Ted Nugent is a perfect human being.

I am a perfect human being. I stumble perfectly, but I also aspire to and accomplish a perfect standing up and dusting off in that arena, and continue on.  Ted Nugent.

Changing perspective on giving

My husband can't stand it when I tell him I'm a selfish woman. It's not a constant woe is me. It's just something that happens from time to time.

Like last weekend when he asked for my help in cleaning the basement. Sweeping up saw dust, I was clearly irritated to be there. His request for help had ruined all my notions of Post-Kiddo-Bedtime Fun. I told him as much, and that I was feeling bratty about it. Rolling his eyes, he tells me to stop believing such things about myself.

It's true, though, isn't it? Perhaps I am not a perpetual brat, but I do occasionally act bratty. In the same way that I am not a blatantly selfish person, I occasionally do selfish things.

Most of us are selfish and we don't even know it.

Driving past that man who holds his cardboard plea at the intersection, and making some excuse on why he doesn't need your help.

Hanging on to our toddler's newborn clothes, "just in case" another baby comes along. Are there no donation centers with desperate mothers looking to simply keep their current baby in clothes?

Listening to a friend's problems but only hearing your own.

Skipping past a prayer of thanksgiving, not simply for the food at the table, but perhaps for being fortunate enough to pick and choose the good eats before you.

Every one of us has been here before. And we all have the chance to make change.

2 Corinthians 9:11  You will be enriched in every way so that you can be generous on every occasion, and through us your generosity will result in thanksgiving to God.

It is not all about me.

Giving of ourselves doesn't need to be about making some radical, life-altering decisions. Nor am I presuming that all people are in the position to give in similar ways to one another. We're not.

For a moment, however, take the focus off of what impact giving may have on you, and just do it. It can be as simple as paying attention to the folks and circumstances around you. It should be about giving thanks to God, no matter what.

Christ does not require us to break glass ceilings, land promotions, or to read more books than we did last year. He tells us to concern ourselves with the will of God and the care of our neighbor.

There may not always be much to give, but there is always something to give.

That includes giving to ourselves, too.

I cannot maintain a spirit of generosity if I am not also generous to my spirit.

We're all in the same boat here. It's okay to acknowledge that you have the same vital needs as everyone else. Figure out what you need to recharge, and do it. Demand it. Find what it takes to stay connected to God--to yourself--and admit to yourself that you need it. Leave no room for compromise where it is concerned.

For me, recharging involves time away from people I know. Alone in a field or lost in a crowd, my restoration occurs when my mind can be at ease that no person will be calling out my name. It's times like these that I'm able to truly think, dwell, and observe. Give me more than an hour, and my heart will start asking itself about the kids. If I'm able, I try to keep away for a bit longer than necessary. Hubs has got this just fine. And it makes coming home to their smiles and warmth all the sweeter.

Just a few hours away from responsibility and home, and I could care less about the mess and fuss that await upon my return. Bring it on. My soul is well rested and ready to serve.

Yahoo! sports writing team shows ignorance toward all things sacred

Paul Pierce takes to his knee. Photo courtesy of NBA.com

You would think that Yahoo! News could afford to employ writers who are both knowledgeable of the game and sensible as human beings. Alas, you would be wrong.

While I have read more than a few Yahoo! Sports articles lacking in creativity, their Ball Don't Lie writing team has officially lowered the bar to mental midgetry.

In their article Paul Pierce Tebows after dropping 36 points on the Hawks, reminds us that Tebowing is awful, the bloggers compliment the Boston Celtics forward for his playing, then go on to ream him for 'Tebowing' during the game.

'Tebowing,' by the way, is the phrase coined for ex-Denver Bronco Tim Tebow, who has a penchant for taking to his knee to thank God for any athletic good he provides (what was he thinking?!). 

Ball Don't Lie chides, "Seriously, Paul? This is still a thing, to you? This was ever a thing? ...there were so many other cooler things Pierce could have done towards the end of his team's win than, ugh, Tebowing."

A low point even for lazy journalism, the blog team does not even bother to attribute the article to any particular writer. This, I attribute to cowardice.

 

Tim Tebow. "Tebowing." Courtesy of therightscoop.com

So what of it? Is 'Tebowing' still a thing? Was it ever a thing?

 

No and no.

 

Athletes publicly showing praise to God aren't going anywhere. Tim Tebow was not the first, and Paul Pierce will not be the last.

Part of me wants to commend the faithful athletes who publicly praise God. Another part of me wants to simply note it as acknowledgment of grace in action, and that the athlete is only doing what they should.

It's when jaded and misguided folks come along, like the teasers of the Ball Don't Lie blog, that more than anything I am thankful for faithful athletes. Theirs is an incredibly influential and well-watched arena. Any glimpse of non-secular culture is cause to look up from the field or court, where viewers are privy to a non-pushy display of faith in action.

There is no way that any disrespecting, unnamed sports reporter can douse the potency of that.

4,017 days with Christ (so far)

"How do you want to die?" came the quiet, seemingly random inquiry over the phone.

"I don't know. I haven't really thought about it. How do you want to die?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe while getting shot delivering Bibles in another country."

Bibles?

Thus began one of the more pivotal discussions of my young life, also leading to an invitation to church on a Wednesday night. I liked it so well, I decided to come back the next Wednesday. Then Sunday. And the Sunday after that.

A sophomore in high school, it had been years since I'd last been to church. If you were to ask me I would have called myself a Christian, but knew little to nothing about what it really meant to be one. I had yet to consider the intensity that Christ's sacrifice entailed of Him, or the humbling obligations privileges that belonged to me. To me, and anyone else who would have Him. Toward the end of that school year, I would allow Christ to be the claimant of my life.

Today marks 11 years since my being baptized.

With my parents, after being baptized on May 2, 2001. We used 35mm film back then.

Just over eleven years since the upending and private contemplations that helped me realize the significant hand that God has in my life. While it was a fact I had never doubted, at that point I had not yet embraced it, either. 

Coming to God at 16 was definitely a good thing for me. My teenage morose ended up being trumped by Grace, and more than anything I found myself thankful at the end of each day. I had my confirmation through Christ that even if I never knew the reason for pain or confusion, that never would such feelings be for naught. There would always be joy.

Nothing ever seemed so bad. People never appeared too ugly. Sadness never became too overwhelming. Goodness seemed brighter, embraces warmer. People more fragile, more precious.

Baptism became a promise that a decade later, there has hardly been a time when He's let me forget who I am, or where I belong. There have been prodigal times, sure. Even then God will hide out in the crevices of the mind and heart, lying in wait for His children to come stumbling back into His arms.
  

Galatians 3:26-28 So in Christ Jesus you are all children of God through faith,  for all of you who were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ.  There is neither Jew nor Gentile, neither slave nor free, nor is there male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus.

Back to that pivotal discussion. I'm not looking to die any time soon. If I have it my way, I'd like to go after a lifetime of holding my husband's hand, chasing generations of children around snow-laden lawns, and hundreds of conversational mugs of tea.

I'd like to think, however, that mine will also be a life whose devotions are in order. That casual living would entail a few risks here and there on behalf of the God who has given everything, that I might have something worth dying for.

And that if such a day ever were to come, that I arrive with a quiet smile on my face.

One way or another

Stuck in my head is the worried face of an old classmate. She simpers with concern and then spits out her upsets and fear, that our Catholic school mates are going to hell.

And what is my biggest fear? That my not being Catholic may send me to hell.

Most days I hastily sweep all my disconcert under the rug. I doubt the theological mechanics of my Bible-centric faith really matter, especially when I'm involved waist-deep at an amazing church whose focus is to Go Out There and Reach Others for Christ.

Fast forward to the day I find out that I have a good shot at getting in to my Christian university of choice. Academically sound, and evangelical awesomeness to boot. The prospect of submitting that application, however, sends me into an internal paralysis from which I cannot be moved.

Is this it? Are you done exploring? Is your love for Holy Mother Church gone?

Oh dear. Here I am again.

It's a place of mixed up minds, a confusion over Christ-sharing theologies, and getting all happy clappy while trying my damnedest to look the other way.

Truthfully, I'm not even Catholic. Nor have I ever been.

What started as a curiosity, turned into a romance of history and tradition.

Could this be right?

I dared not implore, for fear of converting out of a lust for beauty and intellect and not for the Love of the Lord.

And yet, the unchangeable truth remained. My first time stepping into a chapel was my first time feeling the palpable Spirit of God next to me. Inside of me. It was as if Christ was holding me in His arms.

What am I supposed to do with that?!

It's never been an issue of whose faith is true. I don't consider one side of this atrocious debate to be right, while the other is wrong. We're talking about Christ, here. Isn't there room for Him to have a hand in both worlds at once?

Still, my conscience and my intellect demand answers.

Who is right? Where do I belong? Is this where I want my kids to be? Am I robbing them of their own beautiful experience with Christ?

Man. Being Catholic sounds so hard.

I wonder if anyone was ever canonized for charitably telling wishy-washy folks like me to grow a pair.

I am an insult to God.

What it all comes down to, is that I am afraid, and I don't want to.

Afraid of what my Protestant friends will say.

Afraid the dear friend who baptized me will think I am rendering that non-denominational sacrament null and void (absolutely not).

Afraid that my husband will never come with me.

Afraid of giving my body fully to God.

Terrified of having a large family and having less attention for the two wonderful children I already have.

I am horrible.

Of all this, I am ashamed. I sob on the inside throes of emotion, tucked inside the same pocket of cowardice which yielded these worries to start with.

I cling with a white-knuckled grasp to the part of me who legitimately wants to know if I may have any real theological qualms that won't allow me to align myself with the Catholic Church, beautiful as she may be.

The longer I take to address the issue, the further away I feel from God. Have I stopped asking God for an answer, and begun to ask that He change that answer already given to me?

There is irony within it all. While I may take solace in knowing that Christ is indeed everywhere, it's in acknowledging His unrivaled Bravery and Generosity that I see just how completely unworthy I am.

These are the moments when I hit kness-to-ground begging my coward's prayer not for a change of destiny, but for the strength to stand up and look my humanity in the eye as I finally make that trust fall into Christ's arms.

Wherever it may lead.