Success is often judged by the end result or the output. You are successful student if you graduate. A sports team needs to win a championship. You are a good employee if you completed the project. A relationship is successful if it leads the altar. A marriage is successful if you reach milestone anniversaries. Living 100 years is pretty successful- right?
Much of life is spent looking forward and aiming for the next goal. We want the bigger and more impressive home and car. We are saving to take that tropical vacation. How big is our stock portfolio? We need to save for retirement. Once I lose 10 pounds I will be a successful dieter.
As a Christian, I have heard the sermon based on the scripture “Well done, thy good and faithful servant.” We are encouraged to focus on the end and make sure that we are living a life that will be found worthy when we meet our creator face-to face. That is not necessarily a bad lesson but unfortunately, it focuses on the end result and lines up nicely with the American view of success.
After we successfully reach a goal there is sometimes a celebration. People will encourage you to “enjoy the moment!” For that brief period of time there is a feeling of acceptance until, very quickly, the moment passes. It’s time to set the next goal.
Each year we watch as Hollywood actors vie for a few select awards and sometimes we hear the phrase 'Even if you don't win, It’s an honor to just be nominated.” We don’t’ really believe that. The day after the award is given we forget all about the other nominees. They were not successful, at least not according to our version of success. They were close but they did not reach the goal.
Yesterday I did some laundry, I made it to the grocery store, I hugged my son, and I told my husband I loved him but I never did get the bathroom scrubbed. I guess I was not successful. I have an advanced degree and it was fun to celebrate when I graduated but no one wants to talk about that anymore. I have had some success in my career path including breaking sales records and submitting successful proposals but I am currently not employed so I am not successful. I love God, I pray, I attend church services and I give when the offering plate is passed, but I am not one of the church leaders so I am not successful there.
Is personal success is only measured by the awards I receive or the titles that I have attached to my name? Who determines the point system? Am I really only successful if I find a group of people who will determine that I have met their criteria? Is it possible to be successful without the approval of anyone else?
What if I don’t accomplish another notable thing in my life? Will God be deeply disappointed in me? I don’t think so. He is not the one who has set these systems in place. Ecclesiastics clearly examined all of these issues and determined that none of our definitions of success were correct. In fact, they are worthless. God really doesn’t care how much money is in my 401K and He certainly doesn’t care if I lose 10 pounds. If I continue to allow myself to be judged according to society’s measure then I will always feel unworthy and lacking. I want to take myself out of the contest and release myself from the mental stronghold that tells me "I can't be successful until someone else declares it."
Today I am declaring that I am successful. Period. I do not have to list any reason except that God created me and He is directing my paths. I am succesful because I am following God. I don't need to wait until my funeral to take stock of things and wait for the approval, I have it RIGHT NOW.
I wasn't done needing her
"She's gone. Grandma didn't make it through the surgery"
Those words caused my world to shift and forever my life will be segmented into the day before I heard this news and the day after. We expect our grandmothers will not live forever. As children often our friends will talk of losing a grandparent. We are aware that grandparents sometimes die. As an adult it is an even less shocking event. How could I explain to anyone that to me, this was earth shattering. You see, I needed her. I still needed her. I was not done needing her.
Growing up in a single parent home with little money meant that our life was not always stable. We moved every few years. Meals were sometimes strangely creative. My mother was prone to mood swings and every day was a toss up. She might be in a wonderful mood; singing, laughing and ready to play a board game with us. Or she might ready to explode and the slightest thing could set her off. Our home was often like walking through a mine field but no one was allowed to mention it. Mom thought she was a wonderful mother and it was our role, as her children, to play along. Sometimes it was true.
My parents were teenagers when I was born. I spent much of my first 5 years living at my grandma's home. After that I spent many weekends and school vacations visiting. Most of the time it was very calm and peaceful. Meals were on a schedule and very consistent. Grandma had two or three general moods; dutiful, irritated, or laughing. She spent most of her time in the first mode. She was always busy with something. Usually she was in the kitchen preparing, baking, canning, creating one of her lists, sorting through coupons, talking on the phone, doing dishes, ironing, planning for dinner....it was her domain. I loved to be there with her. She treated me like her companion. When I was at Grandma's house, I was a good girl. That was simply who I was. I felt ten feet tall.
As I grew up and made terrible decisions Grandma pretended not to notice. When I called she would talk to me for an hour just catching up. If she was feeling judgmental she never let on. She was there to support me every step of the way. She never missed a birthday card or a Christmas present. Dutiful. Consistent.
I needed her. She was the one thing in my life that did not change. The same house, the same phone number, the same 3 moods. I knew that I could dial the phone number and she would be there to chat. I could stop in at her home and she would always be happy to see me. Why didn't I do that more often? Is there any point torturing myself with that question now?
Without her there I felt.....I feel...like I am a ship sailing without the comfort of a lighthouse to guide me along the rocky shore. The line I was tethered to has been cut and I no longer have that stable place....that stable person to grab onto.
Getting through the funeral was excruciating. My husband has a very calm spirit and I soon realized that as long as he was within a few feet of me, I felt steady. I fell asleep crying in his arms more than once. I am thankful that God, in all his mercy and wisdom, brought my husband into my life before Grandma passed on. The timing was never going to be good for me but I was better prepared than I realized. God had a plan in place already.
Are we supposed to ever get to a place where we don't need other people? Is there a time when we stop needing the support and security of others? I don't think I was done needing my grandma. It's been nearly 3 years and I need her right now. My heart aches and is shattered in a million pieces but I don't want it to heal. Not completely. That pain reminds me of the depth that I love her. It doesn't overtake me anymore but I can still visit the place where my loss was fresh. Then I can grab the hand of my husband and allow myself to come back to a place of peace, warmth and security. I need him.
Those words caused my world to shift and forever my life will be segmented into the day before I heard this news and the day after. We expect our grandmothers will not live forever. As children often our friends will talk of losing a grandparent. We are aware that grandparents sometimes die. As an adult it is an even less shocking event. How could I explain to anyone that to me, this was earth shattering. You see, I needed her. I still needed her. I was not done needing her.
Growing up in a single parent home with little money meant that our life was not always stable. We moved every few years. Meals were sometimes strangely creative. My mother was prone to mood swings and every day was a toss up. She might be in a wonderful mood; singing, laughing and ready to play a board game with us. Or she might ready to explode and the slightest thing could set her off. Our home was often like walking through a mine field but no one was allowed to mention it. Mom thought she was a wonderful mother and it was our role, as her children, to play along. Sometimes it was true.
My parents were teenagers when I was born. I spent much of my first 5 years living at my grandma's home. After that I spent many weekends and school vacations visiting. Most of the time it was very calm and peaceful. Meals were on a schedule and very consistent. Grandma had two or three general moods; dutiful, irritated, or laughing. She spent most of her time in the first mode. She was always busy with something. Usually she was in the kitchen preparing, baking, canning, creating one of her lists, sorting through coupons, talking on the phone, doing dishes, ironing, planning for dinner....it was her domain. I loved to be there with her. She treated me like her companion. When I was at Grandma's house, I was a good girl. That was simply who I was. I felt ten feet tall.
As I grew up and made terrible decisions Grandma pretended not to notice. When I called she would talk to me for an hour just catching up. If she was feeling judgmental she never let on. She was there to support me every step of the way. She never missed a birthday card or a Christmas present. Dutiful. Consistent.
I needed her. She was the one thing in my life that did not change. The same house, the same phone number, the same 3 moods. I knew that I could dial the phone number and she would be there to chat. I could stop in at her home and she would always be happy to see me. Why didn't I do that more often? Is there any point torturing myself with that question now?
Without her there I felt.....I feel...like I am a ship sailing without the comfort of a lighthouse to guide me along the rocky shore. The line I was tethered to has been cut and I no longer have that stable place....that stable person to grab onto.
Getting through the funeral was excruciating. My husband has a very calm spirit and I soon realized that as long as he was within a few feet of me, I felt steady. I fell asleep crying in his arms more than once. I am thankful that God, in all his mercy and wisdom, brought my husband into my life before Grandma passed on. The timing was never going to be good for me but I was better prepared than I realized. God had a plan in place already.
Are we supposed to ever get to a place where we don't need other people? Is there a time when we stop needing the support and security of others? I don't think I was done needing my grandma. It's been nearly 3 years and I need her right now. My heart aches and is shattered in a million pieces but I don't want it to heal. Not completely. That pain reminds me of the depth that I love her. It doesn't overtake me anymore but I can still visit the place where my loss was fresh. Then I can grab the hand of my husband and allow myself to come back to a place of peace, warmth and security. I need him.
Costumes and Such
What is it about the last day of October that brings out the kid in so many of us? Some of the costumes are obvious fantasy or meant to be humorous while others are professions such as a nurse or a doctor. Doesn't it seem strange that an accountant dressed as a doctor is in costume, while an actual MD can wear scrubs nearly every day without being considered in costume?
Don't we all wear a costume everyday when you think about it? We dress in the way we want to world to see us and we expect them to interact with us according to our attire. If we were pulled over by a police officer in jeans and a Nike t-shirt we would wonder what was going on. If we saw a lady in a housecoat remove letters from our mail box we would not even consider that she might be a postal worker. Fast food restaurants have uniforms as do football players.
I often notice the group of uniforms without focusing on a single person. Uniforms create anonymity.
Today at TGI Fridays I noticed a group of business lunchers. One man was perfectly groomed in a suit and coiffed hair. His attire said something to those who were interacting with him. Another woman was also wearing a suit but appeared less stiff and more comfortable in her skin. Within moments she commanded the discussion and it was easy to see that she was the leader. I watched the group for a while and tried to picture them sitting there in sneakers and sweatshirts, which was nearly impossible.
It occurred to me that a child could wear any of their outfits for the upcoming Halloween celebration. They were all in costume. I was there to meet my friend for lunch. She arrived in jeans and a dressy blouse which suggested that although it was her day off she was still concerned with her appearance. Two female diners sat nearby with a small baby in a car seat. The new mother was wearing sloppy clothes and had her hair in a messy updo. She was sending a message that said "I don't care and don't bother me. I'm tired." Message received.
While we are sending a message with our clothing choices we also tend to adjust our behavior accordingly. When you are dressed up you carry yourself in a more proper manner. Can you imagine eating chicken wings and pizza in a cocktail gown or tuxedo?
Some Halloween costumes are pricey but when we compare them with the price we pay for our everyday costumes perhaps they are a bargain? When I consider that I am selecting a costume each morning I feel a little embarrassed that I would spend so much money on a brand name item. What am I trying to convey? What do I want people to perceive about me?
As soon as I get home from work each day I can't wait to rip off my business attire and get my earrings out. It might be psychological but for some reason my earrings start to feel very heavy when I get to my bedroom at the end of the day. I have not noticed them all day but when I enter my room I am suddenly unable to bear them for another moment. I am ready to shed my costume and I throw on some comfortable sweats and a soft cotton t-shirt. I feel like I can stretch and move. I can relax. I can be ME. So who was I being for the rest of the day if that wasn't me?
The Last Time
Yesterday my ten year old climbed up on my lap. I was working on my laptop at the time and for a brief moment I wanted to shoo him away. I caught myself and instead spent some time cuddling, holding him close, smelling his hair and studying his little face intently. I wanted to freeze the moment in my mind forever.
I was not always this reflective but he is the youngest of my five children. I have been on this parenting gig for more than 20 years and I now know that this is not forever. I can't remember the last time my older children climbed onto my lap. I don't recall the last time my 22 year old held my hand in the mall. When did my 19 year old last climb into my bed after a bad dream? When did my 25 year old last interrupt my phone conversation to ask what was for dinner? When was the last time my 21 year old wanted me to read him a story? What would I have done differently if I had known it was the last time? How could I have missed such an important moment?
I remember the days of waking up to a house full of little ones and wondering when I might get a chance to take a shower. There were days of never ending Winnie the Pooh videos, potty training, breaking up squabbles, searching for a lost shoe or mitten and never having a moment of *me* time. Resentment and frustration often crept in to steal my joy. I wish I had guarded against those feelings but I must admit that I sometimes greeted and entertained them like an old friend.
There was a time when I needed to consider several other people before I left the house. My car contained several prisoners passengers most of the time. There was no such thing as a "quick trip to the store" when there were small children involved. Is it possible that this was only a few years ago? My back seat is now empty. I can't express how much I miss the chaos that once rode along with me.
And now I have this one little ten year old left at home. With an aching heart I am aware that he will not always need me like he does now. I know that one day he will sit on my lap for the last time. I can't imagine what could be more important than that moment. I don't want to miss it. Again.
I was not always this reflective but he is the youngest of my five children. I have been on this parenting gig for more than 20 years and I now know that this is not forever. I can't remember the last time my older children climbed onto my lap. I don't recall the last time my 22 year old held my hand in the mall. When did my 19 year old last climb into my bed after a bad dream? When did my 25 year old last interrupt my phone conversation to ask what was for dinner? When was the last time my 21 year old wanted me to read him a story? What would I have done differently if I had known it was the last time? How could I have missed such an important moment?
I remember the days of waking up to a house full of little ones and wondering when I might get a chance to take a shower. There were days of never ending Winnie the Pooh videos, potty training, breaking up squabbles, searching for a lost shoe or mitten and never having a moment of *me* time. Resentment and frustration often crept in to steal my joy. I wish I had guarded against those feelings but I must admit that I sometimes greeted and entertained them like an old friend.
There was a time when I needed to consider several other people before I left the house. My car contained several prisoners passengers most of the time. There was no such thing as a "quick trip to the store" when there were small children involved. Is it possible that this was only a few years ago? My back seat is now empty. I can't express how much I miss the chaos that once rode along with me.
And now I have this one little ten year old left at home. With an aching heart I am aware that he will not always need me like he does now. I know that one day he will sit on my lap for the last time. I can't imagine what could be more important than that moment. I don't want to miss it. Again.
Blending a family doesn't make anyone a STEP
When I married my husband we formed a blended family. Our five children had a lot of adjusting to do. (The proceeding sentence might qualify to win the "Understatement of the Decade" award.) According to popular terminology each of us is now a "step" something; Step mom, Step brother, etc. I respectfully disagree.
My husband brought one son into the marriage and I brought three sons and a daughter. His son is also the oldest of the children and was accustomed to his status as an only child. My children were used to sharing me with each other but were not excited about adding another player to the list of time draws. My husband and I approached the new arrangement with clenched teeth, a smile and, to be honest, we expected the worst. We had been warned by many "supporters" (??) that this would be a difficult situation.
After being pronounced man and wife we proceeded down the aisle and into a small room in the back of the church. We were quickly joined by our children and our immediate family. I hugged my husband's son and whispered in his ear "We will never use the word "step" I am proud to call you my son." I had not thought this out prior to the ceremony and the words came from a place in my heart that was speaking to both of us at this moment. Five years later I can say that I have never once referred to him as my step-son.
My husband and I talked about this on our honeymoon. Why do people use the term "step" when referring to blended family members? What does this term even imply? Does referring to someone as a "step" relative mean there is a space between you and them? Is this person less important than a biological relative? As we talked we could find no reason to adopt this term into our family. Upon returning home we addressed this with our children and requested that they refrain from using this language when talking about our family.
Five years later I can honestly say that none of us have uttered the term more than a handful of times. We refer to the offspring as "our children" and they call us "the parents." They refer to each other in normal sibling terms; dork, jerk, idiot, cow-breath....the normal stuff. When I meet new people and am pressed for details regarding my children I sometimes concede that "My oldest is my husband's child and I was not blessed to have given birth to him. He is still my baby." I mean that. I would do anything for him and I would hurt anyone who tried to harm him. Just like I would for any of my children.
While I love my husband's son and he loves my children it would be less than honest to say that our relationships mirror a family where everyone is biologically related. There is some kind of fantasy that The Brady Bunch is a realistic type of blended family. Society seems to judge the success of a blended family on it's ability to replicate a traditional family. It is my opinion that a successful family is one where each member feels loved, secure, respected and supported. Blood lines have no bearing. Are traditional families always successful?
We have seven personalities that make up our family. The relationships are each unique. I am confident that our children love each other and they each love us. Do I love my oldest, my husband's son, as much as my own? Yes. I fully love him. Do I treat him the same as my other children? No. Do I treat my biological children the same as each other? No. Each relationship has it's own facets. There are moments of joy and moments of extreme frustration just like every relationship on the planet.
It's unfair to expect my spouse to treat my children exactly as he treats his own and I hope he doesn't expect that from me. In blended families a common argument is "You would do that for YOUR child but you won't do that for mine!" Those are fighting words. My husband will do anything for any our children but he of course shares a bond with his son that is special. That relationship doesn't mean that he can't love my children as well. He has provided for all of them but there have been times when he might mentally struggle with giving something (usually money) to one of the older children. 99% of the time we arrive to a decision we can both live with. A few times I have asked him "Would you do it for your own son?" and when phrased properly it can serve as a gentle nudge rather than an attack. I have needed the same nudge more than once.
Overall our experience in the blended family arena has been positive. We have had the typical tense moments but we have worked it through them. Our children know that we are both there for them. Our house is peaceful. The disaster we had been warned of never materialized. We let out a cautious sigh of relief two years after the wedding and now we wonder why we were so worried. I know that other families have not faired as well and I ponder the reasons for that. I suspect the unrealistic expectations play a role. I think we have done well because we had no expectations and were prepared for the worst. We have been pretty fair and honest with each other. When there is a disagreement about one of the children we try to navigate it carefully. You can't retract words once they have been spoken. It only takes a moment to cause damage that will take a long time to mend. We laugh a lot and try to keep it light. One time I told him that if we ever divorced I was keeping my Grand Cherokee and he could keep the kids. All of them. The look of fear in his eyes was priceless. He has been a really sweet husband so it seems that the threat worked.
My husband brought one son into the marriage and I brought three sons and a daughter. His son is also the oldest of the children and was accustomed to his status as an only child. My children were used to sharing me with each other but were not excited about adding another player to the list of time draws. My husband and I approached the new arrangement with clenched teeth, a smile and, to be honest, we expected the worst. We had been warned by many "supporters" (??) that this would be a difficult situation.
After being pronounced man and wife we proceeded down the aisle and into a small room in the back of the church. We were quickly joined by our children and our immediate family. I hugged my husband's son and whispered in his ear "We will never use the word "step" I am proud to call you my son." I had not thought this out prior to the ceremony and the words came from a place in my heart that was speaking to both of us at this moment. Five years later I can say that I have never once referred to him as my step-son.
My husband and I talked about this on our honeymoon. Why do people use the term "step" when referring to blended family members? What does this term even imply? Does referring to someone as a "step" relative mean there is a space between you and them? Is this person less important than a biological relative? As we talked we could find no reason to adopt this term into our family. Upon returning home we addressed this with our children and requested that they refrain from using this language when talking about our family.
Five years later I can honestly say that none of us have uttered the term more than a handful of times. We refer to the offspring as "our children" and they call us "the parents." They refer to each other in normal sibling terms; dork, jerk, idiot, cow-breath....the normal stuff. When I meet new people and am pressed for details regarding my children I sometimes concede that "My oldest is my husband's child and I was not blessed to have given birth to him. He is still my baby." I mean that. I would do anything for him and I would hurt anyone who tried to harm him. Just like I would for any of my children.
While I love my husband's son and he loves my children it would be less than honest to say that our relationships mirror a family where everyone is biologically related. There is some kind of fantasy that The Brady Bunch is a realistic type of blended family. Society seems to judge the success of a blended family on it's ability to replicate a traditional family. It is my opinion that a successful family is one where each member feels loved, secure, respected and supported. Blood lines have no bearing. Are traditional families always successful?
We have seven personalities that make up our family. The relationships are each unique. I am confident that our children love each other and they each love us. Do I love my oldest, my husband's son, as much as my own? Yes. I fully love him. Do I treat him the same as my other children? No. Do I treat my biological children the same as each other? No. Each relationship has it's own facets. There are moments of joy and moments of extreme frustration just like every relationship on the planet.
It's unfair to expect my spouse to treat my children exactly as he treats his own and I hope he doesn't expect that from me. In blended families a common argument is "You would do that for YOUR child but you won't do that for mine!" Those are fighting words. My husband will do anything for any our children but he of course shares a bond with his son that is special. That relationship doesn't mean that he can't love my children as well. He has provided for all of them but there have been times when he might mentally struggle with giving something (usually money) to one of the older children. 99% of the time we arrive to a decision we can both live with. A few times I have asked him "Would you do it for your own son?" and when phrased properly it can serve as a gentle nudge rather than an attack. I have needed the same nudge more than once.
Overall our experience in the blended family arena has been positive. We have had the typical tense moments but we have worked it through them. Our children know that we are both there for them. Our house is peaceful. The disaster we had been warned of never materialized. We let out a cautious sigh of relief two years after the wedding and now we wonder why we were so worried. I know that other families have not faired as well and I ponder the reasons for that. I suspect the unrealistic expectations play a role. I think we have done well because we had no expectations and were prepared for the worst. We have been pretty fair and honest with each other. When there is a disagreement about one of the children we try to navigate it carefully. You can't retract words once they have been spoken. It only takes a moment to cause damage that will take a long time to mend. We laugh a lot and try to keep it light. One time I told him that if we ever divorced I was keeping my Grand Cherokee and he could keep the kids. All of them. The look of fear in his eyes was priceless. He has been a really sweet husband so it seems that the threat worked.
Welfare: Why are we ashamed?
Welfare. It's a word that makes most people cringe. What flashes into your mind when you hear it? An image of a women with many children? A drug addict? A family that has illegally entered our country? A man in a dirty "wife-beater" lounging in his tire-strewn yard with a beer in his hand?
What words come to mind? Lazy. Taxes. Fraud. Those words have entered many welfare debates. It's not at all surprising when you consider how effectively our opinions have been shaped by political speeches given by men seeking election. Welfare is the perfect red herring. It has been painted as the biggest offense in our country and the reason for most of our economic woes. We have been led to believe that if those 'lazy recipients' would get off their butts and get jobs then our tax burden would be lessened and all our lives would dramatically improve.
When the topic of welfare enters a conversation I tend to be quiet for a long time. I like to listen to the thoughts and opinions of others and I try to latch on to what is most important to the speaker. Are they upset about the employment status of the recipient? How many children the person has given birth to? The tax burden on society? I realized a long time ago that the subject is too close to my heart to get into a fair debate. Having grown up on welfare and then spent some time "on the dole" as a single mother this is a rather personal topic to me.
The people I have encountered with the strongest opinions have not spent a single day on welfare. If I can locate the one point that is most important to the speaker then I will try to share a relevant statistic or fact that I hope will shift their opinions. This is rarely successful.
One day I had discussion with a man who had strong opinions. I listened while we complained bitterly about his taxes. He talked about the welfare mom who "Has child after child to increase her monthly check." I listened for a long time before I asked him if he was aware that statistically welfare families have an average of 2.5 children just like the rest of the population. He looked at me blankly for a moment and immediately dismissed what I said. He continued on his tirade for several more minutes. Facts had no place in the discussion because he had personally seen a women with four children using her food stamps. I guess that settles it.
The average American has deep-seated opinions on this topic but few take the time to research or read relevant articles. Rhetoric and lying politicians have superseded facts and it couldn't have happened without the assistance of the media. I won't overload you in this single post. My plan is to take on this subject one piece at a time in future posts.
I maintain that Americans should be proud of our welfare system. I have personally spent some time in Honduras and have witnessed extreme poverty. There is no safety net there. If parents don't work then the children go hungry. Families live in small homes (or shacks) with few- if any- amenities. Some families live at the dump in cardboard boxes. For the parents who can find work there are few childcare options. It's not uncommon to see a 7 year old balancing a baby on her hip while her parents are working. The government of that country has no visible concern for it's citizens.
And we are ashamed of our Welfare system? We are ashamed that we provide food, clothing and a place to live for those who need it? We are ashamed that we provide a means for babies to get vaccinations? We are ashamed that we make sure every school child has a hot lunch?
Yes, our system has flaws. I don't argue that some people have found ways to defraud the system. I also concur that we have all witnessed stereotypical welfare families who (insert welfare offense here) in front of your eyes. It is my firm belief that those families represent the exception and not the rule. You have also witnessed many more Welfare families that were using the system as it was intended. Those families are inconspicuous and nothing would alert you to their presence. I will share my story throughout this blog and I suspect it will surprise you. I am looking forward to revealing it all and I hope you will stay tuned.
Sometimes I don't want to call myself a Christian
Sometimes I don't like to admit I am a Christian. I am not ashamed of my beliefs and I am certainly not ashamed of the name of Christ but I am embarrassed by representation of Christianity that is displayed in this country. Let's be honest, Christians do not have a good image. The moment I identify myself as part of the group the assumptions about who I am begin. Most of those assumptions are not positive.
While it's true that some Christians have a tendency to behave as though they are sent from God to tell the world how to behave I don't want to be lumped in with that group. I don't subscribe to the notion that I can tell other people what to think or believe. I have my own beliefs and in the right setting I would love to talk to you about that. They are ~my~ beliefs and I came to them while walking my own journey. I ask that you respect my right to have my beliefs and I will extend to you the same respect. We don't have to agree to be friends.
My dearest friend is an Atheist. We began cautiously talking about 5 years ago. At the time I was worried that talking to her would somehow decrease my faith. As I grew to know and truly love her as a person we have had many open exchanges about the topic of faith and God. I have an understanding of her thoughts and how she arrived at her conclusion. I have full respect for her opinions. She knows that I pray for her and she is ok with that. I am true to my faith. How could I not pray for her? She has posed some hard questions to me at times. As I took on those questions it forced me to examine many of the sticky aspects of my beliefs. The end result is that I am stronger in my faith today. I have been blessed through our relationship. I thank God for bringing her into my life. As a Christian I hope and pray that she one day comes into a relationship with Christ. Not because I think she is an evil sinner rather that I believe it would bless her life and bring her peace that she has never known.
I find it curious that I have grown closer to God because of a relationship with someone who doesn't believe in His existence. In all the years I have known her she has never once offended me or hurt my feelings. I wish I could say the same for some of the Christians I have known. Why do so many Christians feel they have the right to condemn or condone the actions of others?
I once saw a report about a group of Christians that protested at a Gay Rights Rally. The Christians were arrested and charged with a hate crime. The interviewer talked with the group and they insisted that they were not full of hate and said they only attended the rally to tell the gay people that they were sinners and would be going to Hell. I found it shocking and personally felt they were more hateful than most non-Christians. Sadly, this group of "Christians" represents exactly what people tend to assume about Christians.
I waiver between thinking that Christianity needs a PR makeover or that it needs a full internal overhaul. I am leaning toward the latter. I can't imagine Jesus attending a Gay Rights Rally to tell people they were condemned. There were plenty of injustices during his time on earth. They were beating people and hanging them up on trees! Jesus managed to bite his tongue about that and yet we can get so riled up about someone being gay?
I am not ashamed to call myself a Christian in as much as it relates to my love for Jesus. However I hate to claim membership in the very public group of "Christians" that represent Jesus so badly.
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