I Do Not Want to Be Upgraded...

(OK, so here's the post I was intending to write on the 13th... If I'm very very clever I MIGHT actually get it published by the 14th... ^_^)

Kitty corner across the street from our apartment building, there is a church that offers a free breakfast on late-start Wednesdays for the students at the high school.  I've seen the sign, and I think it's a great idea, because even if they've already eaten at home, teenagers will inevitably be hungry again by the time they drive across town to get to school... and by offering breakfast on a late-start Wednesday, they're still leaving kids with enough time to grab a snack out of the vending machines on the way to first period as well :-)

Tuesday night, my daughter's boyfriend was apparently telling her that he wanted to stop by the church and get some food on their way to school the next morning.  Which makes sense except for the fact that... well, it's at a CHURCH.  My daughter's boyfriend is a brilliant guy and very sweet (especially to her), but he's not a Christian.  In fact, he dislikes church (for a lot of the same good reasons I hated churches and so-called Christians growing up), and pretty much refuses to go.  So, when my daughter told me (with a perplexed expression) about her boyfriend's plan for the next morning, I was both confused and intrigued.

Well, my daughter overslept, and so they didn't make it to the church breakfast thingy after all, but as he and I were waiting for her to finish getting ready, I asked him what he was thinking.  Which led to an interesting conversation about all manner of things religious, but what caught my imagination and hasn't let go of it all day was something that he told me his mom had told him about the church breakfast thing:

"'You do know that they're going to try and convert you, right?'"

Now, I don't know for sure if this church is one of those that feels the urge to convert everyone who walks through their doors, or if this is one of those seeker-friendly places that encourages every visitor to "find their own path to enlightenment."  But what his mom told him to watch out for (boy, it gets complicated trying to write without using names ^_^) just kind of resonated with me, because isn't that exactly what we as Christians do sometimes?  We get in the mindset that it's our job to "convert" people to Christianity, and that if we try to "share the gospel" with them and they DON'T get saved, then we've either not tried hard enough, or else we've done something wrong, or else they're just unrepentant sinners who are destined for hellfire and there's nothing we can do but simply wash our hands of them.

As I've mentioned before, I didn't grow up in a Christian home.  My mom told me as I was growing up that, because we have some Jewish blood in our grandmother's lineage, we were part of "God's Chosen People" and, therefore, we were automatically going to Heaven to be with God no matter what we did.  God simply gave us His commandments to tell us what to do and what not to do, and then He sent Jesus as a living example of how we were all supposed to live our lives.

This confused me.  On the one hand, God gave us a bunch of rules and filled in the gaps with some pretty scary consequences if we didn't obey (try reading through Exodus and Leviticus as a precocious 7 year old sometime... o.O).  On the other hand, it really doesn't matter whether we obey the rules or not, because if we're lucky enough to be Jewish, we're all going to go to Heaven anyway...?  By the time I was 10 or so, I figured that there really was no God, because either He was powerless ("Hah!  I broke all Your puny little commandments but You STILL have to let me in because I'm JEWWWWW-ISHHHHHHH!  Nyah, nyah, nyaaaaaahhhh!"), or else He must hate everybody and delight in torturing them ("You thought about stealing a pencil once because it was purple and sparkly, and since to think of breaking a commandment is the same as committing it in your heart, you are hereby sentenced to BUUUUUUUURRRRRNNNN... Thus saith the LORD!").  On top of that, I just didn't see how it would be fair to have an afterlife (i.e. Heaven) where EVERYBODY would get in no matter what they did or who they had a feud with on earth (I mean, my mom's parents were divorced... logically, then, how on earth could it be Heaven for either one of them if they were BOTH there?)  By the time I started junior high, I was one confused and, frankly, ticked off young lady-- all these years, and everyone who kept inviting me to church and Awanas and Neighborhood Bible Club had been LYING to me?

Because I used to get invited to a LOT of Christian events by well-meaning people at school and in my neighborhood.  And this is where the comment about being "converted" really hit home for me:  Every time I would get invited to a church or a Bible club, it was always the same bait-and-switch technique:

"Hey there, little girl... Do you like cookies?  Would you like to come over and have some cookies and milk after school.  We'll have a story, and some songs, and if you want, you can even play some musical instruments.  There will be other kids there... We'd LOVE it if you came!"

"Um... OK.  I like cookies, I guess..."

**arrives at house at right time, knocks on door timidly**

"Oooooooh, you CAME!  Hey everyone, look who's here with us today!  It's that one little girl from down the street!  You know, the one with the greasy hair and dirty clothes and holey shoes who OBVIOUSLY COMES FROM A PAGAN AND UNBELIEVING HOME..."  (OK, so no one ever actually said that last part out loud in front of me, but 1) it was always there in the pitying gazes of the adults in the room and in the snickers and haughty looks of the other kids, and 2) as an adult, I've heard those words come from the mouths of other church workers in reference to some of the kids we've had at VBS and Bible Clubs.)

"Um... Hi?"

"Oh, sweetie, we're so glad you're here!  Come on in and have a cookie..."

**comes in and stuffs face with cookie, completely oblivious to the quiet locking of the door behind her and the ominous music that really should be playing under a scene such as this...**

"Now, let's see... Where were we...?  Oh, yesssss... DO YOU KNOW FOR SURE IF YOU DIED TODAY THAT YOU WOULD GO TO HEAVEN???  WOULD YOU RATHER GO TO HELL???  OH NO, YOU WOULDN'T, WOULD YOU???  IF YOU ASK JESUS TO COME IN AND LIVE IN YOUR HEART RIGHT HERE, RIGHT NOW, TODAY, THEN YOU WILL GO TO HEAVEN TO BE WITH GOD FOREVER AND NOT ONLY THAT, BUT YOU WILL NEVER BE SAD OR LONELY AGAIN BECAUSE YOU WILL BE FILLED WITH THE HOLY GHOST AND JESUS PROMISES HE WILL NEVER LEAVE YOU OR FORSAKE YOU AND SO YOU WILL ALWAYS HAVE A FRIEND IN JESUS WHO WILL LIVE IN YOUR HEART FOREVER IF YOU JUST SAY THIS SIMPLE PRAYER WITH ME... Wouldn't you like that, little girl (whose name I can't remember right now)?  Wouldn't you like to go to Heaven and be with Jesus and God and be in-right out-right upright downright happy all the time?"

Um... WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO SAY TO THAT WHEN I'M SITTING THERE WITH MY MOUTH FULL OF COOKIE AND A LOCKED DOOR BETWEEN ME AND THE OUTSIDE WORLD???

So, of course, I do what we all would do... I nod my head and, after swallowing the wad of cookie-mush that's now lodged in my throat, I dutifully echo whatever words of whatever prayer the nice Bible teacher wants me to say (most of which makes little to no sense whatsoever... but hey, now I've got a bearded dude in a white robe living in my left ventricle and some creepy ghosty-thing living in my right, and all of my synapses have been washed away with a whole lotta sheep's blood so as soon as I step outside, nothing bad will be able to touch me because I've got a nice leafy hedge to protect me, so it's all good, right?)  And then everybody sings a happy song, and everyone congratulates me on becoming a Christian-- while making sure not to touch me or get too close because, hey, I'm still wearing the same dirty clothes and holey shoes and greasy hair that I came in with.  And then they show me to the door and off I go, waltzing happily right back into the same messy world that I woke up in that morning.  And the next day, life is just as miserable as it was before I "asked Jesus into my heart" and "became a believer", and I'm left going, "Um... What's going on?  Where's my fabulous new life and all the riches of being a child of God?"

So the next week, I go back and start asking questions.  And what I'm told is that, in order to KEEP the blessings of God, I have to start making changes in my life.  I need to stop watching bad TV shows.  I need to stop listening to the devil's music.  I need to start dressing like a good Christian and not like the world, and most of all, I need to stop cussing, start going to church every Sunday, and get to work sharing the good news of Jesus with all of my friends and/or invite them to Bible Club too.  Never mind that 1) I don't have any control over the TV set or what we watch on it, 2) All of the "Christian" kids' music out there is boring and repetitive and seems to be written by aliens from the planet HappyHappy, 3) I have no money to go out and buy the clothes that all the "Christian" kids at school are wearing, 4) my mom works Sundays and so I have no way to get to church... besides, that, we're JEWISH, if you remember, and 5) at this time, I had no friends at school to share the "good news" with, much less any who would willingly go anywhere after school with me.

"So," I would finally ask, "What you're telling me is that God loves me, but now He wants to change everything about me?"

"Oh, yes... He loves you right where you're at, but He loves you too much to leave you that way."  (Worst mis-use of the truth of God EVER, right there, IMHO... :-/ )

"So... Why would God want me to be His kid if He doesn't even LIKE me?"

"Oh, sweetie... Um... Uh... Well, of COURSE God LOVES you...!"

"But does He LIKE me?"

"Well..."

"Do YOU even LIKE me?"  (I was a pretty messed up kid with a pretty big reputation for getting into arguments and cussing people out, even the teachers.  I was a hard person to like... I didn't even like me, so I totally understood why nobody else did either...)

"Well... Of COURSE we like you..."

"Really?  What's my name, then?"

"Your what?"

"My name.  Do you even remember my name?"

They usually didn't.  I usually didn't go back.

I got older and became your stereotypical Goth teenager; I hated everything, made everyone miserable, did everything I could to tick everyone off just to see what would happen.  Sophomore year, I tried to flunk out of Spanish class after scoring 2nd in state on the National Spanish Exam and then threatened to kill myself... just to see which one would get the bigger rise out of my mom.  Junior year, I wrote an essay about terrorizing the school counselor with tales of dismemberment and nearly got suspended.  Senior year, I tried to set up a "satanic ritual" at the lunch table using black plastic garbage bags, some table sugar, and a glow-in-the-dark skull candle; I also nearly got arrested for threatening a police officer with a knife because I was mouthing off to him while chopping up potatoes for dinner (now, WHY there was a police officer in my house while I was making dinner, that's a WHOLE other story altogether...)

And of course, for every crazy thing I did to try and prove that I really was a bad seed (one of the terms a VBS leader had used to describe me when I was 7 and throwing a mega-tantrum in her church), there was at least one well-meaning soul at my high school each year trying to convert me.  Why they wanted to convert me, I had no idea...  These people certainly didn't LIKE me, and they NEVER bothered to actually get to KNOW me before trying to "fix" me.  Maybe it was the idea that because I was so bad, I would make a more beautiful trophy on their spiritual wall, perhaps?  I don't know.  All I know was that it was always the same rigamarole, over and over again...

"Do you know for sure if you died today that you would go to Heaven?"
"I don't believe in your 'Heaven'."
"Oh, well then... I guess that means you're going to Hell, then."
"I don't believe in your 'Hell', either."
"Oh... Well, don't you believe in God?"
"Nope."
"But... Certainly you MUST believe in SOMETHING???"
"Nope... Not really.  Life sucks and then we die."
"But... but... Jesus, and... God, and the Holy Spirit, and... FOR GOD SO LOVED THE WORLD THAT HE GAVE HIS ONLY BEGOTTEN SON THAT WHOSOEVER BELIEVETH IN HIM SHALL NOT PERISH BUT SHALL HAVE EVERLASTING LIFE!  If you pray and ask Jesus into your heart then..."
"Been there, done that.  Didn't work."
"Oh.  Well, then, I guess you're going to hell, then.  Have a nice life anyway!"  And then they would scurry away, off to find one of their fellow "believers" to commiserate with about how the world was going to hell in a handbasket and how "that one girl" with the skull candle and all the chains was boldly leading the way.

And if I could have told them one thing, it would have been this: If your God is so small that He can't handle one scared, confused little girl wrapping herself in chains to defend herself, then your God is not one that I would want to serve anyway.

For those of you who still don't get why a non-Christian would ever turn down the chance to be "led to the Lord" in such a way, let me share with you what I've found to be the best pop-culture analogy to hit-and-run evangelism EVER...

(If the video above won't play, the entire Doctor Who episode I'm referencing is Series 2, Episode 5, "Rise of the Cybermen", and is available on Netflix and elsewhere; the specific scene takes place at about 37 minutes or so into the episode.)

Now, I am not trying to condemn Christian evangelism.  I'm not criticizing Christian missions in general, and I'm not saying that Christians should just give up and leave everyone else alone.  I'm sure that there are some of you reading this who think I'm attacking you, because you recognize some of the things I've quoted as coming from your own flyers and handouts.  My aim is not to attack anybody personally.

My aim is to make a point.

Non-Christians do not want to be converted. We do not wish to be "upgraded" against our wills.

We want to be loved.  We want to be respected.  We want to be treated as human beings, with names and stories, minds and souls.

Because here's the thing: If God actually is who you say He is, then He is big enough to handle all of the scared little kids out there who lash out at a cold and punishing world.  If your God is real, then He chose to create each and every person on this earth... every person who ever lived, who lives now, and who ever will live.  Each unique combination of sperm and egg, with its specific genetic code and one-of-a-kind life story... Your God knows each one, He chose each one, He placed each on in his or her specific time, place, and family... and He knows each and every one of the struggles that they will go through in their life before even one of their days comes to pass (Psalm 139).  If you're reading this and you're not a Christian, I'm not saying this to convince you to become one.  That's not my job.  I'm saying this because what I have seen and what I have lived through has convinced me that it is true.

All those years, all those people who only wanted to convert me so that they could add another tally mark to their weekly list of souls, all those people who gave up on me and told me I was going to go to hell...

They were wrong.

Because when I was 20, I encountered a God who actually knows me and loves me... and not only that, He actually likes me too.  I didn't become a Christian because somebody bullied me into it or forced me to convert against my will; I am a Christian today because somebody took the time to get to know me, to see me as a human being with value and a purpose, and to love me like God loved me all along.  I was able to contemplate God as a real possibility only after someone actually did for me what they said God already had been doing all along-- looking out for me, caring what happened to me, liking me for who I was, and loving me more than I loved myself.  I've already told bits and pieces of my story elsewhere on this blog (here and here and here and here), so I'm not going to make this post any longer by retelling you all exactly how I became a Christian and why.  But I do want to finish with some advice from someone with a foot in both camps:

To the Christians out there reading this:  Stop trying to upgrade every "unbeliever" you meet in your own image.  Start actually seeing us as people first instead of candidates for conversion or potential tally marks on your spiritual scorecard.  Because honestly, this is what your hit and run, win-'em-at-the-door evangelism style looks like to us.  If you're wondering why people don't want to hear your gospel, take a good look at your approach...  Do you actually like the people you're trying to save?  Would you be happy to sit next to them in church just as they are?  If they never decide to become Christians, would you still consider them your friends?  Do you know their names, their kids' names, their brothers' and sisters' names?  Do you know what makes them laugh, what makes them cry?  What their hopes for the future are and what keeps them awake at night?  If not, then you don't love them... and they will know it.  And why should we believe that your God (who supposedly knows all about us) loves us if you yourself (who don't know us from Adam) can't love us?  Finally, don't give up on us... You can't possibly know what's going to happen in 2 years, in 5 years, in 20 years, or on our deathbeds; for all you know, we may someday change our minds and decide that maybe there IS a God out there after all.  Or we may not.  God calls you to love your neighbor as yourself, not predict his or her future and bestow your affections accordingly.

To the non-Christians out there reading this:  Please don't judge all Christians by the actions of some.  Not every Christian you meet is out to grind you up and turn you into a Cyber-Believer.  You don't like it when we judge and condemn you without actually knowing anything about you; please don't do that to us either.  Be honest with us about what you do believe (because everybody believes in something); be willing to share your thoughts and listen to ours in return.  Don't be as big a snot as I was, because looking back, I can now see that some of the people I thought only wanted to convert me actually did care and actually were trying to help... and all I did was brush them off and make myself even more miserable.

OK, so now that I've probably managed to tick people off on BOTH sides of the fence... Any thoughts to share?

What Salvation Means to Me...

As Christians, we hear a lot about salvation (i.e. "being saved", "getting saved", "leading someone to salvation" "being washed by the blood of the Lamb", etc.)  Some of us even take what we hear and then go out and talk to others about salvation... and we call that "leading people to Christ", "soul winning", "leading them down the Romans Road", etc.   I wonder though, sometimes, if maybe we talk so much about "salvation" that people who aren't already Christians have learned to just tune us out like so much noise.  I mean, we use all kinds of simple-yet-abstract phrases to dance around the topic... "just ask Jesus into your heart", "get right with God", "save your soul", "become a believer", "meet Jesus", and on and on... and I'm not saying that there's anything wrong or false about any of those words or approaches at all; each one explains a certain facet of salvation, and who knows which phrase will be the one that totally makes sense to someone who's searching for the truth about Jesus Christ?

But I wonder if maybe we spend so much time trying to find the right words to say it and the right phrase to summarize it that we never actually get around to explaining what salvation could actually mean to the person we're talking to, and we end up just adding to the noise instead of helping anyone.  And if we're all just so many noisy clanging cymbals, is it any wonder that, when the topic of religion comes up and we say, "Well, I'm a Christian...", no one ever follows that up with "Oh, really?  Why are you a Christian, and what is it like to be a Christian?"  Unless of course they're just looking for reasons to dismiss you as an idiot, lunatic, or fanatic... and if that's the case, then they're going to find reasons to do that no matter what you say, so what you say really doesn't end up mattering in the first place :-/  But that's a whole 'nother topic, and not one worth going into at the moment anyway, so... :-)

So, basically, if you have no interest in my answer to the question of "Why are you a Christian and what is it like to be a Christian?", and/or you don't care to read about what salvation means to me, then that's just fine... you can skip the rest of this post and read about some of my other, less "religious" soapboxes.  No offense taken :-)

But... if you're curious or if you really want to know more about why I am the way I am, then here we go:

What "Salvation" Means to Me

We all strive to fill our days with stuff to keep us busy, to keep us interested, to keep us from getting bored.  We go to school and/or to work, we come home, we eat our meals, we go to sleep.  We read books, watch TV, listen to our iPods, look for YouTube videos, play Minecraft.  We play in bands, compete on teams, work on projects, spend time with our loved ones, relax with friends... well, we try to relax when we're not busy doing all of the other stuff, anyway....   Sometimes we go places to worship those things that are bigger than us... whether they're worthy of our worship or not.

But then, there are those times when we're all alone, when the work is done, the friends have all gone home, the loved ones are all asleep, when the computer is off and the TV is silent.  Those times when we have nothing to distract us from that gigantic gaping hole in our souls that keeps us awake, whispering in our ears...

You.  Are.  Alone.

And we realize that not only are we alone and feeling kind of lonely in that moment, but we are undeniably, painfully Alone as well.  Because there is a difference between simply being lonely and being Alone... Lonely is what we feel when we think no one is around and we wish that someone was; we know that it is temporary and that we will survive.  When we are Alone, we're not so sure about either.  We spend our days trying to convince ourselves and others that that hole isn't there, that we are complete and that we have it all together... but when we are Alone, we look it in the face and know that we are liars.

(OK, so maybe you're sitting there reading this and thinking to yourself, "Oooooh-KAY then...  Let me know when Reality comes calling again, and until then, just keep your little CRACKED self over in that corner way, way away from the rest of us, 'kay?  Thanks..."  And that's fine... I'm not likely to come after you with anything but a dull pencil, so you're most likely safe where you are ^_^  But next time you're alone, and you're thinking about all that big dark Meaning of Life stuff... I'll bet you'll remember this and start to wonder why... o.O)

So, what is this hole in our souls and why is it there?  I would say that it's the spot where our spirit should be, and that it's been carved and shaped and left empty by God so that we would look for Him.  You see, we're like little kids with a jigsaw puzzle... We've got most of the pieces together, we know what our lives should look like, but there's just that one spot we can't seem to find the right piece for.

So what do we do?

We take all of the pieces we've got left and try to fit them into that spot to see which one is the right one.  Trouble is (and I'm sure we've all run into this at least once in our lives...  I know my kids did a LOT when I was still running my day care :-D ), all of our puzzle boxes have gotten spilled a time or two, and with this particular puzzle, there's one piece missing.

So, what do we do now?

Well, we can try to keep cramming random pieces into the hole, and get more and more frustrated with each one that doesn't fit.  Hey, we can even go and get all of the other puzzle boxes out, dump them all over the floor, and then try all of those pieces in the hopes that one of them will fit.  Just imagine all the super bonus frustration that you can have with that approach ^_^  And then when none of the pieces fit, we can get all mad and throw all of the puzzle pieces all around the room before setting fire to them in the bathtub.  And then try to explain the reasonableness of our decision-making process to the nice firefighters and the insurance adjusters when they come to call...

Or... We can go to the adult of the house and ask them if they know which piece goes there and where that piece might be.  And if they would be so kind as to help us find it and put it in its place.

See, this is the situation I found myself in when I was 20.  None of my pieces were fitting together, and I knew that I had great big gaping holes in my life where things like hope, security, and a will to live should have been.  I had been trying for years to put myself together and keep myself there, but no matter what I did, nothing seemed to work for very long, and as soon as I thought I had it figured out, another piece would fall to the ground and my whole puzzle would shatter.

I was Alone.

But then God was there, and He offered me the piece I'd always been missing.  And once that piece was in place, all of the other pieces made more sense.  Of course, it helped that now I could ask God for help putting the pieces together... "So, hey, Lord... How does this piece with the iguana in polka-dot boxer shorts balancing on a beach ball fit into the whole picture?  Oh, wait... What do you mean it's really a red carnation balanced on the steering wheel of a Toyota Camry?  Well, I guess that does make a little more sense, especially when you put it between those other two pieces..."

But still... What does any of this have to do with salvation?

Well, salvation is the name of that missing piece to my puzzle... No, not the iguana one, the other, analogy-type one, smart-alecks :-P  You see, I needed a savior, someone to rescue me and help me put the pieces of my life together, because as long as I was trying to put myself together on my own, I was doomed to failure.

But what did I need saving from?  What super-scary threat did I need to be rescued from?

Now, this is the part where a preacher would talk about eternal punishment for sins, the death of the soul, separation from God and light and all things that are Good, and unending punishment in a lake of fire.  And all of those things are in the Bible and all of those are gigantically big, end-of-the-world, Meaning-of-Life kinds of things that I am fantastically grateful to be rescued from.  Because it is a huge relief to know that I don't have to worry about any of those things when I die.  But, it seems to me that there should be more to salvation than just the things I won't have to worry about until after I'm dead.  And I'm really not much of a preacher anyway, so...

I think we all get the concept of being saved from a white slavery ring by a devoted father (a la Taken), or being saved from genocide like in Schindler's List, or being saved from a sinking ship like in Titanic, or even being saved from Loki and the Chitauri by Nick Fury and the Avengers.  We totally get that, and we even pay a good chunk of money to see those stories play out on the big screen.  And in Christian circles, we hear all the time about people being saved from addictions, saved from prostitution, saved from disease or infirmity or financial difficulties... which are all amazing and fantastic, but not something we've all gone through.  Most of us live pretty mundane lives, with few or no tales of sinking ships or bank robberies to tell.  But that doesn't mean we don't need someone to save us sometimes.  Here are the mundane little things that I needed saving from:

The shame about all of the stupid things I did when I was too stupid to know any better.
The shame about all of the stupid things I did when I really did know better.

The worry that no matter what I did, I would always be a failure.
The worry that everyone was about to find out that I would always be a failure.

The pressure of trying to be good enough for people to finally accept me for who I was.
The pressure of just trying to be better than I was.
The endless work of getting up every morning and still just being... me.

The suspicion that my existence and my life really was just a random collection of chances with no bigger meaning or point to it.
The fear about what if it would mean if that suspicion turned out to be true.

The frustration of going to work and to school each day and wondering why on earth any of it even matters.
The added frustration of being told that it all should matter by people who couldn't seem to explain why it should matter.

The realization that everyone I knew and everything I had was, at one point or another, going to leave me.
The panic in realizing that there was nothing I could do to stop them.

The terror of feeling lost and knowing that I had no idea where I was going, what I was doing, or how in the hell I'd gotten where I was.
The quiet certainty that all of that was my fault.

The knowledge that with every day I lived, I risked hurting the people who loved me and the ones that I loved back even more than I had the day before.
The knowledge that even if I tried to explain that to them, they'd deny it to my face and tell me I was just being melodramatic.

The loneliness of being completely, utterly Alone in this world.

The understanding that the only way to end that loneliness was for me to die.

The pain that I knew it would take to get myself there.

The damage I would do to myself if I didn't succeed.

The uncertainty of what was actually behind the dark veil of death.

To sum the whole list up in 7 words or less:

I needed to be saved from myself.

All my life, I had been hoping and waiting for my Bryan Mills, my Oskar Schindler, my Thor, my own personal superhero to come and rescue me from myself so that I could go out and finally be everything I always wanted to be.  None of them ever came.

Jesus Christ did.

And in asking Him to rescue me and trusting that He actually would, I finally found the peace I had been missing.  Which was followed by the hope, the security, and the will to live that I so desperately wanted.  And He has never left me, even in my craziest, my darkest, and my scariest times... and I won't lie, there are still times like that, even now that I'm a Christian.  The difference is that, when things get dark and no one is around, Jesus is still there and I'm not alone anymore.  

I will be the first to admit that I'm not some well-read theologian; I know that there are a vast number of different theories about the afterlife, the soul, the "true" meanings of heaven, hell, grace, justice, redemption, propitiation, atonement, and so on-- even within Christianity alone.  And I don't know much about most of those theories, much less about what other religions and worldviews have to say about such things.... and not knowing much means I should probably not say much, lest I sound even more like a total idiot than I already do ^_^

But what I can talk about is what I know from my own life and what it has convinced me of.  And so, this is what I mean when I talk about "salvation"... I'm talking about the peace I have that comes from being saved from my own self-destructive impulses.  The hope I have that comes from knowing I'm going to be all right after all.  The relief that comes from knowing I have a Superhero who will come to either rescue me from whatever trouble I get myself into or stand guard over me as that trouble blows over.  The joy that comes from knowing that whatever crap may be going on in my life right now, there is something 3 million times better waiting for me once it's over.

So, maybe you're asking:  What on earth brought this particular train of thought roaring through the station at 3:30 in the morning on a night when my youngest child is home sick with the flu?  (Well, maybe you weren't asking, but now that I've brought it up, just go with me on this one, OK?  If for no other reason than sympathy for a sick kid... ^_^)

I've been thinking a lot recently about someone I know who doesn't see the same things I do when they think about God, the universe, the meaning of life, and a lot of that stuff.  This person has become one of my very favorite people in the world, and I care a lot about them and what they think and feel and believe, even if we agree to disagree on some of the Big Picture Stuff.  The thing is, because I care about this person, I want them to be more settled and feel more at peace than they are right now, and all I know is that I've found that kind of security, peace, joy, and meaning in my relationship with Jesus.  What I don't want to do is to preach at them or make them feel like I'm lecturing or threatening them, because I remember what that feels like and I absolutely hate, hate, HATE that feeling... that feeling that because I'm not a saved believing Christian, I'm somehow subhuman and therefore not worthy of value unless I get my act together and get "saved."  But, how do I talk to them about salvation without them thinking I'm trying to change them into something they're not or puff myself up into something I'm not?   And I know that, as I go through this life, I'm going to meet more and more people like this, and I'm going to find myself over and over again in this same situation of wanting to speak but not feeling welcome to... and that doesn't even begin to count all of the people I'll never meet who will get to know me by reading this blog.  The possibilities here actually hurt my brain o.O

So maybe I'm kind of hoping that, even if I never get the chance to tell them my story in person, they'll read this blog, and hopefully, they'll actually listen to what I have to say without shutting me out.  In the meantime, my job is to love them right where they're at, whether we agree or not.  Because really, it's not up to me to "save" them... that's between them and God.  All I want to do is tell them what I know so that they can hear the truth about being a Christian from someone who's been there and has finally found what they are still so desperately looking for.

But I'm still here...

This past couple of months has been full of what Mark Lowry would call "life... more abundantly".  What he means by that is that life is full of ups and downs... it's not a plateau by any means.  And (further paraphrasing Lowry), if Jesus came so that we might have life more abundantly (John 10:10... pretty easy to remember, if I could only remember to remember it...), then this logically means that instead of life being happy little series of hills and valleys...


life should be more like this...


... crazy, chaotic, completely out of our control at all times.

This is how it works.  I get that.  It keeps things interesting. 

Over the past couple of months, I started and finished my first bout of full-day student teaching... 3 weeks in a second grade classroom, which has in itself its very own microcosm of ups-and-downs.  This was a higher point in the crazy roller coaster ride of the past few months... the kids were overall pretty sweet, they theoretically learned some math, and I got 27 construction paper "thank you" cards at the end of the last week (plus a Dutch Brothers coffee gift card from the teacher :-D)  And now it's back to regular college classes for another 6 weeks or so... happy happy joy joy ^_^

Of course, there's no point whatsoever in mentioning everything that I wrote before that last paragraph unless I'm now going to talk about the abundant downside of life... but at least you can go into reading the rest of this post knowing that no matter how it might seem in the moment, there ARE still high points to life...

Recently, not one but two teenagers within our family's circle of friends have threatened or attempted to commit suicide.  Both girls survived, but to say that they are "OK" would be a huge mistake and would actually be a lie.  Physically, they look fine... "no permanent damage has been done" as the doctors say.  But still, they're not OK.

I know because I've been there.

The biggest question that people keep asking is "Why?"  As in, "Why would she do such a thing?  I mean, look at her... she's beautiful, she's got such a nice family, she's smart, she's got friends who love her...  There are thousands of people out there who would gladly trade their life for hers, or who would gladly take the years that she's willing to throw away... What on earth could make her think that suicide is ANY sort of an answer to the momentary troubles of this present life?"

Let me tell you why.

You may have a great family, with a mom and a dad and a nice house in the suburbs.  Maybe your family has been attending the same church since you were a baby, or at least since you were old enough for Awanas.  Maybe you went to the good schools in town, and maybe you've always gotten good grades and made everyone proud of you your whole life.  Maybe you have awards on the wall for your art, or for your band solos, or for your writing... maybe your name has been in the paper as an Academic All-Star or as the top finisher in the long-jump or the 500m dash.  Maybe your friends are all good kids with the same sorts of awards on their walls and the same badges on their Awanas vest.

Or, on the other hand, maybe your family is fractured beyond fixing.  Maybe your mom and dad spend equal parts of their time fighting and making up, making peace and raising hell.  Maybe your mom tells you that you're stronger than your past and your dad tells you to make sure you go farther than he did.  Maybe life is tough, but you know that you'll make it if you're tougher.  Maybe you've had to work hard for your good grades (or your not-so-good grades), and maybe you're just hanging onto your spot in the Jazz Band or on the soccer team through the kindness of people giving you rides to practices and events.  Maybe you're even good enough to someday get a scholarship to a college that's somewhere far away from this godforsaken town you've landed in, and then you will make your own decisions and run your own life.

Or maybe your story is somewhere in the middle, or a mix of both.

Either way, it doesn't matter.  Because none of it does.

Your church attendance, your Awanas awards... you know it's all a scam.  Underneath, you know how messed up you-- and your family-- really are.  You know that the thrill of winning first chair in the band or first place in the art fair will wear off after a day or two... and then everyone will expect you to top yourself next time.  You know that no matter how tough you are, or how good you look on the outside, nothing can fix the things that are broken on the inside.

And frankly, you get tired of keeping up the act.  It gets harder and harder each day to keep everyone from seeing the real you, from seeing how you're barely holding on, barely holding it together.  You feel like one of those plate spinners in the circus... You have to keep all of the plates spinning, because if one plate falls to the ground and shatters, people will notice and you will be a failure.  And you can't just stop, because then all of the plates will fall and shatter and no one will notice anything but your failure.

And when your life is reduced to the spinning of stupid china plates, you realize that none of it has any meaning.  That your life is meaningless and empty.  Nothing-- not your good grades, not your nice family, not your reputation or your status or your trophies-- has any worth or any value.

You have no value.

And when you have no value, your life has no value.

If your life has no value, it is insignificant.

If you're insignificant, then no one would notice if, suddenly, you weren't there.

So, you start dropping hints... "Imma gonna kill myself.  I know where they keep the guns."

"What do you care... I'll be gone soon anyway."

"No one lives forever, you know..."

"I wish I were dead."

And then you wait and see what people do.   You hope that it will make a difference, that someone will notice you and ask you how you're doing... and actually mean it.  You hope that, finally, someone will look behind the mask and either help you spin the plates or take the plates from your hands before they fall.

But instead, they tell you you're just being melodramatic.  You're just young, and you don't know yet that it will all pass.  You have your whole life ahead of you... don't sweat the small stuff.  When you're older, you will understand how silly your life right now really is, and you will look back on these days and laugh.

No one takes you seriously.

Unless you actually go through with it, that is.

And then, when they realize that they could have stopped you, but didn't... when they realize what a great and priceless treasure they let slip through their fingers... when they finally realize all that you could have been was lost because of their inaction... then they'll finally understand and take you seriously.

Death not only is supposed to make you a martyr, but it's also a way out of the meaningless endlessness of spinning all of those stupid china plates.  It's a way to say, "I quit... this is stupid...", without anyone calling you a failure or a waste of space.  It's a final rebellion against a system built on fakery and mindlessness: If you die young and leave a beautiful memory, you win.

Game over.

But... I'm still here to write this.  Apparently, I was such a failure that I couldn't even succeed at suicide... which is the same spot that these two girls who have been weighing on my mind so heavily these past couple of days are in right now.  What was supposed to be a final victory over an unfair world has now turned them into victims and prisoners and (according to their parents and the "professionals" who have been charged with watching over them) "persons who cannot be trusted."

But... I'm still here.  Let me tell you why.

This life we live... all of the status, all of the activities, all of the homework and practices and awards... in and of themselves, yes, they are meaningless.  No matter how much we do, or how well we do it, or how many awards we get, there will always be something left undone, or something we're not perfect at, or someone else who tops us.

All of our nice houses, or our nice families, or our nice friends... Some of that niceness is a facade, just like the siding on a house or the paint on a car.  It makes it look better on the outside, but it doesn't do a thing to fix the rusted engine, or the leaky pipes, or even the squeaky garbage disposal.

Without a real meaning to life, life is meaningless.  Without a good reason to spin those plates, there's no point to spinning them.  In other words, if you're thinking your life has no meaning, no purpose... you may be right.

Which is as scary as standing on a cliff and getting ready to jump.

But... what if there is a meaning to life?  What if there is a reason to get up and go out and be?

What if you are valuable because, out of all of the possible combinations of eggs and sperm and all of the situations in the world, someone chose the specific time and place and matter to create you?  What if you are not a mistake, not an oversight, not an accident... What if you were chosen to be born into this world, to live in these times, to know these people... for a specific purpose?

Think about it this way.  Think of everything you did today, all of the choices you made and the choices you didn't make, all of the things you did and the things you forgot to do, all of the things that were awesome and the things you wish you could take back... somehow, all of those random bits of circumstance ended up with you sitting here, reading these words right now, and thinking about a couple of girls who you've probably never met and who probably won't even read these words themselves.

If that ain't random, I don't know what is :-)

But I actually don't believe in randomness.  Because when I was at the point where my life had no reason to go on, and where I figured I had nothing left to lose by committing suicide, I discovered that there really is a God, and that He really does love me... not because I was an amazing plate spinner, but simply because He chose to create me in the first place.

I had been told the "good news" countless times by countless Christians growing up... but not one of them could give me a reason why they thought that their God would love me.   Sometimes their spiel was, "God loves you... Won't you make Him happy by getting saved today?"-- as if God's love was a limited-time, call-now-while-the-operators-are-still-standing-by sort of offer.

Other times their routine was, "God would hate for you to be cast into hell... If you choose Jesus today, God won't have to do that to you..."  Which always made me imagine God standing there, wringing His hands and waiting indecisively for me to let Him off the hook on the whole casting-into-Hell-business.

And then there was always this one: "God loves you.  He sent His son to die for your sins.  If you ask Jesus into your heart today, all your sins will be taken away and you will live happily with Him for all eternity."  To which I had one question... Why?  OK, two questions, really... Will Jesus make the kids at school quit picking on me, or make my mom and dad stop fighting, or give me an immunity to head lice?  Which is actually more like four questions, but you get my point...

By the time I was 16 or so, I had my reaction to these oh-so-concerned soul winners down pretty pat.

Them: "Hello there, young lady... We're from that (fill-in-the-denomination-here) church just down the street.  Do you know for sure if you died today that you would go to Heaven?"
Me: "I don't believe in Heaven."
Them: (Pause... for some reason, this must never have been the next line in any of the scripts they rehearsed back at the church.)"Well... if you don't believe in Heaven, you'll end up in Hell, then.  You wouldn't want that, now, would you?"
Me: "Don't believe in Hell either."
Them: (Another pause... usually accompanied with frowns and blinking eyes as well.) "Well... if you don't accept Jesus Christ as your personal savior, I guess you'll end up in Hell, then.  Have a nice day!"

Which always made me laugh... If their God was so concerned about me that He sent them to tell me about Him and rescue me from the eternal torments of a lake of fire and sulfur, why were they always so quick to leave me once their script ran out?

But...

God-- the real, true God who really did create the universe, and who really did create me-- is much, much bigger than any of the so-called missionaries who tried to boost their own spiritual self-esteem by converting one more angry, hurting teenager for their church.  God really did send His son Jesus to die for me... not because I owed Him one for creating me in the first place, but because He loved me and wanted me to return to Him and be a part of His family.  God already knew all about my screw-ups-- after all, if He didn't, then He certainly couldn't have been much of a God at all-- but He also already knew about why I was so screwed up in the first place.  God already knew about all of the people I had hurt... and about all of the people who had hurt me.  He already knew that I couldn't keep the plates spinning... and He knew which ones were about to fall.

God knew all of this all along... Even when I didn't.

All I knew was that I was at the end of everything I had, and it wasn't enough.  All I knew was that I had nothing left to lose, nothing left worth keeping, and nothing left to live for.  I figured that, if this "God" or "Jesus" or "Whoever" was real, then great... Maybe He could save me from myself.  And if He wasn't... then I was no worse off than I already was, and suicide would still be there tomorrow.

So I kind of put it to God this way: "OK, Jesus... fine.  Save me... I dare you."

For the first time in years, I found peace.  And for the first time in four days, I was able to sleep.

The next day, I woke up.  Nothing in my circumstances had changed... same apartment with the leaky window, same crummy minimum-wage job, same classes that I was struggling to care about and pass, same insecurities about who I was supposed to be and whether I was doing any of it right.

But for some strange reason, now I had hope.  And that was what made all the difference.

And so... I'm still here.  And now I can see that God let me go through all of the crap in middle and high school-- including my 6 suicide attempts-- so that I could stand here, on the other side of darkness, and say, "Hey... I'm still here.  Let me help you across."

As I was thinking about what to write here and driving my daughter back from Youth Group, I heard this song, and it just seems to fit... Yet another example of the Randomness That Isn't that is God ^_^