buddy the elf, what's your favorite color?

i love christmas. really, i do. i have watched elf about 3 times and love actually maybe 8 this past december. i don't mind christmas shopping, and i'm all about the red cups at starbucks.

seriously, this year i've made it my mission to overdose on christmas, because it's just depressing when it's gone. but i'm amazed at peoples' capacities to ruin a good thing, even when i'm making an honest effort to enjoy it.

like yesterday, my partner and i got chastised for not playing enough christmas music at our store. people, i'm going to let you in on a little something. everyone at my store works, at minimum, 4 shifts per week. for every shift, we listen to the christmas mix at least twice. and of the songs on that mix, 5% we actually like, 45% are tolerable, and 50% make us want to get on the ground and cover our ears in the fetal position. i often think to myself, how is it possible to have this many bad versions of this song? i bloody like this song, and this is terrible! keep in mind that the christmas stuff started before thanksgiving was even dead and buried in the ground. but just for you, gracious patrons, we do not get into the fetal position. we keep making your grande 6p gingerbread, 3 splenda, breve lattes with extra whipped cream, iced, no hot, no iced, no hot, no wait, do you make a frappuccino?... okay, hot. and happily so.

so this woman came in while we were up to our eyeballs in people, and complained that we never have christmas music playing. at the moment, we were taking a break with some reggae. my supervisor told her that we switch over every so often because we're all just a bit burnt out, but if she was planning to stay, he would gladly switch to the christmas mix for her. no, she explained, she just wanted to get her drinks and go. she actually never stays when she comes in. she just finds it offensive that at the one completely unpredictable time that she comes into the store for 30 seconds each day, we don't happen to have the christmas mix on. then she whined that we don't serve marshmallows and was on her way. "merry christmas," i called after her, to no response, of course.

hear that? that's the sound of my life being sucked out of me as we speak.

voting.

apparently, people will come out of the woodwork for a free cup of coffee.

and apparently, there really are more obnoxious people than i thought.

and for the love of God, no, you cannot substitute a small cup of coffee for a large frappuccino. on what planet does that seem like an even substitution?

january. january.

election woes.

i think 2008 might actually give me an ulcer.



i've always hated talking about politics, because i hate what it brings out in people.


also, i just might explode all over the next person who generalizes my faith and/or followers of Christ.

rantings of a disgruntled coffee hero.

friends, countrymen, gracious patrons of the man, lend me your ears.

as most know, i work for a certain coffee company, and have been on and off for a few years. while most things haven't changed, one startling change this time around has been the severe discrepancy in customer attitude between my prior location and here. surprisingly, i find this demographic to be significantly more obnoxious than that of orange county, and would like to comment on-slash-berate the people who enjoy unceremoniously tarnishing my existence on a regular basis. thanks to you, i have once again begun to lose all faith in human decency. well done.

and since i can't do it at work, i'll do it here. to my friends and visitors who are also patrons of this coffee house, please, for the sake of others in my position, if any of what i say applies to you... heed my words, turn from your idiocy, and repent of your ways!

let me first say that i've got to hand it to you, riverside county; you guys win the prize for cheapest bastards in the world... yes, the world... because i've visited all over the world, and i've never seen people as stingy as you. never before have i experienced so much resentment over you having to pay for the crap you buy. i've been condescended to, whined at, and complained about over making you pay for what you've just ordered. i don't know why, but you seem to think that my store is a garage sale, and bartering is allowed. does the menu, or does it not say, specifically, how much you will have to pay for that particular product? yes, i believe it does. i want to know... do you argue with people over the price when you go to a restaurant? how about a salon? the grocery store? wal-mart? no, of course you don't, because that would be idiotic, wouldn't it? if you didn't want to buy that product at any of these given establishments, you wouldn't. why do the rules suddenly change when you order from me, then? i'm just charging you because you had to buy half-and-half instead of just sticking with the standard milk, and you needed that extra shot of decaf espresso just so that you could spend extra money and not have it affect your system... because that makes sense. it's a business, not a charity, and if you can't afford it, stick with a more standard order, don't add extras, or just don't come at all! but don't yell at me over 40cents because you couldn't just go with the standard. we charge extra because it costs extra, and because of the extra 2 minutes it takes to prepare that stuff... and for interrupting our flow. besides, it's not like i get that money. or like i decided to provoke you because i could.

now, the following is some advice for a patron of any geographical persuasion. if people do not change these things, somebody's head will explode, and it will be your fault. do you really want that kind of guilt? i didn't think so.
1. seriously, what's with the extra shots of decaf? if you're claiming that it's the taste, that's a fallacy, because the whole process of decaffeinating coffee significantly diminishes the flavor. and surely, you don't expect me to believe that you can actually taste that shot beneath those layers of gluten and lactose. half-decaf on a medium, i can understand (since you get that shot anyway), or even plain decaf of any size, but extras? just empty your wallet into our tip jar, i'll wave my hand mystically over your cup and maybe even throw in an incantation, and we'll call it even.
2. ordering something light with extra whipped cream and/or extra caramel and in large just makes me want to give you the full-fat version anyway. not that i do. but really, you think you're saving calories? besides disgusting me, you're deluding yourself into thinking you're sticking to your diet, and just begging for serious health problems in the future. better make that private insurance work, huh?
3. we have mint flavor all year long, dumbass. so spare me your excitement over our sudden reintroduction of putting it into hot chocolate, mocha, or just plain coffee, because it was sitting there way back in april, too. do we really need to move words around on the menu to make that clear?
4. i remember from back when people liked dane cook, he did this bit on how the need for ketchup in a fast food restaurant suddenly makes you more important than everybody else. you bypass all propriety for it. i would venture to say, however, that the insatiable need for free water is far worse. somehow, with 15 people in line, an endless stream of cups, shots and milk being pulled and poured in all directions and two blenders going, people don't get the message that, no, my co-worker and i, who are already running frantically to fill all these orders, don't have time to get you a free cup of water. go stand in line and order it. or just don't forget it the first time you ordered your drink. but i don't care how nicely you tell me that i can get it "whenever i have a sec." the caffeine-deprived people come first. you already got your drink. forgetting the rest of your order does not put you in front of the line.
5. really? you wanted that drink iced, even though you watched me write it on a hot cup, stood there while i steamed the milk, and waited while i fetched more hot lids, even though you're the only person in line. if you think you've found an original, clever way to get a free drink, you're sorely mistaken. and what a coincidence! you're going to meet a friend right now who will take it! it must be your lucky day. please, i see right through that, and it's been done many times before you, honey. now you can hand that back so i can dump it down the drain while i make you the "correct" drink. and if it's not a ploy, could you pay attention to your order for a second or two?
6. wow, you just let your kids get more of that pastry on the ground than in their mouths. next time, could we not order the flaky scone for them? might i suggest a bagel? or nothing?
7. also, please don't send them in to get free water unless you instruct them to stand in line, say thank you, not jump on the furniture, and use their inside voices. a small tip would be a nice gesture, too, since you did send three of your darlings.
8. no need to talk down. most of us have degrees, or at the very least operate at an average i.q. level.
9. standing in front of other people in line, smack in the middle of your order is not, i repeat, is not a good time to call your friend and ask what they want. do it before. or just don't, because your whole being in high school, clutching your designer bag, and talking on your blackberry is kinda pissing me off anyway.
10. don't tell me to rebrew the coffee when it's still good. you can't tell the difference anyway. no, really, you can't.

read. heed. adjust.


but to the connoisseurs of straight coffee, espresso, glorious foam, soy milk, chai tea, pure tea, and the 2x shot, i salute you.

i want to clamp michael's face in a george foreman grill.

after today, i'm wondering if grills come in full body size.

to quote hunter s. thompson: some people get rich and others eat shit and die.

sometimes, don't i wish.

the un-prodigal child(ren)

show of hands: who remembers the story about the prodigal son? i've heard it what feels like a gazillion times. even though gazillion isn't a real number. it's a beautiful depiction of God's love for us, about being lost and then found, amazing grace, etc. etc. etc.

as of late, my mom has described her feelings towards my brother as the father's from that story. even though the son walked away and fell apart, the father still waited for him. he still wanted his son back. she told me that, unless you're a parent, there's really no way to compare a connection like that. she explained that, in parenthood, all bets are off - you would do anything for them. and of course, the father rejoiced when he got his son back.

since i don't have a child, i don't know that i can relate. and since i haven't deserted my family, i can't relate to the prodigal son either. the person i've always understood on some level, however, is the faithful son. which probably shouldn't be the case, because he's not the point of the story. also, i'm pretty sure Jesus wanted us to know that we are all, on some level, prodigal sons. still, i couldn't help but feel that he was justified in his resentment of his brother. here he was, the faithful son, watching his brother who'd screwed up and made a big mess of his life and his father's life, receive the full inheritance back. i fully sympathize with his anger. he, the faithful son, had stayed behind to work and make something of himself. he, the faithful son, hadn't broken his father's heart. he, the faithful son, had treasured his inheritance and lived a life worthy of it. in addition, which isn't mentioned in the story, but he, the faithful son, had probably spent a good amount of his life piecing his father's heart back together. he'd probably try to show his father that there wasn't a need to be shattered, that one of his children wanted to please and honor him. and then his brother, who he had seen hurt his father so, came back and it was as if he'd never left. in fact, they even threw him a party!

i think that, at times, my parents wish that my brothers and i would show a little more compassion towards the one. that our first desire wouldn't be to slap his face off. i've tried, and i think my brothers have tried as well, but that compassion has become hard to find these days. really.

so in the midst of our discussion, we revisited that story. i said that we've run out of compassion in the same way that the faithful son had. that we strive to honor and obey, and that, in the deepest regions of ourselves, we can't understand why our parents are broken. we all know that, should anything happen to us, our parents would feel just the same, but it's difficult to watch what our sibling does to them and still try to find that same compassion. we wonder, as the son probably wondered, what gives our sibling the right? our parents loved us all the same, gave us all the same things, and treated us the same. so why does this one feel that he should have the right, the ability, the gall, to act the way he does? why should his meager (and sometimes downright pathetic) excuses for faithfulness be rewarded - rejoiced over, and ours accepted or assumed?

i suppose that we, like the son, rest in the knowledge that we're loved and rejoiced over the same, though it manifests itself in different ways. that perhaps, what the prodigal son didn't have, we still have, though it might be difficult to identify or even accept these things. and perhaps, just perhaps, the difference in all this is that the prodigal son displayed humility, something that the rest of us have yet to see.

all the same, it doesn't make it any less difficult for us, the un-prodigal, to understand our brother(s). that son wasn't greedy or even wrong. he might have just wanted to remind his father that, while the other one was doing the destroying, it wasn't easy or enjoyable to pick up the pieces.

the reason why we bought the bracelets.

"dwight, did i ever tell you why i left scranton? yeah, i didn't think i did. well, it was all about pam. yeah, i mean, she was with roy, and... i just couldn't take it. i mean, i lost it, dwight. i couldn't sleep. i couldn't concentrate on anything. and weird stuff like food had no taste. so my solution was to move away. it was awful. and it is something i wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. and that includes you."
-jim, the office



i'm all out of words, and i'm all out of tears. i'm done with forgiveness, shaking it off, moving on, and i'm even more done with blaming myself for how much it hurts. my only thought is... why delude ourselves with friendship, when being strangers is just as effective, and doesn't waste my time?

half-truths. omissions. white lies. sparing my feelings. it's all a nice way of saying the same terrible thing.

the ironic thing is that i'd actually felt bad for all the things i'd said that one time. i'd even considered myself unfair, thought maybe it was an overreaction. surely you remember, my epic meltdown. but looking back, i was spot-on, and then some. every word was well-deserved, and probably far kinder and more loving than it should have been.

i've considered the ways to articulate, or express, just how angry i am. with you, with me, and especially with the absence of any sort of apology. i'm angry about what was said and done, but even more so about how humiliated i was when i finally got the truth. that all my defenses crumbled, my foolishness was laid clearly before me. it had to come full circle, trickling down to me, as i stood beside you. i'm a failure, a liar, a wreck, a contradiction, on so many levels, but at least i told you who i was.

have you any idea how many people tried to tell me that you and i were mere manipulation? and how many times i said, with conviction, no, you don't understand. despite the insufferable flow from their mouth, they always tell me the truth, listen to me when i tell them to stop, confide in me and i in them, and support me when i really, truly need the help. despite all the things you see or in the case of most, don't see, they would never intentionally hurt me or lie to me.

i was so convinced, and it makes me want to crawl into a hole, or just stop trying with anyone, to learn that those people knew more than i did, despite my vehement defense. this is further compounded by the fact that you haven't apologized, for this or anything else. i have long pondered our philosophies on life; humility and confidence, honesty and reservation, how one finds validation. and while my route isn't the easiest, i'll take how i feel any day over making someone else feel this way.




as far as my future, please, i'm not that desperate.

why me.

today, i discovered a ladies home journal positioned very oddly in our powder room. right next to the sink. but the funny thing is that when i tried to move it, i discovered that it was stuck to the tile. i then saw that the adhesive was a white substance that looked a lot like milk or soap, and then some flakes of cereal. yes, flakes of honey bunches of oats. i quickly confronted my brother about eating (and spilling) his cereal in the bathroom. and not just that. why, after spilling it everywhere, he seemed to think simply covering it with a magazine was a perfectly sufficient way to clean it up. why does someone eat cereal in the bathroom? i wish i could tell you. i ask myself the same question.

at which point, he denied any knowledge of the cereal. i promptly labeled him as a liar, since i'd just seen him eating a bowl of cereal, i've seen him eat it in the bathroom before, there were unmistakable flakes all over, and... plus, he lies all the time. lying all the time equals liar. i told him to clean it up, and he told me what he thought of me, per the usual tradition these days. and clean it up, he did, with a dry paper towel, which was, essentially, no help at all. i discovered this later, and ended up cleaning the dried sugar myself. wow, i was under the impression that i was living with a 17 year-old. i'm pretty sure my 3 year-old kids in taiwan were even capable of cleaning something like that up. or just not eating cereal in the bathroom.

i suppose things would be different if every day weren't another version of the same thing.



the sound you are now hearing is miniature segments of my brain exploding.

proud to be an american.

where working, tax-paying citizens can't get health care.
can you? because 22, working, mostly able-bodied, and as "citizen" as they come, i sure can't.

it's all wearing so very thin right now.

i keep trying to tell myself i'm not angry, but i so am.

still lazy, and still lame. i keep wanting to believe that maybe i expect too much, but i don't. i really, really don't. why am i so bad at being angry? i could understand it if it didn't bother me anymore, but it does. and i could understand it if i had a poor reason to be, but i don't. or even if it didn't hurt that much, but it does. no matter how many times i've tried to find a loophole in this whole being angry thing, i can't.

which, of course, isn't about just one thing, but about many things, some related and some not, which simply make me tired, angry, and consequently determined.

truly, i was excited to be back, and i like america okay, but i'm realizing how foolish it was to believe that there was anything to be anxious about here. absence makes the heart grow fonder, but it also makes you forget all the important stuff that drove you away in the first place.

and why all the same problems, re-disguised as something far more interesting or forgivable, aren't okay anymore.

prague is in january. and at last i will be away, relieved, past... whatever you call it. because i just can't stand it.
again.

things which do not put me in a good mood.

when i was 18, some things happened, and after a whole incident that included a truck, i ended up hospitalized but alive.

the sad thing is that the people responsible have more or less told me to shake it off.

and in the grand scheme, some days, like today, have been exceptionally shitty. you see, even though this happened 4 years ago, i spend whole days unable to feel some of my toes. for those who don't know, this has nothing to do with my toes, and everything to do with some nerves and discs in my lower back.

and also, 4 years later, i get rejected by insurance companies, and sometimes, to add insult to injury (literally, hah!), this happens on the same day that my toes are numb.

there's no good way to shake that off.

today really could have been better.

shit, son

I CAN'T SLEEP! WHY CAN'T I SLEEP!

almost.

"what doesn't kill you only makes you stronger."
or so the saying goes.

i somehow convinced chris to take the scooter to chinese class last night. despite our incomplete knowledge of taipei above ground, and despite our uncertainty of which roads, exactly, we're allowed to take on a scooter, we didn't die. i thought we might when he unknowingly cruised onto the renai roundabout. apparently, he thought i jumped off the scooter when i saw the car coming straight for us, but no. just a little scared, that's all.

i get better and then i get worse. it's been almost 4 years since that accident, and like clockwork, i feel worse when the seasons change. summer goes well, but winter comes and my back seizes up once again. i go for massages periodically. i find that they help, but it's only temporary. the doctor has always told me to be active. keep stretching. and i am active, but my flexibility is so bad i can't even touch my toes.
it makes me angry, on occasion, that it was all so avoidable. to know that i could be 22 and not have a persistent, lingering pain in my back. on the whole, i try not to dwell on it too much. i try to ignore it. push through it. i try not to let it bother me. because that's how i deal. but it's frustrating to know that it's just there. that i have two options... let it bother me or ignore it. i choose the latter because i only have one life.
am i an ingrate for feeling this way? i'm lucky to be alive. i'm lucky to be as well as i am. but it makes me angry that i have to drag this around with me everywhere. and angrier when i think about some of the things the lawyers have said to me over the years. i think "amusing" was the exact word. amusing because he, a man twice my age and twice my weight, had thrown his back out before and failed to see how my situation was any different. oh, how i seethed that day. i wanted to scream, and sometimes i still do. i wanted to tell him that if he felt that way, surely he wouldn't object to me putting his own daughter under the truck so that she could feel exactly how i did. no more, no less. after all, it was "amusing," wasn't it? if it was so amusing, surely he would maintain the same sense of humor? oh, that wouldn't be funny, mr. lawyer? then why would you say that to me? are you soul-less?

i've realized that i rarely talk about it. i don't want to complain. but it's worse than i let on. some days are better and others are worse. i know part of the reason "amusing" was the word is because i keep going. because it doesn't seem apparent in my life. that's just me, i want to say to them all. that's just what i do. i keep going. it's my method. i force myself to keep moving through all the undesirable events in my life. my job(s), depression, homesickness, a break-up, school, moving away... all of it. if i could, i would tell them all that i don't say anything because complaining incessantly is for the faint of heart... it doesn't help anything. whining and saying i can't i can't i can't is for those who let life get to them too much. and i would ask them if any aspect of my life displays faint-heartedness. i'm not a girly-girl. i'm not and have never been delicate. i'm not a girl who likes to admit she needs anyone. i'm a trouble-shooter. a survivor. a fighter. and yet, it seems, to be this way makes my pain "amusing."




this was never meant to be this long. but like i said, it's been almost 4 years coming.

i expected better of you, rowling.

"just because you can doesn't mean you should."
or so the saying goes.

yes, i do realize that i'm 22 and still i enjoy harry potter, though little do i care. to those of you who think less of me, in my defense, i am currently reading one hundred years of solitude. this is mostly because i love marquez, but perhaps stems a little from my need to pacify the little voice in my head that's demanding tolstoy, claiming that i've been feeding the pop culture part of my brain too much lately. to be fair, i don't go anywhere near the general fiction section. that should count for something.

also, on a semi-related topic, life of pi was exceedingly disappointing. it's only good because the story is extraordinary. the mystery of how pi ever survived his adventure carries the whole thing, not the writing, which is trite at best. i thought martel began well when i was reading his prologue. trying to impress upon his audience the shock of his story, he writes that the frail old man who told him about pi described it as, "a story that will make you believe in God." this intrigued me. what a profoundly unusual way to put something. yet, i'm afraid that the writing really doesn't do it justice.

other than life of pi, my meanderings through marquez, and finally finishing in cold blood and the weight of glory, many of you know that i completed the entire harry potter series here in taiwan. i was deeply impressed with all the books, writing about why i think christians are foolish and superficial to dismiss her writing as they do - why it shows a stunted, undeveloped understanding of literature to be hindered at the surface rather than actually absorbing the underlying themes. it's this, along with so many things, that annoys me about christian sub-culture. that we watch inferior films rather than deeply, movingly beautiful ones because of a sex scene or some swearing. that we accept mediocre music and nothing more. that we hearken only to the past glories of western art, but sometimes fail to recognize the technically simplistic, but philosophically complex art of our own generation.

i could go on and on, because there's so much i can say to reprove the christian perception of harry potter that it would probably take another few posts or 10 or a thesis to do so. as i desire not to write that much, i'm going to skip down to why, despite my vehement defense of harry, i am exceedingly disappointed with j.k. rowling right now.

to those who haven't, i suggest you read this article. it came as both a shock and as a fulfillment of something i half-expected to happen: http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20071020/ap_on_en_ot/books_harry_potter

i know you're all expecting me to withdraw my approval. that is, after all, the christian standard. but my disapproval has nothing to do with dumbledore's supposed homosexuality. i am frustrated... nay, confounded... nay, hopelessly let down by rowling's choice to reveal this. if i've learned anything from my b.a. in literature, it's that the best writing is often the most ambiguous, the type that keeps you (the reader) coming back and asking over and over what it is they really meant. this is not because the writing is incomplete or vague. a person with any significant experience in literary interpretation would deign to give it a second thought if it were. no, i am talking about the writing that is woven so compellingly, that is often so complex, that we care enough to ask these questions.
was hamlet really as mad as he seemed?
is milton's greatest work obviously and debilitatingly anti-feminist, or is it profoundly complimentary to women?
virginia, is it simply your madness that led to this?
hedda, why are you so tragically intriguing?
for the love of God, john fowles, do allison and nick ever get back together?
they're silly questions because every story is, in its own way, complete. but great literature, worthwhile literature, raises questions which, even though we know how the story ended, we want to answer because their writing entranced us into caring. though answering them never ultimately changes the story, we still feel that some seemingly innocuous questions matter. we have to understand.

and of all the great questions that might have been raised about harry potter in the future, i am saddened to know that rowling killed them all with her little comment. with her need to make a point, whether it was a stance for tolerance or simply a glorified middle finger to the christian community, she has destroyed a great many debates and questions that might have been asked about her writing. questions that future students would have thought mattered, because it's never exactly clear.

and i find it to be an even further devastating blow in that it truly matters little to the story. though he believed whole-heartedly in love, that it had to become a particular kind bothers me. dumbledore, the asexual dumbledore that i've been reading about in the stories, is great simply because his sexuality is so ambiguous. we start to ask ourselves the usual questions. is he a metaphor for God? what about his love for grindewald? is it a homosexual love, or is it tragic because it was a david-jonathan love? a friendship beyond others, that was destroyed because of power? if he was straight, is there evidence to support it? or was it his troubled past that simply polluted his intimacy with others? but she's answered all these questions for us, leaving us little to ponder and not actually changing the story at all.

since i read this article, my mind has wandered through the many ways rowling could have made a statement with her characters without choosing dumbledore. despite voldemort's inability to feel for anyone besides himself, was bellatrix in love with him, in a twisted, emotionally perverted sort of way? as far as homosexuality goes, i think there's far more evidence to support that sirius black harbored an attraction to james. why dumbledore, rowling? you had so much more ammunition. one of the most interesting, compelling characters in your story, one worthy of thought and debate, and you had to simplify him so.




john fowles once commented on the fan mail he received upon publishing "the magus." one woman vented her frustration, and demanded that he "just say what [he] means!" long did he ponder her opinion, but ultimately decided that the beauty was that he didn't answer all the questions for his readers. these things were left for them to argue about, to decide for themselves. he was partially making a point, in that nothing is ever completely "happily ever after" the way it is in most stories. there are seasons of happiness and seasons of despair, a mixture of good an evil, of love and hate, of clarity and ambiguity. and to simply lay it out for us one way or the other cheapens the human experience.

as many times as i've wished i had the answers, i am certain that worthwhile writing begs to be examined and re-examined. there oughtn't be a quick-and-easy answer, because if it were that simple, we'd fall to madness. a single human being is never simple to identify or label. all the world isn't separated into neat categories for us, in order for us to see plainly why people behave as they do. and the way i see it, the more literature reflects this reality and can still keep me caring, the better.

the church, christians, and the gross unpopularity of believing

"not all who wander are lost."
or so the saying goes.

"augustine just woke up with a broken heart
all this time, he's never been awake before
at thirty-one his whole world is a question mark
all this time, he's never been awake before

watching dreams that he once had
feed the flame inside his head
in the quiet desperation of the emptiness he said,
'there's got to be something more, than what i'm living for
i'm crying out to You...'"

nearly 3 years ago, i read augustine's confessions. and while i maintain that he's a bit dry, there was something about his story that captivated me, that felt like an iron clasp on my soul. i would never claim to know as much, to ever hope to change the world as much as he did, or even that i think as hard as he did, but i related to the things he said. growing up with a mother that believed fervently in God and practiced her religion with devotion, augustine found himself rebelling against her faith. he loved and respected her, but there was something about it that he could not accept, could not feel, could not practice with sincerity. so he searched, and made numerous bad choices in the process. he ran from God and from religion as he understood it. even though his mother tried and pleaded, he couldn't - wouldn't - change. it wasn't for many years and after many, many poor decisions that he found himself before God, finally humbled. i have always felt that the most remarkable, powerful part of the story is not that he was lost and then was found, nor that he was blind and then saw. rather, i felt something when he was alone in a garden that one day, the day that everything changed. augustine, a man who thought he was too smart for everyone else, especially for tradition and God as his mother followed Him, cried out because he had reached the end of himself. because something inside his soul ached for what he knew he did not have, what he had been escaping for so long. i love that it defied logical explanation, that it was so intangible, but from which he could no longer hide.

i feel vindicated by augustine, because his belief in God was something that simply happened - a burst of faith that he later intellectualized. i walk so much by faith, perhaps not enough by academic and intellectual realization. i feel pulled, that there must be something more, that i can't run, yet there are aspects of christianity that i run away from, even hide from. augustine couldn't practice traditionally, but he knew God's presence when his soul cried out that day.

for the past year, perhaps even longer, i feel like i've been in the midst of an existential crisis. i've decided to stop attending church, and have spent significantly more time with people who have differing points of view on religion, faith, spirituality, the works. at times, i have even asked myself why i keep following Jesus. to those who don't see why this is a big deal, i think some perspective is necessary. while it's safe to say that temecula is a bubble, there exists dozens of sub-layers of bubbles beneath that one. there is temecula. then long-time temecula residents. then church-goers. then home-schoolers. and to top it all off, there are the home-schoolers of cornerstone academy - the christian home-schooling community where i spent 12 glorious years of my life. yes, i grew up in bubbles within bubbles. to those who think this must have been cruel, you misunderstand me. i liked being home-schooled. i liked growing up in the church. i wouldn't change any of it. when i'm honest, it's probably good, because i might have turned out to be a terror without such a morally strict community. with all this background, it's strange for me that i find myself so far away from where i once was. to some, it might seem natural, but to me, it's difficult.

i think the reason i haven't walked away from it all, however, is that, fundamentally, i believe in Jesus, what He said, and what He lived, died, and lived again for. my problem, i suppose, is all the small, unimportant characteristics of christianity today. church feels like it's so much about saying or doing or knowing the right thing, that it doesn't even feel sincere for me to participate. i sing the words, but they're simply words. i don't feel them resonate in my soul anymore. the jargon is probably what bothers me the most. things like: "God put it on my heart to..."
i've always hated phrases like that, because it makes anything that follows it irrefutable. if you told me God told you to do something, am i going to argue with you? me, argue against the very voice of God? and when i'm struggling with something - with a job, a relationship, school - i don't need to hear that it's because i'm not in communion enough with God, because i haven't gone to church, or because i don't pray enough. unfortunately, these are all cookie-cutter, classic aspects of christians today. they make me writhe with frustration, because people who struggle or who don't hold fast to that sort of faith in God cannot relate. i can't have a discussion with someone who hasn't found his or her place in the cosmic hugeness of God and tell that person that i heard God, that i know what God told me. i also feel silly making such assumptions. i believed God's will was a lot of things, and the majority of them have blown up in my face, revealing new purpose and direction in my life. so i've stopped feeling that in my heart, that i know that this is what God wants because His ways aren't mine. i tell others that some things make sense or that i believe everything happens for a reason and that God is intimately connected with my existence, but i don't claim to know what's going on. for all the bad/unexpected things that have happened in my life, i am grateful for their results, and i choose to abide by a good attitude and constant movement.

my problem lies with christian sub-culture rather than the faith itself. we separate ourselves with fences made of jargon, cross necklaces, and the gross blatancy that we disapprove of the vast stupidity of humans.

true, it seems counterproductive to assign such a cliche to something to which i align my life and even claim to be my salvation. and it's fair enough that postmodern culture is effective enough at this without my help. i would argue that the labels are unfair, but we often make ourselves easy targets. just browse websites like myspace or have a trivial conversation or two. we're easy to spot. our favorite books consist of the purpose-driven life and the bible, or maybe a little c.s. lewis if you're very lucky. it angers me to see "blue like jazz" as the "best book ever" and no mention of dickens or plath or flannery or tolstoy or chaucer or homer or austen. we just make it so easy, because we don't venture outside of the comfortable. we say "f-ing" when the whole world knows that what we really mean is "fucking." and of course, there's the constant talk of "praise the Lord," "grace," and true "love." yet the terms are so steeped in subcultural meanings that they have disintegrated into mere words, void of any genuine meaning or action. we speak of grace, but quickly shake our heads without listening or trying to understand. the world is full of black and white, but many people only feel the judgment, the lack of redemption, the inherent absence of His-ness in their relationships with christians.

i believe that, deep down, we are seeking righteousness. we do love others, but we present ourselves in all the wrong ways. we don't let them get too close, lest we be termed hypocrites. i've discovered in all the most painful ways that being wrong is not hypocritical if you can own up to it, if you can tell someone when they're wrong, yet admit your shortcomings as well. love God. follow Him whole-heartedly. know your faith. know that there is black and white, not just gray. seek His will, and actively pursue intimacy and purpose. but be still as well. find out what makes a person move, and they will want to know what moves you. and He, if He is real and if He is there, will pique their interest, will open them up to who He is and what it means to follow.

i pray sincerely, the way that i know how, the way that feels natural. separate yourself from the subculture, as tempting as it is. and be.




on a separate, though related, topic, i wanted to touch on another phenomena that i have observed about modern intellectual culture. these are the qualities of spirituality, non-commitment, and homogeneity. we claim that the world would be fine so long as people would seek inner peace or religion would separate itself from all other faculties - from education, politics, entertainment. what i don't understand is why, when we are so critical of religion, so detailed about how it contradicts itself, we are so vague about how we see purpose in our lives. it's as though a person can't possibly hope to live progressively if one has a religion or hasn't invented one's own spirituality - a spirituality which states that nobody's wrong and nobody's right. except maybe buddhism. but even buddhists are radical. they lock themselves up in monastaries, seeking enlightenment, because they are so convinced that their ways are right.

one of my best friends (my best friend?) is catholic. we talk about religion all the time, because we both ascribe to a set of beliefs. i am protestant because i believe luther was right, though i appreciate a lot about the catholic church. about commitment. about beauty and tradition. we talk about how uncool we are for picking a side. what people hate to admit is that committing to a side means that we think we're right and they're wrong. it must. it doesn't mean we don't respect those who choose otherwise, nor will we kill someone who contradicts us. but we will tell them that they're wrong. there is something wrong with a society that lives only by personal conviction - by only personal spirituality, which won't admit anyone is right or wrong. religion forces a series of pleasant and unpleasant tasks to each of us. it forces us to be outside of ourselves, to align ourselves and be responsible to more than simply what is inside our heads. to stand up or sit down. to surrender ourselves. to love others. because our faith in God and our adherence to His will commands that we do so. because we believe that such a commitment yields absolute truth.

in a world of radicalism, i find it ironic that we lack the motivation to be radical about the state of our souls or about truth. we pick sides all the time, but somehow lack the ability to do so in religion.



as i step into my future, i am slowly finding how much i pray for what augustine had. i pray for the conviction to cry out to God, to stick to God, to know God, to yield to God. i pray that God will humble me as he was humbled; i pray for a broken heart that finds its only solace in Him. i pray for the ability to say "yes, there is one God, only one way, and i know it. i surrender." i pray against mere personal philosophy, mere inner peace, mere spirituality. yet i also pray for his cynicism towards the concept that all must know Him the same way, for his inability to simply slip into what christianity appears to be rather than what it means. i pray for his sincerity, for his desire to know God because He is God, not because it's simply what christians do, what appears holiest. and i pray that my genuine commitment to a genuine faith is what motivates others towards God, not a mere attempt to adhere to goodness nor an ability to hide my shortcomings from others. i pray.

"...augustine, all his fears keep falling out
all this time, he's never been awake before
finding out all his dreams aren't panning out
all this time, he's never been awake before

but he's glad to be alive
and he's dying to be met
in the quiet desperation of the emptiness he said,
'there's got to be something more, than what i'm living for
i'm crying out to You

hey, i give it all away
nothing i was holding back remains
hey, i give it all away
looking for the grace of God today...'"
-switchfoot