Interesting

So I got this email from a friend of mine, and the question he brought up was a good one that I think plagues a lot of people. I tend to be very analytical and his thoughts are some that when a believer faces the world, needs to be able to process. It's not easy facing difference philosophies at times, and these are just my rambling thoughts, but they are what they are.


From my friend:

What if God is a Motif and the real loss is when he became a fact??

My response:

You are asking if God is basically a penicillin for the epidemic of human selfishness correct? As if He is only a tool we use to reach into the psyche for a sort of consciousness awareness? That the preference would be for me, or others to believe in Him as an ethereal idea to construct our own healing through. Correct me if I am wrong, but that seems to be the idea you are coming from correct?

If you are, my response is this: you can not have relationship with a Motif. It can not speak back to you, know your heart, hear your prayers, be the base for your existence. The true sadness would be if He were just that ( motif that is). My heart and spirit are what urge me to pursue Him with the belief that He is much, much more than that.

At the end of the day, we all ask ourselves one basic question: Do we believe in God. See, belief is inevitable. We have to believe, have faith in something. There is an innate need in every human, to believe in something. Will it be God, or will it be something truly more Motif(ish) if you will. Something that grounds us in reality, that keeps us from spinning too far out into the existentialism that is truly sociopathic in nature.

So the real question seems to be, why do I choose to believe in God? Why is it that I believe in Jesus as the Christ, the one and only, and all that goes along with that? The relationship, the purposed, the drive, the fulfillment? Good question. And in all honesty I could give you some well thought out analytical answer regarding how we have proof of Christ walking the Earth, and recorded miracles He preformed, or about how the Bible happens to be one of the most historically factual books in all of history, or even how it takes more faith to believe in the concept of spontaneous life (and this comes for a studier or biological anthropology and statistics) than it does in the creation of a world and life by a higher power, but that isn't what I would spit at you.

What I would say is this, I believe for two reasons: 1. I have seen Him. I have felt Him. I have had experiences that my mind can not explain. Things that are too coincidental, that are too far beyond my reason, and trust me, I can reason myself into, or out of anything. I know that sounds juvenile, easily susceptible to self-soothing hallucinations, or created connections from a deep need to ascribe to the faith of my father, but really, that's not the case. With all that I have gone through in my lifetime, my faith has taken a beating. There are days it would be so much easier to not believe. Days I wish I could not know. The path of a believer is difficult. The world we live in is full of dichotomies and ironies that seem to send a message of disbelief. But I fight through, and that leads me to my second reason for believing: 2. because I know. Because everyday I wake up knowing that there is something beyond me. Knowing that there is an energy that no scientist can explain physically holding my body together. There is something that keeps the world from spinning literally out into orbit, there is something that keeps the balance of the universe in it's place. The longing in me to be fulfilled by something, the longing for a relationship beyond that of a physical nature, the need for a purpose that goes beyond my 80 some-odd-years on this earth, a need to dedicate my life to something worthy, righteous and justified, are not the needs and desires of a self-delusionalized idealist, but placed there by the same Source that created me. They are just as real as the ground I am standing on, and has just as much of a purpose; to draw me in to searching. To keep me unsatisfied with what the world gives me as it's created answers.

What do I think the real Motif is? The denial most people live in. The self-talking out of that which seems to bizarre to believe. Too juvenile, too irresponsible and simple? What if that is the excuse people use to keep the fear at bay that they may be wrong? We have all been wounded by the church (a misconception of what Jesus really wanted expressed through those that claim His name), but can we always allow that to be the reason to hide behind the desire to run from something we don't understand. It is harder to believe than it is to not believe. If God is dead, isn't easier for the society that we live in to keep people unsatisfied and coming back to whatever source for more? It feeds the product of need that keeps our greater culture running.

Wow, I think I will blog this. LOL.

Sara

What if God is a Motif and the real loss is when he became a fact??

Protection

I have been thinking a lot about protection lately. What it means to be protected, what it means to honor someone that way.

I thought about my dad a lot. The things I wish he had said, the things I wish he had done when I was young. I guess things I still wish he would do.

I was standing in the kitchen, kissing my boyfriend the other day, and my dad walked in. My face turned beat red and immediately I jumped away. My dad just walked by and kinda smiled, meanwhile Mike and I were trying not to melt into the floor.

Later that day, I was talking with my dad and just casually said "Sorry about that earlier, I didn't mean for you to walk in." He laughed and said "I wouldn't care if I walked in and you were naked!" Immediately I gasped and yelled "Dad that gross!!!" He laughed even harder and walked away.


I didn't think much of it at the time, but after the day had settled down and I returned to the exchange in my mind, I kept wondering why it bothered me so much. That should be a good thing right? I mean my dad sees me as an adult making my own choices. Great, I mean I have been married and divorced, I am my own responsibility right? Right. Of course, so why was it bothering me so much?

Later that night my boyfriend ended up staying the night at the house. It had been a long weekend, with an even longer day, and we both fell asleep. Well somewhere in the middle of the night, as it always goes, we both woke up, and stared straight into the face of temptation, and all I could think of was my dad saying he didn't care if he walked in and we were naked.

All of the sudden all of the protection I thought I had under my parents roof... vanished. There was no need for my boyfriend to or I to fear the protective heart of a father... it wasn't there.

Another piece of the little child each of us has in us died in that moment.


Now don't get me wrong, I love my father, but he is only human. What can you expect, he's an ex-hippie, but still, the sting is there. All of the sudden some things make sense.

Could it be that the protection I seem the be unable to afford myself, could be based on the lack of protection I received? Is it possible that maybe I was never taught?

I have been struggling in my relationship with God. I think that is perfectly obvious, (I do nothing to hide these struggles... it takes too much energy) but the question that seems to be in my heart at this point is one that I don't really want to ask, but will never be satisfied until I have the answer to: is my lack of trust in God a correlation to my lack of trust in my father, and neigh, even in myself? Upon realization of this lack of protection, certain things make sense, like a light in the day, but it has also thrown some other things into the dark.

Since I can't expect my father to protect me the task falls in my own lap. Learning how to do what is best for me despite what I want in the moment is a parenting lesson I now have the responsibility to do for myself, and that is fine. That is something I can learn through self-evaluation and trial and error. I can begin to trust myself that way, but here's the $24,000.00 question: what does it truly mean to be protected by your heavenly father when your earthly father fails you?

Updates to follow....

Betrayal

I sit hear, hands poised over the keys, waiting for revelation. Waiting to understand. What am I missing? What piece isn't connecting?

You see, after much examination of my own heart, I see the deficiencies. I see the inconsistencies and the backwards thinking. I get that there is something basically broke. Something basically off. Like a fault line, I keep waiting for another shift to make the breach wider: for the settling of a large quake to bring me back down to even unsteadier ground.

I have waited, I have listened. I have cried, I have forced a laugh. I have sat quiet and run around like a mad man. I have read, and stopped reading, I have sang, and sat quiet, I have shouted and whispered, I throw my fists in the air and I have fallen to my knees.

But most of all I have tried. Oh how I have tried. Oh how I have allowed denial to rule, just to get me through.

So you gave me an answer: burden bearing. Intercession. A purpose. Okay, a purpose. Some hope a the end of the tunnel. On shaky legs I got back up to stand. Walking slowly with a limp, breathing heavily, I got back on the path. Force the smile, it's something right? Joy fleeting, but hold on tight, so tight, it might fly away. Your face, oh, your beautiful face, I can barely see it... but I squint, I strain, wait, don't go...

So I tell you my secrets. My truest desires, deeply, secretly, I thought they were from you. I thought maybe... but I never dared to dream. It was easier to stand on the ground of waiting for you. Places were my passion was released, where I felt at home anywhere. Safe, these were mine.

On unsteady feet, thrown a rock... a small one, but still the weights enough, I tumble down with it. I collapse, bones snapping as I crash into the ground. Unforgiving ground bruises and tears at my body. I cry out... then stop short. Why cry? No one is near enough to hear. I lay on my back, silent tears streaming. Waiting, hoping; maybe, just maybe the rescue I have heard of will find me. I am so tired of picking myself up. I don't even think I can this time.

I look around and see a group passing me by on the path. Jubilantly they pat each other on the back as they congratulate each other on jobs well done. Some taller than others, they step over me as I lay there. I see one secret something to another. I watch a limb grow back for one, and a heart restart for another as they continue walking. Miracles to be sure. Even I at one time reach out to pass a note I had been given, but no one sees the bleeding. I don't even want them to this time. That bone protruding, that weak pulse, it is my burden to bear. I can't take the looks of confusion at why I am not being healed when the person next to me just had sight restored. I don't know either.

Slowly I start to sit up. I can't stay here long, I will die for sure. Oh God, I am so tired of picking myself up... my body groans it's protest.

Loneliness is thick on the fringes... how much more? One is given a package, opening it delightedly, they squeal. They show it around... my heart skips a beat, that had been one of my secret desires. Another tear falls... Oh, I thought maybe, if I had been faithful enough... I guess not. I hear a commotion to my right, another package, please God... no... again. My last secret dream, given away. This time I can't stop it, I fall back, like the bones that had held me together disappeared. A deep grief enters my heart unstoppable. My last uniqueness. My last bit of something good I had, given to someone else.

From somewhere I hear a voice "Thank you for burden bearing, but this belongs to someone else now."

Somehow I gather enough strength to curl into the fetal position. I look to my right, and there lies an opened package. It had been a gift given to me. It was beautiful for sure, filled with anticipation and promise, and I loved it, but it wasn't the one I had secretly wanted. The one I was too scared to tell anyone about, anyone but You that is. I look at the card, it reads "Good luck!" with a smiley face.

A wind comes by. It's full of life, vibrancy. I hear my name in it "Sara..." It breathes into me, and for a moment, my chest raises and I inhale deeply. It strengthens my pulse. Enough. It gives me enough for life. Another comes by, a bit stronger. I start to breath easier. The pain is still there, but I am brought back from the brink of death. Still another... this time I sit up and try to reach out for it... "Come back..." The cry comes from my soul, the only words I have uttered since I have fallen.

Slowly raising my head I look around. The others had felt the same wind, some are dancing, some are crying out in joy, and some even being tossed around by it, faces alight with joy and wonder. Tears fall again. Enough for life right?

As the crowd moves on, slowly I turn my head from sides to side. The silence is so thick, it's oppressive. It's condemning. Only one thought looms, it just must not be for me. My hopes, dreams and desires that is. I just hope that I can stay alive long enough to make it home.

New Hair - New attitude

Why is it that a hair cut can change an entire perspective?

I went to get a "trim" today, but alas as most things go in my life, what I thought would be a small amount of changed turned into a butchers dream. To quote "Um, you realize most of your hair is so damaged it is completely irrepairable." Hmm... I think I said that about my life at one time.

So the scissors came out, and the dead ends came off. By the time she was finished, it looked like a wild animal had been shaved.

The one redeeming factor was this: I got bangs. And not just bangs, but BANGS. The kind you see in the magazines but you usually don't have the guts to do because you aren't sure they will look good on you. Gutsy move, I know. Spur of the moment. I am not sure if I have buyers remorse yet... that could be a good thing.

But as I walked out of the salon, I noticed I was walking different. A slight tilt of the head, one eyebrow cocked, and steps just a tad longer than before. I got into my car, flipped down my visor, looked in the mirror and thought "Hey, why the hell not?"

Why is it that a hair cut can completely transform your attitude? Because it can. It can change your whole outlook. One moment I am overrun by dead ends and added weight that does nothing but keep me down, the next I have cut that loose and took a chance with a little flare. Life is not meant to be lived in safety. What we know isn't always what is best for us, and what we have isn't always so beautiful.

I wondered if it would look good, but really was I wondering if anyone would be there to catch my fall? A little too analytical you might say, but really, isn't hair just an extention of inner mechanics? Sometimes you have to give someone else the scissors and say... "Get off the dead stuff!" I am going to take a risk and find out if anyone else is at the bottom.

And no matter what... it always grows back.