The Teeter Totter

So, I've decided it's doubly challenging to be a Christian here. First of all, there is the obvious challenge of being surrounded by non-Christians that drink, smoke, hook up, cuss, and seem to have lasting joy in doing so. So first I have to keep myself from falling into sin with them, or even just falling into the mindset that their lifestyles are good and beautiful.

Secondly, there is the challenge of wanting to believe I am morally superior to them. Although I may be successful at avoiding the sins they commit, I develop a prideful heart, condemning them while glorifying myself. The latter is arguably a worse or at least more dangerous offense, as pride has a uniquely powerful effect in separating a person from God. With a sin like adultery or drunkenness, although it is displeasing to God, the sinner is able (hopefully and eventually) to experience the brokenness of acknowledging that he or she has fallen from God and does, in fact, need redemption through Jesus Christ. With pride, the very sin prevents the sinner from realizing the disparity between his or her moral state and that of Christ.

I've been oscillating between these two extremes. I see myself making compromises, falling into the worldview of the world, so I back out and refocus on Christ. However, I get too caught up in my own self-righteousness and I become a proud hypocrite. My goal is to find that balance of recognizing the world's actions as sin yet realizing my own need for a Savior.

Happy Day

So last night I was in the basement of the library doing research on my paper on Messianic Judaism, and I came across this great sermon by John Piper on how Jesus reconciles Jews and Gentiles to each other and also to God through Himself. I was so in awe of God in His infinite wisdom and power and omniscience and my inability to fully understand him. I literally wanted to stand up and shout, in the silence of the library at 10 p.m. the week of midterms, and tell people about this incredible God that loves them and invites them into communion with Him. I look around and see boyfriend/girlfriend couples giggling over clean cut MacBook Pros and sipping their nonfat mochas. I hear the person next to me ask his friend what time he plans to go out and get crunk. I was so confused. How could these people possibly be satisfied with such empty, temporal lives? I mean, I guess I kind of get the dating thing. In the words of C.S. Lewis, being in love is a good thing, but not the best thing. But when you're dating someone, you can eventually understand most of him or her, right? Or at least, you have the ability to fully know at the minimum the facts of their life. And they could tell you their life stories. Not so with God. That's what makes being single so great. There's no creation to mistakenly worship instead of the Creator.

Balance

Tonight we had our girls Bible study. It's mostly freshman girls and we're going through the book of Malachi. I joined it because I figured I would meet some close Christian girlfriends, and I'm trying to study the Old Testament and understand it more. Sometimes it's frustrating because I feel like their faith is fairly new. Like the time they were offended when my friend Gabby denied their argument that there are multiple ways to God. I don't want to be comparing my "spirituality" to theirs because that's not why I'm there, but it's hard to respond when we're discussing the crippled and impure animal sacrifices that the Israelites are giving God, and the girls say, "Why would God want to kill a cute little lamb? I thought God was gentle and sweet." Or like when we read the verse "Jacob have I loved; Esau I have hated" they complain, "How could God hate anybody? God is kind and loving." How does one respond to that? But I know something that God has been teaching me lately is to stop comparing my religiousness to that of other people. It's just stupid and totally misses the entire point of Christianity. Paul's advice to "speak the truth in love" is so simple, so profound, and so difficult for me a lot of the time.

God uses the foolishness of this world to bring shame to the wise. There is a girl in Core that is always opening up her most private struggles and dreams to guys and it would bug me so much that she is so cavalier in guarding her heart. But she is also extremely kind to the most rejected people and is unashamed to be a true friend. While I, on the other hand, usually have a hard time doing that because I care too much about what people think of me. She says God gave her a vision about what He wants her to do with her life. And that God speaks audibly to her all the time. So I guess in my self-righteousness and judging I've missed God's voice. Why am I so proud?

Christian cults

Just throwing this out there— I really don't think God intended for us to have this Christian subculture. Because I've grown up in it, it's easy for me to forget about it and mistake this subculture for the Christian faith. But they are not the same. There are parts of it that are not biblical. And the very fact that we have insulated ourselves from the world in our happy little bubble of culture is not the life Christ intended for us.

Attending a Catholic university has opened my eyes to this. I've met people who are Catholics (who are Christians, by the way) and love Christ and seek to follow His commandments that don't come from my "culture." They have never been to Spirit West Coast. They don't sing about sloppy wet kisses in their liturgy (OK, I had to include that one). They haven't been to Hume. The girls don't wear cute knee-length dresses with a cross necklace and flats to match (not to say they dress immodestly— they just wear jeans or something like that). They're not big on the Great Christian Dating Debate. They don't read Dobson or Beth Moore.

Not to say that these things are inherently wrong. Kids have learned life-changing lessons and developed strong friendships at Hume. There is great wisdom to be gleaned from Bringing Up Boys. Yes, He does love us like a hurricane...well that one's open for debate. But my point is that being a part of the Christian culture does not make a Christian. It seems obvious, but it's shocking (or at least it was for me) to meet a follower of Christ that had never heard of Chris Tomlin. But she follows hard after God. In fact, she is more involved in community service and social justice programs that the majority of Christians I know. She loves God with all her heart, soul, mind, and strength.

Our unity is in Christ and His cross. We are one body because 2,000 years ago a Man named Jesus lived a perfect life, died a criminal's death, and rose again to reconcile us back to God. Cultural, ethnic, political, or denominational differences should not divide us. We are to be one as Christ and the Father are one. That's some pretty close intimacy!

At Wildwood this summer, there was a guy who came with our church named Dillon. He grew up in "the hood" around gangs and violence. His dad was abusive and gone physically and relationally most of the time. Drugs and alcohol were common at home and at school. He also raps freestyle, which is awesome! Jesus saved him in his late teen years. Anyway, he came to camp and became close friends with one of the counselors, Josh Cofey, who grew up in the subculture I described. Now, without Christ, these two men would have absolutely no reason to be friends. They have nothing else in common: interests, neighborhood, music taste, nothing. Yet they both know Jesus, and they became like brothers. It was a beautiful picture of the unity we have in Christ's cross.

The Great Divorce

Loving God means loving the things God loves. And hating the things God hates. Today, on the ride back to SC from a beach bonfire with the Christian club (ironically), the people in front of me were listening to and laughing over a really bitter, language-filled letter from an ex-girlfriend. It was disgusting and I wished I could just plug my ears. In my head I started singing,

Give us clean hands

Give us pure hearts

Let us not lift our soul to another

God is good. Everything that is not of him is evil, ugly. I want him. Not the shallow, selfish, instant gratification the world supplies limitlessly. He alone is good, beautiful, and true.

Being a Christian at a Christian school

So Santa Clara is very different from what I expected. The main thing that's been bothering me is the seeming hypocrisy of the university. The college is Jesuit, which is a branch of Catholicism (which is a branch of Christianity). The Jesuit society, by definition, demands poverty, chastity, and obedience to Christ and to the Pope from its members. The university itself claims to be "committed to faith-inspired values and educating leaders of competence, conscience, and compassion that will help fashion a more just, humane, and sustainable world."

So what does this look like? Students are required to take ethics and religion courses each year. Some community service is a graduation requirement. The majority of students are "raised Catholic." The president is a Jesuit father. There is a Mission Church on campus. The campus is environmentally responsible. Each dorm has a "resident minister", whose duties I am still not entirely sure, though at orientation mine informed us that one of the major reasons we are here at SCU is to discover "what truly makes us happy."

What else? The administration essentially accommodates partying through the off-campus Greek life and the "Medical Amnesty" and "Good Samaritan" programs that let you off the hook for getting caught drinking provided you look out for your buddies that are so drunk they can't get help themselves. In fact, at orientation we were encouraged to go drink and have a good time but to keep the school from finding out as long as were stayed "safe." Boyfriends and girlfriends are permitted to sleep over in the dorms. Participation is other religious traditions is highly valued and even encouraged; there is a meditation room for people of any faith and accommodations are made for students that cannot participate in an important on-campus event due to a religious holiday. The first night live entertainment was provided. I didn't go, but a similar event took place at orientation and it involved trashy hip-hop music and unapologetic grinding by our orientation leaders. The alternative provided by my dorm? Watching The Hangover in the basement, an R-rated film for sexual content and humor. Tough decision, but I had enough of that at the performing arts show for all freshmen, which began innocently enough with some improv but ended with a raunchy scene from a play in which an enraged ex-girlfriend describes all her ex's undesirable physical characteristics, the majority of which are sexual.

Call me a prude, but it's not exactly what I expected from a Catholic university. They seem to abide by the cultural notion that as long as nobody gets hurt, it's ok. We'll see how religion class goes tomorrow. At least they don't forbid morning quiet times.

"When I am weak, then I am strong." 2 Corinthians 12:10

It's Cathartic

With college starting in four days, I've been clearing out everything: my room, my wallet, the car I use, Facebook (of friends I don't really know), this blog of stupid posts. The cleaning of my bedroom especially has got me thinking about the big questions. Why do I have so much stuff? What should I do with it: toss it or give it away? But if I give it away with a self-righteous attitude, does that invalidate the act? Is it better for a poor person not to have it if my heart is proud? How much money was spent on this stuff I never use/wear? What's the point of stuff anyway? Why was I so convinced it would bring me happiness? What is happiness? Why do I have so much while others have so little? Would they lead fuller lives if half the money that's been used on my stuff was given to them? What brings true fulfillment? Why does money have to exist at all? I've accumulated all this stuff but have I done anything worthwhile in 18 years of living? Is a monastic life more pleasing to God? Why am I here— in the South Valley, at this church, now in college? Should I be abstaining from all bodily pleasure entirely? Should the joy of the Lord be my strength or should I be more like the Man of sorrows by sharing in the "fellowship of his sufferings, being conformed to his death" (Philippians 3:10)? Will I be able to give an acceptable account at the judgment seat of Christ of what I've done with my abilities and resources? Is doing a few nice things for people and putting up with the difficult ones really the abundant life that Jesus intended for me?

I Am Such an Idiot

I've been reading a lot lately, especially books on Christianity and realizing that I do, in fact, know nothing. My understanding of God is so much narrower and shallower than it could become. And I look back on the times I've spoken in chapel or in a Bible study or small group. And how too often I've relied on the Christian culture or popular conceptions or my pastor's platitudes to "preach the Word." And I just trust that God is sovereign and that he speaks through us and in spite of us.

"My dear brothers, take note of this: everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak..."

James 1:19

Riches

So tonight was my last night with the middle school girls' Bible study. I have been involved with the junior high group for a little over two years and it's been a joy. At first it was just something I did for community service but I still liked it. It wasn't until this summer when I began to realize that my nonchalant attitude needed to change: God put me here with these girls for a reason, and he wants me to put my best into it. I've come to look forward to our Friday night studies rather than thinking of them as just another 2-hour weekly church function. I've developed real relationships with the girls and I will sincerely miss them in college. The time I spent with the girls tonight— going out for Super Taqueria, having fellowship, reading the Word, and making brownies together— was more fulfilling than many of the social events I've gone to where the conversation is shallow and the relationships fake.

On Wednesday, which was my last Code Red (the middle school youth group), the youth pastor opened up the time for the kids to pray for each other. Several girls prayed for me and thanked God for putting me in their lives. It was one of the most meaningful moments I've ever experienced— knowing I had made a difference in their lives. I felt like I had done something that mattered, something that would last beyond my time on earth. I say this not to brag, but to emphasize that doing something for the kingdom of God far surpasses anything I've accomplished in school, swimming, or anything else.

I spend so much time and energy doing things that won't even matter in a few years. Why do I so often forget about the only Kingdom that will last?

My Husband?

I used to scoff at the exhortations from Christian writers and leaders regarding satisfaction in God's love alone— to crown Christ the "Prince" of my heart instead of a human Prince Charming, to make God my first love, to apply that seemingly sacrilegious verse in Isaiah about my "Maker being [my] husband" (54:5). Yes, it was nice in theory to be satisfied in God's love and not in a man's. But how unrealistic. I can't see God. I can't feel his arms around me. I've never received a bouquet of wildflowers with a "Love, Jesus" tag written in cursive. He can't sit next to me and watch the ducks at the pond.

Yet lately the cliches have met reality. No, I haven't literally seen the face of God. But I see more and more of his incomparable beauty in my morning quiet times. No, I haven't physically felt his arms. But I leaned on the everlasting arms (Deuteronomy 33:27) when I had to have a difficult confrontation with someone at church. No, a bouquet hasn't mysteriously appeared at my doorstep. But I've yet to find a guy that can create anything close to the beauty of the Milky Way stretched across the vast night sky, complete with shooting stars. And the rest of the world might not have seen him, but Jesus was at Community Park the other day. I know because we were having a discussion about his justice and mercy.

It's not so much that Jesus is "my boyfriend" or "the love of my life" that gives me butterflies and mushy feelings when I think about him; it's that knowing and seeking and loving him makes everything in this world that I longed for and believed would give my life significance pale in comparison to his unrivaled beauty.

Why was I so impressed with men again? Oh yeah, I'm probably going to marry one someday. Well until then, I'm content to be the "unmarried woman that cares about the things of the Lord" (1 Corinthians 7:34).

Papa or Yahweh

Remember The Shack? It seemed that our generation of Christians had found its C.S. Lewis, based on the reactions in churches and my school (MV paid a small fortune to bring the great William Young himself to our humble campus in Watsonville). God made sense. The trinity was understandable. Our deepest fears of God were debunked and our selfish hopes confirmed. Jesus was not, in fact, the only way to God. God the Father was also a mother. And black. God wants us to be happy. Enough of this nonsense about considering trials joy and being refined like silver. The nature of the Trinity was equality, not hierarchy. Our postmodern ideals that simplified God into what we wanted— completely human, maternal, tolerant— were theologically confirmed.

Or were they? Young claims he did not intend for his book to be read as theology, but surely he foresaw the impact its publishing would have in Christians' and non-Christians' understanding of the triune God. Sure, he can defend the work by reminding us that he wrote it to give his kids a more understandable picture of God. And therein lies the problem. He reduces God to an oversimplified and completely human god that is on trial.

Young paints the Trinity in utterly unbiblical form. He suggests that there is no headship within the Trinity; hierarchy is nonexistent and unnecessary. However, in 1 Corinthians Paul writes that "the head of Christ is God" (11:3). Young reduces all three Persons of the Trinity to human form; in fact Jesus is the only Member to take on flesh. He portrays God the Father as a mother; though God has no gender, Scripture repeatedly refers to Him in solely masculine terms (Father).

The most dangerous and arguably heretical idea that Young presents is God's willingness to accept Mack's unabashed approach in questioning His ways. Job has similar questions about the problem of evil after tragedy strikes him; in four beautiful, poetic, powerful chapters God declares essentially that He is God and Job is man; Job therefore has no right to question God's ways and authority (Job 38-41). Unlike God's response in Job, Papa's response accepts Mack's question as appropriate and answerable. God is not the defendant; He has nothing to prove. We are on trial; we have been found guilty of sin. If we look onto Jesus as our Savior, we will be found innocent; regardless, we, not God, are up for questioning. God made us. We lack the authority to challenge His sovereignty.

"Who are you to reply against God? Will the thing formed say to him who formed it, 'Why have you made me like this?' " ~Romans 9:20

Only through Jesus' sacrifice are we able to approach the throne of grace with confidence (Hebrews 4:16). And even then, we like Isaiah, ought to throw ourselves prostrate, unworthy to be in His glorious presence:

"Woe is me, for I am undone!

Because I am a man of unclean lips,

And I dwell in the midst of a people of unclean lips;

For my eyes have seen the King,

The LORD of hosts."

~Isaiah 6:5

Will we choose to know God as the sovereign, holy, divine, triune God of the Bible that offers humanity eternal life through the death of His Son? Or of the jolly, carefree, tolerant, sentimental woman of The Shack that gives offers humanity license to sin?

Take your pick.

What Women (and Men) Want

"Our Lord finds our desires, not too strong, but too weak. We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased."

~C.S. Lewis

Fire and Water

She is lovely and

I would like to see her face again.

She lives with wonder; she sings with grace

A hundred tragedies, her faith unmoved

She laughs like an angel

She speaks with loving honesty

She works with sincere diligence

She thinks deeply, compassionately

Spontaneous dancing to invisible music

Hope is written on her face

Freedom woven into her body

Redemption sewed into her soul.

Children, the elderly, the retarded— none escape her

grace

A river of joy gushes from her voice, drips from her words

I want to move to her hometown the Wedding Feast

Laughter unity celebration serenity—

Not for a weekend but a lifetime

Beautiful, restored Zion.

Nice Try

So this is my first attempt at a stream-of-consciousness piece.

I basically just wrote all the things that came to mind, omitting sensory details.

First of all, I admit it was very hard to make this decision.

Have you ever tried to recreate the Promised Land by drinking milk and eating honey?

It's such a struggle for me; honestly every day it's like a battle.

It's amazing how certain people seems so together and high in society but then act like kids.

God made Eve first then Adam and told her he was good in bed and could open jars and was sometimes funny, but Eve had to let him believe he was made first. (Not mine!)

I have a love/hate relationship with spending money.

Why do girls talk so much?

The last time I watched a movie I could have sworn it paused and restarted itself to accommodate my intermittent cat naps.

Why do people think that when two guys are close friends they must be gay?

He flipped me off and I wasn't even in his way.

Why does she always bring up the fact that she does not, in fact, want a bigger house?

Do you ever friend someone, then look through your wall and imagine their interpretations of each post?

She can't figure out why the feminist professor hates her.

People are such hypocrites about tattoos.

I usually don't think redheads are attractive. He's the only exception

You wouldn't believe me, but then you realized I was right— it's hilarious!

Some people like to speak with their heads in the clouds. Theoretically, that is.

Who pays attention to jawlines?

Oh, celibacy! Jesuit colleges rock!

I don't text at night anymore.

Do you ever say something just for the heck of it?

I am not like the girl in "The Ugly Truth."

Is it better to be fast and miserable or slow and content?

I've tried to imagine myself solemnly recalling my "attempted" suicide in an "exciting" testimony.

Do I really need to give everything I have to the poor? Because then I'd have to walk around naked.

Monte Vista needs more down-to-earth teachers.

The pickle jar label says pickles have no calories. And I digested a huge gust of wind

She wants to spend time with me! Makes you feel important

My dad says he likes seeing pretty girls hanging out with homely girls because it shows they're actually friends.

I couldn't wait to turn 16 so I could sing "I Am Sixteen Going on Seventeen."

I don't miss preschool. We had to pop balloons so I cried.

Why do they make dead bodies look pretty?

Don't look into his eyes. He looks into your soul and knows your eternal destination.

I don't hate him. My respect for him simply diminished considerably.

Mark Labberton's book makes me feel guilty for drinking Starbucks.

There must be a way to be exempt from complacency.

Idealism and Facebook are incompatible.

I hope my art history class is interesting.

I talk about him a lot. And no I don't have an Oedipus complex.

Eating lunch alone sucks.

I Can't Wait

"I know that Jesus Christ is preparing a home for me, and for some of you, for two thousand years. Now if this world took six days, and [heaven] has taken two thousand years...Man, we're living in a garbage can compared to what's going on up there!"

~Steve Green~

Rice Concert

My good friend/mentor Jana created this artwork for a benefit concert our church did to raise money and awareness for world hunger— specifically for kids at a deaf orphanage in Nigeria, who have nothing to eat everyday except for rice and water.

Cutting Off the Right Hand

"The Sermon on the Mount is not a set of principles to be obeyed apart from identification with Jesus Christ. The Sermon on the Mount is a statement of the life we will live when the Holy Spirit is getting his way with us."

~Oswald Chambers~

The City

I spent yesterday in San Francisco with my aunt Karen. We walked from her apartment to the Museum of Modern Art (interesting, to say the least), went shopping at Neiman Marcus, got lunch at a French bistro, and just walked around the city.

There was a part of me that kept saying, I could do this. I could live in the city. But the rest of me protested. As much as I enjoyed the busyness and culture and shopping that is San Francisco, I like my small town. I like that you can't go to the gym without running into someone you know. I like that people honk at each other out of recognition, not out of anger. I like that half the baristas at the Starbucks on Tennant not only know my name, but are able to spell it correctly! I like that my friends text me to ask if they can hang out at my house and make s'mores literally less than an hour before they show up. I like that I can sit by the pond at Community Park and journal without worrying about getting jumped. I like that I've never been asked to leave during a 3-hour long conversations I've had over lunch at Panera.

I like the slower, friendlier culture of the South Valley. I like that people matter.

The Poor

• know they're in need of redemption
• know not only their dependence on God but also their interdependence on each other
• their security is found in people and not things
• they have no exaggerated sense of importance or exaggerated need of privacy
• expect little from competition and much from cooperation
• can distinguish between necessities and luxuries
• able to wait because they have acquired a kind of dogged patience
• fears are more realistic and less exaggerated because they know they can survive great suffering and want
• Gospel sounds like good news and not like a threat or scolding
• can respond to the Gospel with abandonment and uncomplicated totality because they have little to lose and they are ready for anything

"God's Preferential Option for the Poor" from Monika Hellwig

"Blessed are you poor,

For yours is the kingdom of God."

~Luke 6:20

That's Also True

"the purpose of opening the mind, as of opening the mouth, is to close it again on something solid" G.K. Chesterton

If everything is true, then nothing is true. If there is no truth, life is meaningless. We may as well go on acting on every animalistic impulse. Why bother following legal, social, or moral norms? For a nihilist, there are none. What is true? What is not subject to cultural or political change?

God's Eyes

"How we believe God sees others determines how we will treat them"

Think about it

for believers, earth is the closest thing to hell they will ever experience.

for non believers, earth is the closest thing to heaven they will ever experience.

Ask me

A lot of my friends have been creating formspring accounts. Formspring is an application that allows people to ask someone any question anonymously, and the user answers. The questions and answers can be seen by anyone.

I've been debating whether to consider creating one for myself. I like to think that people are interested in me and my opinions about things. But my idealism has precluded this. Do I, an 18-year old girl, have the authority to answer whatever question is posed to me? Why would people choose to listen to my opinion over those of say, a parent or teacher? Not to mention God.

It almost seems like a symbol for a culture that is hungry for truth but looks in all the wrong places.

Songs of Mercy

Away with the noise of your songs!

I will not listen to the music of your harps.

But let justice roll on like a river,

righteousness like a never-failing stream!

Amos 5:23-24

What an odd thought, that God abhors our musical praise! Isn't that what "worship" is all about? The music, the Chris Tomlin lyrics, the lifting of hands in a seeming effort to reach the Lord Himself?

In the Protestant Evangelical culture, I've found that the worship music is often exaggerated and emotionally charged. We declare that we will do whatever God calls us to; we'll follow Him wherever He goes; we'll give everything for Him. But at least in my life, those words are virtual lies. We don't give everything to Him: we'll give a small percentage, just enough to ameliorate the guilt but not enough to constitute a significant sacrifice on our part. We won't go anywhere He does: maybe to church on Sundays and perhaps even Wednesday nights, but to a foreign country? To my next-door neighbor's house to talk about my faith? No way.

I cannot speak to the culture that God was admonishing in this passage, but if it were ours, it would be no surprise that he desires acts of justice and righteousness over song. He desires that we cease the gossiping and fantasizing on Sunday mornings before we wail out "Let the Praises Ring." He desires that we seek justice— even if it simply means donating clothes to a needy local family— before we raise our hands to "How He Loves."

Friendship

In today's world of social networking, a time when Facebook recently reached its 500 millionth member, it's difficult to define a "friend". I have over 900 "friends" on Facebook, but how many do I have an actual relationship with? Maybe a few hundred. And how many would meet Jesus' definition of a real friend— "Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends" (John 15:13)? I could count them on one hand, if any. But more importantly, would I give my life for a friend? I really don't know.

Three things are integral to a friendship: time, trust, and talk. These are virtually nonexistent in the majority of my facebook "friends." So now we must specify using the "Top Friends" application because the term "friend" has become so trite.

There are three levels of intimacy in friendship, which Jesus modeled here on earth. Acquaintances are the people we know and converse with occasionally, but the connection lacks trust. These are analagous to Jesus' numerous disciples, the mob that followed him. Next come friends, who are closer. Jesus' 12 apostles represent this group. Finally are the closest group of friends— for Jesus: Peter, James, and John. They would— and did— give their lives and were his closest confidantes.

True Religion

Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world.

James 1: 27

As a Christian, I often get caught up in what makes me a true follower of Jesus. Have I prayed enough today? Uh-oh, I missed church for the past two Sundays. Have I been tithing 10%? Does the money I give to Christian organizations factor into that 10%? Do I need to supplement my Scripture reading with Christian devotional books?

While there is certainly nothing wrong with these practices (in fact, spiritual disciples are absolutely necessary to growing our faith), James gives us a simple yet powerful picture of what God sees as a pleasing, Christ-centered walk: taking care of orphans and widows while maintaining a pure heart and mind.

These stipulations are so simple yet at times so difficult. I've had plenty of compassion for orphans and widows, but am I actually doing anything about that gut-wrenching sympathy? The idea of a pure mind is nice, but hey, I like my hip-hop music with its occasional cussing. Am I willing to take serious steps to change both the inward (heart and mind) and outward (caring for orphans and widows) realities of my life to honor Christ?

Don't Judge Me

There is a notion not only in popular culture but also in Christian culture that frowns upon "judging". To judge is to condemn, to be "judgmental", to essentially hate. So don't judge, the culture tells us. Love everyone. Tolerate. "Do not judge, lest ye be judged," we Christians say, vaguely recalling something Jesus said about a speck and a log.

Yet to fail to judge is to have no standards, to have no sense of right and wrong. Or, if there is a right and wrong, to be tolerant is to ignore biblical moral standards in the name of "love". Where does this leave us as Christians? Since we can never wholly remove the log that obscures our view of our neighbor's speck, are we destined to attempt prying that obnoxious log out while blissfully ignoring everything wrong in the culture and world?

Although Jesus did say "Do not judge, or you too will be judged" (Matthew 7:1), He also said, "Do not judge according to appearance, but judge with righteous judgment" (John 7: 24). We must, as Christians, distinguish between right and wrong, between good and evil, between beautiful and ugly, and apply those differences to our lives. But not according to appearance. Not according to how culture stereotypes it. Not according to hearsay. But with righteous judgment.

A simple question to ask in determining if something is worth our time and thought is, Does this glorify God? If Jesus was here with me right now, would this bring joy to his heart too?

Cliche Christianity

"I'm just really leaning on God's strength."

"Grace and forgiveness are found at the cross alone."

"Jesus is my everything."

Too often I find myself living a faith of cliches. But instead of merely stagnating our walk with God, depending on cliches actually draws us away from God. Trials come, and the cliches mock us. God did not create the world and find it good, and eventually send His son to live a perfect life and die a criminal's death so we could live this cliche faith.

Abraham walked with God. Multiple New Testament writers refer to Abraham "believing God, which was counted to him as righteousness." A look at his life gives us a glimpse of what it means to know God. God promised him great things, far greater than he could imagined. He promised new life. He promised to protect him. The trials came, and Abraham came forth as gold. He KNEW God.

*Thanks to Steve Rea for the sermon "The Gospel According to Abraham"

Panting

God did not intend simply to save us, and leave us at that. That is but the beginning. He intends that we hunger for Him and keep pursuing Him, knowing Him more every day.

The director of the discipleship camp I attended tells of his friend's 4-year old daughter who, upon arriving at Disneyland, was content to stare at the flowered Mickey at the front of the park. Her parents pleaded with her to just let them show her Space Mountain, Fantasyland, the fireworks, everything else that is truly Disneyland. The girl screamed and resisted, so they picked her up and literally carried her into the park.

Why are we content to dwell in the outer courtyard? The veil has been removed; we have access to the Holy of Holies, the very Presence of God! May we never be satisfied with our current knowledge of Him.

"As the deer pants for streams of water, so my soul pants for you, O God." Psalm 42:1

"Whom have I in heaven but You? And earth has nothing I desire besides You." Psalm 73:25

Money

As I've become more financially independent this summer, I've come to see the value of a dollar.

A dollar can buy a cheap pack of spearmint gum.

A dollar can quench my thirst with a tiny 12-ounce bottle of dragon fruit vitamin water.

A dollar can cover the medical and basic living costs of a child in a third-world country for one day.

This summer, I hope to find a healthy balance in how I spend my money: on personal luxuries and/or donations to humanitarian organizations.

Riding

The June sun burns above the dry yellow field, a wasteland. Smooth blacktop switches to crunchy gravel then to hard, rocky earth. My sweat-drenched fingers force the gear to a six. But the hill is high. We pedal and pedal as the backs of our necks tan and fry. I cringe as my thighs plead for a rest. Just one moment on solid ground, they beg. But I keep pedaling.

A bright blue lake comes into view. Gorgeous. My cotton dry throat reminds me of the sweet taste of water. But I keep my eyes on the dirt path. I lift the weight of my body into a standing position. Pain rips through my upper thighs. Each movement is heavier, longer, greater. We reach the peak. Downhill we race at demon speed. The exhilaration of flying down the curvy path stings my eyes and spins my stomach. Faster, faster, brake! I skid to a stop. But the sharp turn pulls the bike out from under me and I slam into thistles. Carefully I stand, swing a leg over the seat, and go. A race to the green rusty gate. Hard earth becomes gravel once again. My muscles throb as I twist the faucet and the clear, lukewarm water coats my throat. I can swallow again.

Annoying

Today some friends and I were discussing annoying things done by the opposite sex. The discussion quickly became a fierce debate. Later I was trying to think of what males do that I appreciate.

1. Men tend to keep short accounts in that they will confront a friend about a problem face-to-face rather than use a go-between. Girls like having a defense team ready to fire because they fear confrontation. Guys are up-front and honest about relational problems.
2. Guys are decisive. Girls like indecision because it precludes failure and typically doesn't offend people. Decisions are necessary to carry a project, a team, a company forward. Men do this well.
3. They speak frankly without an agenda. Women make comments specifically to make someone jealous, to advance their image. Men don't have such an agenda.

The Best

In every human relationship there is a disparity between reality and expectation. We can choose to be annoyed by the gap and try to close it, or we can expect the best from the other person.

Abraham Lincoln once said, "If you look for the bad in people expecting to find it, you surely will." Everyone has character flaws and annoying idiosyncrasies. But lately I've tried to look for the good in people, and I have surely found that. Karen, the youth pastor's wife, is incredibly patient with messy, insecure, noisy junior high students. Jana knows and loves the Word of God. Serena has great self-control over her emotions and desires. Melody loves people; she is never at odds with anyone. I could go on. There is good in humanity; will I choose to acknowledge it?

From the Mouths of Babes

My brothers Evan and Ellis have invented a game that involves Evan throwing and hitting a ball to Ellis, theoretically to teach him to catch, but in reality, just to hit Ellis. Today Evan asked Ellis if he got scared when the ball flies toward him. Ellis confidently replied, "I'm not afraid because I know God is with me."

Who is my most loyal friend? Who will truly stand by me through joy and pain? "You know when I sit and when I rise; you perceive my thoughts from afar..where can I go from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence? If I go up to the heavens, you are there; if I make my bed in the depths, you are there."

Blurry

Spin, spin, spin

Flowing shiny gold dress

and glittery eye shadow

Soak in the glamour, paparazzi

Drink in the bright lights and camera clicks

Revel in the glory of the night

Duck into the silver BMW

Soft purr of the engine, vroom says

the accelerator

Zig-zag down Lombard Street at night

A river of golden water

Smoother faster champagne black sleek phone

rings, rings laughter faster faster

Brake! slam harder no stop

I can't stop

Slam crash blood death

Tears red on gold

Black dress

Looking Up and Down

I was discussing with my dad how I wanted to start an intellectual club this summer: we would meet at cute little coffee shops, read some Billy Collins, discuss an article from Patrick Henry Reardon or another great Christian thinker of the day, maybe debate current political issues. I thought he'd be thrilled. But instead he asked, "So what are you guys going to do for others?"

The question struck me as absurd. Who cares? We were in our profound little coffee shop, having profound little conversations about profound little thoughts. What did the rest of society matter? I thought he was being overly pragmatic, failing to recognize the beauty of argumentation and intellect.

Did Jesus tell his followers to form an intellectual group and discuss the importance of loving neighbors? No; he simply told them to do it. Did he tell them to think about the aesthetic value of going and telling peoples of the world the Good News? No; he just told them to do it.

I'm an idealist and philosophizer: I try to create profundity out of virtually anything, and I often find myself disillusioned with the postmodern world. Yet at times I get so wrapped up in my profundity that I became selfish. I like my deep thoughts; I don't like exiting my deep world of contemplation to look out for others. Ironic as it seems, idealism and contemplation can cause a person to reach a point of sole self-interest.

A man cannot spend his whole life looking up at the heavens; neither can he merely look down at the ground. A wise man strikes a balance between admiring the greatness the mind can imagine as well as applying that knowledge to practical situations.

Pedestal

He spoke. He was young; he was pure; he was knowledgeable; he was witty; he was decisive. She thirsted for his wisdom like a lamb longing to suckle its mother's milk. There was no question he didn't have an answer for. He explained why the earth revolved around the sun; why the Framers did not create a democracy; why tragedies were cathartic; why injustice exists. In him was truth, beauty, understanding, goodness. He was the solution to global hunger, the Grail that knights perished for, the Alpha and the Omega. He was a man.

She stared into his eyes, captivated like teenage Miranda gazing upon the male body for the first time. Oh Heaven, that has showered me with such blessed beauty! Oh Justice, that has delivered me from these shackles of confusion to the freedom of knowing! Called out of weakness, succumbing to the glory of this man's marvelous might! Oh God!

But when tempests talked, he replied; when temptation said hello, he conversed; when sin smiled, he laughed. The decadent pleasure of lust he devoured. Oh, discreetly, of course. But his short happy life he could not forever conceal. She heard. She wept the salty tears of revelation and false hope. What hope, without the god she once adored? Oh save her, call her from the cyclical abyss she knows too well.

What's Wrong with Prom?

Prom is an odd phenomenon in American culture. Teenagers spend hundreds, if not thousands, of dollars on a 4-hour long event that essentially is about having fun. I don't think it's ethically wrong, but logically, some things are just strange about the ordeal.

Although it's not required for attendance, the majority of prom attendees have dates as it has become socially accepted and expected for students (especially boys) to go with a date. I don't object to the date expectation, but where it gets tricky is what the date entails. The dancing, which constitutes the majority of the night, is more intimate than that of our grandparents. Suffice it to say that no one swing dances at prom. Even if the date is a boyfriend or girlfriend, typical dancing at a high-school formal encourages teens to interact physically like they are married.

Many couples go "just as friends," but in my experience of going to three formals and observing the social politics of many more, that phrase seems to be rarely understood. A girl (or guy) can say the magic words "just friends" a hundred times over, but someone manages to interpret the dance as more. After all, the two of them spend anywhere from four to ten hours together in one night, including a couple hours of close dancing. Add that to the extensive texting and calling that are inevitable in working out the many logistics of the event. It's a recipe for emotional attachment.

Attendees invest significant money into things that are purely superficial. For the girl, there is the dress, with a price ranging from $60 to $400; matching formal shoes; a hairstyle which, even without a hair appointment, costs money for hairspray and a curler/straightener; the boutonniere; painted or acrylic nails; and possibly fancier makeup or another appointment.

The guy has a comparable to-buy list: a nice shirt; a vest or tie; a rented tux; dress shoes; the corsage; and the tickets and dinner (if he follows the tradition of treating the girl). And this doesn't include the limo or activities like bowling that come afterwards.

All this for one night, and virtually none of these expensive items are reusable, save for the shoes and arguably the dress, if a girl doesn't mind re-wearing it.

Prom is a fun high-school experience, but it's also a symbol for our cultural mindset that encourages the spending of countless time and energy into maintaining appearances and having fun despite the fact that it's all going to be over soon.

4 Reasons I Dislike Texting

1. Texting sends the message (no pun intended) that something or someone else is more important. It is not abnormal for someone to be having a serious conversation with someone, then all of the sudden the listener/speaker whips out his/her phone to read and respond to the latest text. No matter if your mother-in-law is moving in with you or you are deemed ineligible for varsity soccer or your pet hamster died. I just got an utterly meaningless text but I still prioritize it over you.
2. Texting inhibits and arguably prevents the natural and psychologically healthy human tendency to think. The mind is an incredible gift. God was wise to give us the ability to think without speaking. How awkward would life be if all our thoughts were available for the world to read or hear? Thinking is how we deal with life's complexities, pleasures, pains, and mysteries; how we reflect God's nature as a Reasoner; how we use logic and argumentation to discover truth. To forgo this amazing ability is to neglect the gift of reason and thought that sets us apart from mere animals.
3. Texting as a means of communication is socially ambiguous. A recent "relationship status" that I've heard people cite is, "We're talking." In other words, they are texting regularly. But what does this entail? Is constant textual communication as intimate as face-to-face conversation? Texting someone can give that person the illusion that the relationship is exclusive; in reality, the texter may be mass-messaging the texts he sends to seven different people.
4. Texting eliminates the majority of communication signals utilized in everyday (normal) conversation. Social psychologists claim that words constitute less than 10% of communication; the rest involves tone, context, body language, facial expressions, etc. Text messages are often misinterpreted, for better or for worse, as a result. In general, sarcasm doesn't travel over text. Neither does excitement or anger. Not only is the message the texter intended different from its apparent form; its misinterpretation is potentially detrimental to a relationship.

In conclusion, texting hurts rather than helps relationships and communication in general. Its social repercussions heavily outweigh its practical purposes.

Me Amas?

The pastor says we're made for selfless love.

I thought I found my niche with boys and clothes.

In me they saw a goddess, so above

Girls cursed with pudgy waists and pug-like noses.

I savored the attention and remarks

They'd paint in word and song, reminding me

That I'm a candle in a world of dark,

That I'm a jewel, bearer of beauty.

But what of single moments that destroy

A perfect form? Or accidents that mar

A pretty face? I put my hope in boys

To "love" by touch, by kiss, but not so far

As to be reputed as the local whore.

And yet the insecurities I hid

Emotional flaws my mind cannot ignore

Remained long after hugs or makeup did.

When troubles come, will you act like a man?

In age, will you still love like real men can?

Oh no. You only saw perfection— physical.

To cherish me forever? Impossible.

For now, I wait before His mighty throne:

I know the life I live is not my own.

Man in Uniform

So this week, there was a cop at my house interviewing my mom about a recent robbery in our neighborhood. I walked by; the cop was young and very good looking, so I smiled at him. He noticed me but did not smile back. This is a response to that experience.

The moment that my eyes met yours

I smiled sweetly, hoping for more.

But when you looked away in pride,

The flirty, giggly id just died.

I felt my heart shatter like glass!

I looked my best; my looks you passed!

Rejection— that was foreign before.

I check the mirror— something I wore?

A jerk, an inconsiderate brute!

A novice cop: bet he can't shoot.

To think himself too good– But wait!

It's shallowness I claim to hate.

Unlike weak men, you were not fazed

When into your blue eyes I gazed.

A lovely face fails to reveal

What eyeliner and blush conceal.

You wait for beauty of the heart

Of which mere looks play little part.

Next time a man's approval I seek,

An upturned nose, to me, is not bleak.

Night that True Love Died

How deep the Father's love for us

How vast beyond all measure

That He should give His only Son

To make a wretch his treasure

Love does not always look like love. In fact, a lot of the time, it may look like legalism, or foolhardiness, or mere tradition. But it almost always differs radically from our modern cultural definition.

In typical high school relationships, physical attraction and contact are often mistaken for love. A girl will convince herself that her boyfriend loves her because he can't get his hands off her. In truth, though, this is not love but arrant selfishness: he disregards her emotional and physical purity in order to get what he wants.

In filial relationships, children (and parents) believe that their parents love them if they give them whatever they want at the time. So they whine and scream and pout until Mommy caves in and buys the latest Gameboy or Call of Duty or flat-screen or Ferrari. Actually, her choices demonstrate not love but foolishness: her child grows up and becomes selfish, irrational, and undisciplined.

For a pastor, believing that he loves someone in his congregation too much to call him or her out on their sinful behavior is delusional. If the pastor knows of a member's destructive behavior and remains silent, the sin inevitably affects not only the individual but also his or her family and community. Sparing someone's feelings for a moment in return for long-term pain is not loving.

Dying a horrendous criminal's death may not have looked like love to Jesus' disciples either. After all, how was he supposed to be a Savior if he let a mobs impulsively crucify him? But what appeared to be foolhardiness proved to be the ultimate atoning sacrifice, providing humanity a way to eternal life with God.

Mara

Dawn breaks: she rises from the satin sheets

slips on her red silk dress, the trademark of

a woman that provides men happiness—

If one could call her pain of body and soul

mere service, then she served them without fail.

A thousand nights she's cried alone; a thou-

sand times she swallowed the words she used to crave.

A screaming hunger grows inside her chest

now pacified by his comforting touch.

Tomorrow it will rise again, a babe

madly pounding on the wall of the womb

squirming, squeezing to see the light of day

Let me out of this prison of darkness,

Give me agape, the milk I've thirsted for.

To Be Strong

to Valerie

Her glorious auburn locks swing slowly as

Eyes dance with joy— her laughter mutes the din

In Peet's. As waterfalls rush forth, so does

The love that radiates her life. What's in

A name? She whom we call La Valerie

By any other poem would be as kind,

As captivating; yet devoted, freed

And loved. Without a sis for years I whined

No one can understand, not even Dad.

She held my hand, she held my heart, she broke

My pride. She saw my failure, but, not mad,

She wiped the tears I birthed. Her life evokes

A beauty greater than a beach sunrise—

It seeks man's praise; she'll dance for Heaven's prize.

Life as a Novel

Bibliophile and idealist that I am, I realized recently that I attempt to interpret life as I would a work of literature. Places are symbols; people are characters; events are part of a plot (and college is, hopefully, the resolution!). For example, my 18th birthday is tomorrow, and confession time: I am having two different birthday parties (I was and am absolutely adamant about keeping this blog non-confessional, but this ties into my point). One is for my friends from swimming; the other, for my friends at school. I've come to see these two groups as character foils to one another, their celebratory presences at my house separated by a mere week. The first group obviously knows me only from the pool. The image they have of me is an accumulation of my identity as a swimmer and teammate. For them, Estelle is defined by her speed (or the lack thereof, my dad would probably add), her personality, her reputation in the swimming community, her appearance. The latter group, in comparison, knows Estelle as a student, a leader, a Christian, and perhaps swimmer is tossed in their somewhere too. Inevitably, this led Estelle to contemplate her character flaw: hypocrisy. Is she a different person in the classroom than she is in Lane 1? Does my lack of heavy academic reputation at swim practice lead me to throw caution to the wind and talk and act like the majority of other teenagers? And more importantly, will this "tragic flaw" lead to my downfall? Like Oedipus, will my (somewhat) healthy hubris prevent me from examining my mistakes and cause me to impulsively make a stupid decision?

Typical as it sounds, my car is a symbol for freedom. The first time I drove alone, I raced down the back roads my parents limited me to at ludicrous speeds. However, the tragic hero's flaws eventually caught up with her: she got in a fender bender a mere 2 weeks after receiving the wondrous license. Nevertheless, she was able to maintain some freedom after repaying the difference in insurance rates over the next couple years by rebuilding the deck—she became a dynamic character as she learned that ideas, and actions, have consequences. However, to this day she drives only relatively short distances and dreams of the day when absolute (or at least greater) freedom is found, when her parents allow her to travel the Road of Knowledge of Good and Evil (known to some as Hecker Pass). Whereas her car stands for freedom, Hecker stands for absolute independence. Maybe that day will be tomorrow; maybe later. But until redemption comes, Valjean remains enslaved, 19 years and counting in the chain gang.

My former swim coach and my current one are also character foils. Mark ruled with an iron fist; Tom's workouts are near anarchy. Mark demands 90% attendance or higher and administers punishment for anything less; Tom is pleased by my appearance at practice a few times a week and punishments are seen as child abuse. Mark makes his thoughts and moods unmistakably evident; stoic Tom will only drop a hint about what he wants. Mark's arrival on the team led to the quitting of over half the senior group and by the time I left the team, there was but one other high schooler; Tom's group contains almost a dozen teenagers that are more than okay with his lack of standards. Mark publicly humiliates parents that attempt to comment on his crude impersonations of their children; Tom will kiss the ground the swimmers drip on in order to please any concerned parents. Mark regularly (and emotionally, I might add) attacks feeling and the emphasis culture puts on it; when I have a bad day, Tom asks me if I'm feeling okay (one of three deadly sins men do that I can't stand: ask me how I feel, touch me, or comment on my appearance). Mark told me I was the worst swimmer he ever coached; after swimming a single season on Gilroy, Tom awarded me with Most Dedicated, Best Attendance, Most Valuable, and the greatly desired Gator Award. (Side note: when I first started swimming for Tom, of course I was in heaven because of the lack of standards, whining, mocking, spitting, push-ups, unbrushed teeth, etc. But now I realize that I need someone yelling at me or I won't try. There's another character flaw— lack of intrinsic motivation.)

All that to say that while using Spark-Note style analysis may not necessarily solve any problems, at least my awareness of them increases. Now to Sylvia Plath to find out the meaning of life before I become a legal adult.

Fairest of Them All

To be known as pretty gets you nowhere.

Attention and flirting don't satisfy.

Men speak about your beauty; they don't care.

Last week Justin pulled his hands through my hair.

He asked, if I'm free that night, to stop by.

To be known as pretty gets you nowhere.

Tod's smart; classics he hasn't read are rare.

He writes me sonnets that publishers buy.

Men speak about your beauty; they don't care.

My ex bought me tops he thought I should wear.

In Juicy Couture, his trophy was I.

To be known as pretty gets you nowhere.

But He saw my heart, died to make life fair.

Betrayed with a kiss to suffer and die.

Men speak about your beauty; they don't care.

Profess your love; pursue me, if you dare.

Death, not words nor touch, no one can deny.

To be known as pretty gets you nowhere.

Men speak about your beauty; they don't care.