The same can of worms ... but, it's been a while.

I was discussing female pastors with a friend, a pastor's wife, and specifically my father's reaction to the topic. Everytime my father meets a female pastor he immediately thinks they are a lesbian. I was telling her about his reaction to a specific female pastor, one that I like a lot and know my friend knows well. When dad saw her he said, "She's a dike." My friend said, "Well, she's not out of the closet, but if she was a lesbian - she'd still be the same person ... and that person is a really good pastor."

Now, I've generally been opposed to gay pastors. Some days I support it, but most I find myself opposed to it. I usually hold with the camp that says that a pastor should be a moral compass and shouldn't live in sin. Well, when my friend said that I realized that I would support this particular pastor if she was a lesbian. She's a good pastor and is effective. She wouldn't have any more sin than any of the other pastors or be in any more of a lifestyle sin than most. I've always felt that all of the arguments in favor of it were pretty weak. Now, I find myself supporting it.

My favorite bumper sticker states, "It was Adam and Eve not Adam and Steve!" I love this because it's so wrong. God made a perfect creation - one man and one woman ... and, no pain in childbirth, no need for clothing, etc. God made a perfect creation - one without homosexuality. But, Adam and Eve chose sin - and because of that we have pain in childbirth, a need for clothing, and ... Adam and Steve. Homosexuality is a sin - but it's no worse than any sin I've ever committed.

If we were honest with ourselves we would realize that to one extant or another we all live in sin. When a girl gets knocked up we make her marry the man who she had sex with. Marriages end in divorce (which God hates) so often partly because people are in lust (a sin) and not love. We have unfriendly churches, skyrocketing divorce rates, and we sin by lying about our sin. My Aunt Sharol lied to a cop to get out of a ticket and now claims she didn't (technically) lie.

My reasoning isn't that "we have so much sin why not add a little more" or that "things are so bad in the church that this won't even matter. My reasoning is that when we think the best of ourselves and the worst of others we are living in sin. When we view our sin as "less sinful" than the sin of others we blatantly lie about the nature of sin. I believe that the term "lifestyle sin" is a technicality that we have made up to insulate ourselves from the pain of viewing our own sin. We decide that a person openly living in sin is worse than when we lie about our sin so that no one needs to see how black our hearts are.

Some days my heart is pretty black. It would be pretty easy to avoid looking at my own sin by focusing on the sin of others. If we won't allow a pastor to serve because he or she is living a lifestyle of sin - well, we don't have a pastor in the conference who could continue to preach. Jesus told us to do the exact opposite - to focus on our own sin. I feel that everyone should resist the powers of sin and run into the arms of Christ - but I am thoroughly convinced that no sin will prevent a person from preaching the good news of Christ.

Saddam is dead. I love the bi-partisan politics. Fox News has a big picture of a startled Saddam with skulls and bones behind it with the word "Hanged" in 98 pt font. CNN has a nice black box with a composed picture of Saddam with his birth date and death date in small white letters - as though he had been a TV star of former President.

Politics make me squeamish these days. I like the games though.

Well, I'm home for the long haul. I'm doing this "home" thing for as long as it takes. Sorry I haven't blogged anything deep or insightful - I'm taking a nice break from thinking.

I will be going in to see the doctor tomorrow morning. I'm going to Cranberry for a YAMT meeting at night. My aunt will be coming in tomorrow night. I'm driving to Ohio on Saturday to go swing dancing with Dustin and other Ohioan friends. Yay! I will be in Ohio for the new year. I would really like to get my flight switched so I can have a few days in Georgia to get everything settled in ... but my parent's aren't too cool with that.

So, I will be around for a little bit longer. I still need to hang out with a few more people before I head home.

A Reflection on Christmas Eve

This might be a little random, long, and intense - you've been warned.

I went to my cousin's Grandma Charlotte's house for a meal. Her extended family, a hearty grouping of friends, and five dogs crowd her small house. Everyone drinks beer and swears. I love it there. My 8 year old cousin's uncle calls him "shithead" and he responds in kind by refering to his uncle as an "asshole." He would be beat mercilessly if his grandmother Gillotti ever heard those words. They all give big gifts - usually cash. So boring. My cousin's great uncle was there - he's a great guy and really fun to talk to. They have heaps of money - all of them.

I went to the midnight service with my family. I made some notes in my bulletin - I'll try and educate everyone as to the point being made in each note:

Why could I never love Scott Losey? - Scott was a new kid at school when I was a senior. He was super ADD and really hyper. He got picked on a lot and made a fool out of himself. I could never force myself to love him. I talked to him, once or twice - but I never allowed my heart to bleed with compassion for him, I never wept at the deep understanding of his need for a savior, I never showed him any real love. He was at the service tonight. When he saw me his face lit up and he waved - real big. Why do I fail so often at loving people like Christ does?

It doesn't matter who you've slept with. - Pastor David was praying ... and making the point that it doesn't matter what sins you've committed in all circumstances you are welcome here. He said, "It doesn't matter where you've been, it doesn't matter what you've done. You are welcome here." All I could think was this one thought. It doesn't matter who you've slept with. Bill Thompson is accepted and welcomed. I am welcomed. My sister, mother, and father are welcomed. The man who raped my friend would be welcomed. People who have hurt me so drastically would be welcomed.

This song is me! - The 4th verse of "In the Bleak Midwinter" is the story of my life. It essentially says that all I have is my heart - so I'll give it to Jesus. That's me. I'm poor. All I have is my heart, college debt, and some free time. That's it. It's His. Let's hope he makes this wreck of a life brand new!

We sang the closing hymns, raised our candles, and gave hugs. It really was a merry Christmas. My mother's postlude was phenomenal. It gave me chills. We came home to a very hostile house. Dad had been slighted - his job, of 17 years tradition, was to dim the lights. He was sitting with us and the pastor's wife, thinking her husband hadn't covered all of his bases, dimmed the lights. He was furious. We tried to talk some reason into him, he yelled about how horrible the church is and how he can't leave because no one will let him - pure bull - and about how we always take the church's side. Mom cried, Rebecca bravely spoke out, I tried to talk some sense into him ... but, it sucked. Christmas Eve sucked.

When Rebecca's boyfriend lit his candle off of mine, we raised them together because everyone else was busy, I was so excited - This is why Christ came to earth. Christ didn't come to be a baby. He didn't come to glow and glimmer in a manger scene 200 years later. He came to change the world. He came to give life and hope to everyone. He came to change hearts. I cried, knowing that my future brother-in-law was reading the words to Joy to the World. That hymn, that beautiful hymn - that's why Christ came. I cried. I hugged people who hadn't been in church for a while (I challenged a ladies' Bible study group to do the same) And I skipped out of church.

Then I got home and my father had to suck the life out of everything. This might, honestly, be my last Christmas at home. It was nice to see everyone, but it's not worth it.

I'm baking some cinnamon rolls so that mom will be happy in the morning. Here's to a wonderful Christmas morning.

A little while ago my whole family was sitting in the TV room, TV blaring a news show, while everyone sat at his or her respective computer. I was reading postsecret, my father doing genealogy, my mother working on something for church, and my sister and her boyfriend playing a game. Maybe this is why I like being alone. At least in my house people don't gather together just to avoid each other. I know that a dysfunctional family is all the rage these days and makes for great reality TV, but really ... how dysfunctional do we need to be?

Today, my mother said hell. When I was nine my mother said crappy and we all giggled. It was the first time we had ever heard our mother – Saint Debbie the Meek – swear. It was today that she simply stated the fact that her life was a living hell. No one giggled at this cuss word.

In this room ,the ceiling crumbles, mother begs for carpeting, a sadly tilted Christmas tree gives mother comfort – she will at least have a fun story to tell people, too few ornaments, though. The couch she received as a gift, the rocker from her grandmother, the hideous green chair from her grandfather (the one I hope to inherit,) her greatly prized grand piano sits wonderfully in one corner of her living room – taking up, it seems, most of the room. The matching picture frames around the beautiful pictures of her two children. The one surrounding me was bought four years after my sister’s frame was purchased. Debbie is happiest that they practically match. Each room in her house is comprised of small reminders of victories and defeats. The living room is her main room and contains most of her victories, and perhaps her most looming defeats.

My mother was a single parent. Our father is alive, married to our mother, and lives with us. My mother raised two children by herself. As children we almost never saw her cry. When her grandmother’s died in succession she didn’t cry. Her back gave her considerable pain, a disk slipped when I was born – I’ve been told that at times she couldn’t stand up, but I never saw my mother wince or hear one breath of complaint. She knew I would blame myself. My mother lives the life of a saint.

In times when life is hard, when life is a living hell, most people give up. My mother presses on. Her husband’s health problems place him in fits of fury. He will be fine one minute and screaming the next. A sensible woman would have divorced years ago, but Debbie isn’t sensible – she’s a saint. She lives her life, every day, for God alone. She raised two children who love God (who could improve a good bit in showing it, yes,) she leads the most active youth ministry at my church (at a church which pays a youth leader,) and she stands by her husband (when most would turn and run.)

Her world, like the ceiling in her living room, is crumbling. Her love for God keeps her life intact and her prayers hopeful. I will never be a saint. I’m too selfish and needy. My mother chooses to serve everyone around her with the sole exclusion of her personally happiness. But, she didn’t raise my sister or me to do the same. No, she inspired us to fight. Perhaps that is why I think my mother is most worthy of sainthood.

I'm watching CNBC. It's on the TV, anyway. They are discussing people's Christmas Cheer. People's spending is up $300 from just a few days ago. Obviously people are in more of a Christmas spirit now than they were a few days ago. They are spending much more money ... they've caught the Christmas spirit.

Bah humbug. I don't have a dime and I have even less Christmas spirit. (Actually I have a little over $3 and I have enough Christmas spirit to last me through the holiday thanks to little Adam Hickey playing the piano for the kid's Christmas Pageant.) I liked this holiday a lot more when I was younger. Santa doesn't bring me happiness. Giant plastic nativity scenes don't fulfill. Inflatable snowmen and snowglobes make me queasy. Tilted, real trees give me some joy ... but it's artificial (like next year's tree will be.)

I don't feel enthused anticipating the birth of the savior. Some days I forget just how important His birth was. I'm going to spend Christmas eve celebrating the birth of our Savior. Christmas day I will probably succumb to the fervor of consumerism.

My mother is talking to the cats again. It's good to know that things are back to normal ... ish.

I'm officially on my sixth round of anti-biotics since August. I might need to have my tonsils removed to avoid more illness. Dang it. I really don't want to have to go through surgery - but it might be best for me.

I really wish Bishop Bickerton kept a blog. That would make me very happy. I spent a few hours with Bob and Ruth Higginbotham last night. Ruth is making a matching game for her grandaughter out of pictures of Bob. I love them. We had a good talk about the conference - it's nice to be brought up to date on everything. I will be in Cranberry on the 28th for the YAMT event. Hollah ... represent.

Becka is going through my Facebook and looking at all the drunken pictures of my friends.

So, I've decided to write a personal Christmas letter for everyone who reads my blog. I love Christmas letters - how often do people get to talk about themselves in the third person.

Michael finishes off 2006 with a new house and great expectations for 2007. Michael will have spent less than a month in Kane, PA this year. Most of the year he has lived in Georgia. Michael finished his third semester at Toccoa Falls College, majoring in Cross Cultural Studies.

Michael worked at Camp Glisson this summer as a councelor. He had a really great summer making lots of new friends, helping to build the United Methodist church in North Georgia, and ultimately working to build the kingdom. He was part of a failed new church start near Gainesville, GA. The Water's Edge will be planted within the decade, but the conference chose to rework the "how" factor for the church plant. He learned a lot about church planting and preaching from Joe Peabody, Jr.

Michael's last semester was a difficult one. He had pneumonia twice and some pretty bad roomate problems. His grades weren't the best this semester, but he enjoyed the semester. He took a Jane Austen class and enjoyed it greatly. He fought for several weeks for permission to move off campus and was very glad to finally win the uphill battle. Michael signed a year long lease for a small house at 114 Schaefer Court. Toccoa GA 30577.

Michael is currently in a non-triogamous polyandreous relationship (translation: he's single, happy, and has a great group of friends that he loves dearly.) Michael is most happy about the friends in his life. He has rarely been this happy about one particular subject.

Michael is active at Toccoa First United Methodist church. He leads the drama ministry at the church and the group did two extremely succesful skits this semester and has been invited to continue doing skits at both services. Michael attends the Curtis Trogdon Wesley class (comprised mostly of older adults) and also works with the children's ministry for special projects. He is greatly enjoying the multi-generational approach to ministry that he has found at this growing church.

Michael will be in Pennsylvania until January 18th. He will be working with the theatre arts department, reading un-assigned books, and working on some projects for the drama group. Michael has thoroughly enjoyed writing about Michael in the third person.

I sat in the Borders on Peach Tree St. and read both of the postsecret books. I sat for a long time thinking of which of my secrets I would send in. I don't really have many that I would send in, and most would end up being pretty mundane/common. I don't think I have any secret that no one knows. If there is one it's because it isn't an interesting enough secret.

During the last senior high week of church camp we all sat down and shared the burdens of our lives. We shared together in a loving environment stories of abuse and pain. It was a beautiful cathartic thing.

I read page after page of people who cut themselves or where abused as children. It was an intense thing to see so many people's secrets. I sat in a circle, this summer, of wonderful Christian people who dealt with so much pain. It was a beautiful thing to see so many people dealing with their secrets.

Writing a secret on a Postcard and giving it to the world doesn't ease the pain. Giving a secret over to Christ, especially in a loving environment, is life changing. There's a whole world out there who are so desperate for relief from the secrets of their life. Jesus is always ready to take away our pain ... but we need to let it go, first.

Marty came to Toccoa First United Methodist of her own volition. On her first Sunday she walked into the sanctuary and saw only one end seat open. She asked the older lady sitting further in that pew if she could sit with her and the woman promptly responded that the seat was reserved. Like the scene from Forrest Gump, Marty walked through the church being told “seat’s taken!” She came back three weeks in a row without anyone ever speaking to her. On the third week she gave up and decided that she was done with the whole “church thing.” A man about her age came up to her after the service and introduced himself. Charles Smith and his wife Mary Jo brought dinner to Marty and her husband during that week.

A goodly number of years later Marty and Charles are both elderly adults. Mary Jo has passed on and Marty’s husband is too old to go to church (if he ever did.) Charles is a little bit crazy and scares some of the youth and Marty says whatever the hell she damn well pleases. Charles will make little announcements during Bible Study that don’t quite make sense and Marty will most likely bring up in Sunday School the fact that we need to get George Bush out of office. I love them.

Everyone give disclaimers about these two older adults. “Marty tells it how it is. She says what she wants and doesn’t care who hears it. Some people might be surprised at her language, but you won’t find a nicer Christian lady. If you need prayer go to her, if you ever need anything she’ll do it.” “Charles has brought so many people into this church. He’s old, deaf, and sometimes says things that shouldn’t be said in public, but he loves God and still wants to make a difference in the world. Don’t ever cross him though, he’ll get even.”

I’ve named my car Controversy. It seems to be the name that best fits. When I was in the process of getting permission to move off campus, I was a little nervous that the administration would come and search my room. I took everything out that would be considered sinful. I put my “bag of sin” in my car for safekeeping. (Featured items included: a Chairman Mao shirt, a Michael Moore book, the movie Saved!, and a Maya Angelou book – if only I could say that this was the actual extent of my sin activity!) My car took “the threesome” to the Christmas banquet. It also took the only gay, Jimmy, and his very straight “date,” Steven, to the Christmas banquet. They went together to try and create a scandal before Jimmy left the school. Controversy pretty much sums up my car.
I hope that when I am old people will say these things about me. I hope that people will say, “He drops the F-bomb sometimes, but he loves Christ more than anyone I know. Sometimes he says some pretty heretical statements, but he sure tells a lot of people about Jesus.” Here’s to hoping!

There’s a lot of change in the air. I’m all moved into my new house. A few friends have graduated. Jon and Ann are married and won’t be needing a chaperone anymore. There’s a lot of change going on.

My church has a contemporary worship service. It is one of the few Methodist churches that I have seen “do” contemporary “right.” The music is always changing with what is popular and it is never stagnant. We aren’t singing songs that were really popular in the 90s. They serve a light breakfast because of the early time slot. The preaching stems from people’s heartfelt needs. It’s a beautiful thing. I’m, deep down, a traditionalist. Although I don’t like dressing up I love singing hymns and would love to see a church that does liturgy with the right level of enthusiasm.

There is one component of worship that I think should be re-evaluated in the traditional service and added to the contemporary. I love the acolytes. I was explaining to a group of charismatics and Baptists what an acolyte did. “They start the service by bringing the light of Christ into the service and they end by leading the processional of the people as they take the light of Christ out into the world. I love that aspect. I love seeing the acolytes lead the procession of people on their way out of church – on their way to take the light of Christ out into the world.

Toccoa First handed out free Hot Chocolate at a recent parade. The hot cocoa doesn’t matter. We went out on the streets and talked to people. We met people – new people. The guys talked with non-Christians about football and the women talked with people who need God’s love about children and the church’s children’s program. The people of First Methodist don’t live in a vacuum. I think that if Falls students went out on the streets we would all return having found 5 Christians and argued with them about the finer points of Calvinism vs. Arminianism. I don’t think we would be able to relate in any real way with “real” people. No one was radically saved on that street corner where we passed out the hot cocoa, but a lot of people were introduced to a new church family and shown the love of Christ in a positive way. We took the light of Christ out into the world. A church full of acolytes.

Ed and Susan invited us to their house. They are both in their forties and really hot. We had a great meal and watched some TV. Ed let me borrow his truck to move. Ed plays ball with his son, leads his son’s boy scout troop, and makes enough money to spoil his son … but doesn’t. Ed makes me want to be a better father to my future son(s).

Jarvis and Sharon lead busy lives. Sharon is no longer employed full time and money is a little tight around their house. They had our small group over and cooked a big Indonesian meal for us. They fit so well together and work together so well. They are both really happy and always praising God. Seeing them makes me want to be a better Christian.

I watched Saved again today. It’s a beautiful movie and it makes so many excellent points about living out the Christian life. It’s a movie about a Christian high school and the drama that ensues. It pokes fun at both fundamentalism and teen movies. I wish their was at least one strong Christian. There are lots of hypocritical people who play Christians on daytime TV … but the movie lacks a strong Christian character. I guess it’s a lot like life for a lot of people. A lot of people lack a true relationship with a strong, loving Christian. A lot of people never come in contact with an acolyte, a person who takes the light of Christ out into the world.

I have my first final in a few minutes. It is hard to imagine that it is already finals week. It's a good thing to imagine though. I have been given permission to live off campus. I have a house secured and will sign the lease when my deposit check comes in the mail (my mother sent it today ... let's hope it makes it soon.) and then I can sign the lease and move in.

Next semester I will live in a little two bedroom house with a small yard and a very nice kitchen. The house is perfect and I feel so blessed to be moving there.

A friend from church showed me the house a few weeks ago and I just knew that I would live in that house. My petition to move off campus was rejected ... but I still knew I would live in that house. My petition was rejected a sexond time, but I had faith that I would live in that house. I still drove by the house daily and prayed for it. By the time I had been given permission to move off campus the house had already been filled. I still knew that I would live in that little grey house. Finally the other renter backed out and I filled out the paper work. With a monthly income of $50-$150 and a rent payment of $400 a month the company allowed me to rent from them.

The whole time I knew that I had to praise God for that house. When I found out that it had already been rented I said a prayer of thanksgiving that I would one day live in that house. This is really the first time that I can honestly say I have trusted God. It feels good.

Well, I'm about to take a final I didn't prepare for (ask me about my day ... it's a fun story!)

I have chosen the names of my first two sons. Michael Reese and Mathan Modest.

I'm not planning on having children anytime soon ... not until well after I'm married. I like the name Michael Reese because (this is the part I won't tell my wife) it is the name of the lead singer of my favorite band. It's also my first name and my great aunt Mabel's last name. Michael Reese. I would call my son Reese. I have just started taking to the name Mathan Modest. Mathan is a name of someone in the lineage of Jesus. Modest is the name of Peter Tchaikovsky's brother. In Russia my son would be called Modest and in the states my son would be called Mathan. Reese and Mathan. I have always decided to just let my wife name our children ... but ... I want children now. I want to have sons and raise them up in the ways of the Lord. I want my sons to know the Bible and to know our Savior. I want to be a better father than mine ... I want to be a daddy.

My great-great grandmother was Frances Greenleaf Knapp. Her cousin was John Greenleaf Whittier, famous Quaker poet. Whittier was rather famous for saying, "we are not shakers!" whenever people misunderstood his faith.

I started reading up about the Shakers. There are 4 of them left. Four. They are praying for more converts, but their radical life of celibacy prevents them from birthing more Shakers. New Laws forbid them to adopt - so they have to wait on converts. They get about 70 requests a year from people who want to join them, but most are rejected because they aren't serious enough about their relationship with God, rejection of sin, or reliance on a communal lifestyle. They are praying for new converts, they get about 70 "applicants" a year - and yet almost all are turned away.

I am almost sure that if a black lesbian showed up at my church with an application for membership we would immediately reject her application. We would explain to her that there are churches more suited for "her kind," I imagine. She can go to a black church or a Metroplolitan Community Church if she wants to continue living in sin. I doubt strongly we would accept her as one of us and allow God to convict her in her sin issue. I personally don't have a problem with a devout Christian confronting another devout Christian about a sin issue in his or her life. I have huge problems when a Christian judges a non-Christian for his or her sin ... and even bigger problems when we outright deny fellowship and membership to someone who is openly living in sin.

Landa Cope said something that suprised me and that I didn't believe. She said that every gay man was abused as a child either sexually or physically. This suprises me and I didn't believe it. I've checked with all of my gay friends and it holds true in my circle of friends. Now, I realize that a lot of people are molested or beaten as children without becoming gay ... but, I can't help but think that maybe, just maybe gay people don't choose their orientation. Maybe the actions of others dictate the orientation of a person. (Nothing revelatory ... just a new thought for me.)

So, I think about these things and I remember that at one point we discriminated against black people. We differentiate our discrimanation of homosexuals from our discrimination of blacks by qualifying that homosexuals choose their lifestyle. If they don't choose their lifestyle ... well, then we are just repeating history. I don't want to ever tell my grandchildren that I didn't learn my lessons from the past. I want them to know that I was a progressive Christian and that I fought for equality for all humans.

Again with these lofty ideals that I can't live up to. I'm not going to stop trying, no sir.

Welcome to Isaiah 58. We discussed this passage in class today. When asked our definition of fasting everyone discussed the idea of giving up food and suffering for Jesus.

5 Is this the kind of fast I have chosen,
only a day for a man to humble himself?
Is it only for bowing one's head like a reed
and for lying on sackcloth and ashes?
Is that what you call a fast,
a day acceptable to the LORD ?

6 "Is not this the kind of fasting I have chosen:
to loose the chains of injustice
and untie the cords of the yoke,
to set the oppressed free
and break every yoke?

7 Is it not to share your food with the hungry
and to provide the poor wanderer with shelter—
when you see the naked, to clothe him,
and not to turn away from your own flesh and blood?

I begin to immediately think of the 30 hour famine that my youth group did every year. We tried for so long to talk the youth group into serving in a soup kitchen. There was always a problem because only the older kids could serve food. The younger kids would get to paint or clean or something. I'm still disapointed that we never served the poor. We did the 30 hour famine every year. We raised a lot of money ... it was actually our biggest event on the youth group calendar. I don't have a huge problem with World Vision, but I am starting to see a problem with the fact that the only concept of fasting we have is one of denying ourselves of food.

We raised a good bit of money. (More than 15% of it going to administrative fees!) We didn't actually help any poor people. We never invited the poor in to help us "break our fast." We missed the point on fasting. Yeah, our youth group missed the point on a lot of things. We missed the point on a continual basis. We never had enough fun to keep youth interested and we never offered a gospel other than the "get out of Hell free pass." We didn't change lives.

We missed the point on fasting, we missed the point on salvation, and we missed the point of youth ministry. I disagree with almost every youth ministry idea that Pastor Craig ever had.

Pastor Craig had a heart attack this morning. He loves the kids in youth group. He has some flaws when it comes to youth ministry - but he isn't nearly as flawed when it comes to loving kids. He hasn't changed all the lives of all the kids. He has impacted a goodly number of kids, though. I'm not going to be bitter about it anymore. I realize that we don't agree on everything - but we do agree on the idea of loving people.

I'm still here. I feel much better. Mentally, emotionally, and physically I am better. I have faced a lot of things this semester. I have had pneumonia twice - for starters. I'm appealing to move off campus. I have been rejected twice, and now my appeal is to go before the president's cabinet. I will have the nurse write me a letter detailing my illnesses and hopefully she will recommend that I move off campus. Dr. Smith is writing me a letter of personal recommendation. My parents have told the dean of students that I will not be returning next semester if I am not allowed to move off campus.

I'm not worried. I'm suprisingly content. I have a huge paper due, a book to read (I read it once already), and a big project. I'm not worried. I know that everything is going to work out. I have been in the house that I want to rent - and I know that I'm going to live there. I know that it will work out for good.

I am at peace. I'm not sure what will happen, but I know that God is sovereign.

I want to be a "Patch Adams" Christian and not a "Survivor" Christian. I watched Television today. I might be flogged if the administration reads this, but I enjoyed every minute of it.

I watched Survivor - and I'm struck by how banal it really is. First we hear the conversation, then the person tells us what he or she said, and then we get striking, shocking social commentary on what was said.

So, uhmm ... do you like to eat coconut?
(voice over) So I asked her if she likes coconut ...
(commentary) Because, I don't think I could fornicate with a girl who didn't enjoy coconut.

Really, is this what the American Public wants to hear? I see the church doing this a lot - we , ney, I say a lot of things that don't really mean a whole bunch. "Oh, school violence is bad - that's original. Did God have to point that one out to you, or did you figure it out yourself?" It's easy for me to participate in the establisments that I'm opposed to and then to talk bad about them. That's easy.

I also watched Patch Adams today. He took a bold step and changed things. He hasn't changed the world, ... yet, but be has made a difference. He was weird - and he loved lavishly.

I think I want to be a "Patch Adams" Christian and not a "Survivor" Christian.

I love Methodists.

I went to the Thanksgiving staff dinner at Camp Glisson. Some days I forget how freeing grace is. I worked with 75 college kids who go to secular universities and openly share the love and grace of Jesus Christ with everyone they come in contact with. I'm moved to tears by their graciousness and love.

When I left Camp Glisson I was very sick and pretty depressed. I remember thinking that I hadn't made any friends and that those people didn't really love me. I was surrounded by love, today.

I haven't had the best day. My petition to move off campus was rejected. The last step is to appeal to the President's cabinet. I had a meeting with a Dean to discuss my request. Everything I said bounced off the ceiling. I, sadly, had to have my father call him. Dad called him and the two had a really good conversation. My dad said the same things I had said, but he listened to my father. The Dean now realizes that if I'm not allowed to move off campus that I will be leaving the school. When I said that it didn't mean anything, but when my father said it - it was gospel.

I'm tired of being treated as a child. It was refreshing to be surrounded by Methodists who love God with their whole heart. I'm tired of people with a devotion for God that can't get past silly rules. I pray that I never fall into legalism again. I know that some days I skate on thin ice with the idea of love. Some days I believe that God's love is all that matters ... most days I realize that "God loves you just the way you are, but He loves you too much to let you stay that way."

Jesus was a Quarterback!

I went with my youth group to see "Facing the Giants." I am embarrassed by most Christian media. This movie (except for a few, rare touching moments) is not an exception. It was pretty bad. The acting was off, the plot was both predictable and contrived, and there was more than one scene with a glowing field and a man reading scripture.

I'm one of those liberal Christians who doesn't think that football and Jesus are irrevocable intertwined. I just don't think that way. Most of the way through the film (in fact every instance where someone said that they need to praise Jesus in times of sorrow and in times of plenty) I prayed that they would lose a big game - and still admit victoriously that God is good.

Of course, they didn't. They won the big game. If you have Jesus your football team will win. That's why you should accept Jesus, right now. Without Him your football team is screwed! Why can't Christian media ever admit that some days things don't go well - and that's not because of a lack of faith. The movie showed Christians have a really sucky life - then revival broke out and everything was better. Everything.

That's the Christianity we have to offer. If you accept our Christ everything will go perfectly (we promise.) Maybe that's the reason that so many people are fed up with Christianity. We withold the promises of scripture - and make up promises that Jesus never said.

I am officially stating my support for Wesley Clark as the democratic presidential nominee. A Clark/Clinton or Clark/Obama ticket would be an excellent choice for America. Wesley Clark is a strong military hero, a four star general, and a passionate moderate. I think that Clark's foreign policy experience (he lead NATO in the same capacity as Truman), his military experience(vietnam, kosovo, and the 1st gulf war(, coupled with the fact that he has only a small (and generally non-conflicting) voting record as opposed to the senators who would run makes him a great candidate.

Sadly, I can't vote in the primaries (I'm a registered Libertarian) and I don't hold much political clout.

I would also like to recommend Carol Moseley-Braun for a cabinet position in Clark's presidency. Moseley-Braun is the only black, female senator - ever. She is one of 2 blacks to be senators in the 20th century (and was the only Africa-American in the senate during her term.) I really think she is a well spoke and accomplished woman who deserves a cabinet position.

"We're here to celebrate the words of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., not because he spoke them, but because he lived them." - Andrew Young, former Atlanta Mayor, at the groundbreaking ceremonies for the new MLK center.

I realize that I say a lot of things I don't live. Not that I'm dishonest or don't keep my word. I just realized that I say some pretty radical statements but rarely have the life to back them up. I think that Jesus is more radical than the church will ever give him credit for. I think that I should live more radically.

I'm starting to think about these things. It's a start. I'm too afraid to put down anything definite. Because, well - I wouldn't be comfortable doing any of the things that would be radical. I still can't leave my nets. I don't even have nets, yet, to leave. I am in college "building my nets" why do I need to build nets I'm going to leave behind? I understand that training and preparation are important. I don't think I'm ready for anything radical yet. It's sad to admit that.

I recently had a wonderfully justifying dream in which the administration came to "shake down" my room to look for liberal contraband. After they had searched my room and couldn't find anything exceding liberal I opened my bookbag and handed them by Bible. I cooly said, "I think this is what you're looking for."

It was a good dream.

I talked with my grandmother today. I guess she's doing alright, but she doesn't sound well at all. She is really out of it still. I guess that's to be expected. I'm praying for my little cousin. He's going down to visit her tomorrow. I'm praying that he will be able to understand why Grandma's head is cut open ... and also that he can boost her spirits. I am content with the will of God. If my grandmother had died I would have accepted it will praise. My grandparents are finally proud of me. They have the sporty, athletic grandson they always prayed for. I also know beyond a shadow of a doubt that my grandparents love Jesus and have accepted his grace. That's a beautiful thing - beautiful enough to make death a non-issue.

My request to move off campus was denied at the first level and has moved on to the appeals process. I'm still holding out hope and praying for grace.

I'm going to see The Prestige tonight. Hope it's good.

Suddenly I want to go to a High school reunion!

I found my high school year book. It was a fun read. I'm quoted saying that being a senior means ..."it's your last year and you get to pick on freshmen." Now, no one I know would believe that I pick on freshmen. Why would I say that? And, since I was in Russia for the second half of Senior year I'm really wondering if someone just made that up.

I started thinking about what I have accomplished since I left high school. I have spent a total of less than 50 days in "good ole General Kane, PA." I have worked at two church camps and almost earned almost 50 credit hours of college credit. (having completed my 47th credit hour at the end of this semester means I almost earned almost 50 credit hours.) I have learned a great deal about Jane Austen, lived with no fewer than 10 different people, put several hours into a new church plant, started a drama ministry, worked with youth, and made tremendous friends.

I have also lost touch with a lot of old friends, been majorly sick more than in the rest of my life, and haven't seen my mother for more than a week at a time in almost a year. It's been hard but I think it will end up being worth it.

I want to go to a reunion now, because no one has accomplished anything. Other than a few kids having fornicated their way into parenthood or worked their way into a steady job, no one has accomplished much of anything. Except, we have all grown. I have grown a tremendous amount since leaving home. I imagine that the rest of my class has grown as well.

I feel that I have been keeping a secret. I will hopefully get my letter in the mail tomorrow from my parents and will be able to send in my request to move off campus. It feels to dissidant. I honestly don't know what will happen if they refuse my request. Here's to my personal happiness. Here's to hoping.

I'm one of those painfully tolerant people. Painful because I am tolerant of everything except intolerance. I realize the full extent of irony contained in my current position - I think I like it. I believe that when we embrace diversity we truly embrace God.

John chapter 1 translated into Spanish says that in the beginning was the verb ... not the word, but the verb. In Irian Jaiya Jesus became the "sweet potato of life" because in their culture they don't eat bread, only sweet potatoes. I believe that we will never fully understand the Bible until it has been translated into every language. I believe that we learn more truth about God from every culture. I am disgusted because the church I love so dearly leaves no room for diversity. I consider it a heavy sin issue that there isn't a single black person in my church.

I find that a difference in theological opinions is a beautiful thing. I get worried when a church has no diversity theologically. I love diversity.

Bill, if I remember correctly you once posted(or preached or conversed) about a friend who went to a tolerance training meeting where everyone had to go around the table and discuss how they had become more tolerant. When it was his turn he explained that he had become less tolerant - but more loving. I like that story. I love considering myself a tolerant person - in a postmodern world you have to be or no one will listen to you ... but I think in reality I handly my tolerance with love.

I realize now how intirely cynical I become when I get sick. I won't lie. It sucks to have pneumonia. I sucked the last time I had it and it sucks this time around. I was hoping (yesterday, before the doctor appointment) that I was just delusional and that the doctor would laugh at me and excuse my silliness by explaining that I had a soar throat because of _________ (blank.)

So, I'm on lavaquine, again. Let's hope it works this time. My friend Dustin dropped me off and picked me up. I'm not well enough to drive myself. I was in the doctor's office for over 2 hours. I got to take him out for steak afterwards. I really enjoy dinner conversations over steak. All dinner conversations are nice, but when a conversation is over a steak dinner - it's amazing. You can talk about anything and everything over steak. I love eating steak for this reason alone. It's a beautiful conversation food. We talked about our families - it was cathartic.

Well, my grandmother's surgery went well. I'm going to the doctor today. I haven't told my mother I'm sick again. I hope that I will get a clean bill of health and I will just have to tell her when the insurance check shows up. Idealistic? You bet.

I've come to that point in life where I am content. I realize that worrying isn't going to change anything. I think I would have been okay even if my grandmother had died. I mean, I would have cried a good bit, but it wouldn't have been devastating. I am hoping to get a note from the doctor to move off campus. That would be phenomenal. Here's to hoping I don't have pneumonia again. That would be teh sux.

We talked with a kid in a coffee shop who is young and idealistic. I disagree with a lot of what he said ... but I like the way he said it. I like the days on which I am young and idealistic. I hope for that youthfullness and that sence of hope, on my good days at least.

So, here's to hoping! I raise my glass and propose a toast. To hope!

I want to give up.

My grandmother had an anyurism (sp?) today. I haven't heard anything since this afternoon, so I think she's okay. I was trying to plow through the 50 pages of Jane Austen I still need to finish when I realized. I don't care anymore.

I'm starting to get sick, again. I went out for coffee with friends and we started talking to a kid from the falls. He was arguing about doctrine and I realized. I don't care anymore.

I can't confront anyone. About anything. I just deal with emotion and my emotionalism. I just want to put my head down and cry. It hurts to breath, again. I just don't care about my classes. I enjoy them ... but they don't mean anything to me. I don't even want to begin thinking about my Jane Austen term paper. I don't care anymore.

I wonder what's so bad about crying? Why does everyone put up so many stigmas about it? Why can't guys cry? I'm going to go cry myself to sleep. I will probably wake up to write my Austen paper tomorrow.

I'm praying for peace, grace, health, my grandmother, and my best friend's girlfriend - Bobby. Pray with me.

All I know about Gerald is that he had been in prison for a number of years before he gave his life to Christ. According to him he had "worked for satan for so long" he didn't know anything other than that. We discussed the temptation to sin. Gerald told us about one of his temptations to sin this week. He was at a hardware store - one with jacked up prices - and he was buying two connector pieces. He had bought them a few months earlier for another project and they had been 2.50 each. This time they were $5 a piece. He had been in prison for stealing. It wouldn't be anything new to him. But, Jesus convicted him. See, a mexican boy works for him - and this mexican boy wants to learn about Jesus. And, he knew that the mexican boy would have a lot of questions if Gerald bought one connector and then produced two at the job sight. So, Gerald didn't steal the connectors. Gerald talked about living under Grace and not under the law.

I've figured it out this way. I'm not sure if I'm right, theologically, but I know it helps me to understand. We are all little kids playing out in the yard. The church (and Toccoa Falls) tries to put up a fence around the yard. It's a way to contain the kids so they don't run out into the street and get smashed by a car. That's the law. It's a fence that keeps us from running into the road. Sometimes that fence is very confining. At TFC that fence is built a good hundred yards from the road. We are trapped. God doesn't need a fence. He's out in the yard playing with the little kids. He makes sure that they know that the road is bad and dangerous. He gives the kids plenty of room to run and have fun - but he's always watching out for their safety. That's living under Grace.

The Law: A fence, meant to contain us and stop us from doing bad.
The Grace: A Father who keeps his children safe by playing with them and encouraging them to do good.

Gerald never dealt well with the fences the church put up. It was the only thing they could do, though. Gerald has a lot more fun and enjoys his life now that he is out on the field playing with God. It's how grace works.

It's been a while since I've blogged about a lot of the things I have been thinking about. Here are a random compilation of my thoughts, musings, and life:

I was watching Sesame Street with my children (the Kindergarten class I work with) and they were at an art museum. Oscar the Grouch found a display of broken statues and sang a song about how much he loved them, how they were broken and shattered and pieces were missing, but that he loved them anyway and thought that they were beautiful. It reminded me of how we as humans are broken and shattered and pieces are missing and yet Christ loves us and thinks we're beautiful. I see so much brokeness in the lives of people around me - and I know that Christ thinks they are all beautiful.

I talked with a man from my Sunday School class about the contemporary service at my church. He is a great guy and really loves the Lord. He is upset that people eat and drink during the worship times (I will continue to stuff my face, but in a more worshipful manner) I asked him how he can support drinking coffee during Sunday School hour. I didn't want to have to trap him, but it's a silly argument that he supports. He was also upset at how the youth dressed for worship. I understand his point - but I explained that it is the fashion and I would rather have the youth there and not dressed appropriately than to have them not there at all. He agreed. Pete was 50 years old when he first married. He started coming to church after he retired - so I think he is new to the faith. There's a lot of enthusiasm there which is lacking in some of the other older adults.

One of the girls in the kindergarten class I work with talks nonstop. She never shuts up. The kids were working on a beaded craft project and after I was done reading to some kids I went over to work on the art project with them. She was sitting there, having accomplished absolutely nothing on her own beaded craft project, telling everyone else how they should do there projects. She didn't even have one bead on but she felt justified to go around the room and "teach" all of the students who were half finished how to do the project. It made me so angry. It made me angry because I do it. I tell people how to live out their faith - even though I sometimes suck at it. I'm a hypocrite as often as anyone else. I've been thinking a lot about this.

I don't know how important marriage is to me. I see a lot of people who are single and who have a lot more free time, can do whatever they want, and can work a lot more for the kingdom. My friend Ricky has 8 kids. He can't really just pick up and go overseas as a missionary. If he was single he would be able to do that. I don't want a wife and kids to hold me back. I want a wife (and possibly kids) who would be flexible enough to go wherever God sends us. I still want to get married, but it's not a focus anymore. I have also decided that when I am overseas I want to send my kids to a British "public" (aka private) school. I'm sure it will be expensive, but it will be the best education in the world and I won't have to worry about them in a violent nation or that they are not being educated in an MK school.

I made my English Lit professor cry today. They were tears of laughter, but it was still such an oddity. I think we were mocking one of the characters in Northanger Abbey and it just became funny enough that she had to dab tears away. I love my Jane Austen class and right now could fail it and still feel like I accomplished a lot in it.

I have written my appeal to move off campus. I will probably wait until I get a yeah or neh from the administration before I discuss it with my roomate. I just think it is best for my mental health. I praise God for my church, friends, and pastors who have been so much help to me during this trying time in my faith walk and life. I'm never taking steroids again - I can't deal with mood swing inducing medicine well. My church has been so amazingly supportive. I am also thankful that I have parents who, although firm, are willing to understand that comprimise had to happen for my own well being and are allowing me to search for an off campus apartment.

I talked with Rachel about my father. I explained why we don't get along and all of the problems. I told her about being raised by a single parent and how hard that was for my mom. I told her that my dad never tossed me a ball. In my 19 years he has never thrown anything for me to catch other than car keys! It's such a simple thing and it has affected me greatly. I had never been willing to openly admit that. It was cathartic.

I'm reading "In Cold Blood" by Truman Capote. I love his writing style. I read a lot of his writing over fall break. In one piece he explains (by way of a two-person monologue!) his views on faith. He reveals that he really struggled with the idea of a loving God. He believed in God and even loved God, but he had a terrible time believing that God love him and was willing to forgive him. While research for this about the murder of a Methodist family in Kansas he met a lot of God fearing folk. You can tell that initially he dismissed it, but after a while he was intrigued by their simple faith. I hope that my simple faith is enough to make people curious about my Savior.

If you read all of this, welcome to my life. Thank you for joinging me for such a long time. If you read all of this - well, you probably love me a lot. Thank you.

The Fringe sat around a grouping of tables. Every person leaning in towards the woman speaking. Landa talked with us about every area of our lives and how to apply Christ to each area of said lives. There's nothing fantastic about Landa L. Cope. She is an older woman with short spikey hair and black-rimmed glasses. Her smoker's laugh and scrunched up smile are laughable. And yet everyone, the dozen people who refuse to identify themselves with the main-line Christianity so prevalent on TFC, all sat around her drinking coffee, leaning in, and doing everything in their power to not miss a word.

She hasn't said anything new (except the word "boob," which I imagine has never been said in the chapel before.) Her points are insightful, but not extraordinary. So what sets this woman apart from all of the other chapel speakers? We talked about sex for probably half an hour. We laughed heartily (she made a joke alluding to the fact that God made our arms long enough for self-exploration - and how funny it would be if our arms weren't long enough), but she came to the same conclusions that all of the obese, white, old, male preachers have come to. What makes us so compelled.

I think it's the Holy Spirit. There's something extraordinary about the way she presents herself - extra enough to let everyone know that this isn't Landa we are seeing, but rather Christ Jesus himself. So, I had coffee today with Jesus. Actually, quite a few Jesuses. (The plural of Jesus? Jesi?) Around that table sat quite a few people in whom I see our Savior on a daily basis.

I have a renewed hope. I want people to see the Savior in me.

Pete asked me if I could play the piano for Sunday school. I've been practicing daily, I hope to be able to play the hymns for Sunday school by January.

We sang a hymn of no extraordinary regard. Alma was sick today and Sam led the singing time. Sam is a tall, old man with ears too big for not only his head, but his whole body. His entire being is curved so that from the side he looks like a big S - perfect for any sitting position, but rather peculiar standing behind a ram-rod straight podium.

Monteen Brown requested the next hymn, "Rescue the Perishing." Monteen often requests that everyone call her Aunteen. She remained single all of her life, and it's important for her to feel that she has family. Her father and mother both died of Alzheimer's disease. She cared for both of them through the difficult sickness. Her siblings have all suffered and died from Alzheimer's. She always remembers even me, a college kid she sees once a week. It is a statistical oddity that she doesn't have Alzheimer's yet. She is proud of her years of service at "Belk's" department store. She feels that caring for her parents and watching out for her nieces and nephews is God's ministry in her life. She sits with the college kids who sit by themselves.

Aunteen never married, never moved away from home, never made any serious money, and never raised any children of her own. By so many standards of this world she failed. By God's standards she has been an amazing success.

Rescue the perishing, care for the dying, snatch them in pity from sin and the grave; weep o'er the erring one, lift up the fallen, tell them of Jesus, the mighty to save.

Rescue the perishing, care for the dying;Jesus is merciful, Jesus will save.

Though they are slighting him, still he is waiting, waiting the penitent child to receive; plead with them earnestly, plead with them gently; he will forgive if they only believe.

Rescue the perishing, duty demands it; strength for thy labor the Lord will provide; back to the narrow way patiently win them; tell the poor wanderer a Savior has died.

I'm sad. I'm frustrated. I doubt.

That's my cycle. That's how things work.

It makes me sad that people at a Christian College feel they have accomplished "Christian Community" by living with other guys and taking a yearly trip together. I'm frustrated that I had to be in the picture of the men of my building (I didn't even know the names of some of the people on the other side of the building.) And I doubt that Christian community is a real thing. I see myself chasing a white rabbit down its hole only to find a world that bears no resonance with the real one. I've found that Christian community only seems to work at the exclusion of non-Christian community. That's not Biblical.

It makes me sad that people can hinder the Gospel by a narrow interpretation of obscure references with multiple possible explanations. I'm frustrated with people who have no room left in their theologies for God to move. And I doubt the Bible. I see a Bible that we have deified, made a graven image of, and used to support hate for centuries. Whether it is inerrant or not doesn't matter to me most days - only if it's worth it to pick up my Bible and try and read a page or two.

I'm sad that people won't look me in the eye. I'm frsutrated that people will end a conversation when I say something uncomfortably liberal. (I understand that I sometimes cross the line of decency.) And I doubt whether I want to be grouped with these people who call themselves Christians at Toccoa Falls. If I can't be forgiven for being a liberal (Christ has forgiven me of all of my sins) by other Christians, why should I count myself among their number?

I'm sad. I'm frustrated. I doubt.

It's how things usually go. I'm praying for grace, peace, and understanding. Pray with me.

It was during the summer before my freshman year in high school that I, at church camp, went to my counselor and confessed that I "struggled" with masturbation. I knew that I was the only boy on the face of the earth who masturbated almost daily. Once I had even done it 6 times in a day. I had a serious problem and needed to confess.

Now that I'm older (and old enough to do a Wikipedia search on masturbation without giggling and turning red) I realize that I was not alone. Ever. I've started talking with people honestly about masturbation. One kid did it 12 times in one day. Wikipedia says that more than half of all guys masturbate daily. I was normal - so incredibly normal.

I admitted my "sin" to the guys I was staying with that week. They all supported me and showed me a lot of love - but I still felt so alone. I was the only one in that room man enough to admit my "sin." Probably half of the guys there struggled much more than I did. None would admit it. I lasted 3 months before I masturbated again. I was so ashamed that day. I thought that I had failed God and could never be taken back.

I was so wrong then. God took me back (I hope no one is shocked) and continues to love me. I realize how incredibly normal I am. I realize how incredibly often God takes all of us back.

I think that the church needs to be more honest and to openly address the issue of masturbation. I am going to let my children know that it is completely normal (and healthy, maybe.)

On diseases and evangelizism

The woman who taught Sunday school said that since she was a little girl her prayer was that she would take one new person to heaven with her for each year she was alive. It's an ambitious prayer. I think that often we don't see the fruits - and sometimes we play a huge role and never know it. I have personally "led" 4 people to Christ. I prayed the prayer with 4 people. I can't help but think that when I get to heaven I will find out just what an impact I made. I don't count any of the people from my mission trips where we did street evangelism. I don't count any of my friends who I have helped through difficult times. Our system only counts the person who prays the "sinner's prayer" with the sinner. Our system is thoroughly un-Biblical. The "sinner's prayer" isn't in the Bible. Paul discusses planting the seeds, watering, and harvesting - but God makes it grow.

I think of my mother. I don't think she has ever personally "led anyone to Christ." I think this because she is pretty shy and because I think she would have told me about it. However, I know a lot of families in church who are there because they saw that my mother lived live differently. They saw the peace of Christ in her life and wanted that for themselves - so they go to church now. Thinking only of the kids in youth group and their respect for my mother - they all know from where her joy flows.

Most students at TFC prayed the "sinner's prayer" when they were small children. Their parents had them pray the prayer. My mom never did that. She lived her life boldly for Christ - and always gave Him the glory. She made sure that my sister and I went to events where we were given the chance to make a decision for Christ when we were old enough.

(and now for the diseases) 7 kids in the kindergarten class I work with are out of school with pink eye. No one made an intentional effort at giving pink eye away. A sick person was in proximity of non-sick people.

I honestly believe that if Christians would just interact on a daily basis with non-Christians the world would be drastically different. I'm ready to go outside of the 4 walls of my church.

I love Maya Angelou. Her book is one in which I become angry that I'm nearing completion. Her writing is mezmorizing, her style hypnotic, and her verbosity unreal. She can spin a metaphor like no one else.

A man at church told me the story of integrating schools in his southern city in the 60s. He was one of the white kids who went to a black school. We always hear about the black kids who were brave enough to march into all white schools. I was fascinated to hear Jeff talk about being bussed to an area of town he had never been to before to go to an (formally) all black school. He had to give up all of the modern equipment his white school had. He told me that they passed the bus full of black kids going to the white school. The white bus was silent when they pulled up to the school building. I think my church needs to work on racial diversity more.

I had a great day, the drama group did excellent with the skit (it was the talk of the day), and I had a lot of fun with my friends swinging in the evening. I love being Methodist.

I watched "Dahmer" last night. It was pretty chilling. I can't help feeling for the lost and hurting of this world after watching a movie like that. It's just who I am. I was walking around Wal-Mart today just thinking about how miserable people's lives are. So many people are completely trapped. That's why I'm a Methodist. I think that we have a healthy emphasis on a freeing grace that can only be given by God.

None of the professors at Toccoa Falls feel that we need to earn grace. Not one. So, why do we live our lives that way. It doesn't matter what you think. Theology doesn't make you happy. It only matters how we live. I pray that my life can touch the lives of people who need God's grace.

Milestone! 150 blogs! Yeah, I'm pretty prideful, but I'm not going to involve Jesus in the matter - I think He wants me to work it out myself. After I get rid of all the sin in my life I will go to Jesus. (Sarcasm, note the sarcasm.)

I've been thinking about my great aunt Mabel's last will and testament. No, not because it paid for my college. I've been thinking about it because it was filled with love. I have been running a comparison of it and my grandmother's will.

In my grandmother's will everything went to her children. If they were dead it by-passed their spouses and went right to any grandchildren. If there were none it went to cousins. There was no way my mother or my uncle Terry would get a dime. My mother and uncle are both wonderful Christian people who showed nothing but kindness to my bitter grandmother.

Aunt Mabel's will had the money going to her nieces and nephews. If my father had already died, his share was to be given to "Debbie Airgood, of whom I love dearly." Of Whom I Love Dearly. O'WILD. The same line was put beside everyone she mentioned in her will. It was all true. She loved everyone dearly.

I've started referring to a lot of my friends as "Lover." It's refreshing. I've been trying to love more openly - I think it's working. It hasn't been easy taking less for myself and giving more away. It helps if I refer to people as lover. I read, when I was a lowely Freshman, that the largest accusations about the new Christian church was that they were athiests (they weren't praying to a visible God) and that they were homosexuals (they loved each other openly and didn't hide it.) I realized that at my college we had built a lot of idols to represent God. We put up a lot of unatainable moral perfectionisms so that we had something visible to work towards. We also would never be accused of being too loving. Not only would no one think that a Falls student was gay - no one would even think we loved each other. Sad, but true.

I remember in middle school, Jared put a nickel in Ben's locker so that it would get stuck closed. I saw him do it and was really upset that Ben would take the blame. I wrote a note to the principal. He, of course, called me to the office and told me that he had asked Jared and Jared had accused me. I seem to remember being on crutches at the time. The punishment was a day's ISS (In School Suspension). Everyone was talking and taking sides. My mother told me, "Michael, always live your life so that the only things people can say against you are lies. Gossip can't hurt if it isn't true."

I think that this is the greatest lesson I learned in my middle school years. People say a lot of things about me. They are all either lies or something true that I'm proud of.

I want to love openly and honestly - always. I want to be able to list all of my friends some day with "of whom I love dearly" tagged beside their names. I want people to wonder why I love with such intensity, hug so often, and laugh so loudly. I want people to see the love of a Messiah within me. Let them say what they might, I want to love like Christ.

If only I was trying to get man's approval

"Sometimes the things that come out of his mouth are so radical, but then I think about it a while and I think, 'That's just what Jesus would say." - Saint Debbie the Meek

"I know how much we disagree on everything, but his heart's in the right place and I know that he really loves people. So, I'm glad that you're friends with him." - Rachel's Independent Fundamentalist Baptist mother about our friendship

"You just communicate so effectively through your blog. I want to say something, but it never comes out right ... and then you blog about it and it's perfect. We're like Moses and Aaron." - Bekke, my sister.

"I was reading your blog. Do you know whose writing style you remind me of? Donald Miller." - Tony Trussoni's roomate, Daniel.

So, I need to re-double my efforts to be a scandalous liberal that no one wants to talk to. I need to say more liberal things and love more boldly. It will take some work, but I'll become a scandal again.

In unrelated news I have two CLEP tests today. 6 credit hourse in 5 hours. Hooray! I am really excited about both tests. Keep me in your prayers. Hannah-Joy is praying for me ... and you should, too.

I have been practicing the piano daily for a week. My back is killing me, but I have "Christ the Lord is Risen Today" down. I'm so happy. I can play both hands on "Jesus loves Me." I'll get there eventualy I hope to be able to play the piano for my Sunday School class by next semester. Here's to hoping and renewed interest in practicing.

Some days I'm oh so insightful. Other days ... not so much so.

I'm plagued with apathy, bitterness, and an odd sense of being tired even though I'm well rested.

I'm eating Matzos right now. It's a huge ol' chunk of Jesus. This, my friend, is the left overs of one communion ceremony that my friends had. I'm really enjoying eating it.

It's bland and there's a whole lot of it. There are so many practical ideas to place on this ... but I just keep thinking about how bland the jesus is that so many people here worship. Too many falls students have sterilized and censored everything Jesus really was. I'm going to keep eating this Matzos. It's bland, but it's better than nothing. I think that the Jesus I worship is a lot more comparable to Doritos.

My Sunday School class had just finished up our second hymn. We only had the services of the organist for a few minutes and two hymns was usually our limit. The second hymn fit the lesson plan but was unfamiliar to most; Alma, the hymn leader, and I were the only voices that could be heard singing strongly. We finished up and closed our hymn books. From the back of the class Pete piped up and asked, "Alma, ... 17?" She grinned gently and nodded. Pete, an older man who often wore a bright green suitcoat and looks as though he spent many years "building his testimony" before he came to Christ, was filled with joy. His eyes glowed and danced simaltaneously, like fireworks, and he smiled so wide that his gums showed more than is proper in polite society.

I flipped furiously to see which song could hold so much weight to this man I knew so little about. "We all need it and Christ gives it freely" he said with much joy and satisfaction. I found the page - Amazing Grace, of course! We sang loudly and slightly off tempo. It was marvelous.

We had prayer requests and, after the lengthy discourse of the ill and dying in their age bracket, I gave a praise for the children's event we had held the night before.

We had a fall harvest party: story time in the pumpkin patch, fall foods, and "Trunk-or-Treat" in the back parking lot. My friends and I had made a haunted house/maze out of three cars ( I will blog in depth about this I hope.)

Virginia Smith, the grandmother of one of my senior high campers from this summer, said quitely, "Michael, we appreciate what you do." It meant a lot to me. Her kind words would probably keep me active at a heightened level for another month or two.

Dr. Pittard, a highly respected man whose hands shake gently and whose signature is almost illegible - I imagine from Parkinsons, asks the class to specifically keep the idea of Stem Cell Research in mind during the election season. He doesn't like to discuss politics (and we don't in class) but this went beyond politics - this was life.

The teacher was a man from Coudersport, PA who spoke openly and lovingly about Grace - and why we aren't under the law. It was very encouraging. Going to the Falls I need to hear a good sermon about Grace at least once a week.

After Sunday School Virginia stopped me to tell me that her grandson, Spencer, was going to go live with his father. She will give me his new address. "You meant a lot to him. He really misses you - we appreciate what you do," she added.

Sometimes people ask me why I go to the Curtis Trogdon Wesley class (it used to be called "Pairs and spairs" until everyone was well into his or her fifties.) Why do I sit each week with people whose hair is bluer than the sky? It just makes sense to me. It makes so much sense. I love these people and they love me in return.

So, I've decided that I want to be a bohemian. I belong with these people. Their life goal is to live counterculturally. The message of Jesus is very countercultural. I don't know why I have such a sudden fascination with these people. I'm not even artistic ... but, I want to (at some point) become a missionary to the bohemians.

I want to go somewhere that people are searching for freedom, truth, beauty, and love ... and take them Jesus Christ - who embodies all of those things and so much more. It just makes such logical sense.

In a completely unrelated note; I'm really happy. I was with my friend Robyn today. Robyn is skinny as a stick. Almost all of my friends are skinny. I use to seek out other fat people so I wouldn't feel fat. I realized today that I don't even notice weight when talking to people. I am sitting on a couch with 2 guys whose combined weight doesn't come close to equalling my own ... and i realize that I'm okay with that. It feels good.

"If you think you've "arrived" in your Christian faith ... well, you probably need to go stand in the NOT section."

We're still talking about the chapel I didn't go to. Not that I go to any chapels; I'm far too dissolutioned with chapel to perhaps ever attend again. But in one particular chapel people were asked to stand and congregate where they felt they were in their faith. Hot, What?, or Not.

This weird categorization system can only show two things. How emotional you are about your faith or how much of your faith depends on you. If your faith is entirely emotion - then you can fool yourself into thinking that you are living the perfect sinless life. Ultimately you can control your emotions ... and whether you admit your shortcomings or not is the only determining factor to keep you away from the HOT section. If you feel that you need to earn your salvation by doing good things, and feel that you have succeeded at this sufficiently to stand in the HOT section ... well, you probably need to move over, far over.

The people who truly deserve to stand in the HOT section (ridiculous terminology) deserve to stand there because they don't feel worthy to stand there. How cruelly ironic for the people proudly standing in the HOT section, proving once and for all, that they think so highly of themselves that they don't deserve what they so desperately want. The first shall be last and the last shall be first.

I heard that a humble few went and stood in the NOT sectin. I'm proud of them. I don't know if I would have had the courage. Blessed are the poor in spirit. This speaker kept pointing at those people to demonstrate where people shouldn't go - how they shouldn't act.

And what about the center? It shouldn't exist - at least not so poorly phrased of a center. We are all on an equal footing with other Christians. The ground is level at the foot of the cross (yes, I realize that Jesus was crucified on a hill and this statement is wrong, but I like it anyway). Our Christian walk is filled with mountain highs and valley lows. We grow as Christians in those valleys. Our faith is proven to us by a God of love who sends us into a valley just shallow enough to not be deep enough to kill us.

I was in a valley for 7 years. I prayed so long for a mountain top experience. Just long enough to realize that I don't need to have a mountain top experience for God to be real in my life. It took me 7 years to realize that truth. I thank God for those 7 years in the valley.

I was sitting in the Toccoa public library. I had gone there to escape my roomate, read some Jane Austen, and borrow a Maya Angelou book. I sat in a comfortable leather chair to read my books. I began by opening I know why the caged bird sings and started reading. I wasn't more than a half page into the book when a bright, bouncy, black boy ran around the corner into the reading room and began talking to me. He tried sitting in a leather chair similar to my own. He slithered out and complain about the chairs being too slippery. I made small talk, but continued reading my book. Maya wrote about her wish to be a blonde haired white girl. The boy would hide behind things and jump out to suprise me.

I finally decided that I had to get some Jane Austen reading done. I closed my pleasure read and opened my homework. Immediately the little black boy walked away. He went and hid behind a bookshelf. I waited patiently for him to jump out at me. He started whispering in a ghostly voice. I couldn't decipher what he was saying. He stayed there until I left several chapters later. He never returned to talk to me; just stayed hidden and whispered.

My ability to offer grace is almost as bad as my grammar.

Death

I followed a funeral procession today ... for miles. I started thinking about death. More specifically how a Christian response to death shows a lot to non-Christians about how we live our lifes.

A TFC girl died last Thanksgiving. The first two eulogies were sad, tearful events about our beloved Mary. The third girl stepped up to the podium with an awkwardly misplaced smile, more befitting a carnival entrance than a memorial service. She said, "My uncle died last week. Mary found me crying and told me, 'your uncle was a Christian. He's in heaven. Stop crying. We're going out dancing.' So, I'm not going to cry. I'm going out dancing."

I don't want people to cry at my funeral. If I died while at TFC I would want Pastor Andy to do my memorial service for the student body. I would want him to preach the most awkwardly liberal message ever (about why we all need the Holy Spirit because without Her life sucks.) I would want Dustin to go to the microphone and tell the people that I don't want them to cry. I want them to go out dancing. Then, he would mischieviously bend towards the mic until his lips were touching it and shout, "Bump and grind people, Bump and grind!"

As our beloved former Pope, JPII said, "We are an Easter people, and Hallelujia is our song!" I'm an Easter person - when life sucks I remember that we serve a living savior. My song is a happy one. When I am dead and gone, I want you to go dancing. Bump and grind people, Bump and grind.

The neighbor boy and I used to compete against each other. It was always a mental and conversational game. Alex would say something and then I would be expected to top that. He could usually top whatever I said - he was better at lying than I was.

One day we discussed our families' faith. We discussed primarily from the angle of how involved in church our parents were. Our mothers were both organists. Mine counted the offering and his led Bible Studies. My father worked in the sound booth. His father was a lay speaker. It came to a truce - neither won, ever.

Looking now through eyes that no longer enshroud truth with idealistic fantasies I understand how silly our arguments were. I don't think of my parents as super heroes any more. I realize how little faith my father had. He stopped working in the sound booth when they built a new, professional sound center. His hypocrisy was first shown to me when he refused to work in the new setting. He wasn't opposed to progress - just who thought of the idea for the progress.

My father still walks out of church when confronted with a person he doesn't like inside. My father still sadly compares his sin to others' with the sole hope of finding someone worse than himself. It is only in this action that he can justify his own sinfulness.

I don't understand how my father has lived with my mother for 25 years without realizing that authentic faith in Christ is what he needs to be happy. My mother is the greatest disciple of Christ I have ever met. She said crappy when I was nine; her only identifiable sin. Debbie lives out her faith in a way that I have never seen anyone else do. Every morning she reads her Bible and then practices the organ and has worship time with God. She prays diligently for everyone she encounters and loves lavishly. And, somehow that faith has never transferred to my father. He is quite content in his sin and religous duties. It's a sad fact, but one worth stating. Going to church and acting holier-than-thou doesn't get you anywhere. Loving Christ wholeheartedly gets you places - like heaven.

I have a hard time forgiving my father for the bad example he set for my sister and I. To the point that I can talk about him in the past tense. When we were kids my sister and I had to sit by ourselves because dad didn't go to church. Now when we are home he makes a big show about going to church - yelling at us for not showing up on time, angrily snorting every time my sister and I whisper to each other, and checking up on Becka's boyfriend to make sure Mike isn't asleep. It makes me hate going to church at home. I go to support mom. I want her to know that I support her, I want my sister and her boyfriend to see people of honest faith worshipping God, and I want to set an example of a Godly man going to church for all the kids there who have fathers who don't go to church.

First: "There's something refreshing about that, about presenting yourself honestly to the world, even if it looks and sounds a bit awkward." - Brian Palmer (Amen!)

Second: "People don't respond to the idea of God these days because when someone mentions God or Christianity, they think of judgmental personalities, The Crusades and guys like Pat Buchanan and Pat Robertson running their mouths. There's a reason people respond to someone like Mother Teresa and it's because she didn't have to say a word about being a Christian. Her actions spoke volumes more than all the words she did say, and that's how we ought to be as well." - Also some guy named Brian Palmer

So here's my dilemma. I think that I'm living for Christ a lot more than ever before in my life. I talk about theology a lot less, now. I mess up - and sometimes I don't really mind my sin - which is inconsistent with some of even my own beliefs. I give generously. I have love, joy, peace, patience (it fades in and out), kindness, goodness(so, maybe I could lose a few "your mom" jokes), gentleness, faithfullness, and ... (well, maybe self control is coming next). So, why don't people ask me as often where my source of hope comes from?

I secretly hope that people will ask me that question. Maybe it's selfish. Maybe that's part of the problem, but really - people use to ask me that question. It happens rarely, now. Christians ask me why I smile so much, friends ask me how I'm so free, and non-Christians ask me why I smile so much. But, where does my hope come from? I don't hear it anymore. Am I showing signs of hopelessness? I don't think so.

I am more of a servant now than I have ever been before. Tipping Huddle House employees well doesn't draw crowds, praying for revival in my walk-in closet (big enough to require wall art to discourage depression from blank walls) doesn't garner world-fame, and doing the dishes at Joe's house after the Church meets doesn't make me famous. Being the fearless high-school kid who bravely (selfishly?) traveled the globe to proclaim the name of Christ brings glory, leading youth group brings credit, and praying aloud in church after a service about our life brings awe. I'm learning the lesson that the life of Christ isn't a glamorous one. Jesus was never elected to office, he never called us to greatness in a traditional sense - just death; daily. I'm working on it.

There is going to be a Revival near Toccoa. I've seen signs hung up around town for it. There's one in McDonalds and one on campus. They scheduled the Holy Spirit at least 3 months in advance and if He doesn't show up they are going to be totally pissed at His agent. I'm sorry. I shouldn't speak so much blasphemy. Many places schedule revival services. They had one at the First Alliance Church, not an actual revival mind you, but a scheduled set of services labeled revival. There's a big red sign that says "REVIVAL" with an arrow. The church was at the end of a dead end street - the advertisement directly under the sign that said as much.

I'm not entirely certain where this particular Revival is going to take place or whether they booked the Holy Spirit. I wouldn't have noticed it except that there is a sign in every fast food joint except "The Huddle House." The House de la Huddle is a southern restaurant a lot like Waffle House, but a whole bunch sleazier. I would recommend you google it, but you might get herpes. It is a chain "greasy spoon." Shocking, grotesque really; but I love it there. The one in Toccoa still has a bullet hole above the grill from the last shootout. The cops always show up when I'm there. Everyone is outside smoking thanks to the new Georgia Anti-Smoking Ban, but you formerly swam in Tobacco smoke. They have manufactured mediocrity. I'm there at least once a week.

The people at the Huddle House don't know Jesus. Oh, they know about Him - they're southerners - everyone here knows about Jesus. But, none of the people at Huddle House show that they have a relationship with Him. I take friends there for the cultural experience. I try to tip very well - regardless of the service.

I get two visuals of the church when I'm at the Huddle House:

One is how we do church - mediocrity being the rule and not the exception. I read once about a man doing a song and guitar piece as a church solo - stopping mid song to re-tune and then continueing again out of tune. This isn't abnormal. We do things in a very sloppy fashion in our churches. We don't put a lot of pride in our ministry for God. Sometimes our churches represent Huddle House - and that's bad.

The other visual is for whom we do church. That Revival service wasn't advertised at Huddle House because they didn't want those people at their revival. I pray for, and know most of the staff, by name. They know that I go to the falls, and that means I'm a Christian. They also know I tip well and give generously. I hope that someday I can share my faith with some of the workers there. I hope that my life will have been an effective enough witness. Sometimes for whom we do church looks a lot like Huddle House - and that's good.

I'm reading a book about Jane Austen. I feel that I live inside Jane Austen's world - which is a pretty scary statement. The first chapter explains how Jane's nephew and other relatives tried to white-wash her until she was a friendly, insipid woman - a "dear Aunt Jane" - who never had much desire of anythign to become of her writing hobby. It is really interesting to see how scandalous her life must have been. She accepted and then refused a marriage proposal from a very wealthy man (a certain Mr. Big-Whither, no joke), she wrote about women gaining the upper hand in things, and wrote letters and reviews of critics that would make any proper woman blush.
I hope that no one tries to white-wash my life. I hope that the case can't be properly made against me of being a dull, uncaring Christian in America. I hope that when they write the biographies about me they tell of a youth who longed to serve Christ beyond the superficial North America paradigm. I hope that it is written that I fought against society to stand up for what I believed in. I hope that they write that I struggled with a lot of doubt. I hope that they never will write about my "super-faith," because it doesn't exist. I hope that I'm never thought of as a saint. I hope that people continue to see Christ in me, and at the same time I hope that they see a sinful, broken man. It's a paradox, I know, and one which I hope I can be an example of.
"Most days I don't even know." I stole that from Rachel's Facebook wall. It's the truth. I realize that my current mood swings come from my former steroid use (I just wanted to say that) but; some mornings I want to take Christ to the nations, and other mornings I want to take my faith in Him to the dumpster. They could white-wash that away easily, but it would mortify me.
There are certain things I want my grandchildren to know. I want them to know that all of my life I struggled with doubt - and that ultimately I chose Christ as my Saviour. Yes, Christ chose me ... but I had to choose to accept that gift - and I did. I hope that this fact alone is never washed away. I hope that if the only thing my grandkids know about me is this fact, well, I will die a happy old man.
I still want to change the world. I still want to hold on to Christ. I still want to love the Bible. I just struggle with these things. Praise God.

Well, I'm feeling much better now. I found out today that all of my symptoms are present because the side effects of my steroids won't go away for another week or two. I'm really glad. We are going to do a blood sugar level test to make sure that everything is alright, but I feel a lot better.
I went and talked to my advisor - who happens to be the head of the School of World Missions. We talked for a half hour and I told him that I had this school, being surrounded by hypocrites, feeling condemned for my "heretical" beliefs, and that I hate the Bible. He made me feel a lot better about things - and we are going to meet together to read the Bible twice a week. He is probably the most liberal professor on campus, and is giving me a chance to say whatever I want without feeling condemned. I told him in advance that I was on medicine and wasn't allowed to make any major decisions. I feel much better about things now.
I went to a creationism symposium that the school offered. It was interesting. Maybe next year they will bring in a whack job liberal who believes in evilution. Although I feel clostraphobic in the bubble - maybe I will learn to appreciate it.
I won't finish reading Mansfield Park. I'm going to cut my losses and start working on Northanger Abby. I'm teaching a lesson about it and am already getting nervous. I have the least insightful comments - ever - about Jane Austen's writing. I read on such a surface level, which is probably why I enjoy reading. I can get by in a conversation without analyzing anything. It's a great talent. I analyze later - when I blog.

Well, I'm going to go see the nurse in the morning. I think I am finally showing signs of having the same disease that afflicts my father. I'm having some side effects that dad has from his diabetes. I have mood swings, I get angry and bitter, and I judge everyone around me for all of their sins.
I had a really bad day today. I got really angry at God and told him I didn't want to deal with him anymore. I'm glad that my God takes me back - daily. I decided that I didn't want to come back to TFC next year. I decided this a long time ago, but I believe it now. I just feel that if I don't get out of here soon I'm going to lose what shreds of faith I have left.
Day in and day out I am surrounded by hypocrites. Not my friends, I love my friends. People don't look me in the eye anymore. That makes me die inside. I can't even explain how ridiculous that sounds to me, but it's the truth. I hate the Bible now - I don't want to pick it up off my floor. How do you suck all the life and vitality out of something so powerful? By forcing students to summarize every chapter in the whole book. Why do we keep offering sinners Hell - why do people keep offering ME Hell? Why do people who never talk to me doubt my salvation?
So, I'm going to go talk to the nurse about getting tested. I don't want to be like my father - ever. I want to get on the right medication and get out of this depressed state. Either way, I'm going to be praying really hard about leaving Toccoa. I'm going (hopefully) to Kazahkstan this summer. I want to make it a year long trip. I hope that if I can get out of the bubble for just a year maybe I can face it again. I want to get off the ark.

"I have a soul that comes out too late." - Robyn Bone.
My friend Robyn and I were discussing morality. I love his quote. There's something about the truth value in the statement which makes it so appealing. I mess up so much. I have done (and recently, too) some things that I don't want to think about - let alone blog about. I sin so very often. I curse like a sailor sometimes and just pray I won't drop the F-bomb while on the phone with my mom. I fail so often to forgive my Bible and Theology professors. I want so badly to cave to my carnal nature and write a big fat letter to Dr. Hildenbrand and explain to him how he has made me hate the Bible. In trying to defend his preciouse ancient text he has painted a picture of such a narrow, unforgiving, unrelenting god - one that I cannot worship. I belive that the bible is the sacred text for a religion that has little to do with Christianity. In the same way that a textbook clip about George Washington has little to do with my freedom. I'm so angry at my professors. They are so caught up getting the "proper theology" across to the students that they no longer see the bruised hearts, bleeding wounds, or blatant doubt which is so rampant at this school. Good job morons - we know the Bible but it doesn't even affect our lives enough to make us want to tell someone about it. I'm teetering somewhere in-between deciding on lifelong celibacy and going out to have promiscous(sp) sex with lots of random partners. These raging hormones - really God?

And all the time I just wish that my soul would show up a little earlier. I want to be consumed by God - but I'm caught between all the legalism/rules and living in sin. There has to be a balance ... and it isn't one that I can make. I realize, ultimately, that I too suck at grace.

We started playing a new game today. We finished out our Old Testament class in utter dismay. Our questions were laughed at and left unanswered. Our viewpoints dismissed. And I just kept my mouth shut because I would be stoned not only by the teacher but also by the class. We learned about the sacrificial lamb and other cleansing of sin practices. In a small circle of friends I discussed my disappointment in the class. I said damn. Eveyrone looked down at the ground shamefully. I was in a group of conservatives. I reached out and touched one of the boys and yelled "UNCLEAN - NO TAG BACKS!" We just kept going and tagging each other while shouting UNCLEAN! We all learned more from that simple game about how sacrifices worked than we had learned in class. To end the game someone who was tagged had to run into the woods away from the people. It was much fun. I think I'm going to keep playing. *Tags* UNCLEAN! NO TAGBACKS!

I sat in a coffee shop reading "The Ragamuffin Gospel" for more than an hour tonight. I am using a "gratis slip" for a bookmark. At TFC we get a thing called gratis (the latin word for grace or free) when we do something bad. It is a $10 fine or one hour of work. I couldn't think of a more ironic bookmark. I'm reading about grace, and the more I read about it the more I think I'm beginning to get it.
Shirley Phelps-Roper was on Foxnews today. She is the daughter of Fred Phelps - pastor of Westboro Baptist Church of Godhatesfags.com fame. She has been on the news several times - views of church members protesting military funerals, ranting about why God hates America, gays, liberals, soldiers, and everyone. "God is Your Enemy" is a favorite sign slogan. I forgave her today. I realized that not only does God not have a special segment of Hell for her father and her, but that God loves her and died for both or them.
That realization was hard for me. If God can love and forgive me, well-hell, God can forgive anyone. There's something freeing about grace. I've been trying to live my life with a lot more grace. I ignore some TFC rules, I buy my friends dinner, I try and forgive rabid conservatives for their ... er ... rabid conservatism.
I have been praying for weeks about applying for a job as a youth director. The boy I went to the Lavonia United Methodist Church with a few Sundays ago was initially so afraid of entering a Methodist church, but he fell in love. He told me that he felt led to apply for the job. I've decided to let him have the job without my competition. It was a "kingdom decision" I hope, but I know that it was a grace filled decision on my part. I really wanted that - and I felt so much confirmation. I have few doubts that soon God will provide a youth ministry for me and that this is God preparing me for that.
I hope that I can keep learning about grace - that God will continue to prepare me for all ministry.