Learning to Love the Monster

Christ said the second greatest commandment is to love your neighbor as yourself.

Now, I don’t know about you, but I’ve always had issues with the commandment to love my neighbor as myself. Loving myself always sounded narcissistic. How was that supposed to work? Shouldn’t I love my neighbors better than myself? Putting others before yourself is the Christian way, right? So how does narcissism fit in with that? Plus, I had other issues.

For most of my life, I’ve felt a little bit like a monster. (Needless to say, I have some massive issues.) I am angry, have issues relating to others, live with some abandonment and insecurities. I have a hard time believing that I am a good person. So how on earth can I love myself?


Ever see Wreck-It Ralph? It's is the story of a computer game villain who gets tired of always being the bad guy and hated by everyone. So he tries to go out and prove that he can be Good. Along the way he makes many friends and realizes that his programmed role as a villain did not mean he was a bad guy. As he says in at the end of the movie, “I don't need a medal to tell me I'm a good guy. Because if that kid likes me... how bad can I be?”

 (And yes, I always cry at that moment. I almost cry at many moments in that movie. You would too.)

The main point of the movie is that you don’t have to be the hero to be a good guy. Your “programming” doesn’t determine who you are.

There's another movie I need to mention too. Have you ever seen The Iron Giant? If not, you need to go see it. NOW.

It  revolves around a 50-100 foot tall giant robot who crash lands on earth and loses all his memory, making him, in essence, a blank slate. He makes friends with a boy who teaches him about life and about what it means to be good.

But it turns out that he’s a highly advanced weapon sent from outer space. Suddenly he has to determine what he is and what he wants to be.

During the movie there is a marked tension between being “Metallo,” the evil robot, or “Superman,” the good guy. And repeated throughout the movie is the phrase, “You are who you choose to be.” When his friend is in danger, and the only way to save the boy is to sacrifice his own life, he chooses to ignore his own programming and decides to be good. He chooses to be Superman. (And yes, I cry watching this movie too. Deal with it.)

Both those movies spoke to my heart. I am not a monster. Whether or not I have issues, I am still a child of God. He still loves me and (hopefully) approves of me. I learned how to accept and love myself. And it was only after I was able to accept myself that I became able to accept others. Only after I began to love myself was I able to love my neighbor.

Loving oneself doesn’t mean being vain and prideful. It means knowing your own faults, your fears, your good and bad qualities, and accepting them as a part of you. It means letting go of trying to be perfect and being okay with who you are instead of who you think you should be.

And believe me, when you do, you will be able to obey the Golden Rule.

A friend came to me recently and told me about his struggles. They weren’t nice. They weren’t pretty. He made mistakes. He was hurting.

Dr. Brené Brown has written extensively about vulnerability and empathy, which I believe are key to loving others as you love yourself. It requires you to see someone else’s hurt and let yourself identify with that hurt. You have to let their pain touch you and hit on something inside yourself.


That doesn’t mean one-upping them. That doesn’t mean sympathizing. It means saying, “I know what that feeling is like. You’re not alone in this pain.” Or if you don’t know, it means admitting that, and not trying to provide answers. As Addie Zierman said in her post “In Defense of the Four-Letter Word,” “it’s more profane to say God never gives you more than you can handle than it is reach across the table, grab [your friend’s] hands, [and swear].”

Loving someone as yourself means you have to be vulnerable, admit your own brokenness, and let another’s brokenness touch yours. It means seeing that you aren't that different from the other person. It means seeing the "monster" in the other person and being willing to admit that you can be a monster too.

Before I learned to love myself, I would have judged my friend. I would have told him that he needs to ask forgiveness for his sins. I would have rejected his broken heart because I would have thought he was stupid to let it break in the first place. (I wasn’t a nice person. I admit that. When you hate yourself, anyone who has a struggle similar to yours is subject to scrutiny and judgment because you fear you might end up just like them.)

But God worked wonders in my heart. I saw his pain and brokenness and it touched my own. Instead of judging him, I loved him even more. I saw him as Jesus did. Broken, but loved. I understood his pain and let myself enter into it. I didn’t shy away because it was close to my own brokenness. I didn’t respond with righteous indignation.

I felt love. And I learned what it means to love your neighbor as yourself.

Writer's Ego

Confession time.

I live with a small voice in my head telling me how awesome I am and how everyone should love what I write.

Sadly, not many people listen to that voice inside my head. (I wonder why….)

It’s the voice inside me that tells me that I need to work harder, do better, and become the best. The ambition to one day be a famous writer/blogger, and have publishers competing to be the one to publish my book. I call him Writer’s Ego. He’s a fun chap to have to deal with all the time. (But more on that later.)
So I go out and publish more and more words, hoping to get noticed…

Aaaaaaaand my post views still end up in the double digits. Sometimes, I’m happy just to make it over 50 views, a rarity itself. (Not saying all of you MUST read my blog from now on. Just speaking reality here.)
Then I see some of my friends writing and people liking so much of their stuff. Enter Ego’s brother, Envy.

He starts out small. He whispers things in my writer’s ear that rake his brother Ego.
“Why does she get all the likes? Why does no one appreciate the words you say?”

Or “Why is he the one every turns to? Why do they look up to him as a writer? You’re just as good a writer.”

I told you he starts small. Ugly, but small. (Envy picture from FullMetal Alchemist: Brotherhood)

He starts out small. But then he and Ego join together and become one giant evil monster of jealous ambition that drives me to do better, not because I want to be my best, but the best.

“YOU MUST WRITE BETTER!! BE FUNNIER, HAVE MORE WISDOM!!! TELL BETTER STORIES WITH BETTER PLOTS AND BETTER CHARACTERS AND BETTER DIALOGUE!!!!  YOU MUST BETHE BEST IF YOU EVER WANT TO AMOUNT TO ANYTHING!!!!!!!!!”

Yeah, he's even uglier when he gets bigger. And more monstrous and unmanageable. (Picture of Envy from FullMetal Alchemist: Brotherhood)

And here we find my fatal flaw (or in Christian-ese, my “deadly sin”). I want so much to be a voice, a writer, an influence, that I pressure myself to be the very best, not just my best.

Or to paraphrase the Pokémon theme song, “Gotta beat ‘em all!”

And then the pressure builds, I fail to write better than my peers, and I fall short. And I feel a lot like a failure as a writer.

Thus is the cycle of Ego/Envy. And, despite what my pastor says about “nailing SELF to a tree,” (or sacrificing myself to God’s Will,) that Ego keeps coming back like a comic book villain. He won’t die.

Maybe you know what this is like. Maybe you don’t. As much as I wouldn’t want Envy to be a scourge for anyone else, a part of me hopes I’m not the only one who lives with Ego/Envy.

What is the solution? I mean, come on! I can’t write about this without offering some sort of resolution. All my fellow writers would kill me!

The best thing I’ve found that defeats Ego and Envy is humility. And God humbles me in the most unlikely ways. Often, it’s a comment, or a text, or a Facebook message telling me how much I and my words mean to someone. It’s really humbling when I didn’t think that particular piece was one of my best.

Sometimes, it’s someone telling me that I am wise after reading my words. I'll sadly admit I tend to have to work very hard to restrain myself from laughing in their faces. One of the fun, dark sides of Ego is that he’s excellent at reminding me of all my past failures and how stupid I am on a regular basis.

But the truth is that I have dedicated my writing multiple times for God’s use. And He’ll use it however He chooses. Most of the time, He humbles me with how he uses my writing and what He chooses to use.

It doesn’t solve Envy and Ego. They’re like comic-book villains, remember? Unless you see the dead body, they never die (and sometimes, not even THEN!). But it helps to remember Who I’m writing for and Why I write.

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For more about dealing with Writer’s Ego, read Heather Kopp’s “Why I Hope Your Novel Fails (and you get a zit).”

And if you want to know who I was talking about with that jealousy stuff, truth is, it’s these people. Please go check them out, because I mean it when I say they are really awesome writers, and, frankly, better than me.

Amy Green at The Monday Heretic.

Chandler Birch at Peregrination.

Anna, Bates, Jesus & Me

“Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have summoned you by name; you are mine.”
Isaiah 43:1b

                                                                                                                               

Last week, we celebrated Easter, the death and Resurrection of the Savior of the world. He who called us by name and gave us a new identity. But all too often I forget that identity.

I fail or screw up. I fall into sin. I feel lonely. I struggle with my inner man. I don’t measure up to the standards I set for myself. I feel unlovable.

And Satan is right there, ready to hand me a false identity.

“You’re a failure. A disappointment.”

“You’re a SINNER! How could God or anyone truly love you?”

“You’re lonely now. That will always be your lot in life.”

After years of doing it, sometimes it’s easy to accept those false identities for truth. It’s easy to fall off the cliff into what the old scars scream I am.

This last week, I revealed a painful part of my past to a friend, and all the old identities came flying back. The ones that said I was scarred for life. That I was unclean. That those who love me will abandon me, despite their claims to the contrary. That I deserve to be alone.

They whisper in my ear, “oooh! Tell him this! Then you’ll see you’re not worthy.” “He thinks you’re a good friend. Just wait until he hears this!”

I hiss and bite inwardly toward my friends when I get this way. I want to scream, “Unclean, unclean!”

And again, all those old behaviors, all those old thoughts are back, trying to convince they are true.

A visual representation of my old identities trying to consume me

(WARNING: MASSIVE Downton Abbey Spoilers ahead!)

In season four of Downton Abbey, Anna, one of the most beloved character, and a Lady’s Maid, is raped. Afterward, she feels dirty. She isolates herself, avoiding her husband and the other servants as much as possible. She keeps her shame secret. And it drives her away from the man who truly loves her. She is angry, convinced that she isn’t worthy of her husband, that she’s been spoiled, that she’s now worthless.

It takes a couple episodes for the truth to come out, and all the while her husband still does his best to love her. And when her husband, Bates, finds out what happened, he’s quick to forgive her the hurt she caused by avoiding him. He’s quick to remind her of his love. And he tells her that she is no less worthy of his love. She was Bate’s wife, first and foremost. He loved her and would always love her.

Like me, Anna felt unclean. Like me, she found out her brokenness didn’t define her.

Jesus doesn’t see me as broken and unclean. He takes the false identities, the dirty rags I wear, and casts them aside. He tells me truth, through His Word and His people. Nathan is lovable. Nathan will never be abandoned by Him. Nathan doesn’t have to be lonely.

Jesus says, “come to Me, and I will give you rest.” He says, “Nathan, I have loved you with an everlasting love.” He says, “Nathan, you are Mine. And this is your true identity.”

Hope

For most, Easter is a time of celebration, of Christ rising from the dead, the Easter Bunny, days off from work, and candy in eggs. But this year, I am reminded that it is a time of hope.

Someone I know almost succumbed to despair earlier this week. He almost committed suicide. But he checked himself into a hospital instead and found help.

Sadly, this is not the first time suicide has reached for people around me, brushing against me in the process. Of the four times in my life Suicide has brushed up against me, this is the first time he did not catch his prey.

So while everyone else celebrates, I write to those without hope, who struggle to live another day. To those who suffer from depression and loneliness. I write to new friends and old: Do not abandon hope.

You are loved. People do care about you. And though you may not believe it, every death is a loss felt by all.

I know.

A friend at my school accidentally killed himself in an experiment gone wrong. (I wrote about it here.) His death is still felt by students years later.

My boss’s husband killed himself 4 years ago after a traumatic brain injury left him disabled, and a different person than before. She still thinks about him every single day.

No matter what, people care about you and will always feel the loss of you.

Before you ask what right have I to speak into these things, let me tell you I know what it is like to be in your shoes. You think that life isn’t worth living. That you don’t really matter, and that no one will truly miss you after you’re gone. You wonder if your life has had any purpose, and looking back, and scanning your presumed future, you find it worthless. I know because I have been there. I have felt those feelings.

For a time, I planned to kill myself after graduation. Knew how, where, and a basic idea of when I would do so. I “knew” that my friends would move on and eventually forget about me, because I wasn’t a friend, but a burden.

Surprisingly, God showed me the truth through a horrible movie called Seven Pounds (which I NEVER want to see again) where the main character, consumed with guilt for an accident he caused resulting in death, killed himself and donated his organs to help others. Sounds good, I know, but I couldn’t get my boss out of my head, Her crying, tortured face. Her torment years later over her husband’s death. Her deep love that doesn’t let go of her husband to this day. I knew that his suicide haunted her. And I realized mine would haunt those I love.

Your desired death will haunt others too. Your life is not worthless. Your future is bright. You are loved more deeply than you can comprehend, both by those around you and the very God whose resurrection we celebrate this season.

And if you will not believe me, listen to these words, words from He Who Created you.

Jeremiah 29:11 “For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans for welfare[a] and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope.” (ESV)

Isaiah 43:1-5a “But now thus says the Lord, he who created you, … ‘Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you; when you walk through fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you. For I am the Lord your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior. I give Egypt as your ransom, Cush and Seba in exchange for you. Because you are precious in my eyes, and honored, and I love you, I give men in return for you, peoples in exchange for your life. Fear not, for I am with you….’” (ESV)

Zephaniah 3:17 “The LORD your God is with you, he is mighty to save. He will take great delight in you, he will quiet you with his love, he will rejoice over you with singing.” (NIV 1984)

And finally, remember: God so loved you that He gave his only Son, so that if you would just believe in Him, you would not perish, but be given everlasting, abundant life! (John 3:16, paraphrased)

This is the time we celebrate the crucifixion and the resurrection of Jesus. God Himself did not think you worthless. He did not think your life too costly to save. But He gave it all because he loves you.

Do not abandon hope. God has not abandoned you.

God's Not Dead ... Prove It

First off (and I know I’m going to get flack for this) I haven’t seen God’s Not Dead. But really, I didn’t need to. I just read a plot summary online. I wasn’t impressed.

Now, it’s been clear to me ever since I heard the Newsboys were involved that this is propaganda. The revamped band (that really should have disbanded when Peter Furler decided to step down) is the major backer of the movie, the title comes from a line in one of their songs, and the climax of the movie revolves around a Newsboys concert. I don’t know about you, but that smells of propaganda to me.

But it’s more frustrating than that; (and this is where I’m really going to take off) it feeds into a stereotype that Christians have of the Big Bad Secular College, and the world can be won to Christ through philosophical arguments.

First off, Kevin Sorbo’s character would have been fired for making his students sign a statement that God is dead. It clearly infringes on the basic right of religious freedom. Last I checked, that was part of the Constitution. If we want to be taken seriously in the modern world, I suggest we make sure our Christian movies are a little more factual, instead of (in my maybe-not-so-humble opinion) stupid.

Second, arguing philosophy doesn’t change hearts. Love does. The Early Church fathers knew this: “If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge … I am nothing.” (1 Corinthians 13:1-2 NIV 1984)

Yet here we are, and “the Number 1 Christian Movie in America” espouses knowledge, not love.

I think if we look back at the Bible, Jesus got in very few philosophical arguments, and the main people he argued with were the Pharisees. And he had some choice words. His cousin, John the Baptist, called them a brood of vipers (as did Jesus in Matthew 23). In fact, in Matthew 23, you see all sorts of colorful epithets for the Pharisees. They cared more for the law and words and philosophical arguments than they did about loving the people of God. And Jesus called them out for that.

Jesus said his disciples would be known by their love (John 13:34-35). So where is it?

Because personally, I am sick of words. I am sick of arguments.


I grew up in the Church and have gone to multiple Christian schools. I’ve heard every single argument. And I found that those arguments don’t change people.

Love changes people.

God is Love. So, why aren’t we being loving? Why do we not visit those in prison, serve food to the homeless, give shelter to those who need it? Heck, why don’t we tithe regularly? (Pastors have to live of a portion of your tithe, by the way. Just think about that.)

If we are the hands and feet of Jesus, then why are so many of us still, leaving the work of many to but a few?

If we are little Christs (which is what “Christian” means), why do we throw verbal and emotional stones those we deem living in sin?

My mother pounded this truth into my brain: People don’t care what you know until they know that you care. (Cheesy, I know. But true nonetheless.)

If God is not dead, which I know with all my heart, then we must prove it. Not through arguments. But by being Him to the world.

 

Looking for Love and Finding Family

YAY! It's Valentine's Day! Or as I used to call it, "Singles' Awareness Day (S.A.D.)"

Usually I celebrate today by going out and buying a big bottle (or 4) of my favorite soda (Vanilla Coca-Cola), finding some movie, preferably sans romance, and despising almost all the couples who dared enter my sight.

  
[And counting down the days until my birthday (5 more days!).]

As wonderful and productive as that sounds, I think I need to find a new way to celebrate the day dedicated to love. Sadly, as I have no girlfriend, likely never will, I am rather limited in finding ways to celebrate.

Lately I read an article by Eve Tushnet, called "Coming Out Christian," where I found this funny little reminder: "In the Gospel of Mark, Jesus promises that those who lose their homes or families for His sake will receive new homes and families, 'a hundred times more now.'" She goes on to talk about how people like me have been able to find other families among friends. I, as a recent graduate, couldn't help but think of my own "new family." My family made of friends.

After all, love isn't just about romance. Love can be found anywhere from anyone. It can be from a "special someone," a sibling, or a dear friend. So why should Valentine's Day be limited to just celebrating romantic love? Why can we not celebrate all loves?

I have never found my "twoo wuv," but I have found people who love me as friends, who became my "other family" while I was 1,000 miles and two timezones away from my home. And I want to celebrate them today.

Pictured to the left is my "big brother" with his wife. Ironically enough, I don't even remember meeting him the first time! It was within the first 48 hours of being dropped off at college and I was essentially stoned. No drugs, yet I have extreme few memories of "Welcome Weekend."  He's told me that we met at the "Hoedown" that happens every year for the matriculating freshman class. But you'd have to ask him. He says I looked shell-shocked and I'll be the first to say I was at the time.

It was the second time I met him that I remember, mostly because I knew that I should know his name, but I didn't, and decided to ask him what it was again. And from such auspicious beginnings, I found someone I'd always wanted: a big brother. This guy is so much like me, it's scary. Except he's married (EXTREMELY happily so), much wiser, and older than me. He has been a mentor, a brother, and a true friend. And I even served as a groomsman at his wedding!

Me and my First Friend drinking Wodfamchocsods.

And there's my crazy "first friend," as I call him, who invited me to share his wonderful and loving family, and who was the first guy to welcome me during a campus visit to Taylor. I don't think he knew what he was getting into by offering me friendship. Then again, I didn't know what it was like to have a friend. Thankfully, he's been willing to help me learn. Not that I've made it easy on him. No, sir! But he's given me plenty of grief over the years too. Usually in the form of deadpan sarcasm masquerading as complete sobriety and seriousness.

But I know that I wouldn't be the man I am today with his and my big brother's support. They were first people I "came out" to. They helped me through the struggles and the tears, and celebrated all the joys and victories.

Then there's my first "other family," the first group of people to accept me as their own. This group of crazy cats who came together because of our love of a kids' radio program: Adventures in Odyssey.

Here's a picture of what we called "The Adventures In Odyssey Club," the people who comprised my first real friends. We went to Colorado for a Spring Berak Trip, raised money making Wodfamchocsods (A.K.A. World-Famous Chocolate Sodas), brought Katie Leigh, a famous voice actress to Taylor, and got into all sorts of crazy shenanigans. (Word to the wise: don't poke, jab, tickle, or otherwise maliciously touch a guy who wrestled in high school. Brawling tends to ensue and you will lose.)

And I cannot forget this guy, usually known as "The Beard!" This picture doesn't even begin to do his facial hair justice. But, it does accurately describe our friendship.

But, while he does enjoy finding creative ways to kill me, like a bazooka to the face, the Jawa Jihad, and the Oxford Book of DEATH (!), among other things, he is a stalwart, steady friend. His support helped me come out of my shell, gave me shelter during more than one college break where I got kicked off campus (along with everyone else, mind you!), and invited me to share in his world, an honor I know I didn't deserve. But, friendship and love isn't about deserving, now is it?

Finally, there's my special girl friend (notice the crucial space there, all you romantic types!). She and I visited the same campus the same day. Both of us had no clue what we were doing or what was going on. And I'm certain that we'd both readily admit that we were scared out of our minds that day. Because of that, we formed a special bond. We've been friends ever since that crazy day and supported each other. And, because we hang out so much, we got teased and asked if we were dating. (Oh, the mischief we got into!) Our friendship is unique. As, really all my true friendships are. We have been each other's confidante, ally, editor (because we're both writers), and support. And I can't express how glad I am to have her in my life.

These pictures and descriptions don't begin to describe the family I found. There's The Beard's Left Hand Man, who befriended me of his own free will, along with all of The Beard's so-called "Minions." And who hounded me much of J-Term, a refreshing change. Usually, I'm the hound, so having someone daily prod me into spending time with him was one of the coolest things I've experienced. It was nice to be wanted.

There's all the fun, mildly weird people in my major who accepted me and talk with me on a regular basis. There's my sisters in Christ who pray for me and support me whenever I'm in need. And (I can't forget) there's the brothers I found living on a near-fraternity which used to scare my introverted self beyond all reason. (Love The Brotherhood!)

Family doesn't have to be related through genetics. All it takes is the willingness to love another person. To invite them into your life and be willing to remain a part of theirs as long as you can. Family is made in love.

No, there is no romantic heartthrob in my life at the moment. But I can still celebrate a holiday dedicated to love. I can celebrate my family.

A Letter to My Freshman Self

I'm a senior, about to graduate college, about to step into the real world. I'm taking what will be my last class of my undergraduate career (I hope). It's strange and I've been reflecting on all the things I've learned. One of the questions my professor asked the class is what we might say to a new writer who's not sure if they're cut out for writing. I started thinking about who I was as a freshman and a new writer and what I wish people had told me. So, I decided to write a letter saying what I would tell myself if I could.

▬   ▬   ▬   ▬   ▬   ▬   ▬   ▬   ▬   ▬

Dear Nathan,

I know you are just starting on your college journey, whereas mine is almost finished. I know all the hopes, fears, joys, and wonders you will experience. And I know exactly what you're feeling right now.

"Oh. Crap. What have I gotten myself into?"

You see all the kids around you, all the peers, the upperclassmen, the future novelists. You see all their work, all their abilities, and just like that, you feel woefully inadequate. You feel like a fraud. You don't write 15,000 words a day. You don't have 50 novels bouncing around your head. You don't even have a single novel written yet!

Guess what: that's okay.

You don't have to be them. You don't have to be a star child for your major. You don't have to be anything except yourself. And I need you to listen to me now because, while I am about to pull the "God card," it's still what you need to hear.

God didn't create you to be anyone but yourself.

He didn't create you to be your parents, who seem so smart that you feel like an idiot around them, depending on the subject. Yes, Mom was in the Talented and Gifted program and read the dictionary twice because she was bored. Yes, Dad started his first business when he was twelve and created bikes from scrap metal at the same time. But you're not them. You were never meant to be.

He didn't create you to be your peers, who scare the crap out of you with their well-thought-out political views and novels they write in their spare time, while you feel like a horrible writer who doesn't belong looking up at them. Look at them again. They are not you. You are not them, and you aren't meant to be.

He didn't create you to be your unborn twin, Thomas. I know you like to live in the land of "What If," especially in your darker moments, fantasizing about what a truly wonderful life he would have had if he'd been born instead, and how much better than you he'd be. Hear me when I say this: He. Is not. You.

You weren't created to be all the people you compare yourself to. You were meant to be who God created you to be. You were created with a special purpose in mind. Not your mom's purpose. Not your big brother's purpose. Your own purpose.

I can't tell you what that is. I'm still figuring it out for myself. But God made you for a reason. He created you wacky, a guy designed to fit in a very special part of his plan. Don't try to be someone else. You weren't made to be anyone other than you. And you will change and evolve. That's okay. But remember, at your core, you are designed for a reason. No one else can fill the role you're supposed to play.

So be you, and no one else.

Best wishes,
Nathan

Where have all the people gone?

As some of you may know, I've been dealing with some personal issues. My grandmother is in extremely poor health and is expected to die soon. I've been trying to deal with the emotions and thoughts of this, and will write about it soon. But, instead of giving you guys a bad blog post that wasn't thought through, I'll give you something worth reading. Here's an article (with a few edits) I wrote for my college's newspaper, The Echo. Enjoy!

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I’m not sure why I have this problem.

Maybe it’s my own fault because I like to engage in controversial topics. Maybe it’s because I read the surprisingly still-active “Taylor Confessions” page on Facebook. Maybe it’s because I know people who have been affected by it, and that has colored my views. Maybe it’s because I value people far above logic and arguing, and I realize life is messier than we think.

All I know is that I am getting sick and tired of the intellectual games and arguments surrounding homosexuality in the Church.

First we have our right-wing conservatives who often proclaim how wrong homosexuality is, sometimes with grace, but more often with judgment and anger, especially in public forums (*cough* Facebook *cough*). Yes, I know this happens because I used to act that way myself.

Then we have those who identify themselves in the LGTBQ (Lesbian/Gay/Bi/Transsexual/Queer) community. And they respond in anger at the judgment they feel and argue about how it’s not wrong to be gay.

Black and White. Good and Bad. Right and Wrong. Both sides claiming to have the correct view.

And it goes back and forth, argument after argument, until it descends into name-calling, buffoonery, and all caps with excessive punctuation. It’s all rhetoric and childish idiocy.

No one convinces the other with their arguments. Nothing changes. We just hurt each other.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I used to be that way (on the right-wing side). I knew all the arguments (still do) about why homosexuality’s bad. I knew what the Bible said. I thought I knew everything. And then I met someone who is gay.

Now, when I say “gay,” I mean “someone who experiences a strong sexual attraction/preference for members of the same sex.” Homosexuality is a spectrum of experiences and responses. Some people actively pursue same-sex relationships. Some decide to become celibate. But all these people have stories. Stories go far beyond black-and-white.

There are the blood-reds of rejection and pain. There are the deep-sea-blues of loneliness, depression and fervently desired love and acceptance. There are the bright, vibrant greens of finding people who show care, love and support.

Life is messy. It doesn’t offer easy answers. And it angers me when life stories are reduced to arguments where someone has to be right. When pain is reduced to rhetoric.

I know how preferable it is to stay inside our own little boxes where we have all the answers to life, the universe and homosexuality. But we aren’t meant to live inside boxes. And having all the answers won’t bring us fulfillment. Just look at Paul in 1 Corinthians 13. The Bible calls us to love. We can’t do that until we get to know each other’s stories.

No, it’s not comfortable. And yes, you might have to wrestle with some tough questions. You might have to realize that (gasp!) you don’t have all the answers. That’s okay.

Stop the rhetoric games. Start listening to the stories.

Things Christians Need To Say

We Christians love to make fun of our “Christianese” jargon and sayings. 

Relevant Magazine, the Huffington Post, and others have all talked about all the stupid things we say. There's the fun video about "Shoot Christians Say." One of my favorite Christian video makers, BlimeyCow, made a satirical video about Christianese that I love.

And recently I came across a great post by Michael J. Murray with his own ides of what things Christians need to stop saying.

(Of course, I read this post while I was composing my own rant about clichés Christians say, which started after seeing what I thought was a very naive and insensitive picture.)

 

But Murray said something I think few people have said: “Christians should stop saying that Christians should stop saying stuff.”

I was thinking, “Yeah! Tell ‘em!” 

Then I remembered the blog post I was writing. And I realized I was doing exactly what I agreed people should stop doing: telling people what not to say.

Whoops.

“What’s trite and obnoxious to one person might be quite meaningful to another. Words that sound profane and offensive to me could be the very words you need to hear to know you are loved,” Murray said.

Funny how he’s right. The picture I found offensive one of my aunts later shared as an encouragement.

So, instead of my planned post about things Christians shouldn’t say, here a couple thing I wish Christians would say more to the community around us.

1:

“God loves you.”

I know. We’ve heard it a thousand times. But do we say it often enough, particularly to the people outside the church? Or do people waving signs saying "God Hates Fags" characterize us more?

Sometimes we don’t say “God hates you” outright. We just suggest it. 

God loves you . . . unless you’re gay. God loves you . . . unless you had an affair. God loves you . . . unless you had an abortion.

The funny thing is, all those things happen because people are looking for love. Yes, what they did or are doing is wrong, but the reasons behind them go straight back to love.

We see the girl walking into the clinic to get an abortion. But we don’t see the mistakes she made that led her there, the nights she gave herself to men, looking for someone to love her unconditionally. We don’t see the tears, the shame that led her here, trying to correct her mistakes and hoping no one finds out she’s pregnant.

And we don’t tell her how much God loves her. Yes, God loves the baby inside her, But we neglect to say that God loves her. She’s made mistakes, and maybe about to make another one. But God loves her unconditionally. Just like he loves the people searching for love in affairs or in the arms of someone who’s the same sex that they are.

2:

“The loss is still real.”

One of the issues I still have with the inspiring picture about giving thanks is that it feels very trite to people currently struggling with pain. And I think we as Christians forget to tell people it’s okay to hurt.

C.S. Lewis said in Perelandra, “God can make good use of all that happens. But the loss is real.”

It’s easy to say that God will work all things to our good. But we forget to stop and feel with those who mourn and hurt. We give quick answers to their questions, spout clichés and biblical promises. But in all honesty I doubt we know the answers to their questions born of their pain. And sadly we’re not willing to admit that we don’t. We try to encourage people yet we ignore the grief of loss. We ignore the pain.

Stop and listen. And comfort. You may not know how to handle someone’s pain. But they still want to know that their pain is real and valid. They want to know that it is okay to hurt.

So let’s be honest. Let’s say we don’t understand, that we don’t have all the answers. That they have lost something valuable and it’s okay to grieve for it.

3:

“I'm sorry.”

We have to admit we're wrong, when we make a mistake and we hurt someone else. We need to ask forgiveness. When we say, "I'm sorry," we convey a message of love. We convey that we are trying to love and that we sometimes don't get it right. 

It calls for humility and strength. It's harder to admit you were wrong than to insist you are right. But it's part of being a Christian. We are to be reconciled to one another. Jesus said in Matthew that if we know that we have a problem with someone, or they have a problem with us, we are supposed to go and fix it. That may mean apologizing to them. 

This summer, Exodus International made their own apology to the gay community after they decided to shut down. Alan Chambers specifically wrote an apology to those hurt by the Church, who were driven away by the Westboro Baptist stereotype of rejection.

"More than anything, I am sorry that so many have interpreted this religious rejection by Christians as God’s rejection.  I am profoundly sorry that many have walked away from their faith and that some have chosen to end their lives. For the rest of my life I will proclaim nothing but the whole truth of the Gospel, one of grace, mercy and open invitation to all to enter into an inseverable relationship with almighty God."

The world would be a far better place if we would admit to others that we are wrong occasionally. It offers people the chance to forgive and show mercy. And it shows the world what we constantly claim: We are sinner, just like everyone else. Our difference is that we have been forgiven.

These words are not earth-shattering. They aren’t brilliant. but maybe they can help us change our world for the better.

Remember, God loves you. And I'm trying to as well.

To the Risen

***EDIT: This post was originally titled, "To the Fallen." Upon reflection I realized my friends, while having died, have not fallen. They have risen to new life in Christ, a life in which they know understand and see fully, the veil of this mortal life having been stripped away.***

You never forget your first friend to die.

They might have been taken in an accident. They might have been overcome by suicide. But they leave an indelible mark on your soul.

Within the last 4 years, I have had four different friends die. Two died with months of each other.  It made me think Death was hounding me, like Final Destination, or something. That feeling has since dissipated, but it hurt to watch my friends' loved ones suffer through the pain of their loss.

Now, with time having past and giving me separation from Death's biting sting, I can look back on their lives with smiles, and not so much pain. I've thought of what I would say to two of those friends who died, and this is it.

To my dear friend Abby,

Oh, Abby. I know I was likely one of the least of your friends. But you were my first friend to die. The first light I saw go out. I have never forgotten you. Your smiling eyes. Your beautiful voice. Your love for God that seeped through every pore as I watched you worship on stage during church each Sunday. I guess these details are etched in my mind like the afterimage of a brilliant flash is burned into retinas.

I remember how much you were passionate for God. And I remember you caring about me. You were one of the first people to welcome me and my family to church seven years ago. And I still remember that one song you played for Easter, almost six or seven years ago. You know, I think it's one of the only songs that has stuck with me throughout my life. I still play it often, whenever I feel sad, or want to remember God loves me.

Thank you Abby, for burning so brightly. Thanks for loving your Savior so well. I still look up to you as an example of what it means to desire God and His will with all your heart. I will never forget you.

Enjoy a dance with Jesus for me, please.

And to Josh Larkin,

Josh, I wish I had known you better. You too have a legacy. You cared so deeply about people. You loved others as much as yourself and God. I know. I know because after you died, the whole campus grieved. People still think, still talk, still miss you, a year after you've passed away. And, quite frankly, no one cared about my blog as much as they did when I wrote my small tribute to you. :)

I wish I could do you better justice. I wish we had been better friends. I wish your life hadn't ended so tragically. But your death is not your legacy. Your life is. You burned brightly! People looked (and still currently look) up to you. And as deeply as you loved, we still love you Josh. We still miss you. We still remember you and your life. You will never be forgotten by us.

Lessons from Pippin

When you think of the Lord of the Rings trilogy, who do you think of? Aragorn, the man who becomes King of Gondor? Frodo, the tragic bearer of the One Ring? Gandalf, whose epic power knows no bounds? Or Samwise, the faithful friend?

Or how about Pippin?

Not likely.

Pippin is not a hero. Not in any sense of the word. In the movie, he is somewhat clueless and happy-go-lucky. Of the four Hobbits, he is the least likely hero. So what does that make Pippin? The comic relief?
Usually, he’s the idiot. He's the one who alerts the goblins (and the wonderful cave troll) that the Fellowship is in Moria. He's the one who blows Frodo's cover in Bree. He (along with Merry and Sam) cooks food because he's hungry, alerting the Nazgul where the Hobbits are hiding. And he's the one who gets an apple thrown at his head by a frustrated Aragorn because, again, he's hungry.

But is that the extent of his character? His purpose? Not really.

In The Two Towers, Pippin has one small stroke of genius by telling Treebeard to take them to Isengard, which causes Fangorn Forest to go to war. Then he shows his true worth and character in The Return of the King where he fights alongside Gandalf and the soldiers of Gondor during the Battle of Minas Tirith.

Pippin, though an idiot, shows that not everyone has to be Frodo and carry the weight of the world on their shoulders. He wasn't even the guy who stayed by Frodo until the end or won a major victory and become king!

At the end of the day, Pippin was the guy who danced on tables singing drinking songs. He was the good guy everyone loves. He wasn't brilliant or powerful or talented. He was normal. He was himself almost an "everyman" character.

God doesn’t call everyone to carry heavy burdens like Frodo’s Ring. Not everyone has earth-shattering, heart-breaking testimonies of God’s power. Lord knows that there have been times I’ve listened to other people share testimonies and wish I had been on drugs at some point, or had something to beef up my testimony. But God has a purpose for us, just like Pippin had a purpose.

Sometimes being normal isn’t bad. Sometimes, it’s exactly what God wants you to be.