Alright, let me start in on the Nehemiah Institute and their Mini-PEERS test. (See my earlier post "What Did You Call Me?" if you're confused.) One of my biggest beefs I have with the test is how poorly it seems to be written. Take question number nine -- probably the worst offender, in my opinion. Here is the statement: Individuals should be allowed to conduct life as they choose as long as it does not interfere with the lives of others. This sounds to me like the typical libertarian view of things. (I dated a guy in high school who was a rabid libertarian. He would say, "Your right to swing your fist stops where my nose begins.")
For the record, I answered this with a "TA" (Tend to Agree) -- with the available choices being Strongly Agree, Tend to Agree, Neutral, Tend to Disagree, and Strongly Disagree. There are situations, such as those when individuals are under the authority of another who is responsible for their well-being, when it behooves one to interfere in the life of another. I'm not completely sold on the libertarian philosophy, but I certainly lean that way more than the other; thus, my response.
However, Nehemiah Institute indicates that a Biblical response would be to disagree with the statement. I wasn't completely surprised, but I was puzzled by their explanation for why we should disagree. "We are all accountable for helping our brother not sin," they say. They quote familiar scriptures about reproving each other when we are doing wrong. It is a loving thing, they argue, to warn people when they are on the wrong track.
Well, yeah. One for the duh file, as Jay Leno says. And when we do confront people, we hope and pray they turn from their erroneous ways. But if they don't . . if they hear our warnings and still choose to continue in their sinful behavior . . well, what then? Do we not then "allow them to conduct life as they choose as long as it does not interfere with the lives of others"?
I mean, unless they're breaking the law, what else would we do? Beat them over the head with a brick? Shame and humiliate them? Cry and whine and blubber until they give in to shut us up?
We can't force them to do the right thing. God doesn't even do that. I think that's a basic tenet of the gospel, isn't it? God wants us to choose. He doesn't force our hand. He wants us to obey him out of love and trust.
The concept in the original statement (people are allowed the freedom to choose wrong as long as others aren't harmed) and the concept in their explanation (we should lovingly warn someone we see choosing wrong) are not incompatible Biblically, as far as I can see. Warning someone of the dangers we see coming doesn't deny them their freedom; acknowledging they have freedom to choose isn't being unloving.
Either their explanation doesn't fit the statement, or it is a very simplistic response to the issue. Either way, I'm not impressed.
Am I wrong, friends? If so, please point it out. Lord knows, I don't want to be a secular humanist unawares.
Sunday, August 23, 2009
I Have A Dream
I have a dream.
I have a dream that one day, I'll be able to lie down in my bed and drift into a peaceful slumber within a only few minutes. I have a dream that I'll sleep for a full eight hours without waking once. That in the course of those eight hours, my mind will cycle through all the appropriate sleep cycles and that I will awaken in the morning rested and ready for the day. I HAVE a dream.
I have a dream that I will walk through a day awake and truly alert. That I will have the energy to do my daily tasks without having to forcibly will my body to move when it is sitting still. I have a dream that I will be able to relate to my family without peering through the heavy fog of fatigue that makes me fight irritability on an hourly basis -- a fog that has been a constant in my life for so long, only recently has it occurred to me that maybe nobody else's brain feels like this.
I have a dre-e-eam, bruthahs and sistahs.
I have a dream that I will drive errands on a sunny late afternoon and not worry that the warm air and the late hour will lull my eyes closed and the cars wheels out of the lane I'm driving in. I have a dream of arriving home and sitting on the sofa without thinking about lying down . . just for a minute . . just for . . a minute . .
For years, I could never understand how I could be so tired all the time when I slept so much. So when I had my sleep test done last fall and the doctor told me the results (that I was unknowingly waking up an average of 28 times an hour and rarely if ever getting to stage 3 or 4 level deep sleep), I was fascinated and relieved. THAT explains my tiredness, my forgetfulness, my needing stuff repeated to me, my occasional lack of motivation, my irritability, my constant tiredness, my frequent depressive episodes, my over-sleeping, my little stupid mistakes, my never-ending inexplicable tiredness . . . I'm not a lousy excuse for a human being after all. I'm just seriously sleep-deprived!
Now, if my doctor and I could just figure out how to fix this problem. Because I just am dying to see how different life will be when I'm genuinely awake. Maybe I'm kidding myself -- maybe it won't be that different after all. But I can dream. Maybe the fog will be lifted and people's words will actually register when they're spoken to me, so my live conversations can be as coherent as my email ones. Maybe I'll have the mental wherewithal to hear my teenager's rantings, analyze them, check my own emotions, formulate an appropriate response and execute it all in real time. Maybe I'll have the energy to get my daily work done AND enjoy my family at the same time.
Maybe there's a magic pill somewhere, or a secret technique, something that will free me from this sluggish prison I feel trapped in. That would be so cool. I've had rare moments when I've really felt awake -- it would be great to feel awake for several hours at a time. Awake. Awake and free. Free at last. Free at last . . .
I have a dream that one day, I'll be able to lie down in my bed and drift into a peaceful slumber within a only few minutes. I have a dream that I'll sleep for a full eight hours without waking once. That in the course of those eight hours, my mind will cycle through all the appropriate sleep cycles and that I will awaken in the morning rested and ready for the day. I HAVE a dream.
I have a dream that I will walk through a day awake and truly alert. That I will have the energy to do my daily tasks without having to forcibly will my body to move when it is sitting still. I have a dream that I will be able to relate to my family without peering through the heavy fog of fatigue that makes me fight irritability on an hourly basis -- a fog that has been a constant in my life for so long, only recently has it occurred to me that maybe nobody else's brain feels like this.
I have a dre-e-eam, bruthahs and sistahs.
I have a dream that I will drive errands on a sunny late afternoon and not worry that the warm air and the late hour will lull my eyes closed and the cars wheels out of the lane I'm driving in. I have a dream of arriving home and sitting on the sofa without thinking about lying down . . just for a minute . . just for . . a minute . .
For years, I could never understand how I could be so tired all the time when I slept so much. So when I had my sleep test done last fall and the doctor told me the results (that I was unknowingly waking up an average of 28 times an hour and rarely if ever getting to stage 3 or 4 level deep sleep), I was fascinated and relieved. THAT explains my tiredness, my forgetfulness, my needing stuff repeated to me, my occasional lack of motivation, my irritability, my constant tiredness, my frequent depressive episodes, my over-sleeping, my little stupid mistakes, my never-ending inexplicable tiredness . . . I'm not a lousy excuse for a human being after all. I'm just seriously sleep-deprived!
Now, if my doctor and I could just figure out how to fix this problem. Because I just am dying to see how different life will be when I'm genuinely awake. Maybe I'm kidding myself -- maybe it won't be that different after all. But I can dream. Maybe the fog will be lifted and people's words will actually register when they're spoken to me, so my live conversations can be as coherent as my email ones. Maybe I'll have the mental wherewithal to hear my teenager's rantings, analyze them, check my own emotions, formulate an appropriate response and execute it all in real time. Maybe I'll have the energy to get my daily work done AND enjoy my family at the same time.
Maybe there's a magic pill somewhere, or a secret technique, something that will free me from this sluggish prison I feel trapped in. That would be so cool. I've had rare moments when I've really felt awake -- it would be great to feel awake for several hours at a time. Awake. Awake and free. Free at last. Free at last . . .
Saturday, August 22, 2009
What Did You Call Me???
Many years ago, when I was first starting to homeschool and getting exposed to all sorts of new things, I heard about Nehemiah Institute and their work with Biblical Worldview training. It sounded very cool. Somebody spoke about it at the local homeschool group last fall and piqued my curiosity again. I wrote down the website and put it on my to-do list to look at. Obviously, I have a full to-do list and it was low in priority because I just got around to looking at the website a few weeks ago.
There was a "mini" assessment test on the website for $3.80, one you could do online and get the results in the mail. I thought that would be interesting. I wasn't necessarily up to spending fifteen bucks or so on the full test right now (I'm buying too many books on education these days, you know). So I pointed and clicked my way through the twenty questions and waited for my results.
As it turns out, I'm a secular humanist. Who knew.
Actually, as it turns out, the Nehemiah Institute needs some help, in my humble opinion. Even as I was taking the test, I was shaking my head at the statements they were asking me to agree or disagree with. All too often, I had to say, "Well, it depends . . " or "Well, in what context . . ?"
But the last statement was the final straw. It read: Homosexuality is a criminal offense against society. Persons caught conducting a homosexual act should be tried and sentenced in a civil court of law. Seriously? Seriously?? I have gay and lesbian friends who read this blog. They know I love them dearly. They also know I believe their relationships are not what God wants for them. But "a criminal offense against society"? "Tried and sentenced in a civil court of law"?? Oh, heavens. I don't think so.
I went back to the website and ordered their booklet of position papers on the questions in the mini-test (so, yes, I ended up spending more money after all ....) just to see how exactly they justified their stances Biblically (very Berean, I am). And I spent much of yesterday evening laughing and growling and pondering and ranting and pontificating and otherwise emoting my way through the booklet. I expect to be blogging about it more, because I'm quite all up in arms about this.
A secular humanist. The very idea.
There was a "mini" assessment test on the website for $3.80, one you could do online and get the results in the mail. I thought that would be interesting. I wasn't necessarily up to spending fifteen bucks or so on the full test right now (I'm buying too many books on education these days, you know). So I pointed and clicked my way through the twenty questions and waited for my results.
As it turns out, I'm a secular humanist. Who knew.
Actually, as it turns out, the Nehemiah Institute needs some help, in my humble opinion. Even as I was taking the test, I was shaking my head at the statements they were asking me to agree or disagree with. All too often, I had to say, "Well, it depends . . " or "Well, in what context . . ?"
But the last statement was the final straw. It read: Homosexuality is a criminal offense against society. Persons caught conducting a homosexual act should be tried and sentenced in a civil court of law. Seriously? Seriously?? I have gay and lesbian friends who read this blog. They know I love them dearly. They also know I believe their relationships are not what God wants for them. But "a criminal offense against society"? "Tried and sentenced in a civil court of law"?? Oh, heavens. I don't think so.
I went back to the website and ordered their booklet of position papers on the questions in the mini-test (so, yes, I ended up spending more money after all ....) just to see how exactly they justified their stances Biblically (very Berean, I am). And I spent much of yesterday evening laughing and growling and pondering and ranting and pontificating and otherwise emoting my way through the booklet. I expect to be blogging about it more, because I'm quite all up in arms about this.
A secular humanist. The very idea.
Friday, August 21, 2009
"Real" School and the Essentials of Development
So, the first day of "real" school has come and gone. And all was good.
Eastin's teacher's name is Mr. Dickman. How unfortunate. But he really is a very nice man. Every kid and adult we know from Sunnyside Elementary has said, "Oh, you will LOVE Mr. Dickman!" That's a good sign. Her first day seemed to go very well. She made friends . . . she liked the chicken patty sandwich at lunch . . . she has a locker (without a lock). . . she enjoyed riding the bus . . . she had three recesses . . . she had to struggle to decide who to play with at recess among all the kids who wanted to play with her! Really -- a good day!
Leslie's half-day of school seemed to go well, too. Her first quarter music class is her favorite. They're learning to play the guitar (which she's very excited about) and the piano (which she already knows, so that's at least an easy A). And apparently, they're going to divide into groups and make some kind of CD together? Anyway, she thinks it sounds like a lot of fun.
She's in a neighborhood carpool with three other girls. As it turns out, there's a friendly 8th grade girl in the carpool who is in her science class and homeroom AND whose locker is right next to hers. Jonte even opened Leslie's locker for her. That turned out to be her only real "crisis" of the day. Not until Leslie had her locker combination in her hand and was standing in front of her locker did it occur to her that she had no idea what to do with these numbers.
Only I saw the irony in that. When we met the Golden family in Springfield, the first homeschool family I knew, I was thoroughly intrigued by the whole idea of teaching my kids myself at home. However, I remember saying to Cindy, "But ..... my kids would never have a locker..... " I knew even as I said it what a ridiculous statement that was. As if my children would be societal outcasts -- unable to function or contribute to humanity -- because they never used a locker. (Kind of reminds me of the comments people make about how homeschooled kids will never be able to function in "the real world" because they've never been in school -- as if school has any resemblance to the real world!)
Right at that moment, I was finding myself an interesting psychological study: the fact that I apparently considered such a truly meaningless experience as using a locker to be so essential to a person's development made me stop and consider what really was essential to a person's development . . . and whether or not school was the best place to get that. It was actually a pivotal moment for our family.
Anywho, I do hope Leslie was able to get her locker open today.
Eastin's teacher's name is Mr. Dickman. How unfortunate. But he really is a very nice man. Every kid and adult we know from Sunnyside Elementary has said, "Oh, you will LOVE Mr. Dickman!" That's a good sign. Her first day seemed to go very well. She made friends . . . she liked the chicken patty sandwich at lunch . . . she has a locker (without a lock). . . she enjoyed riding the bus . . . she had three recesses . . . she had to struggle to decide who to play with at recess among all the kids who wanted to play with her! Really -- a good day!
Leslie's half-day of school seemed to go well, too. Her first quarter music class is her favorite. They're learning to play the guitar (which she's very excited about) and the piano (which she already knows, so that's at least an easy A). And apparently, they're going to divide into groups and make some kind of CD together? Anyway, she thinks it sounds like a lot of fun.
She's in a neighborhood carpool with three other girls. As it turns out, there's a friendly 8th grade girl in the carpool who is in her science class and homeroom AND whose locker is right next to hers. Jonte even opened Leslie's locker for her. That turned out to be her only real "crisis" of the day. Not until Leslie had her locker combination in her hand and was standing in front of her locker did it occur to her that she had no idea what to do with these numbers.
Only I saw the irony in that. When we met the Golden family in Springfield, the first homeschool family I knew, I was thoroughly intrigued by the whole idea of teaching my kids myself at home. However, I remember saying to Cindy, "But ..... my kids would never have a locker..... " I knew even as I said it what a ridiculous statement that was. As if my children would be societal outcasts -- unable to function or contribute to humanity -- because they never used a locker. (Kind of reminds me of the comments people make about how homeschooled kids will never be able to function in "the real world" because they've never been in school -- as if school has any resemblance to the real world!)
Right at that moment, I was finding myself an interesting psychological study: the fact that I apparently considered such a truly meaningless experience as using a locker to be so essential to a person's development made me stop and consider what really was essential to a person's development . . . and whether or not school was the best place to get that. It was actually a pivotal moment for our family.
Anywho, I do hope Leslie was able to get her locker open today.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Contradicting
I used to wonder when I read the Little House books at how the Ingalls parents would scold their children for "contradicting" someone. Now I have a teenager. Now I get it.
I specifically remember when my eldest started with the arguing-for-the-sake-of-arguing routine. And actually, I regarded the new behavior with a bit of fascination. I could tell she wasn't necessarily trying to be rebellious. She was just moving into the abstract thinking stage of development. Suddenly, her horizons were expanded. Suddenly, she could see that there were more ways of looking at this situation than mine. And it was something of a thrill for her to point out all of those perspectives for me. Usually, when I acknowledged and affirmed her thinking, but let her know that my perspective would still stand in our family, she was fine with that.
Gone are those days. She is honing this debate skill to an art and making use of it to try to assert her will on the rest of us. Yes, this was to be expected. The question is, how to respond?
The easy response is to give in, stop fighting and let her win. However, when the inevitable day arrives that the surly, spoiled young woman I've created starts battling us on more life-threatening issues, life will no longer be easy. Relax, folks -- I'm not that stupid.
The correct response is probably to hear her out on her arguments, give her credit for the good ones, counteract the poor ones with my counterarguments, and stand firm on my final decision. Yeah. Easier said than done. She's just getting too good for this. She finds the counterarguments to my counterarguments . . and I do the same for hers . . and soon we're in a major stand-off. This strategy only works if her motive is increased knowledge and understanding of her mother's thinking. No, no, reader -- her goal is to win the debate.
So, all too often, the only strategy that seems to be effective is to assert my authority to shut off the debate. No arguing -- my way or the highway. That's not a satisfactory solution either. It makes me feel like an ogre. But then, none of the other options feel good either.
What I really want is a heart change in my child. A willingness to submit. When she asks why, I want to be able to say, "Because I'm the mother. Because in your heart of hearts you know how much I love you and you know I have more knowledge and experience than you. Because even though I'm imperfect and will make many mistakes, you know I act with your best interests in heart. Because in the course of your life many situations will arise where you need to submit whether you like it or not, whether you understand it or not, and you may as well learn how to do that now with the small things -- because you can trust me."
Oooh. That just sent me back to Andree Seu's blog. Tantrums with God. "Why, God? Why?" Because I'm the Father. Because you know how much I love you . . .
Ouch. Shutting up now.
I specifically remember when my eldest started with the arguing-for-the-sake-of-arguing routine. And actually, I regarded the new behavior with a bit of fascination. I could tell she wasn't necessarily trying to be rebellious. She was just moving into the abstract thinking stage of development. Suddenly, her horizons were expanded. Suddenly, she could see that there were more ways of looking at this situation than mine. And it was something of a thrill for her to point out all of those perspectives for me. Usually, when I acknowledged and affirmed her thinking, but let her know that my perspective would still stand in our family, she was fine with that.
Gone are those days. She is honing this debate skill to an art and making use of it to try to assert her will on the rest of us. Yes, this was to be expected. The question is, how to respond?
The easy response is to give in, stop fighting and let her win. However, when the inevitable day arrives that the surly, spoiled young woman I've created starts battling us on more life-threatening issues, life will no longer be easy. Relax, folks -- I'm not that stupid.
The correct response is probably to hear her out on her arguments, give her credit for the good ones, counteract the poor ones with my counterarguments, and stand firm on my final decision. Yeah. Easier said than done. She's just getting too good for this. She finds the counterarguments to my counterarguments . . and I do the same for hers . . and soon we're in a major stand-off. This strategy only works if her motive is increased knowledge and understanding of her mother's thinking. No, no, reader -- her goal is to win the debate.
So, all too often, the only strategy that seems to be effective is to assert my authority to shut off the debate. No arguing -- my way or the highway. That's not a satisfactory solution either. It makes me feel like an ogre. But then, none of the other options feel good either.
What I really want is a heart change in my child. A willingness to submit. When she asks why, I want to be able to say, "Because I'm the mother. Because in your heart of hearts you know how much I love you and you know I have more knowledge and experience than you. Because even though I'm imperfect and will make many mistakes, you know I act with your best interests in heart. Because in the course of your life many situations will arise where you need to submit whether you like it or not, whether you understand it or not, and you may as well learn how to do that now with the small things -- because you can trust me."
Oooh. That just sent me back to Andree Seu's blog. Tantrums with God. "Why, God? Why?" Because I'm the Father. Because you know how much I love you . . .
Ouch. Shutting up now.
Friday, August 14, 2009
Six Days and Counting
One week from yesterday, school starts. Leslie will be at East Middle School from 7:45 til 9:45 (leaving earlier than that on the bus). Eastin's day at Sunnyside Elementary goes from 8:30 to 3:30 (plus bus time, again). This is our last week home together, the three of us. Sniff.
Several times this summer, some activity came to mind that I wanted to do with the girls this year and then I remembered -- oh, yeah. We can't. Our time is no longer our own. We'll be tied to the school's schedule. No getting ahead in school work and taking a field trip for a day. No learning science at the nature center. No doing history at the local museum. No being able to run to a friend's house and sit with her kids while she deals with an emergency that has come up (no, I can't do that alone, because I'll need to be back to get the girls when school is over). No heading to Hyllningsfest in Lindsborg a day early. No more long afternoon playdates (at least not for Eastin), because she'll have to get homework and piano practice and all done when she gets home from school after 4 or so. No reveling in the first snow of the season the minute it falls. No playing around with our agendas when a day comes along that just seems to call for cuddling and reading on the couch all day long.
I'm sure I sound like a whiner. I mean, this is reality for the vast majority of families in America these days, I know. But I have definitely become spoiled these past several years with being my own boss of my own household schedule. And I can't help but feel a bit resentful at giving up that role to someone else whose primary concern (if we're all brutally honest about it) is not what is best for my child, but what is most convenient and efficient for the running of their organization.
That's not meant as a slam to teachers and administrators. Most of them are great people doing a great job at what they're doing. I remember when I started homeschooling, someone asked me, "Do you really think you can do a better job than a professional 2nd grade teacher?" I responded, "Do I think I can teach a room full of 2nd graders better than a professional 2nd grade teacher can? No, absolutely not! Do I think I can teach my one 2nd-grade daughter better than a professional 2nd grade teacher can teach her in the midst of a room full of 2nd graders? Absolutely."
What schools do, they often do well. But I have no illusions that what they do is going to necessarily meet the needs of my individual child.
I digress. I was whining about not being able to be with my kids so much this year. Funny how while homeschooling, I often lamented my inability to have time alone to get things done on my own schedule. Maybe our time is never really our own. Maybe, when the day comes that I have complete freedom to spend my day however I wish, I'll bemoan the fact that I have nothing meaningful left to do and nobody important to me around to spend it with.
It always comes back to not having what you want, but wanting what you have . . .
Several times this summer, some activity came to mind that I wanted to do with the girls this year and then I remembered -- oh, yeah. We can't. Our time is no longer our own. We'll be tied to the school's schedule. No getting ahead in school work and taking a field trip for a day. No learning science at the nature center. No doing history at the local museum. No being able to run to a friend's house and sit with her kids while she deals with an emergency that has come up (no, I can't do that alone, because I'll need to be back to get the girls when school is over). No heading to Hyllningsfest in Lindsborg a day early. No more long afternoon playdates (at least not for Eastin), because she'll have to get homework and piano practice and all done when she gets home from school after 4 or so. No reveling in the first snow of the season the minute it falls. No playing around with our agendas when a day comes along that just seems to call for cuddling and reading on the couch all day long.
I'm sure I sound like a whiner. I mean, this is reality for the vast majority of families in America these days, I know. But I have definitely become spoiled these past several years with being my own boss of my own household schedule. And I can't help but feel a bit resentful at giving up that role to someone else whose primary concern (if we're all brutally honest about it) is not what is best for my child, but what is most convenient and efficient for the running of their organization.
That's not meant as a slam to teachers and administrators. Most of them are great people doing a great job at what they're doing. I remember when I started homeschooling, someone asked me, "Do you really think you can do a better job than a professional 2nd grade teacher?" I responded, "Do I think I can teach a room full of 2nd graders better than a professional 2nd grade teacher can? No, absolutely not! Do I think I can teach my one 2nd-grade daughter better than a professional 2nd grade teacher can teach her in the midst of a room full of 2nd graders? Absolutely."
What schools do, they often do well. But I have no illusions that what they do is going to necessarily meet the needs of my individual child.
I digress. I was whining about not being able to be with my kids so much this year. Funny how while homeschooling, I often lamented my inability to have time alone to get things done on my own schedule. Maybe our time is never really our own. Maybe, when the day comes that I have complete freedom to spend my day however I wish, I'll bemoan the fact that I have nothing meaningful left to do and nobody important to me around to spend it with.
It always comes back to not having what you want, but wanting what you have . . .
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
"Back Round To You"
I know I point you all to Andree Seu's blog fairly frequently. And I'm doing it again: http://online.worldmag.com/2009/08/12/back-round-to-you/. But this time, I'm going to actually cut and paste it here, too (don't know about the ethical issues of doing this, but I'm giving her full credit, so surely I'm good?). Every once in a while, Andree just speaks my heart and this is one of those times. I have SO been right here before . . .
This morning I had a tantrum with God. That word sounds almost cute, but it wasn’t cute. I went for my usual walk down the sycamore-lined cemetery road, where it is my custom to rhapsodize him. This time I went out there just to not speak to him. Emphatically, like a surly wife. When I broke my silence it was to pour out a gunnysack of complaints and charges:
“I want to believe and please you, but you don’t make it easy. Everything is always so ambiguous. Your Word is confusing. You seem to challenge me to greater faith, and to embolden me to put my weight fully on every jot and tittle you wrote—and then I do and you don’t answer. I need to know what the deal is. I don’t think this is fair. And how does it glorify you if I am in this condition? Don’t you know that I am dust?”
. . . Even then, he is silent. I had vainly thought to elicit a miracle by this near blackmail, but all I hear back from him—or is it the sound of my own voice—is “Without faith it is impossible to please him, for whoever would draw near to God must believe that he exists and that he rewards those who seek him.”
Then I am terrified because I see where this is leading. At the end of sulking you still have to make a decision, and the options are bleak. Islam is a nightmare, and Buddhism and Hinduism make no sense. And there is no such thing as not choosing, because despair is also a choice. One imagines that giving up on the faith will be a relief, but one finds there is no relief at all in unbelief; it is the frying pan exchanged for the fire.
The Bible says that God can do all things. But the only thing he cannot do is believe for you.
If God is a Father, he is a very strict one. He lavishes his gifts daily, even the very breath with which I rail against him, as I sit on his lap and swipe at his face. But when it comes to the terms he laid for relationship—“believe in the one he has sent”—he won’t budge at all. And so no matter what I say, Lord, no matter what I do, I always come back round to you.
Amen, Ms. Andree.
This morning I had a tantrum with God. That word sounds almost cute, but it wasn’t cute. I went for my usual walk down the sycamore-lined cemetery road, where it is my custom to rhapsodize him. This time I went out there just to not speak to him. Emphatically, like a surly wife. When I broke my silence it was to pour out a gunnysack of complaints and charges:
“I want to believe and please you, but you don’t make it easy. Everything is always so ambiguous. Your Word is confusing. You seem to challenge me to greater faith, and to embolden me to put my weight fully on every jot and tittle you wrote—and then I do and you don’t answer. I need to know what the deal is. I don’t think this is fair. And how does it glorify you if I am in this condition? Don’t you know that I am dust?”
. . . Even then, he is silent. I had vainly thought to elicit a miracle by this near blackmail, but all I hear back from him—or is it the sound of my own voice—is “Without faith it is impossible to please him, for whoever would draw near to God must believe that he exists and that he rewards those who seek him.”
Then I am terrified because I see where this is leading. At the end of sulking you still have to make a decision, and the options are bleak. Islam is a nightmare, and Buddhism and Hinduism make no sense. And there is no such thing as not choosing, because despair is also a choice. One imagines that giving up on the faith will be a relief, but one finds there is no relief at all in unbelief; it is the frying pan exchanged for the fire.
The Bible says that God can do all things. But the only thing he cannot do is believe for you.
If God is a Father, he is a very strict one. He lavishes his gifts daily, even the very breath with which I rail against him, as I sit on his lap and swipe at his face. But when it comes to the terms he laid for relationship—“believe in the one he has sent”—he won’t budge at all. And so no matter what I say, Lord, no matter what I do, I always come back round to you.
Amen, Ms. Andree.
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