My Kindred Spirit, C.S. Lewis

For my job, I'm required to read a chapter from The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People each week. (I know, reading assignments for work, what an amazing idea.) We meet once a week with our primary supervisor to discuss what we've read. Once in a blue moon, she has us do an activity in addition to the reading. This past week, she handed us a printed drawing of chairs around a table and asked us to write the names of people who have influenced us on the chairs. One of mine was C.S. Lewis.

Clive Staples Lewis was an author who passed into eternity before either of my parents were born. However, his writings have influenced me second only to the Bible. When I was 6 years old, my mother introduced me to him through The Chronicles of Narnia. I was immediately hooked. With time, I have had the pleasure of reading more of his literature, both fiction and non-fiction. At first, I was in complete awe of him. I wondered how he could plausibly be so skilled at breaking down theological ideas into lay terms and even children's terms. To this day, whenever I re-read one of his books, I find something wonderful that I didn't notice before.

But then, one day, I came across a quote of his which caught my attention. "Christianity, if false, is of no importance, and if true, of infinite importance. The only thing it cannot be is moderately important."
I agree with this statement. It's logical and gets right to the heart of the subject at hand. However, there was yet another factor that made the quote stand out.

Christians usually go through a faith crisis, or a time of questioning their faith, at some point. Those who are saved in their adolescent to adult life had the crisis right before their salvation. Those who grow up in Christian homes typically have it during their journey. Most of the time, the children of Christian homes have this faith crisis in their adolescent to early adult years.

I had mine when I was 6 years old.

Imagine a 6 year old girl lying in her bed with the covers pulled right up to her chin thinking silently. I wondered if Christians had gotten it wrong. What if evolutionists were right and we really did come from apes? What if Buddhism or Islam was actually what we were supposed to follow? What if we not only were wrong, but the consequence was Hell? These questions ran through my mind for several nights. In the end, though, I came to this conclusion: Christianity was what I knew, and if it was right, it was highly important that I follow it.

This is exactly the same conclusion that C.S. Lewis had come to. Seeing his quote made me realize that truth transcends time and space. I had just connected with a dead man on an intellectual and spiritual level.

Recently, I came across another quote of Lewis's that reminded me of that connection. "If Christianity is true, then it ought to follow that any Christian will be nicer than that same person would be if he were not a Christian and that any man who becomes a Christian will be nicer than he was before."

Once again, I had had an experience in which we agreed before I knew we did. About two years ago, an unsaved friend of mine fell off of a cliff and went to the hospital. I visited him in the hospital a few times. During the first visit, he was groggy from pain, fatigue, and morphine. As I said goodbye, he looked me right in the eyes and said, "Thank you for everything you've ever done for me." I was taken aback. I wasn't sure what he meant by that statement. What had I done? The question pestered me until I finally asked what he meant on my third (and last) visit. He listed a few things, mostly pertaining to being a good friend to him. What he didn't know was that a year earlier God had told me to be his friend, even though I had been reluctant at the time. I told him that there was a reason I had done the things he'd mentioned. His response was, "I don't want to know why you do the things you do. I want to know why you are the way you are."
I could not have asked for a more open door. I said, "Well, it's because I'm a Christian." I proceeded to explain that, though there were nice people who aren't Christians, I knew that I would not be nearly as nice a person if I were not a Christian. I am defined by my relationship with my heavenly Daddy.

I found Lewis's quote in a book last week. It made me throw my hands up and say, "Woah!" Once again, C.S. Lewis and I believed exactly the same thing. The older I get, the more I realize that he thought about some of the same things that I do. He is a kindred spirit.

Lewis has also taught me things about the nature of God. He introduced me to the idea that God is outside of time. He showed me how God knows and loves us so much that He even feels our pain. He has been a teacher to me even though we have never met.

More importantly, we are family through Christ Jesus. I know that when my time comes, meeting Jesus face to face will be the most important thing on my mind. However, my present hope is that, somewhere along the way, I will get to meet and converse with C.S. Lewis. It's not about his fame. It's about our Daddy having used him to bring me closer to Him. 

Blood Kaleidoscope

As a 20-something, I often hear people say, "Everyone is entitled to their own opinion." Sometimes I wonder if that's true. The bigger question that it leads to is, "Is it entitlement or a freedom?" Sure, everyone has an opinion. Here in the States, we have the freedom to voice those opinions. One of the more popular opinions held by many my age is that racism is wrong. I agree with that. However, sometimes the way the issue is treated is as if racism is not a right. But, at its core, racism is an opinion, correct? It's not a pleasant thought, but it's one that ought to be considered.

I asked myself the other day if I have the right to be racist or classist due to my heritage. The conclusions I arrived at left me uncomfortable at first. But, after further thinking it over, I came to terms with them.

Let's start with my maternal grandmother. She was from a poor family in North Carolina which was mostly German and English. Her father was a paranoid schizophrenic who left the family because he believed her mother had cheated on him. This left my great-grandmother, a seamstress, with six children to feed. She came to a point where she could no longer afford to care for all of her children. She opted to send three of them to an orphanage so that they would have food and a good education. My grandmother was one of those three. She went on to become a teacher.

Her husband also came from humble beginnings. His father was a pig farmer with Welsh ancestry. His mother was an upper-middle-class girl who claimed to be related to Queen Elizabeth I. Unfortunately, the two had a shotgun wedding due to my grandfather's conception. So, he was raised on a pig farm with a mother who resented her situation. Fortunately, my grandfather grew up to become an engineer. He and Grandma moved to Virginia and had four children.
So far, we have two people who, though European, worked hard to reach the middle class.

Let's go to the other side of the family. My paternal grandmother has the most pure-blood European in her. Her father immigrated from England to West Virginia. He worked there as a coal miner with his father from the age of 12. This coal mining family is related to King Edward I of England. He married an American woman who was mostly German. They had ten children, the youngest of which was my grandmother. She became a math teacher.

My paternal grandfather was also from a West Virginian coal-mining family. His father was neighbors with the Hatfield family growing up. Yes, I am speaking of the family involved in the Hatfield-McCoy feud on the West Virginia-Kentucky border. Grandpa knows so much about that history because of his father's stories from his neighbors' first-hand accounts. Grandpa's mother was full-blooded Melungeon. (We'll get to that in a moment.) His older brother fought in Vietnam, but died in a car accident shortly after returning to the States. His younger brother was murdered by some local idiot. Yet, Grandpa became a history and geography teacher. He and Grandma also moved to Virginia and had four children.

These two couples worked hard to earn their place in the middle class. But, there's a piece of the story we still haven't reached yet.

What the heck is a Melungeon?

Melungeons are a group of people from the mountains of Appalachia who were discovered by European settlers. These people usually have dark skin, dark (usually black) hair, and blue eyes. They do not appear Native American, and the genes for their look are recessive. Stories of "the dark people from the hills" were told to European settler children to scare them into behaving. They have been studied for years, and it has been difficult to find out where they came from. The most reliable conclusion my family has seen is this: They are a triracial combination. 

The Portuguese came to the New World with the intention of taking it for their king. Some of these people left descendants. Whether this was by force or marriage, we don't know. These descendants somehow made their way north to the mountains. Through further study, it has been found that the Portuguese whose descendants made this trip north had Moorish blood in them. This was due to the Moors' invasion from sub-Saharan Africa during the Crusades. Using logic, one can conclude that these Muslim Moors may have also had some Arab blood in them.

So, let's recap. My family does have a good deal of European in it, but they were generally poor Europeans. We also have Melungeon in us, a people group with African (and, perhaps, Arab) blood used to tell bogey monster tales. But wait, there's more!

My mother discovered a physical feature which led to even further ancestry discovery. On her pinky toe, she has what is called a "sixth toenail." This is a sliver of extra nail found only in those with Mongolian ancestry. The Mongols, how shall I say this, got around. It's highly likely that this trait was passed to her through the German piece of her family. We've inherited a trait from someone's highly unfortunate circumstance. 

How many races do we have now? European, Native North American, African, East Asian, and maybe Middle Eastern. Naturally, one would conclude that I couldn't possibly have the right to be racist or classist, right? Wrong. If everyone truly has a right to their own opinion, I can still technically hold the opinion that I'm better than someone else based on race or class.
That doesn't make my opinion truth, though. As a child of God, I am called to seek truth. If the Bible is true (and I believe it is), I am supposed to love others. Just because I have the freedom to do otherwise does not mean it is wise to take up the opportunity. As a sinful human being, I have to rely on Jesus to show me when I am doing another wrong. Yes, I will admit, I have looked down on others before. No one can say that they have never done so. We live in a world where, at the core, no one is naturally pure of heart. We have to be changed by Christ and follow Him. 

Stop Saying, "...in love."

Love. One little four-letter word with so much meaning behind it. Unfortunately, the meaning is often skewed, especially in Western culture. Matt Chandler said in his Bible study Recovering Redemption that our culture likes the idea and feeling of love but does not want to pay for it. Yes, pay.

A dear brother in Christ talked with me earlier about how he doesn't like the term "in love." I nearly jumped for joy at the discovery that I wasn't alone in that sentiment. My roommate knows full well that I hate the term. In fact, she has followed my habit of replacing it with the Bambi-coined, "twitterpated." Anyway, my dear brother in Christ said something rather poignant. "So much of loving a person is commitment and sticking by that. It does not make sense to say 'in love.' Do you just fall out? No, not if it really is love you have. Thank God for that." Our short discussion led me to a thought: Should Christians even use the term, 'in love,'? I don't think we should. Here's why.

I'll put this in plain terms. "Christian" means, "little Christ," as in Christ Jesus. We believe that Christ Jesus was the Son of God and the Son of man. We learn in I John 4:8, "Anyone who does not love does not know God, because God is love." Okay, so to recap, Jesus is God. God is love. We want to be like Jesus. So, we are to be love. How is that done? John 3:16.
"For God so loved the world that He gave His one and only Son, that whosoever believes in Him shall not perish but have everlasting life."
So, love involves sacrifice. Self-sacrifice, to be specific. When Christ died for us, He was displaying the ultimate form of love.

If this is love, how did we come to using the word to mean a fleeting feeling of excitement? Well, to understand that, we have to go a very very long way back. (This is my personal hypothesis, so please feel free to correct me if I have missed something in my historical accuracy.) In ancient Greek, there are four words for, "love." (I wish English had that, too. There would be so much less confusion if that were the case.) These were phileos (brotherly love), storge (affection, or maternal love), eros (romantic/sensual love), and agape (unconditional love, or God's love). Then the Roman Empire took over. It spread as far West as Britain. The idea of love being the romantic feeling had to have made it there. Somehow, as English was formed, the word, "love," became the end-all be-all for anything pertaining to phileos, storge, eros, or agape. As times grew easier (which took hundreds of years), eros began to slowly take over the meaning of "love," in Western culture. Just like the way Rome was just before it fell, we became enamored with the idea of romance and excitement.

We got lazy.

Is eros what lead Jesus to die on the cross? The Da Vinci Code conspiracy theory might have us speculate that, but I'm not buying it. No, it was agape. Agape is how we as Christians, little Christs, are called to treat others. This is especially true within a romantic relationship. When you say that you "fell in love" with them, you imply that you can fall or climb back out of it. "Whoops! I have all these interesting and exciting feelings towards you. I have no idea how long they'll last, but let's not think about that. Oh, you want to talk about our future? Pshaw, I don't think so. I'm outta here. Bye!"

Be a little Christ. Be someone who stands up for true love, agape. Stop saying, "...in love."

8 Observations About Young Men

Over the past few years, I have been granted the privilege of becoming good friends with a number of young men. It has enlightened me. I have observed a few things about young men in general:
1. They want to be useful. If you are hosting a young man (ex. making him dinner), DO NOT make him just sit there. You know how little boys have the stereotype of being really energetic? Well, that doesn't ever really go away. They just learn how to channel their energy. If they offer to help, let them, even if it's as small as, "Would you wash this cup for me?"
2. They want to fix things. Though it's along the same lines as their desire to be useful, young men want to solve the problems presented to them. If you need someone to only vent to, go to a woman. Men will give you suggestions on how to fix what you're venting about. Personally, I like this. When I'm thinking about something and I go to someone to talk about it, it's usually because I want advice. Young men are guaranteed to give a thoughtful response.
3. They are make good listeners. Granted, not every man is a good listener. Not every woman is a good listener, either. However, the men who try to listen well usually excel at it. The reason for this is they want to gather all of the information they can so that they can offer a solution. Again, this is why I usually prefer going to young men for advice.
4. They are deep thinkers. Young men are trying to figure out what kind of person they are going to be for the rest of their life. They think about this at great length, and far more often than they let on. I have had some of the most delightful conversations with them about the nature of God, how to allow Him to use us to love others, and even what Heaven is going to be like. The confusing part is the following:
5. Sometimes, they really and truly aren't thinking about anything. Unlike women, men are capable of thinking about absolutely nothing. One young man explained it to me this way: "We like to organize our thoughts in boxes. Sometimes, we need to go into our nothing box for a little while to clear our head." Thankfully, they are very aware that women usually have something going on in their heads, so they make a habit of asking, "What are you thinking?" So, next time you ask a guy friend that same question and they answer, "Nothing," they very well may be telling the truth.
6. They do, in fact, cry. I don't care how many times a guy tells you, "I just don't cry." They do. If they don't, something is wrong with their biological system and they must seek medical help. The reality is that some of them prefer people to not see them cry. Some of them admit that they cry, but still don't want others to see it. I have seen young men whom I thought would never let anyone see them cry tear up in front of me. [Somehow every time the "tougher" ones did it, there was always another mutual guy friend present.] When it comes to young men crying, though, don't push them one way or another. If they cry a good deal, don't tease them. If they aren't prone to cry often, don't push them to try. Keep in mind, some women cry a lot more than others. The same is true for men. The best kind of tears a man can produce are those out of joy. Second to that is compassion.
7. They pray for patience a lot. I ask how I can pray for my guy friends a good deal. I cannot tell you how many times each of them have said, "Patience." Patience with where they are in life. Patience with not having answers. Patience, patience, patience. The good part is that they know that they need patience. They say that the first step to solving a problem is admitting that you have one. I wish I knew how often I was being impatient.
8. Sometimes fighting is fun for them. By this, I mean the kind of rough-and-tumble sort of fighting that guys do with each other.The film, "Braveheart" has a perfect example of this. Near the beginning, William and Hamish are young boys. William beats Hamish in a rock-throwing contest. So, Hamish hits him. William gets right back up and they proceed to hit each other, laughing all the while. This behavior does not stop at childhood. They continue to do this into adulthood.  Don't believe me? Watch "Fight Club" sometime. Maybe it's just me, but I find this behavior one of the most hilarious things to watch.

These are just a few of the many intricacies of young men. I'm looking forward to learning more about them in the coming years. And by the way, if you don't have a guy friend, get one. They're awesome. 

Prayer, Worship, and the Dog

I had a first today. I prayed for the family dog. My family owns a gray toy poodle (shown in my blogger profile picture). He's technically my brother's dog, as he was a present for his 7th birthday.
The dog does not have much appreciation for music. This is unfortunate, because my brother and I are musicians to some extent, and my parents like playing music from the computer. The notes will hit a certain range of pitches that makes him howl in protest. So, we usually have to send the dog to my brother's room when we play music in any format (other than straight vocals).
Today, I wanted to play some worship music without being interrupted by the dog. So, I prayed for him. "Lord, please protect [insert dog's name] ears so that he does not protest to my worship. In fact, let him worship you in whatever way nature does."
It worked. The dog did not howl, whine, or anything. I called him to me, and he rolled over for me to pet him. No protestations were made. As I type this post up, I am STILL playing worship music. He is lying on the floor about a foot away from me, perfectly content.
God is so good. He loves His creation enough to protect it so that it brings glory to Him. "Ask, and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock, and it will be opened to you. For anyone who asks receives, and the one who seeks finds, and to the one who knocks the door shall be opened." Matt. 7:7-8

"She's here!": A story from a young mother

I mentioned a few months ago a young family which was expecting a baby girl. The first week of December, she arrived. We students kept hearing, "You have to hear the story of how it happened." A group of us wanted to do something to say, "Thank you," for all this young family has done for us, so we prepared a breakfast-for-dinner meal for them on Saturday of that week. When we arrived to deliver the food, the mother (I'll call her M) was up and walking, holding the baby. We were a little surprised, but happy for her all the same. The father (I'll call him P) invited us to stay and hear the story, but only myself and one of the other students could stay. After the commotion of, "Thank yous," and, "Goodbyes," were over, we sat down. (I got to hold the little one.)
M began the story. She said that she had gone in for her doctor's appointment, having begun some light contractions. She was told that she was a certain number of mm or cm dilated. However, with her first child, it had taken about three weeks of on again, off again contractions before he was born. So, she went home and let the contractions continue. M had planned to go to watch a movie in the evening at a friend's house. She decided to watch the intensity of her contractions before officially deciding to go. Happily, she was able to go. The contractions continued, but were light enough that she could carry on conversation.
When M arrived home, her contractions intensified. She and P decided that she would lie in the bedroom and he would sleep in the living room, as her pains required a vocal release, so to speak. Around 3:00 am, the contractions were at 4.5 minutes apart. M informed P that it was time for the baby to come.
At this point, P took up the story. He went to pack the car and make the needed phone calls. Ten minutes later, M announced that she needed to use the bathroom. She commented that her thought was that it would be the last chance she would have to do so. P completed his packing five minutes later and announced so to M. He was about to ask, "Can you put your shoes on, your would you like me to put them on you?" when she cried, "She's here!"
P's initial thought was that M was crowning or something. However, when he walked into the bathroom, his wife was sitting on the toilet holding their daughter. He was shocked. He said that his first thought was, "I've failed." M said that the look on his face was a mixture of surprise and horror. She asked him if they ought to call an ambulance. (The afterbirth had not yet come out, and they were concerned that M might have internal bleeding.) P went to do so just as a friend of theirs arrived to care for their son while they were away. She helped M snap out of her own shock by suggesting they put a blanket or towel around the newborn.
The ambulance took M and the baby to the birthing spa they had planned to go to. M was checked for any problems at the destination and the baby was attended to.
Their daughter's name means, "blind faith." As I held her during M and P's story, I looked down at her from time to time and thought, "What a precious gift you are." Children truly are a blessing from God. Praises be that this little one has come into our lives.