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Friday, September 24, 2010

On Knowing the Truth...

There's this something I've been pondering for the entire week, and, this morning, I'm watching the sun rise behind these abnormally amazing clouds, and the wind pushing the trees in an awkward rhythm, and everything seems strange and beautiful...and it hits me: the answer to the thing I've been pondering. At least, an answer that is good enough for me.
You see, last weekend, I only had one student in my teen Sunday School class. This isn't all that uncommon; two of the kids are avid swimmers for their swim team, one has a part-time job that sometimes needs her on Sundays, and the others are only there sometimes, anyway. At first, I thought, this might be awkward. This is a sixteen-year-old boy, stuck in a room with me and the latest issue of DevoZine, the devotional we study each week. It is beyond likely that he is regretting every move that led him up to this room, this morning, including his mother telling him to "get up and go to Sunday School."
However, I'm sure he doesn't know that the material we discussed in that room was food for thought for an entire week for me. The initial discussion was about confidence, and the fact that so many young people dislike their images. This teen appears particularly confident, and when I told him that, he agreed. "But," he said, "it's still just as bad for guys as it is for girls. Guys care about their appearance at least as much as girls, in high school, anyway." I did not know this. I thought the early morning struggle we have in this house, me vs. the five-year-old, when I am challenged as "the meanest mom" who makes him wear "the ugliest clothes" was...a phase. Somehow, however, the topic swirled away from confidence issues, and on to something deeper. We transitioned into the topic of God's existence, period. It's such a vast concept to wrap your mind around anyway, and as a teen, it's often the furthest thing from your thoughts. I remember those days. I remember thinking, "I'll have time later to worry about that stuff. To say sorry for the bad stuff I'm doing, and to care about what God says." Thankfully, I was right...I do have time, now. But it doesn't mean I was right to think that way.
"It's just so weird," he said, "there are, like, a thousand different concepts on what happens after we die...and like, are there ghosts or not, and is there a purgatory, or do we go straight to heaven? Or are there just ghosts because those people decided to stick around?" Ohhh...what did I sign up for? This is hard enough to try to explain to a five-year-old who thinks God should wear a bell on his "collar" because that would at least help him know when He's in the room.
"And," I say, "there's the ashes to ashes, dust to dust theory. When we die, we are buried, or cremated, and it's likened to a deep sleep, or a different realm of consciousness, until we are all resurrected."
"Yeah, and that's crazy. I mean, it's insane if you think about it. Not that I don't love sleeping...but...we'd be resurrected, right alongside Abe Lincoln or something. How weird would that be?"
I nodded. I hadn't thought of that.
"I mean, how do you know?" he asked. "How does anyone know?"
That's the thing. None of us know. Nobody, to my knowledge, has died and come back to write the tutorial on what to do when you see the light. Or don't see the light. Maybe there is no light.
We all have our own beliefs, and part of the reason the world is as messed up as it is, is because we can't seem to agree to disagree. We can't seem to fathom that there might be more than one right answer. After all, to this day, and feel free to correct me if I'm wrong, God hasn't shown up on a Sunday morning dressed in his best Armani and said "Hey, way to go, guys, turns out YOU are the right religion. All those other folks worshipping this morning, (or last night, or Wednesday at sundown, or whatever), are craaaaaazy!"
So, anyway. This morning seems weird to me. The weather seems to indicate a change is coming. Which, duh, it is. It'll be snowing before we know it. But it's just one of those odd, "winds of change" mornings, when it seems that beyond the clouds, in the rush of the breeze, in the peeks of sunlight through strangely golden-green puffs of white, there is a mystery.
Mystery.
The mystery, it came to me, is faith. And faith is largely based on trust. I realized that all those times, as a teen, when I was acting not-so-appropriately, I trusted that everything would be okay. I had this inner glimmer of hope that even if I wasn't the shiny penny that my mother expected me to be, I'd still come out alright. Which, I think, I did...I trusted, even when I didn't know, that God would make sure of it. I had faith. Although, I wouldn't have admitted it at the time.
Even from birth, we've been programmed to trust. At the moment we are born, all things we "knew" from conception to that point, are ripped away, and we are forced to trust, and rely on someone else to get us through. We have faith, if you can imagine a tiny being having faith, because we don't know anything else. As life continues, we learn the bitter reality that often, relying on someone doesn't always pan out. Trust is abandoned, faith can become a resentment, a disappointment. Let's face it, reality can be a major letdown from time to time. People get sick, people get injured, people we love are plucked from our lives in the blink of an eye. Living in a world of ever-increasing melancholy is no picnic. So what happens? We give up, that's what. We acknowledge faith as something warm and fuzzy, something we can claim when things are going great, but ignore when things are, well, crappy.
I realized that it's okay to admit that I don't know the answers to some of the topics we discussed on Sunday. Encouraging my class to have faith, however, even when there seems to be no person they can trust, is something I intend to work on. Faith is about accepting the mystery. It's about believing when it looks like there is nothing worthwhile. The way I see it, faith is the mystery in our own life story: it keeps us turning the pages to see if something greater will happen in the next chapter.

Monday, September 20, 2010

when you think you're failing as a parent...

We can't really fault our children for wanting "things" when, as adults, we constantly let our lives revolve around "the next big thing." Whether it is a new event, like getting married, remodeling the kitchen, starting a new job, bringing home a puppy, etc., or a new possession, like a car, an I-phone or a Wii, we seem to be driven by these "things" coming up. We plan for them. We save for them. We tailor them in our minds until they are perfect, and before they even exist in reality.
Sometimes, the things never happen. Sometimes, you have to drive the car until the wheels fall off. Sometimes, the kids have to share the bedroom because there's no way to afford the bigger house, and certainly not a Wii to go with it. Most adults have a method for reasoning with those issues...or at least their pocketbook does. Kids, I've discovered, do not.
My Isaac is very driven. He's driven, however, not by the desire to do well, or even to be recognized as a "good boy." He is driven by stuff. I tell you, my friends, I am sad to admit this. He, however, wouldn't be the slightest bit sad to admit this. He loves the thought of getting something new. Lives for it, in fact. We've had some discipline issues over the past, oh, let's see...he'll be six in October, so, five years. I've tried motivating him many different ways. Positive reinforcement, all the experts say. Self-empowerment. Build the desire to do well. Then, when that didn't work out so hot, when I realized I was just creating an arrogant little beast who didn't think anyone could "put him down," I started removing privileges. No TV. No toys. He didn't care. I listened to countless elders say "just give the kid a good-old-fashioned spanking!" And I did. A few times. He didn't like it, true, but it didn't change the behavior, either.
So now we are down to stuff. A nurse at his pediatrician's office said she motivated her kids with an allowance of sorts...she let them earn marbles for good behavior, and so many marbles (enough to reach specific lines on the marble jar) would amount to so many dollars. As a bonus, they also learned the value of money. Somewhat.
I thought I'd try it. We didn't do marbles...like I said, this kid needs to "see it to believe it." I knew that the intangible concept of marbles in a jar equaling stuff later would not work. So I started the week with $5. Each time he had a good day, at school and at home, he got to keep $1. If he didn't behave, he gave it back. He has yet to have a week when he could keep all $5. He is motivated, however, because he checks the prices of the things he wants at the store, and sees that he needs more money to buy it. The way he's going along, he may be able to buy that Bionicle when he's 12.
Friends, I don't really recommend this method, and I am a little sorry I've done it. You see, it's not that it isn't working. It really does work. It's that I'm right where I don't want to be. I don't want to be responsible for bringing another person into society that is solely driven by materialism. A counselor once told me of a similar method, but instead of money, the kids could choose an activity, such as, a movie and popcorn, a trip to the zoo, etc. I tried that too. No go. This kid wants stuff. Have I said that already? I mean, I look at his environment. He watches limited TV (by that I mean the Disney channel because I've blocked most all of the rest), and it's laden with commercials for new toys. When we go to stores, the advertising is all eye-level to kids, and even a Happy Meal at McDonald's isn't about the food in it, but rather, the toy. The cheap plastic toy that will provide, maybe, five minutes of entertainment. At school, there is a prize box, for kids who are behaving well. Isaac says to me, this morning, "Mommy, when you went to school, was there a prize box?"
"No," I say, "when I was in school, the fear of coming home and telling my mom that I was naughty, or that I got in trouble, was enough."
"Why, would she spank you?"
"Maybe, maybe not. But she would be very disappointed in me."
He half-grinned and shrugged. He doesn't get it. And in case you didn't catch it - disappointing me is also the least of his worries.
How,I ask myself,how am I failing at this? I am working to become a child counselor, and I can't even straighten my own kid out. This is looking good. I ask God, all the time, why He couldn't just attach instructions on these children when they're born. Why not? I mean, I get it, when we're adults, we're supposed to have control of things, and somehow be able to navigate life, and marriage, and even loss. That's all hard enough. But then, God, You put these little creatures in our lives, and we're supposed to "raise them right." Yeah, I know it's been done for eons. I know. So, why, with all the resources I have available, am I struggling? Is it that I have too many resources?
I found myself asking these questions this morning, as I watched Isaac skip down the street to the bus stop. I came into the house, sat down, and glanced at the Bible on my nightstand. Inside the front cover, I have taped a verse from 2 Timothy : "But as for you, continue in what you have learned and have firmly believed, knowing from whom you learned it and how from childhood you have been acquainted with the sacred writings, which are able to make you wise for salvation through faith in Christ Jesus."
It was one of those lightbulb moments: one of those "aha" type things.
For it occurred to me at that moment, I was wrong.
He did write an instruction book.

Friday, September 17, 2010

Sometimes the funniest things come to me during the day, and I think, oh I should write this down, and then I don't. Which is why sometimes, I don't write a blog for weeks. It's because I forget things.

Today, however, the gates to freedom (which is a word used in a very limited capacity, since I still have 3 kids, 3 dogs, and a husband who is just as needy, if not needier, than the previous) have opened. I completed the summer quarter of grad school 2010 and I now have a 3 and a half-ish week break until fall quarter begins. What will I do with my time? All this blessed time? I plan to while away the hours with deviant behavior. I will look, shamelessly, at stores online. Gap, at J.Crew...at L.L. Bean...hurt me. I will bake things. Which I do anyway, but I will bake things that take more time, more precision. I'll play with the kids even more. Outside. In my favorite season of the year. I will engross myself in mindless television. Things I don't normally get to watch. I'll...I'll...why am I in school, again?
Anyway. Also on this break, I'll have to do some mental preparation. In October, I have a surgery scheduled. A full-fledged, no-hormones-left-behind hysterectomy. Which isn't completely true, because I think they are leaving the hormone producing parts. So I don't have to take pills. That was one of my demands. To not have to take pills. I am bothered by this, somewhat. I always thought I'd have a lot of children. Like, maybe a lot, really. Four, five? Six, even. I know, Mom, you think I'm certifiable. I actually really like the little buggers, once in a while. But, see, then I got divorced, which was a real humdinger, and then I remarried, which was sort of an eyebrow-raiser, and then...well, we had Ella. Barely. Because I barely lasted through that pregnancy. My body was screaming "NOOO" and my mind was pleading with it, "come on, one more?!" So, I gave in. To my body's wishes, that is. I had one of those nifty tubal ligations, which had to be done in the "university" hospital, when the Catholic one refused to allow it...and I was sad, because I wanted to have her in the new hospital. But I regress. A year later: flash forward. My body is still screaming "NOOO" but now I don't know why, other than that maybe it's got some neurotic mind of its own...and it hasn't been treating me very well, lately. It probably wants me to go on some sort of rejuvenating Eat, Pray,Love style excursion, I'll bet. And I'm sure this surgery will end up setting me back enough that I could have afforded one. Anyway, I wasn't even going to mention it, publicly, but I will, because it'll put me out of commission, physically, for a couple weeks. What it may do, however, is put me IN commission as far as my writing goes. I'll be forced, yes, forced, to lay in my big chair and look at things on the internet. I'll have to check Facebook several times an hour. I'll have to Ebay. Which, as you can see, is not only a website, but a verb, an activity.
Speaking of Facebook, do most of you have one? I think most people I know have a Facebook page. I am contemplating the deletion of my own, personally. It's too consuming. It implies things that sometimes I didn't mean to imply. You can't use sarcasm too carefully, and I'm a natural cynic. I also sometimes feel overwhelmed by how super-wonderful-fantabulous some people's lives are. Some people's glorious marriages and too-cute-and-angelic-never-did-a-thing-wrong children. I mean, people, good for you. This is what I mean. I really am, inside, glad for ya. If it's all true. But that silly little cynic inside me says, it can't always be true. You gotta have bad days. You gotta wonder, sometimes, why God didn't just spell it out, women are superior, men really ought to take notes. Or be banished, to some cave in a remote location, with other men, and maybe between all of them, they'll find one working brain cell. You gotta, once in a while, want to duct tape your children to a wall and leave them there. Er, you know, something like that. That's the little voice of sarcasm in my head. And if I said it, publicly, it would make me out to be bitter and awful. Resentful, even. Maybe I am. So, in short, sometimes I think Facebook should be called Fakebook. And to all of my friends out there who do post the bad with the good: thank you. That's why I love you all. Misery loves company, right?! Kidding, kidding...but seriously. I'm going to start Truthbook. I'll send you an invite.

Wednesday, September 8, 2010

One of the great things about kids is that they don't ever really think before they speak. And even if they did, it probably still wouldn't change what they say, because they don't really process the same way we grown-ups do. Children are so driven by emotion, and the funny thing is, so are adults. The difference is the fine-tuned (or, let's be honest, not so fine-tuned) reformation that happens through the school years, teaching us a little thing called tact. Or, as I sometimes refer to it, lying. I know you'll say, "no...it's not lying..." but think about it. Picture it: your co-worker comes in sporting a pair of tight, white capri pants, it's after Labor Day, and she's, um, not skinny. To top it off, she's wearing pink polka dot underpants. Obviously. She saunters past your desk, obviously looking for you to compliment her. Your automatic reaction, because you're so very "trained" in your etiquette, is: "Oh, Janice! What cute pants, where'd you get 'em?" You mean: "Holy crap, Janice. I can see that you thought you were 13 this morning, not just because your pants came from the junior's section, but also because your underwear are screaming Tiger Beat, and by the way, it's almost October."
So, in essence, didn't you lie? Nah...it was tact. Let's keep telling ourselves that.
Kids, however, don't have that filter.
Here's a scenario: I put on a hot pink (you can only say "hot pink" if you lived through the 80's, by the way), long sleeved tee this morning. My sons were out in the kitchen, eating cinnamon rolls. Which I cannot eat for breakfast, I've discovered, because if I do, by about 11 a.m., I am in a diabetic coma. And I don't have diabetes.
But I regress.
So, hot pink shirt, jeans and my slippers. Standard attire. Admittedly, the hot pink shirt is a little form-fitting. It shrunk in the washer, but I still like the color. Anyway. I walk out into the kitchen and ask the boys how their breakfast is going. Gabe, the little one, starts giggling. "Mommy," he says, "yo shirt wooks wike Santa Claus." What!? It's not red, it's hot pink! Isaac says "Well, maybe a girl Santa Claus. I think he means your belly is jolly. Gabie, she has a bowl full of jelly in there!" I am never feeding them again. I stood there in shock, not even knowing what to say. See, as adults, since we've been trained to use this tact thing, we also have a delayed response when it comes to handling a situation that isn't tactful. Isaac decided to break the silence: "Okay, mom. It'll be fine. I just think you should literally go put a different shirt on. Seriously."
Seriously? Literally? You're five. Since when did you become a mini-Tim Gunn? I'm never feeding you again.
So that's how my day started. I now have a much baggier, cover-every-inch of my upper-half gray, drab, hooded shirt on now. The hood is there as a safety, just in case I need to cover my hair, should it become raucous and, I don't know, leprechaun-like. I've been put back in my place: mommyhood. Boring, frumpy, stay-at-home mommyhood.
As an honorable mention, I should note that my dear mother, love-her-to-death, is one of the few adults I know who won't mince words. I mean, to me or my sister, she won't. She has told us when we've looked downright hideous, when we've done something dumb (which, to her, wouldn't be called dumb, it'd be more dramatic, like asinine), and for me, she even proof-reads my blogs, free of charge! Most people just read along, and ignore it if I misspell something or use improper grammar. You're reading for content, right? You realize I probably do know how to spell, and I generally make good grammatical choices, but I also do have three kids here and sometimes it's tough to edit everything in my five-minute window of time to blog. My mom, however, reads through with her very critical eye, and calls me as soon as she spots my mistakes. "Do you not know the proper usage of the word hear, moron? You hear music, but you are sitting here." I love my mother, she means well. And the good news is, she'd never do it to anyone else. She'd lie. I mean, she'd use tact.

Thursday, September 2, 2010

I Am...

I am a child, inside. I would love it if I could run and play all day, and I often reminisce about the days when I did. I have a terrific imagination. I am a daydreamer, to the extent of forgetting what I am actually supposed to be doing. I didn’t have a lot of boys to play with when I was growing up, so now that I have little boys, I am being introduced to the games they play. I now know how to build a few things with Legos, and I can make excellent train and semi-truck noises. I am still afraid of the dark. I have an occasional temper-tantrum. I don’t like it when things don’t work, and I really don’t like it when someone else can make something work and I cannot. I like naps, and I like them even more when I have my blankie. Simple things like warm cookies and cold milk, and some kind words from a friend are enough to make my entire day. Actually, if my mom says something nice to me, it makes everything better. I am fond of reading children’s books. I like to look at the pictures.

I am a mother. I have carried and given birth to three beautiful children. They are not perfect, but they are perfect to me. I am not perfect either, by the way. My children are full of life and light. They are quirky. They are loud, and sometimes, I am louder. At least the kids come by it honestly. I am fierce when it comes to my children. I would lay down my life for them. I would, however, insist that they face their punishment if punishment were due. I am not willing to fight all of their battles. My children make me weak and strong, all at the same time. Their tears make me feel small and helpless, grasping for something to make it better, but their laughter makes my heart stronger. I am learning from them, every day. I am proud of myself, as their mother. I think I am doing a good job, overall. I think I still have a lot to learn, but I think that nothing happens overnight. I am hoping that someday they will say “thanks” and they will admit, albeit a tough admission, that I was not the “worst mommy in the world.” I am home with my children all day and all night. It’s what I wanted to do, for now, anyway. I can ascertain that the job is not glamorous. It takes a strong will, a strong back, and sometimes, a strong stomach. Motherhood is not a fairytale, but rather, an adventure.

I am a woman. I am tough on my exterior, and a bowl full of noodles inside. I hide my emotions when I need to. I reach a boiling point, and I let them out, usually on the people I love the most. I love wearing high heels, but I find myself with fewer reasons and places to wear them. I am working on becoming more introspective and less judgmental. I am a follower of Jesus Christ. I don’t know where I’d be without my faith. I don’t like trying to prove things, because of that. Why bother with faith if you can prove it? I don’t have a lot of friends. I have a lot of acquaintances, but I find it hard to trust. I realize that is not a good thing. I am a bit of a hypochondriac. I worry about my health. I used to live a lot more recklessly, but now that I have children, I suppose I think it’s important that I am here for them. I am afraid to die. I suppose this is why you can’t have too much faith. I am self-conscious. I am convinced that I am not pretty, and I don’t think that conviction will change. If you catch me looking in the mirror, it is not to admire myself, it is to judge. I fight myself about my weight. I am confident in my knowledge, however. I am a reader, and I actually prefer a book to any television show. I am vulnerable. I know that the wrong words in the right place will break me, but I also know that I probably won’t show it outwardly. I am in love with love. I am convinced that there is a special someone for everyone, and that someone will feel as necessary as oxygen and as comfortable as your oldest pair of jeans. I want to be loved, and I want to be somebody’s world. I think I am. I think I am three peoples’ worlds. I struggle with contentment. I struggle to wrap my mind around life, and the thought that this is “all there is.” I am ashamed to even admit that, because I really do have a lot. It’s just that I pictured so many things: I was going to be a singer at the Metropolitan Opera House, I was going to be a veterinarian, I was going to travel the world and see everything. I have to slow down and appreciate more. I am a great cook; I will eat most anything I make. See the above section where I mention the battle with weight. I am an animal lover. I am fairly certain I have more animals than I need, but I don’t worry about it. Animals love without boundaries. I have a terrific and dysfunctional family, and I am a firm believer in dysfunction as normality. I am independent. I do not like others to tell me what to do. Some may call that stubborn. I suppose it’s possible. Nah, I doubt it. I am not patient. I share well. It’s something I learned in childhood. I miss my grandmother terribly. I am hoping I am like her someday. I am slowly learning that life is comprised of peaks and valleys. When I am in a valley, I know I just have to do the very best I can in that valley until the next peak comes into view. I am trying.

Wednesday, September 1, 2010

It's come to a point when I am surpassed by technology. Sure, as I sit here, I am staring at a computer screen and "blogging," which is a term I still don't particularly understand. I prefer to say that I'm "typing in my journal." There, that's better. My cell phone is not fancy. I would prefer not to have one, and, if you asked any close acquaintances of mine, they'd tell you it's pointless for me to have one, considering I never answer it or check its voicemail. I have no idea what its features are, either. I know it can call, I know I can answer, and I know it can text. Although I am not good at texting, nor do I plan to become better.
I have caught myself saying, more than a few times: "not to be old-fashioned, but..." and I realize that perhaps I just am a little old-fashioned.
I believe people should respect each other, not one-up each other. One-upping leads to greed, and I know you're all smart enough to know where greed leads. I believe children should be encouraged to imagine, and parents should not allow video games and television to pollute that imagination. Equally, I believe that animal children and people children should be viewed as similar: they love to play and they love to run, and they love to be outside. Let them. There is plenty of time for seriousness later, God knows.
Speaking of serious, perhaps it's time we stop and take a serious look at what we've (we being mankind) created. We have created more than we can handle, in my opinion. The character in the 1995 movie Powder made the quote that he believed technology was surpassing humanity. I believe that too. Just look how easy it is, and how comfortable we've become, sending an email rather than making a phone call or writing a letter. It is also apparent that it is easier to talk in exaggeration or with a hint of deception, rather than to ever reveal oneself in truth.
A friend of mine expressed concern lately about teenage drinking, and how it is a favorite pastime of youth, to drink beyond oblivion, to not remember where they've been or how they got there. I mentioned my disbelief for a sign outside a Planned Parenthood that read: Birth control without pelvic exam, free STD testing, morning after pill $38. You may say it's my "old-fashionedness" coming out, but, really? Is that okay to advertise now? Why not just get a bigger sign and say this: "Text your boyfriend, and his friends, and his friend's friends, because in reality, he's going to text them all anyway and tell them truth or not what you did last night. Let him know you're headed here for a free STD screen and a quick morning-after pill. You'll let him know how it all goes. If he could contribute half to the pill, that'd be cool. If not, no biggie, right? Responsibility is so overrated anyway." In The Case for Christianity, C.S. Lewis said "Human beings, all over the earth, have this curious idea that they ought to behave in a certain way, and can't really get rid of it." Obviously.
Immanuel Kant was a Western-philosopher who challenged utilitarianism, and I have to challenge it too. Our society has just become too okay with "whatever feels good, looks good, and gets me there the fastest." I fear for my childrens' understanding of this, because it is all-too easy to become one who believes this, and the media targets our children relentlessly. Simply put, the utilitarian belief is that human beings are not necessarily responsible for their actions, and that the world has just influenced them to behave a certain way, and justify it. Likewise, punishment should be lenient, if at all. In reality, utilitarians think that we (society) owes it to people to help them, change them. Sounds great, right? At first glance, yes. Everyone wins, everyone receives the help they need, regardless of their offense. It even sounds like the Christian thing to do. But wait a minute.
Kantians believe differently. They believe in responsibility. They believe that humans are generally rational beings, and must be held accountable for their actions. They don't believe that we should be handed a "get out of jail free" card, but rather, learn from our mistakes and own up to them. They believe that if you created it, you must be able to control it, because, as my kid likes to say "no take backs." Sounds harsh, maybe. Sounds un-Christian. Hmmm...in many religions we confess our sins to God, whether it's in a tiny booth and in the presence of a priest, or a moment of silence in prayer. And didn't God tell us that we should live a certain way, in responsibility to Him? Didn't he make it clear that He sent His son to die for our sins, and that the only way to the kingdom of heaven is through His son? We can't justify our own sins, friends. We can't make them okay, and no one here on earth can, either. We can seek counseling, we can seek spiritual guidance, we can have the warm-fuzzy hug of a utilitarian thinker who says "it'll all end up okay." And hopefully, it will. I'm not saying we shouldn't help each other realize what's right. But somewhere down the line, we have to take ownership for the way our own lives are unfolding. We have to halt the madness of advancement and realize it isn't always for "a greater good." Sometimes the flashiest "things" come with the worst implications. It sort of reminds me of a time that I took a picture of myself in the mirror. The flash of the camera blocked my face in the photograph. It was as if I wasn't even there; like this bright light covered up who I am. Might be a bad analogy, but it makes sense to me.
I realize this is preachy and abstract. It's just a brief culmination of the things floating around my head lately. Perhaps it isn't for you, and that's alright. But since I have this nifty "blog" I can record my own thoughts and review them later, just as you can.I do have to insert, also, that I am not, by any means, perfect and didn't write this with the intention to make you think so. It's just another one of those little realizations that has dug a hole deep within me; one that I can't let go of but don't know exactly how to resolve it, either. I leave you with another C.S. Lewis quote. On some days, this quote makes me feel anxious, and on other days, it makes me feel assurance: "Now is our chance to choose the right side. God is holding back to give us that chance. It won't last forever. We must take it or leave it."

Lewis, C.S. (1996). The case for christianity. 1st ed. Touchstone Books.
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