How Will We Be Judged?
Every once in a while, don’t you wish your life had a 30 second reverse feature? Like for when you spill a cup of coffee on your laptop. Or blurt out something offensive. Or cause an accident while driving. That would be nice, wouldn’t it? A way to deal with those moments when you want to yell “do over!” and try it again – only without the split second screw-up. Now, imagine dying and discovering that your entire life has been one long “I’d like a do-over” experience. That would really, really suck, wouldn’t it?
A lot of Christians like to talk about judgment or judgment day as if they had the slightest idea what happens during judgment. Many seem to think St. Peter’s going to meet us at the pearly gates where he’ll check to see if your names on the list of people who have had a born-again conversion moment like a celestial bouncer. Or there will be a pop quiz: “it’s all or nothing – by whose name are you saved?” Others basically figure it will be like the ancient Egyptians taught with your good deeds and religious devotion on one side of a scale and your sins on the other. A lot of people seem to think that judgment is going to be a simple matter of declaring yes or no on the person being judged. But really, the bible tells us practically nothing about what happens when we die much less the actual procedure for passing judgment on a soul. Which is pretty unfair, really. Shouldn’t we know what the deal is ahead of time so we can dot our i’s and cross out t’s?
Myself, I have my own theory about what happens at judgment. It’s pretty simple: I think that when you die, you get to experience a sort of playback of your life in which you are able to understand everything you did and everything which happened to you and during which you experience exactly how you and your actions affected the people around you. Every time you caused joy and every time you caused pain, you will have that same experience of joy and pain which you set into motion. If you brought joy to people, this will be a wonderful experience. If you spread pain and misery, it will be it’s own torturous experience. If you hurt a child, it would be better to have a millstone tied around your neck and be cast into the sea than to have to experience the repercussions of that act. Continue reading “How Will We Be Judged?”
The Emotional God
Hey folks – I’ve been trying to write all day and it’s just not happening. I think I’ve written and erased a good 3500 words. Good practice, I suppose. But I probably should have just folded the laundry that’s piled 6 loads deep on the couch. The truth is I’ve been struggling pretty badly lately and that’s never good for my writing. Or much of anything else. I’m just . . . I don’t even know what to say except I’ve just had it. And that re-incarnation had damn well better not be true because if I ever have to do this shit again, I’m gonna be pissed. And I’m going to be a nasty, evil, vile person ‘cuz I’ve tried it the other way and it hasn’t done me a damn bit of good. So, if you could spare a prayer for pitiful me, I’d appreciate it. Maybe God will respond to y’all cuz he’s sure not answering me. OK, that was my pity-party way of saying that I have another repeat for ya. Usual “it’s one of my favorites and most of y’all didn’t read it the first time” disclaimers apply.
A couple of years ago, I was sitting on my front porch steps after dinner, watching my two oldest daughters playing and complaining to God in my head. I don’t remember what it was (nothing too serious), but the husband had done something to chap my hide. As I wound down my complaints and let the whole thing go, I asked God in an almost off-handed way, “do you ever have to deal with people treating you like this?” At which point I’m pretty sure all of heaven burst into hearty guffaws. But soon a funny thing started happening: as I dealt with people in my life, often some parallel experience between God and people would pop into my head. Continue reading “The Emotional God”
Is Christianity the One True Religion?
I believe is that Jesus is THE way, THE truth and THE life and that no one comes to the father but by him. However, most Christians basically change that text to read that “no one comes to the father but by believing in” Christ. Now, I do believe that there are benefits and rewards for those who affirm Christ knowingly and by name. Scriptures promise us that. I also believe that it is desirous that every man would know and serve Jesus in that way. However, it is also true that God, like the land owner in the parable of the talents “reaps where he did not sow and gathers where he did not scatter seed.” Anyone who seeks after and submits themselves to love is seeking after and submitting to God. God is love. There is no expression or experience of love apart from God whether he is known or named or not.
I see other religions very much along the lines of what Paul told the Athenians when he said that the unknown God they worshiped was God himself and then quoted pagan poetry in order to illustrate the fact that although they did not know this God by name, tradition or doctrine, they had still attained some measure of understanding about him.
It is my understanding that any time someone is are able to find some measure of love and truth, this is due to the work of Jesus – both his salvific work and his creative work – “through him all things were made”. But this reality is not dependent on human knowledge, understanding or even acceptance of Jesus. I think of it as being a lot like oxygen. Oxygen existed and was sustaining our very lives for a long time before anyone knew it was there or what it did or even that they depended on it for life. The life sustaining work of oxygen doesn’t depend on human knowledge, acknowledgment or understanding. I think that the truth that no man can come to the father – or can even know love – outside of Jesus is much the same. It is a truth which exists all on its own regardless of whether we know or accept it as true. Continue reading “Is Christianity the One True Religion?”
Learning By Witnessing
Back when I was in college, there was a prison ministry program which I was very involved in. Our main focus was a weekend retreat we put on three times a year for groups of teen boys at a juvenile detention center not far from our school. This may be surprising to you, but spending a weekend talking about God with juvenile delinquents isn’t a popular college past time. So we often struggled to maintain a large enough group of volunteers to keep the program going. At some point we reached out to Wheaton College which was just a few miles away to help fill the gap. It turned out that spending weekends with young criminals wasn’t any more popular among Wheaton College kids than it was at my school, but we did get a few volunteers to help us out. They were very gracious and didn’t say a word about our swearing, dirty jokes and the way we’d crank up the Violent Femmes and dance around like crazy people to blow off steam after a long day in juvi. There was a slight conflict one summer when an interpretive dance major from Hope Bible College joined us while home for summer break. She saw her dancing as a gift from and to God and took offense at Wheaton’s taliban-like ban on dancing. Civil disagreement ensued.
As amusing as that was, the only real problem we had with our Wheaton volunteers was when it came to witnessing. You see, the retreat we put on was a common Catholic model in which each member of the leadership team would give a talk centered on a particular topic using their own story as an illustration. So we were witnessing. The problem was that there’s a strong “script” among evangelicals for witnessing which basically goes, “I used to be bad, then I met God and now I’m much better (if not actually good) and you can be too.” Which resulted in on particularly memorable (to me) talk in which a very nice guy from Wheaton stood up and told a room full of criminals – including a couple who had killed or tried to kill someone – about how as a degenerate youth he used to pick on his sister and ridicule her until she went crying to mommy. Hair tugging may have been involved. But then his mom convinced him to accept Jesus as his personal Lord and Savior and he learned to cherish rather than harass her. Fortunately the boys on the retreat were so in awe of the fact that real, live college students were spending a weekend with them rather than spending it drinking and banging that they took it in the spirit it was intended. Continue reading “Learning By Witnessing”
Do Your Kids Know Their Own Story?
I’m having some trouble writing at the moment, so in honor of my daughter Olivia’s 3rd birthday, here’s a repeat which ends with the story of how Olivia came to be – aside from the obvious, of course. (At the time this was written, my husband and I were separated. We’re back together now. For those of you following along at home.)
Each of my children has a story we tell them about some way in which their lives have mattered. I believe that it’s one thing to tell a kid they are important and that they matter, but it’s something of a gift to them to be able to tell them how they have mattered. Then they’re not just a lowly child floating out in the world with no real base or purpose to start with. It grounds the message that they have value in their real world. It’s concrete evidence for them that just because they exist, the world is a different, better place. Continue reading “Do Your Kids Know Their Own Story?”
Jesus Saved Our Christmas Dinner
We have a seating problem in our home. Well, two of them actually. The first is that our chairs don’t match and the folding chairs have all lost their stuffing. It’s not very Martha Stewart-ish. Or comfortable. The second is that I have 3 children under the age of 8. Who all have very strong opinions about where they ought to sit at dinner. And those opinions change nightly. (Yes, yes, I know – each person should have their own seat that they sit in every night. Please, feel free to show up at my house for dinner each night to execute that plan. I’d be mighty appreciative and the best of luck to ya.)
I almost had the whole thing fixed this summer when I got the idea to have the kids basically draw straws. I marked the tips of 5 sticks with a color. Each color corresponded to a spot at the table. The color of the stick you drew told you which spot you would sit in. The only trouble was the 2 year old hadn’t actually agreed to and didn’t care to understand this plan. So if she wanted to sit in a spot one of her siblings had pulled a stick for, all hell broke lose. If I managed to get the baby to chose a spot first, she would often simply change her mind part-way through. So whatever. We’re back to our nightly game of “who’s going to sit where and who’s going to be upset about it?” It doesn’t happen every night, but often enough. In fact, on occasion a child will even storm off and refuse to eat when a settlement to their liking is not reached. Depending on what we’re having for dinner that night this can be a good thing because, you know – more for me. But not for Christmas dinner. So when my most emotional, dramatic child stormed off right before Christmas dinner due to a seating dispute, I figured I ought to go and fetch them. Continue reading “Jesus Saved Our Christmas Dinner”
Just a housewife
Let me share a few things about myself which may not be immediately clear just from reading my blog:
I became a mother at age 21.
Last year I took my first commercial flight since I was 3.
I have never been outside of the USA.
I have done almost no traveling outside of the Midwest.
I was planning to be a high school English teacher before I became a mother.
I have 5 kids and two step-children.
I am entirely self-taught re scripture, religion, philosophy/rhetoric, psychology, ANE culture, and other topics I discuss here.
I have never been able to learn a foreign language.
I have been a stay-at-home mom/housewife for the last 12 years.
At this moment, I am sitting in my bedroom in a house that can be seen from I-94 ignoring 3 of my children who are bickering and pretending to be hissing cats.
All of which is to say that from the outside, I hardly seem like anyone special who would be qualified to speak on anything special. I’m just a housewife. It has taken a lot of chutzpa on my part to keep writing here as if I had anything anyone might be interested in reading. Continue reading “Just a housewife”
For the Woman at the Post Office Who is Reporting Me for Child Abuse
I gave her my name, so I’m kind of hoping she googles me. Cuz that’s how cool I am – if you google my name, it brings ya here. As long as the cops never figure that out, I’m good. ;p
Anyhow, the reason I hope she googles me and finds this is because like her, I care very much about the proper treatment of children. In fact, I care so much about it that I even care about the damage which is done by those who see something very good – caring about how kids are treated – as an opportunity to tear vulnerable people down, be self-righteous and judgmental. (Sound familiar? It’s ugly behavior outside of a Christian context as well!)
So what happened was I was at the post office with my 3 year old daughter Olivia. The one who was walking at 8 1/2 months. The one who we couldn’t let Great Grandma hold when she met her at 5 months because she was too squirmy for an old woman to hang onto. The one who can scale our refrigerator by holding the handles. The one who can hoist herself up to your waist and onto your back and onto your shoulders all by herself as you struggle to peel her off before she’s sitting on your head like an ill behaved cat. She climbs on counters and tries to launch herself onto your back as you pass by. That one. Up there in the picture looking all abused. Because she got into my lipstick and gave herself a plum unibrow. Continue reading “For the Woman at the Post Office Who is Reporting Me for Child Abuse”
Defiance is a Christian Virtue
The moments in my life that have been most sure and which have left me with the most peace and joy have been moments of defiance. The times when, even though no one else would get it, I knew the path I needed to take forward and I took it. These are my reckless moments. Those things that caused offense, consternation, even concern for my sanity among those watching.
I am often a very cautious person. I don’t go shopping without knowing what I’m going to buy and how much I’ll pay for it. I skip the “trust” part of “trust, but verify” and go straight to verify. I can explain the things I do and the choices I make down to a level of detail that could put a hyper-active 7 year old to sleep. I think of what I’m going to say before dialing the phone. I think of questions I can ask people and topics to discuss before I get into conversations. I bite my tongue often. I handle my relationships with kid gloves lest I damage them or hurt someone unintentionally.
So these moments of defiance must seem out of character to anyone who doesn’t understand what’s going on beneath the surface. But these moments of defiance are my most true moments. They are the moments when what is beneath rushes to the surface and propels me forwards, regardless of all the consequences. Because I already know all the consequences. And not one of them – not disapproval, the loss of relationships, poverty, pain or anything else – is nearly enough to stop me from doing what I know I need to do. I can be reckless because I know that I’m doing something I have been specifically called by God to do or because I know that the damage done to myself if I do not do them is far greater than any of those consequences could be. I can be defiant because I have examined the matter through and through and I know that it’s coming from a pure place in my spirit. You have to be willing to be defiant if you are going to follow God and allow him to restore your heart. Continue reading “Defiance is a Christian Virtue”
“You’re so sensitive!”
“You’re being too sensitive.”
Oh are those ever familiar words. All through my childhood they trailed after me like a tin can tied to the end of my shoelaces, with each step in danger of sending it bouncing across the floor. The sound of those words clanging along behind me made me wince until I could hardly bear to move from my spot any more. One day, when the strain of being planted in one spot got to be too much for me, I got wise, cut the string and walked away. For a long time though, the memory of that ugly sound haunted my steps. But many, many years of freedom from the constant accusation “you’re too sensitive” faded even that away until I was able to move about my world with an ease I had not dreamed was possible back when I was trying to be quiet and still enough not to send that tin can clattering across the floor.
I am sensitive. I am very sensitive. As I explained in the section of my book devoted to part of my spiritual memoir:
I was the sort of kid who felt bad for the fake Santa’s at the mall when little kids would cry in their laps. An old woman struggling to pull change out of her coin purse in front of my at the grocery store made me tear up. If the other kids were teasing the girl from special ed classes who smelled funny and dressed badly, I felt compelled to step in to help her even though that was a great way to find out that I also smelled funny and dressed badly. If you were someone I actually cared about, an angry word or harsh action could wound me down to the depths of my being. Continue reading ““You’re so sensitive!””
The Upside Down World 