Convenient Christianity


"I saw her standing there and I told her she had three beautiful children. She didn't have to get angry. It was an honest mistake."

“I saw her standing there and I told her she had three beautiful children. She didn’t have to get angry. It was an honest mistake.”

Check out the caption on this picture (to the right) that popped up on my Twitter feed the other day.

At first, sure … it’s clever. But if you’re a Christian, it’s inexcusable.

I don’t care how outraged you are over 9/11, Islamic jihad, or the threat of Sharia law, to suggest that an innocent child looks like a sack of trash is disgusting. I understand the real target here is the perceived ridiculousness of the Islamic dress code, but inside that burqa is a little girl, and beneath countless burqa across the world children can be found who:

  • have had their genitals mutilated
  • are denied the opportunity to obtain education
  • are forced into a marriages (and sex) as early as nine years old, often to men three to four times their age
  • will find themselves in abusive marriages with no legal or societal recourse

Sure, I believe the majority of Muslims reject these obscene human rights violations, but Christians, no matter how righteous our indignation, can’t ignore that this is a culture full of hurting, hopeless people.

You can’t pick and choose who you express the love of Christ to. It isn’t a commandment of convienience, in fact, if you’ll remember, it was His second greatest commandment. When He commanded us to “love one another,” He meant everyone: people who don’t look like you, live like you, vote like you, and, yes … even those who wage jihad against you.

It’s a tall order, and one with which I admittedly struggle, but Christ also gave us a reason to love one another. It’s a reason that makes the unnatural act of loving our enemies beautifully rewarding, and I think it’s something a lot of Christians — likely, most of us — forget:

“I have told you these things, that My joy and delight may be in you, and that your joy and gladness may be of full measure and complete and overflowing.” — John 15:11

It’s not surprising that there are so many angry, joyless, bitter Christians walking around, not to mention an increasing number of non-believers who are repelled — repulsed, actually — by the way we approach our world.

Without love, we’re nothing.

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Text Messages from My Teenage Daughter: A Continuing Saga




She’s fourteen. She’s complicated. She’s an artistic, beautiful old soul. And she text messages me … constantly. I figured I’d make a little keepsake album that I’ll update weekly.

Enjoy … 

HORMONE-DRIVEN OVERGENERALIZATIONS:

  • I’m emotionally exhausted.
  • This day SUCKS. Can’t stop crying. I’m so mad. You have no idea. When I couldn’t see [due to power outage] I tripped and freakin rolled my ankle again. And I couldn’t see so I couldn’t do my hair, And when we got the power on it was too late so I look like crap. And I can’t find my hoodie, so I’m wearing one with a logo, so it will probably get taken up and I won’t have a jacket. And when I was getting in the car I tripped in a big puddle and got my pants wet. And I couldn’t open the door cause my hands were full and I crushed my poster in the door. And my song lyrics got wet and the ink is smearing. I’m so stressed.

MEDICAL EMERGENCIES:

  • I woke up with a terrible wheeze and cough. My nose is so congested. This is so irritating. I can’t sleep. I’m not supposed to wake up for another hour. My throat hurts really bad.

MOMMY’S LITTLE CYNIC:

  • This day is freaking useless. I’m sitting in the hallway while they take the test. That’s what I have to do next period, too.

MEDIA OBSERVATIONS:

  • Just saw a kitty litter commercial. It said “every granule is coated with baking soda”. BS.

ON GRAMMAR:

  • …like a cake, brownies, cookies, or something. (See my Oxford comma? I love my Oxford comma. It makes me so mad when people don’t use him. It’s just a plain lack of common sense. You don’t have orange juice, toast and milk. You have orange juice, toast, and milk. Otherwise you are a freak who likes soggy toast and crumbly milk.

POLITICAL OBSERVATIONS:

  • I need to take over the White House. — Everyone would be happier, and there would be more tacos.

CRIES FOR HELP:

  • Outside. Can’t get back it. Need you to unlock the door.

EDUCATION:

  • 105 on algebra test. (5 are the bonus points.) I’m so happy.

ON FRIENDSHIP:

  • [Friend] just texted me and told me that a kid in her English class fell out of his chair, everyone laughed at him, and he sat in the corner and cried. She asked me what she should do. In reply, I told her to get off her ass and help the kid. She said that it was harder for her than it was for me. Then she went in about how she wishes she would have done something. And she said how bad she felt. She just said that she wishes she could stand up for people like me. In which I replied: “You know what? It’s human nature. For some reason, I’ve been blessed with the ability to not care about what other people think of me. And honestly, that’s not natural. For most people, it’s a work in progress to get to the point where others’ feelings are more important than your own. And you are far ahead of most people. Don’t beat yourself up about it. You are a great Christian girl. But you have to WANT to help people. The ability isn’t just given to you.”

RANDOMNESS:

  • PO-TA-TOES. Boil em. Mash em. Stick em in a stew.

2013: Read. Sleep. Serve.


I’m keeping my resolutions simple this year:

Read — If doing three consecutive days of three-hour solo radio taught me anything, it’s that depth of knowledge is the key to success. I need to read more, and not just political websites and blogs — actual books … (well, eBooks).

Sleep — I just don’t do it enough, and it’s killing me. I should probably be specific about the number of hours I’ll shoot for, but for now, I’ll just say that I’m going to do it more.

Serve — I want to give more of my time and treasure. Several occasions in 2012 revealed to me my selfish human nature — amplified by various opportunities I had to engage folks who embody the servant’s heart. Simply put: I want to bless.

Oh, and I have to throw in this one, though it’s not too profound:

Embrace my height — I’m, like, 5’5.3333334″. Not exactly short. So why have I been walking around on stilts 24/7? It’s just ridiculous. And I’m tired of my feet hurting. I’ll wear heels when appropriate, but the days of doing it daily — are over.