Love

Why is it that God breathes his love into us? Why is it that for no obvious reason, as I pack my bag and throw my trash away in the cafeteria, I look over at someone and am suddenly swallowing lumps, almost holding back tears, because for one instant I see her as the Father sees her? Though I don't know her--I hardly know her name--and I've never spoken to her, for some reason I am filled with a surge of love for her.

In that instant, again for no obvious reason, I get the feeling that she is a loner, that she is not popular, that she is laughed at by others. And in that instant my heart breaks for her. In that instant I feel an urge in my marrow to hug her, or smile at her, or do something to let her know she is cared for.

Why would God offer such a glimpse of love? Why, when I don't even know this person, does he fill me up with love that literally brings forth tears.

What is this love?

Even with such a glimpse I realize how incapable I am of loving anyone, let alone a stranger, in such a way. I am incapable of empathizing with anyone in such a way. But for reasons that puzzle me, God fills his children with his love. Even for but an instant, he fills us with love that knows no rival--love that brings us to our knees in joy and in sorrow. 

How unworthy am I.

What is this love?

Coming and Going

I can't help but notice the change the earth continually undergoes.

Just a few weeks ago, driving through the Virginia and Carolina Blue Ridge, the mountain palette grabbed me and forced my eyes to gaze at its color. I wait for that time of year--when trees lose their greens and instead show off their warmer hues, the reds and oranges; when wind brings in the arctic air, not made stale by thunderhead or summer sun; when smells of burnt wood turn my head, and I search for the fire's plume of smoke.

Now, though, the reds, oranges, and yellows give way to crumpled, decrepit brown. Leaves fall to the ground and crack underfoot.  The wind, while still corralling the fresh air, is almost too mean, slapping my skin when it rolls through the valley and over the hills. 

But this season, when flora fully perishes, charms me in its own way. Soon orange and yellow give way to red and green. Between the blusters of wind, I can almost hear songs of the Incarnation. And though earth dons the grays of her seasonal death, we celebrate our glorious Life.

Indeed, one season has passed. Another is not far.

Pride and What Else?

By now Tuesday's history has had time to sink in. The shock of the election has subsided a bit, and now is an appropriate time to comment on it.

I was disappointed with our country's choice; for reasons I'll delve into soon, I am skeptical of our President-elect, and even a bit fearful. But, what happened Tuesday night and in the infant hours of Wednesday was something I will never forget. Though he was not my choice, Barack Obama represents so much for our country. Watching a black man ascend to the presidency is something we should all be proud of, Republican, Democrat, or other. In fact, seeing the live footage of over 100,000 people--white, black, Hispanic, and who knows what else--huddled together on the grass of Grant Park in Chicago, cheering and crying for the nation's first black president, was one of the proudest moments I've ever had as an American. When seen in the light of what was happening to blacks just 40 years ago, Tuesday night will stand as a monument for the United States and the rest of the nations. That kind of change excites me.

However, the other types of change President-elect Obama wants to implement fail to excite me. In short, I cannot be excited about the socialist model of government he puts his faith in; I cannot be excited about a president who has done so much in the past to throw away the lives of infants, born and unborn; I cannot be excited about a president who, through his associations and his past, has shown so much contempt for his country. I can only hope and pray that due to the political and economic climate of the nation today, President-elect Obama will not be able to bring about his "Change"; "No se puede," to put it in his terms.

But, for all my trepidation, for all my discouragement, I should support my president; I should pray for my president. For whatever reason, now seen or unseen, God has put President-elect Obama in this position at this time. If I trust His sovereignty, I should respect my president and hope for his success, in terms of our nation's success.

Life in a fallen world, in many ways, is about managing certain paradoxes. Though I am fervently proud of our nation, I am equally as disappointed. Though I am fervently happy to see a black man president, I am frightened to see Barack Obama as that man.

But no matter who the president is, may we pray for our nation. 

Untitled (Originally from October 22, 2008)

So, it's been a while since I last worte, on here at least. Hopefully I'll be adding more in the near future. For right now, though, here are some thoughts:

Last night, the Worldview Team visited a Hindu Temple in Chattanooga with Rev. Augustine Asir, himself an Indian. While I don't have time to go into all the details, I do want to say that I was struck by a couple things. For one, the experience was much different that I expected. I've heard of Christians going into temples or Mosques, and they come out saying that they felt something evil. I experienced no such thing last night. The room, crowded with Worldview teamers and ornate idols, was serene. I felt  I was observing more of a cultural tradition than a mystical, deceived religious shrine.

That brings to mind some thoughts on culture and even history. I love the study of both. Sometimes I forget, though, that culture and history are not just ideas and concepts; they are not simply tales and legends. Culture and history allure us because people's stories are tied up in them. Individual lives, often times lumped together, are what make culture and history. And each of these individuals has a story; each person has shortcomings and fears, gifts and aspirations, challenges and problems, family and friends. People are at the heart of these things, and so many deserve to have their stories known.

Political Panderings. . . and more (Originally from July 17, 2008)

I sat in the passenger seat while Dad drove down the interstate; I still remember dashed lines rolling toward us. We entrenched ourselves in our sides of the conversation. He must have been discouraged, as he tried to get through to his arrogant, teenage son, who thought he knew better than this his father. Indeed, I even felt like I was impressing him -- "standing up for myself" -- as we talked about the somewhat abstract idea (at least to an adolescent) of respect, specifically respect for an employer and even a parent.

"Dad, I don't care who it is. If they don't respect me, I won't show any respect to them," I quickly declared, in what sounded like sure Jeffersonian language to me, not knowing that his heart must have been churning.

"Son, that won't get you very far, because, believe me, you will work with people and for people who show you no respect. But, that doesn't mean that you treat them the same." And then he said it -- what cemented this conversation in my head and made it the catalyst for a brand new attitude.

"If I ever met Bill Clinton, as much as I detest how he disgraced the Oval Office by some of his actions, I would still shake his hand, and I would still salute him." I couldn't believe it. "Even though I don't respect what he did or even him personally, I have respect for the office of President of the United States, and I respect how many responsibilities he had."

Though Dad may not have realized it (and still probably doesn't), that statement has reverberated in my head for years and still dictates my own dealings with the most despised people. And, as I grow, I realize even more so than the office of President of the United States, the fact that Bill Clinton is human, created in the image of God, calls for a general respect.

So now we fast-forward to today. In an interview with CNN's Wolf Blitzer, Democratic Speaker of the House of Representatives Nancy Pelosi bloviated about many a thing, some justifiably. But one verbal melee stood out. A soundbite was played of President George W. Bush talking to the press about how his disappointment with Congress's lack of. . . well, really their lack of anything. In response, Pelosi said sarcastically (perhaps in a snide attempt to sound more down-homesy?), "Well, God bless him. Bless his heart." Then she called President Bush a "total failure." Again, a "total failure."

At that moment I felt I could comprehend some of Dad's feelings as I spouted off immaturely in my own bloviating from years past. But, thank goodness, I don't have to suffer through the pain hearing the evidence of such disrespect come from my own child.

So, to that I ask: what happened to respecting people, especially the President of the United States, even when we disagree, vehemently as it may be, with their decisions or mandates? Keep in mind that the remark to which Pelosi responded was not even directed at her; there was nothing personal in President Bush's criticism. But, Madame Speaker felt the need to retaliate viciously, and in doing so illustrated what is so wrong with American politics today and what will poison our country so quickly: lack of respect for others (rooted, of course, in the biblical principle of imago dei). Whether we're Republican or Democrat, white or black, Christian or atheist, right or wrong, we have to respect each other, especially our leaders, who can swing the emotional tide of our country by these very outbursts and who can do the same for our foreign enemies and allies.

True enough, respect is earned, not given, but at some fundamental point, we have to realize that we are not just "mere mortals," to borrow a phrase from C.S. Lewis. And the responsibility of the President far outweighs that of which many others can conceive, just as many cannot conceive the responsibility that rests upon Speaker Pelosi's shoulders.

Now as I revert to what Dad told his obstinate son years ago, I remember what it's like to think your Dad so great that he's a superhero, or, far more impressive, that he should be the President of the United States. 

Words (Originally from July 10, 2008)

As I ineptly attempt to modify all the nuances of this new beast, I thought I would clue whatever readers I have in as to why I'm now experimenting in the blogosphere.

I'm not new to social networking sites, as I have had a Facebook for almost three years, but a blog offers something more than Facebook. With Facebook, after all this time using it, I came to the realization a few weeks ago that I use it to mask myself. Editing my profile was really just editing a facade, a persona -- I altered the person I wanted everyone to see. I took time to pick movie selections, music selections, photo albums, wall posts, and status changes so that I could essentially edit the me that everyone else on Facebook saw.

Now, I realize that I can do the exact same thing here on Xanga. It offers as many veritable choices as Facebook. But, the key difference with Xanga is that it is a blog -- an outlet to write.

I've found, especially over the last year, that I am closest to the authentic me when I put myself down on paper. That does not necessitate a narcissistic blathering; rather, my writing, no matter what the subject, always gives a better picture of me than any collection of demographics, interests, etc. Words have power. Words have meaning. Words speak. And I've learned that if I am to let others know who I am, indeed if I am to know more about myself -- traits worthy of boasting and of rebuking -- I will do it best through words.

Plus, I just love to write.

That said, I'll probably be a little skimpy on a lot of the personal information -- those very things I talked about from Facebook. But I hope my words will offer enough to catch a glimpse of what's going on in my head and in my heart. Thanks for reading.

Julie, I love you. . .