real Housewives, real hearts.

I justify watching "Real Housewives of New Jersey" by praying for them all after each episode.

I do.

I watch, saying crazy things like "She should respect her husband enough not to hang out with that woman," and "Ooohhh, she'll wish she had shown more compassion..."

I know. Who says stuff like that during trash television? I do, now.

I watch. Then I pray. I pray for Jacqueline's daughter, that she would be safe, and wise. And for Danielle, that she would heal, and grow. For Caroline, that her heart would be softened. And Dina, that she'd find whatever spiritual truth she's looking for. I don't even know about Teresa.

But I never pray that they'd come to know Christ.

Smack. Down. On me, that is.

This is hard to write about. I'm wondering if I think too hard about it, if the whole thing will collapse on me. Months ago, I was intent on asking every question possible. Then I tempered that to try to help push the church forward, noting (correctly, at the time) that most of my questions weren't of real consequence to Truth. When I tempered, I found a joy in faith that my constant doubt and criticism had not allowed. And now I wonder if I've avoided serious and necessary questions so as to hold that joy. But a false joy is no joy at all. Wisdom allows questions. It allows doubts. I trust that God won't let me fall.

So I never pray salvation for the Real Housewives of New Jersey.

I'm wondering why. Do I pray for the salvation of my friends? I pray for them to know God, to know joy. But never specifically to know Christ, to accept the necessity of His sacrifice.

I feel panic in my heart right now. Because I know the next question. But I don't want to know my answer. If I go forward, I have to accept the danger of collapse. If I quit now in a cutesy, writer-ish way, I can push it all away, and keep my Lambert's and Plus One-induced haze of 9-month anniversary happiness.

(He promised me everything. So much more than tongues, but those as well. It won't be my intelligence, or reasoning that pulls it all together, but His grace. And he promised it all.)

The questions are, do I believe that accepting our sinfulness, and His sacrifice is necessary to real life? To eternal life? For everyone? At all times?

In the answer to those questions lies the bent of my prayers. If I understood those things more wholly than I do at this moment, my prayer life would change. My life would change. I've been avoiding the questions, to stave off the change.

But even as I ask them, I know the answers. In one sense, I've known the answers. I accepted the truth of my sinfulness, and Christ's atonement some time ago. And in the abstract, I accepted that as true for all, at all. But I live so thoroughly in a world that rejects those truths, that I've compartmentalized, so as not to consider the spiritual lives and fates of the people who surround me.

I've been more comfortable saying, "I don't know what will happen to that person," than saying, "She will spend eternity separated from God." I've been afraid of the seeming judgmentalism, while missing this truth: That from Christ's greatest act of love comes my ability to love others, but that apart from Him, my love is futile. After all, what does it mean to say, "I stand for loving all," if ultimately, my love speaks of something earthly, leaving those on whom it falls still firmly planted on the ground?

Father, let always my love send hearts up to you. Let me walk in wisdom and incredible compassion for those I meet, while always remembering that love separated from Your truths isn't love at all.

As for the housewives, Father, let them fall to You. Let them give up everything to love You. Let them accept their sin, and Your love, in one breath, with one mind, madly taken by Your grace.