holy water.

There are bible verses on the walls of my shower, written in some substance impervious to both water and soap. This kind of thing comes as quite a shock at six in the morning. The shower at my old house had no such exhortations, no early-morning reminders of God's grace, and of His wrath. I rather enjoyed its silence on these matters. Or rather, I enjoy its silence in retrospect, in comparison. But who knew there was any comparison at all? Who knew that Christians scribble on their shower walls the verses of psalms? I certainly did not.

Type I Error.

I slept on it. And I'm not done with James River. Not yet.

I don't know why, but I feel I'm still supposed to be there. I won't leave as long as that's true.

Also, though I believe that some parts of the culture have been taken into the faith in an unhealthy way, the truth is that some of the "crazier," and more "conservative" beliefs I have taken on are not a function of an isolated view of the faith. Though I wish they were. I picked them up so easily not because I'm becoming brainwashed, but because I've always believed them, in some small part, but had been unwilling to deal with them. I didn't have a framework for them, though I knew them to be true. Now, I have the framework, and can place those beliefs appropriately, and with logic.

Issues of culture still have to be dealt with, and done so honestly. But I think I can do that from within my growing circle of peers at James River. And I think having to do that will be a good lesson in humility. I could go find a bunch of people who agree with me (actually, that's doubtful), but where would be the growth? As Warren Smith pointed out, there there wouldn't be growth.

I've been wrong about a lot of things. I think I'd be wrong to give up all of what I'm gaining at James River. To pretend as though just because I'm becoming a little more conservative than I've ever been, that somehow invalidates the growth. I've tried to be very careful to ask for wisdom, and to use it when navigating the marsh between what I want, what I think, and what God wants for me. I didn't want to sink into the trap of thinking that every incident is a "sign," and thus, mistaking nothing for something (type I error!). I think that now is the time to cash in on a little bit of that, to trust that this is where I'm supposed to be. To remember that I didn't get here through wishful thinking, and "checking my brain" at the church door.

So, onward.

another room.

If I could move to St. Louis right now, I would.

As I drove north on Wednesday, I was leaving Springfield for the first time since moving here in August. Though I've kept frequent contact with my friends and family, I have become somewhat isolated in the culture down here. I fear I've become someone I'm not meant to be. On my way to St. Louis, I imagined what it would be like to forget it all and really go home. To forget all of the people I've met, all of what has happened at James River, and all of my MSU experience. Could I do it without turning back? Would I miss anyone?

It is bizarre to have such a transient life. Everyone I know I've known less than four months. Every "favorite" restaurant, every "familiar" street--all only footnotes of the previous 16 weeks. I have come here, and created something from a virtual nothing. But could I go away, and create something else? A different narrative, maybe? Am I different?

I've been walking a line. Afraid to be honest with my university peers on topics related to my faith. Afraid to be honest with my Christian friends on topics related to culture. I've been compromising my self. Toning it down with both audiences so as not to offend, not to draw fire.

Part of me wants to turn from my life at James River. Not to turn from Christ. But to turn from the culture, and to begin again at another church. Or maybe no church. I could have as easily gone to some other church that first Sunday, and then what? How would my life be different? I cannot go back into yesterday, but I can change tomorrow. If I walk away from James River, and instead go hang out with the Episcopalians, or the Baptists, or the Unitarians--will my course be changed?

I guess the meat of the thing is this: Where would God have me?

In St. Louis, driving past familiar places, and feeling the thrill of life in a city I love so much, I realized that I have not been feeling myself. Right now, sitting in my room deconstructed, having just left all of my family, and nearing the end of the first term of my Master's education, about to move to yet another new room, knowing that there's no one within a couple hundred miles who is really on the inside of my life, I feel very much adrift.

Where would God have me? He had me at James River. For a clear reason. And probably some not so clear ones. But is that over? Can I be who I am there, without getting mired in the cultural stuff? These people I've met, and become friends with. What role will we play in each other's lives? Is there more?

Some answers are not for me to know. And some are very much important parts of my decision-making process. I pray for the wisdom to know which is which.

non-Christian cultural awareness day.

My things are packed. There are boxes stacked by the door. Laundry is done. My section of the fridge is clean. I am moving.

In with Christians.

I realize in the re-reading that I left some things unwritten that would have best been included last night. I made a very harsh allusion to my peers having mocked and judged non-Christians. Though I very much felt as though they did those things, and I'm fairly certain my non-Christian friends would have felt the same, it is important to me to note that those ends were not my Christian friends' intent. They were having a casual conversation, amongst other Christians, about the reasons why people do not accept the Gospel message. I am certain that they did not intend harm, or pain. And certainly, these same comments would not have been made in the presence of non-Christians.

Having said that, I think I was so hurt because I have so often been the non-Christian in the room, amongst Christians who just didn't know that we did not share a Lord. Those Christians in my past didn't know they were talking about me. To me. But nonetheless, I was there.

So what's the answer? Make sure to verify everyone's beliefs before having those conversations? I think that's cheap. Maybe we should just change the way we think about ourselves, and about others. What's the old phrase? If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all? Not something I entirely agree with (mostly because of Sarah Palin's candidacy), but I would support a modification: If you shouldn't say it with a non-Christian in the room, maybe you shouldn't say it when he/she leaves.

I was struck, on Saturday night, that the focus was so "What are they doing?" and not "What am I doing?" Non-Christians are getting their cues from us. We are the source of their info about Christianity. I think this is traditionally the point at which we all look around at each other, and say "What me? No, no...I'm one of those good Christians, who shows love to people. But I know someone who gives the wrong idea..." Well, guess what? Much like my OT friends, you too have given the wrong idea. Probably without knowing it. I have, too. We all do.

I've been thinking that Christians need a course in "non-Christian cultural awareness," almost in the same vein as the cultural diversity training that corporations have. I don't mean that to be trite, or ridiculous. There truly is a cultural divide. And I have found that Christians often have very self-serving notions of non-Christian ideas about the faith. It'd be good to shake that down, get some respect flowing.

I am bothered when Christians have a very "This is so obviously true, why won't they just accept?" attitude towards the gospel. As though it's totally intuitive that all of this crazy theological junk would be historically accurate, and spiritually relevant. I understand their being frustrated with people who won't even consider the possibilities. But let's have some humility-- I didn't understand on my own. Why do we expect others to do so? I love Lindell's 10.14 sermon for exactly that reason. It reminds me that my understanding and believing is a gift, not something that my intellect accomplished.

So I can't claim that I did something awesome in asking for forgiveness, and accepting His gift. He did something awesome. That changes the way I see people who don't share my beliefs. Makes me less important, less knowing. I don't always live up to the full potential of that idea, but I'm trying.

In catch-up news: Someone spoke in tongues clear as a bell, right in front of everybody during Sunday morning service last week! That was a cultural adventure. Lindell's son talked on Sunday night, and um, yeah. The guy totally brought it. I can be a pretty harsh judge of preachers (most of which I keep to myself), but it was a really great little sermon. I will be living with actual, full-on Christians in a few days. Little scared, not gonna lie. My friend wants to come to next Saturday's bible study! Oy vey. My mom and stepdad are coming to James River this Sunday! Should be good. Happy Thanksgiving.

sister born again.

I've been avoiding this blog.

I'm confused about some things. And angry about others. Saddened.

Not as a state of being. Mostly, I feel content, and happy, and excited. Unless I'm in a group of Christians. I smile as I write that, to know that it's not so simple, and mostly jestful.

I went back to the OT bible study this past Saturday. I won't recount the contents in their entirety, but will say that after a lecture on Jethro, we started talking about non-Christians. And the discussion hurt me deeply. I identify so closely with non-Christians (as a person who has struggled so much with the Christian church, and sometimes, Christian theology), that to hear them mocked, and misunderstood, and judged--it felt like someone was lacerating my heart. Which led to anger, which led to self-righteousness (and memories of past self-righteousness). I cried all the way home, and asked God for forgiveness twice: once for their sins, and once for my own. I realize that's entirely presumptuous. I'm overstepping my boundaries in assuming their sins--in assuming they sinned at all.

What's hard about these conversations with Christians is that they just don't get it. In the same way that I thought I understood them before coming down here and going all in, they think they understand the non-Christian. And sometimes even the ones who once lived in "the world," don't get it, because they gave up their passkey.

I see this weird assumption that to not be of the world means to not live in it. To create this parallel society (I call it "secular Christianity") to live in, so that we can avoid all contact with the evil of the world. The practical result of this is Christians who begin to mistake culture for faith, and become so encapsulated in the culture of the their particular faith community that they become inaccessible to the people who need them most.

I don't want to live that way. I don't think God wants us to live that way. Jesus didn't live that way, to my knowledge. I wonder if we should instead recognize that yes, we are not of this world, but that we ought to live in it. Note that I'm not suggesting that we all start wearing pajamas with things like "juicy" written across the rump, or singing along with Britney ("1..2..3, living in sin is the new thing" --to which I say, really, Britney? That's a new thing?). But, neither were we meant to be cloistered. I believe that we were meant to be monks amongst men, so to speak.

There's so much more to be said about this. But I'm tired. I've spent three days praying for peace, and humility, and understanding. The humility is breaking my heart. Humility, and love. I need them both, they work together.

On a final note, I just finished watching a documentary called "Brother Born Again." A bisexual, Jewish agnostic tries to rekindle a relationship with her born again brother who has been living in a Christian commune in Alaska. I can't explain this. And I know I'm crazy for saying it, but I felt God watching over my shoulder the entire time. Saying something akin to, "This is for you. I know you needed this." Because I could understand the agnostic, and the born again, I felt empathy for both, and that calmed my heart. Made me feel better about where I am. I was able to defend his faith, and encounter her pain and frustration. I felt more whole, as I watched. It's a remarkable film.

God is God, and I am not.

I am packing. I enjoy packing. I'm excited about where I'm going. Though the circumstances of the move are less than pleasant, and much less than honest. I felt some confusion as to how I should respond to the situation. I almost did something I knew to be wrong. And as I asked my friends, people whose opinions I trust and respect, one by one, they said things that made me cringe. I sat with them, across the desk, over the phone, thinking to myself "wrong," "wrong," "wrong again." No lie, every single one of them (except for one who abstained to give advice at all), said "You have to look out for you first." Ouch. By the third person, I could sense it coming, and wanted to say, "No, no, don't say it."

I love these people dearly. Remind me not to sign a lease with any of them.

I am about to tell of something that is highly uncharacteristic of any of my experiences, and certainly not something I would normally admit. I'm not entirely sure that writing this won't earn me a psychiatric evaluation, or at least a concerned intervention from any of my University friends who may be reading this. At nightfall on Monday, I had made a bad decision. Early on Tuesday morning, I awoke, and in the silence, I heard or felt or understood something inside me to say, "You're letting Satan in."

Now I am not the type to chatter on about Satan. Actually, I prefer the less descriptive, more general term "evil" for pretty much any instance in which "Satan" could be used. I don't think that Satan makes our cars break down (though planned obsolescence is a greedy form of evil), or causes rain on our work picnic, or has us running late to prayer meeting. Certainly, his influence can be found in the way that we react to such events. And therein lies his power. Therein lay his influence on me, as I contemplated options related to my housing.

I decided to go with God. My conversations with friends were unsettling. There was a lot of moral white noise going on, and three of them accused me of mistakenly thinking there was an objective "right" and "wrong" (the absence of which, by the way, has been notoriously tricky to defend, philosophically). The more I heard, the more I thought something I've been thinking a lot recently. I don't want to be God. I don't want to be charged with deciding what is right and wrong.

I can hear them fire back at me, "But when you give up your right to decide, you give up objectivity, and reason, and become prey to religious hocus pocus! (Then you become a Republican...)" Or something to that effect. And I get it. I've had recent experience with it. But I'm not talking about giving up my ability to weigh objectively evidence for or against moral positions, or the claims of religious leaders. Just find God. You don't even have to start at God. You can start at wherever you put your "line." As one of my friends told me, "Murder is objectively wrong." Ok, well, why?

I'm not afraid of exploration, because, as I said even as a liberal theological "believer," there is no piece of evidence, no book, and no idea that can topple God and His Truth. If it's true, it'll come through, if you're seeking honestly. My weak mind will not reverse His love.

But to take on the responsibility of deciding for oneself what is right and wrong, which of all the world's customs and practices should be deemed sin, and which virtue. What was I thinking? Why did I want such a task? How did I think I was its intellectual equal? And what's more-- how would I have assumed that it just so happened that my own beliefs on such matters were aligned completely with those of the Creator? How fortuitous for me! What luck!

It's insanity. Its own kind of grandiosity.

I will use my intellect, and heart, and creativity, and spirit in service to Him. But try always to remember that they are only instruments unto His will.

the God who is there.

My life has a bit of drama right now. I hate drama. The story is a long one, and it involves my asking God for guidance, and getting it, and finding out that my sense of morality has taken a sharp turn from that of some of my friends. However, enacting that guidance did not result in any perfecto moment. Just more drama. I'm tired.

Thus, I'm going to take Lindell's advice (great prayer service sermon tonight), and talk to God about all of the things I'm grateful for. Some are big, some are tiny, and this is not by any means an exhaustive list. Just some things that come to mind:

For helping me at LPC, when evil was so there. My job at Abbott House. All of the wonderful people there I came to love, and who loved me. Sunny afternoons in downtown Highland Park. Books! Walking along the beeeeauuutiful Lake Michigan harbor in Kenosha. The way the sun rose off the lake, and broke your heart with beauty. My brother's wedding! The love I felt at that wedding. The fun I had. Late-night mimosas with my new family at the hotel bar. Seeing Lauren in STL. So, so many precious moments. Saturday farmer's markets with my Mom. My puppy asleep in my lap, reading about theology at home. Getting to help set up the launch of Zion's Boys and Girls Club. What grace. Meeting so many amazing local business and civic leaders, and having their input in my life. The Art Institute--so many moments standing before my favorite paintings, feeling happy. Rach and My Thai. My lunches with Reina at the beach. To be so loved! Acceptance to grad school! Getting paid to be at grad school! Too many people to mention by name. All of these moments I've had where I've just stopped, and felt...felt love and happiness overflowing in my heart, bubbling up and out, and into the crevices of my life in ways that are simply beyond what I deserve. The understanding of Christ! Accepting Him. My baptism. A new place to live, with people from Life Group. My Life Group. That Saturday bible study. My heart beating, and my eyes seeing, and my ears hearing, and my legs and arms and feet and hands all intact. Plans to go to STL for Thanksgiving! Oh, to see my family, and my dogs, and play Nintendo, and just to be with people I've known longer than three months. And then, Christmas! To get to see almost everyone I love. Mmm, midnight mass. Father, thank you.

Also, for giving me a heart that knew to look for you, one that has always known of you, even when astray. For giving me the opportunities to be a good student early on in life, so that I could stay afloat with everything happening. For strong role models throughout my life. For Halloween 1999. For too many people to mention. For many happy memories with my crazy family. For getting me through college alive, and relatively unmaimed. For helping me to understand and learn from it all. For being in control. For being the God who is there (to steal from Schaeffer).

You are. And I love you.

Checkmate-d.

I moved here on Saturday, August 15th. My parents helped me unload my stuff (some furniture, some clothing, and box after box of books). We had lunch. They left. And I found myself alone in my room, staring at the makings of my new life.

I had met my housemates only once before. I needed directions to get to the gas station. I remember that for the first month or so that I was down here, my friends from home would call, and say "What's new?" I'd answer, "Well, the cookie sheet is in the cabinet to the right of the stove, and Battlefield runs East-West." Everything was new.

As I sat in my room that first evening, my housemates came in to chat. Leaning back against my great-grandmother's dresser, Mark told me about growing up in Rogersville ("the Rodge"), and the difference between North and South Springfield, and how the fastest way to campus was probably Kansas Expressway.

I asked him about churches. Did he know of a good place to start to get the southern experience? "Well, if you want the big church experience, you should try JRA." He then proceeded to tell me of how he and his fiancee no longer go there because they had been asked to step down from their volunteer positions when a pastor found out they were unmarried, and living together. His fiancee, Marcy, gave me a longer version of the story, involving a few less-than-considerate discussions they had had with another JRA pastor about the issue. She told me they refused to ever go back.

I want to pause to mention that I wasn't there, I don't know what actually happened, and it doesn't really matter to me. Maybe my housemates misrepresented the situation. Maybe the pastor did not act tactfully and lovingly. Maybe a bit of both.

At that time, though, I remember thinking "Oh yeah, a judgmental charismatic megachurch--this is a sociological gold mine in Christian culture." You might guess that I was not concerned with an unmarried couple living together.

So, I mapquested directions to James River Assembly, 6100 North 19th Street, Ozark, MO. Most of that first morning can be found in the first entry to this blog. However, I was too sarcastic then to note that I remember being disappointed that Sunday, the 17th, there was no Sunday night service, only Life Group.

So I went to the next Group Link, and joined a Life Group. Since that Sunday, I've missed only one Sunday evening. Every Sunday morning, every Sunday evening, and Wednesday, I am here. I went to Designed for Life. I met with Tim Keene to talk about salvation. Though my initial reaction to Kristen's interest (www.Thosewhohunger.blogspot.com) was skeptical, I have come to appreciate and cherish her input. I am about to move in with someone from my Life Group.

That's actually what this post is about. Answered prayer. I posted on Saturday about how my housemates have informed me that I'm not living there until June, but only until January. I hate to move, but I'm glad to go. And I prayed for some cool Christian influence in the new pad. Turns out, an outrageously awesome member of my Life Group is looking for someone to share her apartment. And, the weekend on which I'd need to move is the weekend on which my parents were planning on coming down to visit James River with me. AND, I strongly suspect that this arrangement is going to open the opportunity for us to really help provide for another of our LG-ers. God is such an amazing chess player. I guess omniscience does that for you.

However, now in a sense, I am moving from the people, and the "home base" from which it all was launched. As I mentioned the other day, the entire course of my life is changed (that always deserves italics), and it just keeps changing. I've never lived as a full-on Christian with other full-on Christians. I'm a tiny bit scared.

As for my current housemate's promise to never return to JRA, that turned out to be a lie, as I invited her to the final session of DFL, and she loved it so much that she's bringing her Mom and sister-in-law next year.

Crazy lady walkin', talkin'.

So many directions in which to go.

First, baptism. I'll be uncharacteristically open here, to admit that it changes things. It changed me. Yesterday, I was processing. Today, I felt. The moment of my baptism has come to me periodically throughout the day, and a myriad thoughts splashed against my mind-- the continuity of thousands of years of believers all baptized in His name, the symbolic and literal washing of my sins, a social proclamation of my being "all in." So many more. And I begin to cry. I had this sense yesterday, and it's stronger today, that this is all really happening. Because I can be so analytical, I sometimes feel as though I'm just playing a part. I'm in, but I'm not in. I'm along for the ride. I'm watching. But now, that sense is receding with regards to my faith, and involvement in the church. I am a new creation. I will be so for the rest of my life. This changes everything.

Oddly, this came to me in the most mundane moments today. Getting out of my car in the parking garage, sitting in an office suite, walking across campus, teaching someone about t-tests. I felt like a Christian. It's hard to describe why that is so poignant to me, though if a person has read this blog, he/she probably understands. This is undoubtedly powerful in-group psychology, but that doesn't mean it's not of God (stay tuned for a post about God, neuroscience, and the temporal lobe "proof").

I'm sure my adviser would be appalled by all of this. We had a little brain-storming session today for my Spring term practicum. I've recently read some great research in the field of materialism, and spirituality. This sent her off onto a line about how, with regards to materialism, it's likely that Buddhists will be more true to their religious ideals than Christians. Then, I told her I wanted to take this class next year on "Psychological Issues in Religion." I expected some dissension, but there was only enthusiasm, which tells me that the class is not Christianity-friendly. Should be good.

I'm careful when I'm with her now, because increasingly, I find myself saying the very same sorts of crazy stuff that I mocked only weeks ago. In fact, I can point to places in this blog where this is the case. I wrote yesterday that I can't wait to see my children be baptized. Somewhere back a few weeks ago, there's a post in which I mock the "optimal age in which to indoctrinate children with Christian theology." I wrote recently about all the hottie guys in the Church. I have long said that Church is no place to find men ("they're too square"). Yesterday, I made a logical claim based on God not having bad ideas. Only weeks ago, I was on the phone with my friends from home, unkindly blasting a now-friend for making a claim involving how "God doesn't lie."

The strangest part is that the "after" portion of this picture (and it's quite a before-and-after) is not motivated by group identity. I'm not saying these crazy things because I feel pressure to fit in. I believe them. They make sense to me.

Having said that, I still feel a very real need to be relevant. I think sometimes, Christian equate this with "giving up" a part of their morality, or "becoming like the world." That's not what I'm talking about. I'm just talking about chilling it out a bit, recognizing that in the eyes of a non-Christian you are not you. You're a Christian. And there are a whole host of things that go along with that. It's not fair. It's not right. But it's the way it is. And if we're serious about being able to have cross-cultural discussion (Christian to "non"--it truly is a cultural divide in many ways), we need to recognize our perceived impact.

That's a longer post. Maybe tomorrow.

Everybody in the pool.

I was baptized today.

I had decided on Wednesday that come hell or high water, I would do this. Things are shifting, and changing, and moving into place, and I can't deny it. I am a believer in, and follower of, Christ. I understand things now that I didn't understand a few weeks ago. I have no evidence of a brain tumor, and I'm not incredibly susceptible to peer pressure. I cannot claim to be an "intellectual" if I pretend that all of this was just clever flow, or "brainwashing." Something supernatural has happened in me.

So I set the date. I called the church to make sure I had the details right. Then I spent four days in terror. Actually four and a half, because I was terrified right up until the dunking.

Let me tell you about it.

After Scotty Gibbons gave perhaps one of the best sermons I've ever heard in my life (move over, Edwards), I had to run to my car to grab my clothes and towel. I have given speeches to hundreds of people before, on the fly, that have caused less anxiety in my heart. As I walked through the parking lot, contemplating running, I thought, "This is the worst idea you've ever had." And then, "But it's not your idea, it's God's idea, and since God doesn't have bad ideas..." Logic to the rescue.

Thankfully, when I came back into the church, Susan was waiting for me. Susan is one of the greeter-people whom I met weeks ago, and instantly hit it off with. She's ex-Catholic (so she got the whole Episcopal thing), and funny, and kind of wry, and fabulous, and I love seeing her every week. Today, though, she came through in a big way on the fundamentals. And seeing her there at the door, waiting for me, and offering to take me right to the room was amazing. From God, truly. Also, she knew just what to say as she "dropped me off." I won't write what she said, but suffice it to say it was hilarious, a little bit irreverent, and exactly the kind of thing I needed to hear.

Then the boring part. We say hello to the strangers at our table, think nervously about our "video testimony" (who ever heard of such a thing?), and.. if you're me, tap your foot incessantly while silently praying for invisibility powers. Some guy tells us what we're about to do (as if I don't already know what a big deal this is--hence the foot-tapping). And we all head upstairs to take pictures for our "Baptism Certificate." I crack a joke about hanging it next to my B.A., and Master's Diplomas. Aaaaand...it's safe! Crowd laughs. (My humor is spotty down here.)

We then tape our above-mentioned video testimonies. How NERVE-WRACKING. The woman before me had some sort of melt-down, and had to do, like, 15 takes (her husband put it somewhere between 10 and 25). This is not looking good for me. But I'm all about winging it, right, so I hadn't put anything together. But I knew I wanted the essence of the message to be one of gratitude. As I think back on this experience, the crux of the entire thing is that I could not understand without His gifting me with understanding. So, I mumble something to that effect. Four times.

Then we all go lake-side.

I had thought I had already made it through what was causing the anxiety (I, in fact, asked if I could not be videotaped...no dice). I was wrong about that. As I stood there, a couple of feet from the water, close to hyperventilation, I thought "I'm about to be baptized in the Pentecostal church. Ashley, the PENTECOSTAL CHURCH. What are you doing?!?! This is not what you came down here for. You didn't come to this church to accept Christ, and be baptized. You came here to find out what the crazy Pentecostals were up to." And then I thought, "Whoa, slow it down. It doesn't matter what you came here for. You gave your life to Him. He deserves your obedience. He loves you. He's holding you now. Remember that thing you wrote? That you haven't seen His hand, but it has always been on your life. You are exactly where you need to be."

And then I stepped off.

It's worth mentioning that I had been playing the part of "annoying question girl" throughout the entirety of this process. And had asked explicit and detailed questions about what would happen in the water. I think everyone thought I was just being annoying. But in actuality, it was because I knew that I needed to make it rote for myself, because I would lose all thought once in.

I was right. I settled myself on the ledge in the water, swishing my feet every which way, fidgeting. Brad actually had to tell me to put my feet under the bar. Then I got into the position I had discreetly practiced, plugging my nose with one hand, and holding my arm with the other. But he was taking a little longer than I planned, and I kept forgetting to breathe. I'm not kidding. I had to make the conscious decision to either open my mouth, or unplug my nose, to allow air in. This decision took longer than it should have. Yeah.

This all is fairly more perplexing to me because I am not a super-stressed reacter type person. In my everyday life, I am more the "Just calm down, we'll get it fixed" person. So why this? Why did baptism throw me into a tizzy? I don't know. I'll have to think more about it.

But there was this moment, as it was happening, as he was saying the words, that I closed my eyes, and thought...this is so, so good. I don't understand all of it. But it is so, so so so good.

The only other thing that crossed my mind is that I can't wait to do this with my kids.

Christian hotties.

This is overkill on the posts for today, but necessary information.

Through a complete fluke, I ended up at a bible study tonight. I know. A bible study on a Saturday night. How the mighty have fallen. I was going mainly to give a ride to a friend who actually wanted to be there. And I didn't have anything to do. So, bible study it was.

But then... it turned out to be the awesomest bible study ever. For two reasons. Firstly, it was kind of an academic study, exploring rabbinic perspectives on the Old Testament. Ka-ching. Secondly, it was kind of an academic study, exploring perspectives on the Old Testament. Now, I don't know much about the Old Testament. And for that reason, I found myself on this gorgeous leather couch in a well-decorated bachelor pad, completely dazzled by the knowledge being displayed in front of me. And I knew right away that this was Part I of the answer to my prayer from a few days ago. Arrogant? Not for long, in that bunch.

I aspire to that kind of knowledge, and it might be true that I already know a bit more than what they're giving in New Life. But, I think I can stand to humble myself and go to New Life anyway.

Also, a guy whose name I can't remember and I did pretty respectably in a game of foosball.

On that note, these Christian guys are complete hotties. I use the word hottie here not to connote "someone I'd like to date," nor to suggest anything of their physical attributes, but to point out that they are highly eligible. On the secular side, my friends will complain about how there are no young, single, nice, smart guys to date. Guess what, ladies? They're all in the church! And they are babes. Sweet, incredibly intelligent, respectful, great with kids, caring, humble...it's ridiculous. One of them was reading from the OT entirely in Hebrew tonight, and it was the sexiest thing I've ever seen.

On an entirely unrelated note-- I'm being baptized tomorrow. I'm scared. Of what, I don't know. But I'd be lying if I omitted that truth.

on me.

"If I want him to remain alive until I return, what is that to you? You must follow me."

Mocktails at my place!

The weirdest thing...

My housemate has literally just informed me that whereas they had originally told me they would extend the lease until June (they're getting married in May), they are now deciding not to re-up in January. So, as of January 15th, I need a new place to live.

I am stressed. I know about 10 people in Springfield. I still get lost once I'm east of National. I kinda want to cry.

And yet, the first thing I thought was, "Maybe this is good. Maybe this is God"

I like my housemates, but they are quite a bit younger than I am. And though they are all about the church in theory, they do some things that I'd rather not be around at this point. Increasingly, I've been thinking how cool it would be to live with some Christians girls who live more in the neighborhood of wherever it is I'm headed. We could do whatever it is that Christian 20-somethings do. Throw cool fondue parties, and funky-themed bible studies, and mocktail hours, I don't know. I'm pretty sure that one of my developing gifts is being able to rock some clean fun.

So, I'm stressed. But I also feel a bit of excitement.

The excitement is because I think that God has something cool in store. I can almost feel Him telling me that this is going to be all right. I could be wrong. I could end up with someone who's always cooking smelly food, and uses my kitchen spatula to apply lotion to her back (true story!). But I don't think so.

I'm going to pray for peace. And I'm going to ask anyone reading this blog to pray for this as well. And I'm going to trust that He is in control of this situation. And that through His wisdom and provision, I will make good decisions in this.

And then, I'm going to have a bunch of great times with my rockin' new roommates in my rockin' new house.

Dereck and Dissonance.

When I began this blog, I made two rules.

The first is in the writing, and it is that I would always try to be honest. To say what I'm really thinking, and what I'm really feeling. As I've gotten deeper into the church, I've had to curtail some of that out of growing respect and love for the people I'm meeting. And thus, a million moments have never crossed these pages. They exist in my memory, and in my private journals. Honestly, I never expected to make it far enough into the church for that to become an issue. I envisioned a much snarkier blog-- a sort of Zagat guide to churches, Springfield, MO edition.

The second rule is that I would never edit it to make myself look better. This has been somewhat difficult. At several points, I've re-read things from nights or weeks before, and thought, "Ouch, I should take that out." But have decided that in the interest of honesty, I'd rather let it stand, and pray for healing for, and mercy from, anyone it offends. For that reason, I've been fairly careful to withhold my snarkier comments, and to change or omit names of non-public figures. Still, I haven't been perfect. More often, though, than offending others, I think I've laid bare my own arrogance, and sin, and ridiculousness.

I need to do that now.

I've often used this blog as a way of working through. A method of getting at whatever it is that's really going on in whatever situation I have found myself in.

I now find myself at a crossroads. It's as though I'm standing in the middle of a field, or a desert, in a large circle. And from all directions, roads shoot out into the nothingness of the plane. I have these vague senses that various friends, and memories, and ideas stand at the end of a number of these roads, but the impressions tangle in my mind, and I'm lost. And I think, how am I going to figure this out? And then it hits me. Of course, if I were up higher I could see all paths, and where they end. But I don't have a way to...

Yes. Genius in residence.

So I determine that I will trust Him to get me onto the right road. I seek. I ask.

But then comes baptism. I'm terrified to be baptized, and I don't know why. Then I feel cranky towards some Christians, and I feel bad, and I think, "What's up with that, dude?" And I talk to some mentors/friends of mine back home, an incredibly brilliant Episcopalian couple, and I realize how far their belief is from what I'm embracing down here. And I'm thrown into dissonance. What is right? What is true? I trust Him. But how does this work?

Tim Keene told me I should go to New Life classes. I'm just gonna let it all hang out here. I recoiled. Though I smiled politely, and said "maybe," I actually thought "Um, seriously? I'm way advanced past those people. I'm no newcomer to Bible knowledge, thank you." Yeah, I know. That kind of thing is actually on the mild end of the full range of my arrogance.

Father, I need you to change me. You brought me here. You let me see. I need courage, and wisdom, and humility. Years ago, I asked a group to pray with me for radical faith. You remember. A guy named Dereck got very serious, and said, "You might not want that. Be careful praying for radical faith."

I want it. Dereck was right, but I want it. I'm scared of it. But I want it.

A new creation.

Oh my God.

The reality of the last several weeks has just slammed into me. I'm a completely different person. I gave up who I was to become who these people have told me I ought to be.

That's inaccurate. I gave up who I was to accommodate my discovery that God deserves my submission, and love.

But still. I came down here with a full belief that conservative theological ideas would be the death of Christianity. I have argued many, many times that unless the church ceases to hold theologically and politically conservative positions, it will die. I argued that the light was in accepting the metaphor of Christ, not the reality.

How is it that I now see the illogicality of that argument when only a couple of months ago I was passionately convinced by it?

I read Spong, yeah. But I also read Lewis, and N.T. Wright, and Scripture. Clearly, I was reading with an agenda. But it all seemed so right. I wanted to get a degree from a seminary or divinity school. I loved theology, and talking about theology.

I still love theology. I'd still give serious thought to seminary. But now everything is different. I am different.

My adviser was (probably is) worried that I'd join up. And I have.

I believe that Christ literally died, and literally rose again, to atone for my sins. I think my sins are more than glitches on the backdrop of evolution. I'm about to get baptized in a pentecostal church. I don't really understand any of that stuff. I have sufficient logical explanations for it. But the weight falls in my heart. It is in my heart that I believe.

What about the rest of my life? I didn't come here believing this. My life has taken a sudden detour, and now who am I? I mean, this is big. I didn't just change my hair color, or lose some weight, or join the ACLU. Any of which would be fine with my friends, by the way. My Dad might have a stroke about the ACLU thing, but...

How do I make the transition socially from one to the other? Am I making too much of this? There are all kinds of Christians. What kind will I be?

Oh, my God. I moved to Southern, MO, and accepted Christ. And now my life is being turned upside down. And oh my god. How did this happen? I went to James River because I thought it would be a fun, sociological field trip to see how the crazy, southern, megachurch people worship. I wasn't wildly fond of most Christians. Even less fond of most pastors. I thought that the majority of both were messing it up, and missing the boat on the "true" Christianity. And now...

Is this for real?

Father, please.

a happy hybrid.

At several points over the last couple of weeks, I have felt joyful. This is not entirely unusual. While the timbre of this blog has often leaned towards the melancholy (and in my private life, I've often been melancholy), my demeanor when I'm not struggling with life-changing decisions is one of the unfettered optimist. I have long had a reputation for my unbridled love of Monday mornings. I am that annoying person who shows up for the 8am meeting talking about how gorgeous a day it is, when outside the clouds are closing in. I have generally been known to delight in the small things--books smell like Heaven; rain on my skin reminds me I am alive; slipping on ice, and dropping my coffee, and a bird pooing on me (true story) all make me laugh.

Interestingly, it's the existential issues that have always brought me pause. They have ridden under everything that I do, coming up to undermine my optimism. Why am I here? What is my purpose? What should I be doing with my life? These are the questions and struggles that have driven me to the edge, and kept me in darkness (privately, anyway). It's an odd juxtaposition. Bummer life events can be dealt with, laughed at even. But when you don't know what you're for--that can bring a severe, suicidal despair. I so often cried out to God in anguish, "Find me! What is this all about? What am I here for, God? Do you exist? Can you hear me?"

But now, my dispositional joy is joined to the existential joy of knowing Christ. And I feel it. Not perfection, of course. I'm not perfect, and so I do imperfect things, and I have consequences. Consequences are not generally joyous events. But I feel this overwhelming sense of gratitude. A fear of the Lord is the beginning of all knowledge. How amazing. That I should live, that I should breathe, and walk around, and think, and be Loved by Him. That I am a being made for Him. That even if no one else does, He understands me completely. Sees the bad, and the good, and loves me anyway. Let's tell it like it is, that's pretty rockin'.

This has all brought up an interesting issue for me. I have gained acceptance into most parts of social world by playing the fringe "Christian." Intellectually with-it, naturally skeptical, too cool for school. I have held back on joy, and shown instead intellectual excitement, and that has allowed me a free pass to talk about my liberal "belief" in Christ to my friends, and have them just consider it an "Ashley quirk."

Now, I realize that I can't be too cool for school. Too cool for school is for cynics, and I don't want to be a cynic anymore. I never wanted to be one then, I just didn't entirely realize that's what I was doing. Now I know. And I've got to figure out how to take these walls down, and still maintain relevance. My friend back North, Michelle, does this really well. I think I need to contemplate sort of a hybrid of her joyful Christian coolness, and Tim Keene's "God'll take it" awesomeness.

On that topic, I met Tim's wife tonight, and she is every bit as awesome as He is. Where do these people come from? And how do they get so awesome? Tim introduced me to one of the preaching pastors, Curt Cook, whom I have actually met before, and who gave a smokin' hot sermon tonight. And all of it made me think again that I'm right about my instinct that this place is good.

JRA, and all of these amazing people who lead it, help me when I come to a "Mary, Joseph, and the camel, what are you doing?" moment. I think, "I can't believe this is all happening. Ashley, you're not you anymore, is this all ok?" And then, "You're becoming the you God has in mind, and both versions of your intuition know these people are good. You can trust them."

The truth is that I don't really understand it all. I am continually surprised that anyone knows about this blog, and it's not because I don't want them to. It's because this blog is the purest memory of the me I was. It reminds me of a really recent time when all of this was so much less real. When I assumed that my world view was 100% correct, that I was meant to be the fringe Christian. When I was filled with venom for Christians, and the church, and spurned them all as "messing it up." I thought I was wise. But I wasn't. I thought I had it all locked down, but I didn't. And now, I'm kickin' it with these pentecostals, and the entire course of my life is changed. That is great, and also terrifying.

As for the people...I don't need them to believe in Him. But He used them to bring me to Him.

64K Question.

One of the questions I've had as I've contemplated the possibility of accepting Christ, and then in the actual acceptance, is of how my faith will affect my life, and my behavior. Will I automatically start thinking and acting in ways foreign to me? Will I suddenly feel compelled to behave in ways more in line with my conception of Christian ethics? Was I really all that sinful? How much change will there be? And how will that happen? Will there be new things just inexplicably written on my heart? Or will my reading in the Bible just begin to affect me in ways it hadn't before? How does all of this work?

Well, it turns out that at this point, I see it working in two ways. The first is that I'm just changing, without my explicit consent on every shift. God seems to have heard me say "I'm yours," and, somewhat to my relief, He has just taken the lead on softening and molding. I'm seeing things I didn't see. Hearing things I hadn't heard. I'm not making it happen. I'm not trying to convince myself of things, or talk myself into anything. It's just happening.

I feel like a bit more of an agent in the second way. As I read the Scriptures, I find myself more often relating what's going on in the pages with what's going on on my page. And then I have decisions to make. How will I interpret the Word? How will I have it change me? When I'm walking across the street, and going to class, and cooking dinner--how will my being a "new creation" affect these processes? Will it?

Today, it did.

The other half of that proverb I love about the fear of the Lord beginning all knowledge is that "fools despise wisdom and discipline." I have regarded that issue of discipline with some suspicion. Mostly because I know I lack discipline. And so I've been asking myself, "What does this mean for me? I fear (love, hold in awe, etc.) the Lord, I wish to keep his Word close to me. So I guess I should take this discipline stuff seriously. Crap.

I am not generally a poor student, but boredom is a death knell for my studiousness. And I have one on-line class that I find inhumanely boring. I've been ignoring it, knowing that I'm digging myself a hole. And then today, I came to the full realization that if I'm serious about obeying God, and seeking Him, these are the real-world issues that need to be dealt with and brought under His sovereignty. He brought me to SoMo. He gave me an all-expenses paid opportunity to get my Master's. My shirking this class is not just irresponsible academically, it's unGodly.

Furthermore, I realized the disrespect I was showing my professor. How much more unloving can you be than giving a person the impression that you don't respect her, or her work? That you could care less about something that you've committed yourself to, a commitment that she has made to you? Now, as the secular me, these things would be troublesome, but not much more. As a Christian, these things are parts of a much larger complex of sin, love for others, love for God, and the process of perfection. Yes, I'm going on to something much better, but for now, He has me here, and I'd best respect that.

So I emailed her. Bared everything, apologized, asked for mercy. She refused, and pointed out that sometimes the best lesson is that actions have consequences. She was right. I knew it. I prayed, and confessed, and asked God to take the situation, and to help me learn from it in humility. I felt like crap, but she was right. I told her so, I thanked her, and I made sure that she knew how sorry I was for disrespecting her. Then, a change of heart. A big change of heart. She's overlooking some of my ridiculousness, and if I turn it all out for the rest of the term, I can still earn an 'A.' Yeah. That's huge. That's grace.

I am completely aware that my professor is showing me undeserved mercy. I am also completely aware that such mercy comes with some responsibilities to respond and grow. Thus, the $64,000 questions: In what areas am I not showing discipline? To whom am I not showing mercy?

Yowsa. I thought the $64,000 question is supposed to be hard to answer.

You can't pick your family, but He can change 'em.

I have more to say about changing, but first I have more to say about my Dad.

He showed up to church on Sunday wearing jeans. Yes. I know. We have had numerous heated debates about how much God doesn't care about the denim vs. dress pants issue (my argument). And every time, it ends with him throwing up his hands, and saying that he just won't do it. He won't. He can't. He'd rather not go to church at all, than go wearing jeans. I have found this mind-boggling, and illogical, and annoying, and a good indication that he's either not reading, or selectively reading, his bible. As though I can talk about that... Nevertheless, I showed up at his hotel on Sunday morning to find him in jeans, and a black pullover. When I commented, he just smiled and said "When in Rome..." Whatever.

I had briefed him, as I briefed my friend two weeks ago, about the eccentricities of the worship. But he seemed fine. He sang along with the "hymns." He prayed. He appeared to be engaged during the sermon. Thankfully, he didn't acknowledge or later comment on the fact that one of those praise cards was obviously mine, and so I obviously accepted Christ last week. I don't know how to have that conversation yet. I don't have the courage to be that open with people with whom I'm close. And how in the world did that happen, anyway? Hundreds of cards. God has a sense of humor.

Anyway. He raved the entire way back from church about the greatness of Lindell's preaching. Actually, he raved all afternoon. Before he left, he insisted on dumping the sermons I have on my iTunes onto his iPod so he could listen to them on his drive home. Then he called me on his drive to St. Louis to ask me if I could send him a copy of Sunday morning's sermon on disc. I just got an email from him a few minutes ago telling me he'd been looking around JRA's website, and asking if I could get a paper transcript of the sermon (what the what?!?). He listened to the 10.14 sermon, and now wants to "listen to it sitting down" so he can write down the scriptural references, and explore them in his bible.

He actually took some of the print materials (the volunteer card, praise report, etc.) with him to show to his pastor. He kept bringing up how amazing it was that there were so many young people there. He said he could completely see why I go there. He just emailed me again to tell me that he's "not nagging," ("consider it loving encouragement") but he's been looking at the website, and thinks I should play my flute on the worship team.

He's in love. I think I should warn his wife.

What is going on with my parents? Last week, my Mom called me, and told me that she's sad for this friend of hers because the friend hadn't accepted Christ, and "you have to accept Christ to go to Heaven". Also, she's totally stoked about her church's womens' conference this weekend. She and my stepdad are coming to JRA on Thanksgiving weekend, and now she wants to bring my grandparents, too.

Um, ring ring, hellllooo? What is going on with my gene-sakes? These people go heathen throughout the entirety of my childhood (when, trust me, a little Christ would have gone a long way), and all of a sudden, I have a Christian family?

As my mother says whenever I start in with my political beliefs, Lord help us all.

I'm a fool.

I'm changing.

I have said--in fact I'm fairly sure I've written here--that there's no marked difference in the moments preceding Salvation to the ones immediately after. I was only partially correct.

The difference is not so much a lobotomy, as it is a Lasik.

I'm not an entirely different person, per se. I just have new eyes. Metaphorically-speaking. Though, if I could have new brown eyes, that'd be awesome, I've always wanted brown eyes. Did you know the majority of the world actually has brown eyes? Though there have been some indoctrination efforts to convince us blues that we're the majority, it's really an Olympic-level smear campaign against...

Forget the Xanax. Maybe I need ritalin. Or maybe I need to pray for focus.

The point is this. I accepted Christ last week. And now, I believe and feel all sorts of things that I don't understand. This is illogical. But it's really not. "The fear of the Lord is the beginning of knowledge." I believe that to be true, on both logical and intuitive grounds. Everything else makes perfect sense, then.

God is doing some things that I just don't understand. I can't lie. And I don't always even understand my relationship with God. I slide in and out of "getting it." But I hold on to what I know, to what makes sense, and I repeat to myself two verses. The first is the one I've quoted above, from Proverbs, and it reminds me to submit, it reminds me that by God's grace, I breathe. The second verse is from Romans, "For His gifts, and His call are irrevocable." This reminds me that I haven't always understood, I haven't listened or followed, but I've always, on some level, known.

So, I'm changing. I'm seeing God where I didn't before. I'm finally agreeing to stop juggling. I can't juggle anyway, and it's not my job. He'll take it. I am realizing the ways in which my life is just riddled with sin. Not in a weird, creepy, fire-and-brimstone, some old guy shaking his fist at me type way. But in a ... Father, I live by your Grace, and Love,and Yours alone, and yet, I just said something so hurtful to someone, and I am filled with arrogance, and I need to be doing more than I am, kind of way.

Also...my ideas about some things are changing. I don't want to say too much about this, because it's wigging me out. But ideas that I held as completely normal and correct a month ago, I'm now on the other end of. Living together and premarital sex, for instance. Do you know how beautiful a biblical conception of marriage, and abstaining, and not living together is? I do, now. But how? A month ago I would have argued the other side. My friends and professors would think me a fool to read this. What's wrong with my brain? What's happening?

I need sleep.

Message in a Bible.

I spent the better part of this afternoon going from bookstore to bookstore in search of a copy of The Message bible. Why? Because my father wanted one. Yes, my ridiculously conservative, very-Lutheran father. Last May, we met in St. Louis (where my brother lives) and he hadn't brought dress pants, and he refused to go to church wearing jeans, so he stayed home while his wife and I went. He routinely complains to me about how the ELCA (Evangelical Lutheran Churches of America?) passed down some directive to make the hymnals gender neutral. And a few years ago, they changed a line in the Apostles Creed to read "the living and the dead," rather than "the quick and the dead." Guess who still says "quick" out loud? Also, he loves the King James Version.

So here's how it happened that my father became a biblical hippie.

He drove down from northern Wisconsin last night, and we met up today for lunch, before I started showing him around Springfield. We got lost trying to find a movie theatre, and ended up in this Christian bookstore somewhere on Republic Rd. He wants to find this particular bible for a group of boys he's mentoring through Lutheran confirmation, so we scout out the chock full o' bibles section. And I say, "Hey, I wonder if they have The Message bible here." I've been hearing more and more from this translation, and while it doesn't seem to be anything I'd use academically, I find some of the paraphrases to be pretty exciting.

Then ensues this outrageously awesome discussion between myself, and Matt, the employee expert on the subject. I verbally grab the guy, and explain that my Dad is a big-time conservative, and I really want to see what he has to say about The Message. So I usher my Dad to his shock...but guess what? He likes it! He thinks it's great! Matt thinks I'm hilarious, and completely agrees with my academic/excitement hypothesis. It's a bang-up success!

As for my father, he'll be wearing "Got Jesus?" tee-shirts, and rockin' out to David Crowder in no time.

In the mean time, we had a lot of interesting discussion about faith and religion tonight. My Dad, though raised in the Lutheran church, did not raise my brother or I there. I was baptized as an infant, an event I've never really given significance. It wasn't until after I started attending church in high school that my Dad returned to the faith. But since then, he has become very involved. Church council, confirmation classes, Divorce Care, and Lutheran Marriage Encounter. The whole shebang. But despite that, we don't often talk about the core of it all.

Actually, no, we never talk about the core of it all. And I can't ever seem to see how his faith affects him. It as though he identified as a Christian, but I still don't have a Christian father. I'm not criticizing him in saying that. Just musing aloud that I don't see how, to him, faith and belief and gratitude in God are different from boards and councils and events. I mean this in the deepest sense of earnestness, and not judgment. But, it all seems somehow tinged with pride.

I don't want to be that way. I feel so fervently that I don't want my faith to show pride, but humility. I don't want anyone to ever get the impression that my faith is less than a personal, whole submission to God. I write that, I know the depths of my own arrogance, and all I can think is.... Father, I can't do this without you. I cannot, on my own, make a heart pure of arrogance, and filled with Grace. Please...

Pollyanna pins.

I'm back-tracking.

I went "Christian-bowling" (as I now call it), with my Life Group on Sunday. The thing is that I really am not a huge fan of bowling. That's a lie. I enjoy Wii bowling. I just have really bad emotional associations with actual bowling. Honestly, aside from Sunday, I can't remember the last time I went. And the times I do remember all end with me crying in the bathroom. I know that's weird.

Nonetheless, I was feeling pretty indifferent to the Life Group outing. Until we actually started. During my first two turns, not one pin was touched. And the reason for the bathroom-crying came back to me. I bowled incredibly poorly. Someone (most likely my brother, and/or cousins) made fun of me, ceaselessly. That made me feel awful. I retreated to the bathroom. And thus another cycle in the life of an American Family. This is, by the way, why I have very strong feelings about not just accepting sibling awfulness as "normal."

Sunday night, I started to feel that way again, and thought, uh-oh. But then realized...no one was making fun of me. In fact, these people were being crazy nice. Encouraging. Cheering, clapping, saying things like "It's ok, you'll get better." And they meant it! They were not placating me. They weren't patronizing me. These people have goodness in their hearts.

I think that sometimes, we like to make fun of really positive people. Surely, they can't be the saavy, intellectual sophisticates that we are. We mimic, and mock, and act as though there's something wrong with that kind of "pollyanna" (to steal my own phrase) happiness and encouragement. Maybe because they're telling us something about ourselves that we don't understand? Because when we haven't truly internalized the reality of God's love, receiving that kind of incredible love from others is difficult. Am I stretching this?

Turning around after the fourth gutterball to the undeserved cheers of my Life Group, and knowing that they honestly don't care that I can really tank a game of bowling...I found myself uncomfortable. I had to force myself to accept their love (do I dare call it that?). I had to get over myself, to stop thinking, "Oy, these people will give praise for anything," and just bask in the warmth of relations with His People. In short, I had to trust.

I don't consider myself an untrusting person. I used to be. And then I did a lot of work to reverse that. I promised myself that it would end with me. That my future husband, and kids, and friends, and students, would all feel that they were meeting a whole person, and in such an encounter, would feel free to be wholly themselves. But as I've gone back in to the Christian Church, things are coming up that I had long forgotten, or had become blind to.

I think it's because these people are different. I don't necessarily mean to say that they're better than others. My non-Christian friends are an amazing bunch of people--wonderful, and kind, and talented, each in his or her own way. But I don't know if any of them, faced with the incredulity and sometimes harshness that I've shown, would give the Grace I've been given. Certainly not all Christians do this. I know that. Just as some non-Christians do show such Grace.

I was talking to a friend of mine today about my experiences in the Pentecostal church, and she didn't realize quite where I was going with all of it. And she said "Yeah, as you meet more of them it just keeps getting worse." I had to smile. And I said, "No, actually. That's the thing. It just keeps getting better and better." I don't doubt that she had a bad experience. I'm not blind to the fact that Chrisians can be awful, and made even more so by their sense of divine destiny. But such conversations make me feel so grateful for what I have found at James River.

They remind me that He can change lives. That He can bring someone like me to Springfield, MO, full of venom for the Christian community, and determined to make my own God. And show me Love. Teach me humility. Give me a reason to believe that my mind is not infallible, but that His will is. Father.

Speakin' in the Spirit.

Oh my, have I got a treat for you guys tonight, because, friends, God had a treat for me.

Check it.

Binding the devil. Praying "in the spirit." Speaking in tongues. Altar dancing. Laying of hands.

It was an all-out weird parade through the main sanctuary at James River tonight. I have got to start bringing Xanax to these things.

It was as though I walked in the door, and God said, "Hey, kid. So you're with Me now. You're in the Word. You finally learned how to pronounce 'septuagint.' Time to take the trainers off. Come find me when you're done. And bring My Book with you, too. We'll get it figured out. In the meantime, enjoy. Ha."

Let me break it down for you.

Prayer time. We prayed for cards. We prayed in small groups. So far, so good. Then Lindell asks all those currently out of work to stand up. And everyone around them to gather in, to, uh, touch them. Now, I am trying so hard to work with this stuff. But we get to this laying of hands thing, and I freeze. In the Episcopal church, where I had most recently spent some time before moving down here, we keep our hands to ourselves. I don't want to touch other people, and I don't want to be touched. It's not that I don't see the biblical value in it. It might be a powerful experience. But I can't seem to get far enough out of my own self-consciousness to try it. Ironically, not doing it makes me more conspicuous than doing it.

First hurdle down. Lindell's sermon is on the topic of defeating the devil in your life. It reminds me of this little ditty these people all seem to know at my Life Group. Something about shutting the do'. As he talks, he references something called "binding." At which I point I have to lean over to Mona, "What's he talking about?" She explains that some people believe in binding the devil's power in their lives. To which I think, "Ah, yeah, just like in Paranormal State (LOVE that show!) how they always tell demons to get out of their house." But still, how far south are we? This isn't Louisiana for Pete's sake. Do people buy that crap? To his credit, Lindell was telling us not to "bind." This became linked in my mind to another thing I've heard about recently, "claiming." I still don't understand what that means.

The next float comes through via Paul, sponsored by the fine people of Ephesus. "And pray in the Spirit on all occasions (6:18)." Now, for the first five minutes that he's talking about this, I have NO IDEA what Lindell is actually saying. Then the ignorance passes to shock. Is he telling people to pray in tongues? I don't have any tongues. Well, I've got a little Spanish, and enough French to discriminate a black cat from a red rose. I'm being humorously (or, at least, intentionally) dense here. But, still...is he saying what I think he's saying? My throat closes. No pills shall pass. At this point, I start praying silently in English. Lord, deliver me from these pentecostals...

Then, he begins to talk about Jericho. Lindell talks often of Jericho. So, he's talking about the Israelites, and jumping up and down three times, hopping around, and shouting, and the walls coming down. And he throws up a half-dozen references to the necessity of shouting to the Lord. The crowd is getting riled up. I'm getting nervous. And we all stand up to shout to the Lord. I can't even yawp, and I love Robin Williams. I doubt that this will be my night to shout. I think to myself that maybe I'm just meant to love God quietly--with logic, and in scholarly journals. Then, a woman just behind me starts yawping, and shouting, and all sorts of groovy things. I think I might faint. Where's that freaking Xanax?

Then, friends, then, it happens. What I've been waiting twelve weeks for. I've seen it in documentaries. I've read about it. Behold, a live person speaking in tongues. HOLY COW. I'm torn...to faint, to jump up and down in excitement, to faint, to jump, to faint, to jump. My mother, my sister, my mother, my sister. It's happening...

Before that can do me in, the next act comes on stage. This woman who had been standing off to the side with her husband suddenly appears in the aisle down to the altar. She is walking with her arms stretched out, as though on a cross, holding a wide, rectangular prayer shawl that billows out behind her. She makes it to the altar, and holding her arms out like a large, charismatic bird, she begins to dance. To dance! This is where it gets good. I see Lindell whisper to the pastor next to him. The pastor next to him steps out and takes the woman's shoulder, clearly whispering something that amounts to "Please don't do that, you're freaking out the Episcopalian in the third row," and the woman retreats peacably.

Whew! It was a hot night at James River Assembly.

I want to be clear that though I do report these things in something of a humorous and distanced light, I'm not criticizing any of them (anymore). Frankly, I prefer a church with a mosh-less altar. And I don't object to the speaking of my spirit in praise of God. Anyone who has stood before a Pollock knows that the Spirit speaks succinctly where the intellect has no words. I can remember a time when kneeling, and crossing myself in the Episcopal parish brought almost paralyzing self-consciousnss. I got over it. I'm sure I'll get over this. But for now, I want to enjoy the sensations of new-ness, to revel in the uncertainty, and wonder.

My Lord has many houses. Though I don't agree with the theology of each, I see that their peculiar ways of worship have something to teach. Some special way of finding Him.

Guided always by Truth, I want to find Him every which way.

The Others.

I argued the side of a conservative Christian today. With fair effectiveness, actually, though I partly disagree with the position I was arguing for.

It's like this: A friend of mine (a teacher at my former high school back in the Chicago area) posted on her FB wall that she was upset that a field trip for her daughter's fifth-grade class had been canceled. Apparently, some parents had gotten wind of the fact that the field trip was to see a book-reading by an author who had written a children's book about a gay family. My friend couched this event in the context of a loss of diversity.

However, she also posted the segment of the children's book that had given pause. Spoiler alert: I am a liberal who, at this point, has no opposition to homosexuality. I have seen fair explanations of the scripture passages that seem to condemn homosexuality, and so long as those still ring true to me, I will continue in my current beliefs. Having said that, I accept the validity of a conversation about its rightness or wrongness. That is, I think we foul the ball when we insist that this issue is open and closed. The only issue that is truly closed for discussion is that no matter what, we're called to LOVE.

Ok, so she posted the segment. The passage did in fact contain the assertion that there was nothing wrong with homosexuality, and a homosexual family is a family is a family kind of thing. And I could immediately see how this would be offensive to conservative Christians. And I can respect that. I have friends who are conservative Christians. I care for these people, and understand and respect their positions. They're not crazy. Most of them are smarter than I am. They have better arguments, and a deeper understanding of tolerance (because tolerance, as an act of love, is truly a biblical concept) than I do.

Now I don't know about the particulars of the situation. Most likely, the parents should have just pulled their own kids from the field trip, and stayed quiet. I think the skill that is most sorely lacking in the evangelical church is the wisdom to ask, "Is this the mountain I want to die on?" That is, if this is truly a "battle for souls," we have to use not just brute force, but also some strategy. However, the discussion was made into a much larger issue by a friend of hers who responded back to my post on a very macro-level. And that's where the fun starts.

Let me say this. I have always cringed when Christians begin to talk about persecution in this country, because I've thought that whatever persecution they experience is, firstly, negligible compared to what Christians in other countries and throughout history have experienced. Also, their complaints are picked up in the secular world and seen as evidence of self-indulgent ridiculousness (which it sometimes is). But over the past few weeks, I have begun to see that the "liberal" opposition is fierce, and hateful, and very seldom predicated on much more reason than the conservative argument. I have observed this most chiefly in myself. I am a liberal. I have treated Christians poorly in discussion, recently even. I have stood aloof and arrogant, deriding and mocking them (if not in demeanor, then in thought), even as I have nothing more than they do, with which to support my assertions. I am part of the problem.

But now, I'm beginning to experience from "my own" the same venom that I have recently been showing to "the others." Which makes me bristle. As I stuck my toe in the discussion this morning, I thought, "Wait a second now--If I'm smart enough to argue with you, then I'm smart enough to argue against you, and I'd like some respect on both ends, thank you very much." Arrogance noted, being dealt with.

Her friend strongly implied that inherent in traditional Christian belief is a sense of bigotry. Now, I don't like religious bigots any more than the next person, but I object to the inference that the nature of biblical belief is an automatic qualifier. You might not like what I have to say, but you don't get to label it "wrong" just because you don't like it. You have to first prove to me why you're right. Then why I'm wrong. Without predicating an argument on a logic that lends it some solidity, what makes you God?

He did not respond well, or logically, to these or any of the other dozen arguments I threw out. And half-way through he actually noted that he was acting like a third-grader, but still felt the way he felt, goddamnit. And I remember thinking, "Man, this is like talking to those annoying fundamentalist conservative Christians." I smile.

A note to my fellow liberals: If I am giving you logic, I want it back. Let's stop treating the conservatives like crap, talking fast, and expecting them to be too slow to follow along. Some of them, just like some of us, are whip smart, and able to back up what they say. So let's not try to pass out of the discussion with one-liners, and anger, and illogicality. That's an insult to them, and, ultimately, an insult to ourselves.

The conservative, too, has something to teach. And let me tell you, I am being schooled.

the fear of the Lord.

What do you say about accepting Christ? What do you write?

I didn't, but now I do? I wasn't, but now I am.

I went with Kristen (of www.thosewhohunger.blogspot.com acclaim), and her wonderful girls, to the Library Center on Saturday morning. Kristen, in addition to being a fabulous Daniel Fast cook, and clearly an amazing Mom, also has a gift for showing Grace, and uncommon insight. She asked me a familiar question: What's keeping you? I stumbled through a response about how I felt as though I just needed that moment, the storybook, romantic comedy, meet-cute moment, where suddenly, everything clicks into place, and I feel it, and I feel Him, and I know. Without that moment, how will I know what to do, how to accept? And she made two very sharp observations. They are related. The first is that maybe, for me, that moment won't be an overwhelmingly emotional extravaganza, but instead an intellectual decision. And as for accepting Him, it is a decision. There's no mysticism in form. It's the moment of willing submission.

Those may seem simple points, but they met and destroyed the last of my opposition. I had realized the night before that I could argue issues of evolution, and philosophy for the next twenty years of my life. But if in my heart I already know the Truth, then why bother? Why wait? I have the rest of my life to quibble with science and philosophy, and best to do it with some guidance.

In thinking through these things on Saturday afternoon, it threw me back to something a youth pastor had told me ten years ago. His name is Matt Given. He was the pastor from whom I first heard the Gospel, and, even in the dark, my heart still softened for him. It probably comes as no surprise to hear that I have a long history of arguing with religious leaders, and Matt was no exception. Clear as day, I can remember standing in the door to his office, shoved back into a corner of the main offices of Christ Community Church, hearing him tell me that my problem is that I let my emotions have their way.

I'm telling you the truth, I never understood that until a couple of days ago. And not for lack of thought. I have remembered that conversation for almost ten years, and have never been able to figure it out. I've thought my problem is that I let my intellect get the best of me. But no, Matt must have seen it. He must have known that I was waiting to be swept away. He knew that I didn't understand how to submit my mind to the Lord, without expecting a miracle of my heart.

Lost in these thoughts, I jolted. Matt, submission, my problem, emotions, Halloween, Salvation, Springfield. It was exactly ten years ago that all of this started. On Halloween night, 1999, I was brought to CCC, the place that would begin my journey with Christ.

And then I knew. I know this sounds crazy. I know it sounds trumped up. But I knew. God was giving me both. He gave to me the mind to submit. And the sign, the storybook ending. Or rather, beginning.

That was Saturday night. I feel as though I've lived one hundred years in forty-eight hours.

As it turns out, my flippant commentary on Salvation being like a sorority (it makes more sense from the inside) appears to be correct.

A random sampling of thoughts over the past couple of days, bereft of grammar or sensical flow:

• This is redefining what I "need to know" in that I haven't known the answers for the past ten years--I didn't bring myself here, I just lived my life, and thought, and read, and experienced. And yet, I'm where I need to be. His Hand must have been on my life, though I didn't always see it. He must speak to us what we need to know in a way, or on a level, that we don't consciously perceive. Remember this, Ashley, it's important.
  
• My first experiences in the church, ten years ago, were marked by a sense that I needed to purge everything the church called "sinful" from my life. When I fell from the church, this is what I most rebelled against. Don't do that again. It's not my job to purge. Trust in Him, follow, and read, and Love Him. He'll take care of it. It's gotta be from the inside to the out, or it won't be credible to you. Or pleasing to Him. Submit, dude. Stop directing the flow. He'll take it. He'll change you. You didn't submit on your own, and you won't transform on your own.
  
• "The fear of the Lord is the beginning of Knowledge." So completely loaded. Too many implications to count. Has to be one of the most complex statements in this book. Understanding first, that I exist solely at his whim and his grace, sets the stage for everything that happens next.
  
• But, if I am His, and I am submitting to Him, and my mind/heart has been so desperately trying to orient towards Him for all of these years ("His gifts, and his call are irrevocable."), then that means my mind/heart is first and foremost an instrument unto His will. It is made in His perfect knowledge, and perfect understanding, and for perfect communion with God, the Most High. Whoa. Catch me. What will happen as we continue to travel together? If I am made to know Him, and now give these instruments their full power, what may come? That's a dizzying set of thoughts. I think, "I'm not ready for that, yet, Father. Please slow down." And then, "I'll let you decide what I'm ready for."
• It's time for some serious study. I want to know more about Him, so much more. Bring on the ancient languages, baby.
  

These points capture maybe 0.01% of the goings-on. It appears to be as intense to be a Christian as to be a seeker. Maybe I'm just intense...

Grace.

He chose me.