look back on the good times now w/o the pain it used to cause.  The bad times still wrankle some, mostly the ones we had after she left.  I’m hopeful I’m on a path to a better place everyday.  But I get what another of my best friends calls “skin hunger” more and more often these days.  It’s more than sex or innuendo.  Holding hands with someone you love, running your fingers through their hair, hugging, laying next to someone listening to them breathe.  It’s all this and more.  And this too is a test that has caught me somewhat by surprise.  Not that it’s happened but by how strong the desire is sometimes…and by the changing nature of it.  Most of the time now all I want is to hold someone’s hand or snuggle.  Maybe I”m just getting older.

I still struggle with where I’m heading, what I want out of life, learning to let go and follow…

I’d say they get easier with time but judging by the lives of the many wonderful people I’ve know it really doesn’t.  But peace does come.  It just has a price and I have to decide if I’m willing to pay it.

Maybe I’ll surprise myself.

Pushed beyond our limits…

It’s not the anger, pain or sadness that I can’t take.  It’s not the anxiety, the demands on attention, the impatience that I can’t understand.  It’s not the depression that I can’t sympathize with.  It’s the desire to be “NOT here” with teeth so tightly clenched I can barely understand, stated with tears streaming down his face that I can’t face.

“NOT here, not as in I don’t want to live with you, but NOT here as in on this earth.” – quote from my 11 year old.

It’s funny how things at times come full circle.  It was my son’s declaration to his counselor that he wanted to kill himself that started this blog, and while there has been much progression on a lot of fronts we still find ourselves stuck back at the beginning.  And I’m not sure what to do.  For those of you I talked to, I think that’s what upset me the most on Sunday night.

I understand his desire to push, to separate, to create identity.  It’s just such a tangled mess.  He’s upset we can’t spend more time together but then when I offer to he turns me down.  I’ve dealt with reactive attachment disorder before and this isn’t it, but it could develop into it.  I try not to borrow trouble but some days I struggle.

He played beautifully in the ministry of music on Sunday morning.  I was so proud of him and told him so.  Posted on FB about it and showed him the responses of other people to his gift.

I try to surround him with love and with people who care deeply for him, but I can’t give him the one thing he thinks he wants – a new mom.  He feels the loss of my ex walking out on us keenly.  Every mother figure in his life, barring my mother (his grandmother) has left him for one reason or another, in one form or another.  I’ve written before about my past relationships and the issues with them.  I’m working on bettering myself, acknowledging my mistakes and learning who I am and who I want to be.  But right now how does that help my son with his pain?  His need?

He’s told me several times he just feels like he can’t take it anymore.  Not having a “normal” family (whatever that looks like anymore).  Having to switch between two homes, one here and the other many states away.  Losing family members to death, divorce, etc.  I can’t really blame him, it’s been a rough road we’ve walked these last few years.

But I want to reassure him that we are not pushed beyond our capacity to take it.  I want to tell him how strong he is and how well he has weather the storms of his young life.  I want to fill him with the love that so many of us have for him.  I want to share the hope that comes with knowing God.  But he is too full of hurt and anger to hear and fears that opening up will just lead to more disappointment and pain.

And it’s not necessarily about what I want…

That’s another hard lesson to live with.

There are times I feel pushed beyond my limit, but I know I’m not.  I know I am loved and cared for beyond my understanding.  But I don’t know how to share that sense with the one I love the most.  I sometimes wonder what Jesus thought of this life, how he felt about losing family members (if he did), if he ever struggled with depression.  There are passages that lead me to think he did and believe in a Chirst who was/is BOTH fully Human and fully Divine in a way that I know I can’t fully understand.  There’s a great song by Todd Agnew that ties this together for me called Did You Know?

http://www.imeem.com/crystalillusions/video/iQa0Feow/todd-agnew-did-you-know-shortfilm-video/

Peaceful…? Really?…

I have to wonder at the irony of this, it was from an article by a reporter covering the NATO 60th anniversary summit in Europe.  He had put a small quote in from a “Peace” activist before the activist went to march in a street protest against the military organization.  Sounds good right?  Peaceful protest marches are nothing new – MLK Jr and Gandhi used them to good effect.

But then he added the following observation that once the protestors met up with riot police they [the "Peace" protestors] hurled empty glass bottles at the police until routed by tear gas.

Correct me if I’m wrong but these protestors were against war and aggression right?  So what’s with the glass bottles?

Reminds me of the disciple of Christ who hacked off the ear of a soldier sent to take Christ into custody.  Christ ordered him to put away his sword and then healed the ear that had been injured.  How can people take the peace movement seriously when they don’t even adhere to their own ideals?  The same could be said of many organizations and religions.

Now I by NO means claim to be perfect.  I know full well the areas I fall short, but at least I also have an idea of what I’m supposed to be doing…sometime if for no other reason than so I know which way to run in opposition.

But that observation just sort of sadly amused me…there is so much more to learn if we will truly listen…without having made up our minds what the proper outcome should be…and without our assumptions about the motivations and actions of others.

If we are a peaceful people, why are we condoning war or in our protests of it, doing violence to those who disagree?

Original article can be found here:  http://news.yahoo.com/s/time/08599188932000  It’s the last paragraph.

Conservative Liberal or Liberal Conservative

Okay so I’m not sure the title does this one justice but couldn’t think of anything  better to call it.

Last night I was at a friend’s concert (she’s a Christian artist – which is great, actually she was the opening act for another band) and her set went really well.  Afterwards my son and I were looking over the merchandise when the MC, who was calling out door prizes, said “Don’t you just think we should all be billboards for Jesus?”  Now granted he was talking about t-shirts, which is fine…but that’s where I think he and I stopped agreeing with each other.

It’s not that I have issue with what I think may have been his basic premise, that we as Christians should model the life Jesus lived, but seriously?  “Billboards for Jesus?”  Billboards just stand there and have a message plastered on them as you pass by on the highway.  Somehow I’m not quite sure that’s what the Big Guy had in mind.

I don’t want to be a billboard for Jesus.

And considering some of the t-shirts they were selling, I’m pretty sure it’s just as well I didn’t get to talk to many of the people there.  Somehow I don’t think I’d fit in, even if we do claim to both follow the same God.  They had one I found particularly annoying that had a picture of a Chimpanzee on it and the caption said, “My Ancestor Wasn’t A Monkey.”  Well, they may not have been a monkey but they weren’t very smart either.  A Chimpanzee is an APE!  Okay, so it may be a minor thing to some of you, but seriously, if you’re going to insult the work of fine intelligent people, at least know what it is you’re talking about.

It’s funny considering myself as the liberal.  In most of the relationships I have I’m probably the most conservative person I know.  That’s been definately true in my personal/intimate ones.  But I don’t consider myself particularly conservative either.  I like to think of myself as the pragmatist.  For example, I have no problem with the Theory of Evolution.  It works for me, it’s been proven by science to be the best model for understanding why we are the way we are.  God can still have started and remained active in all this.  It doesn’t say in the bible what kind of dust Man was made out of.  Ape dust works as good as anything else for me.

I suppose part of my frustration comes from that fact that for a majority of people (a generalization I know) it seems to be that science and religion MUST be in conflict and that’s just not the way I see things.  Science and religion answer fundamentally different questions for me, uplifting and supporting each other.  Science is our best explination for how this wonderful creation God made works and how we got to be a part of it.  Religion offers us purpose and meaning, providing the context for living in a world of rules, actions and re-actions.  I don’t believe that God seeks simply blind obiediance from us.  God wants to come with our eyes wide open, fully accepting the great work God has planned for us.

Organized Religion may prefer the former.  It helps to keep people quiet, to not question authority or status quo, to keep people secured/kept/locked/hampered.  God offers to free us and if my faith is true, what have I to fear?  I struggle with that one even though I may have less reason than many to question.  I don’t struggle over the question of God’s existenece, that has been proved to my own satisfaction.  I just struggle with how/where God is going to be in my life.  And in that sense, I struggle.

There was a t-shirt that I had in college that I absolutely loved and people from both the Left and the Right used to get so angry at me for wearing it I knew it must be good.  It said, in big red letters -

“JESUS” with a picture of him with arms wide open

And then in tiny black letters underneath -

“Protect me from your followers”

I LOVED that shirt because it summed up for me the feeling I got when I was around many so-called “Christians.”  And I vowed that I would stay true to my God without being that kind of follower.  I don’t know how well I’ve done but I saw a sign outside a church last night that really touched me as we were on our way home from that concert.  As I was musing over some of these questions and getting all angsty and worked up over who/what I am it said -

“It’s never too late to be who you might have been.”

As those of you who’ve read my blog know, I’ve struggled with that type of question a lot over my life, especially this past year.  But there it was in black and white…God’s promise that in God “all things are made new.”

So the question becomes now, without being Liberal or Conservative – just me, WHO might I have been?