The idea for this blog came in the midst of one of those dark times of "self-discovery", when the harsh realities of the selfishness of my own heart thankfully soon enough collided with the grace and wisdom that were needed to pull me out of the pit.
The "self-discovery moment" is kind of like coming home one day from school or work and finding a big piece of salad greens from lunch stuck in your front teeth. First, you go through a phase of denial - "may be no one noticed" or "perhaps it got stuck there recently." The second step is questioning - you try pushing it with your tongue, or may be even touch the green alien entity - only to discover that, yes, it is indeed real. That brings the next step, acceptance. It is usually paired with despair, face-scratching embarrassment and anger - directed many times at others that are obviously well-deserved of blame ("if only so-and-so would have told me.." "..she was always jealous of me, that fat cow"). This step often ends with kicking of the self and intense fear of the tomorrow as you envision the invisible smirks throughout today. The last step, however, gives us hope and the ability to face tomorrow - it's a step of forgiveness and restoration through wisdom, in this case in the form of dental floss - the equivalent of what the cavemen of yore called the ye good twig. Restoring the teeth to it's pristine gleam cheers your heart.
This blog, to me, is the result of my dental floss.
I came home late one night after watching a harassing documentary about superstition-scapegoating-driven practice of child infanticide in the indigenous tribes of Brazil, clutching in my hand a print out of a list of action steps I could take to change this situation. I was of course moved during the presentation - even teared up a little at the emotional parts - but I could feel myself just slipping into the normal routines of night, careful to avoid looking at the list of action steps burning indignantly white with righteousness on my desk. I felt guilty. Guilty with the fact that I cared more about moisturizing my face than saving little children, guilty that my actions in the light of my tears were making me a hypocrite, and yes, guilty that I was not excited. The list felt like a chore, something that I should do, but did not want to do.
The realization was devastating, and so I grabbed the sheet of action steps and ran out to the back porch where my safe place was waiting: a whole bunch of stars, good smokes and God, my good ole buddy who actually chooses to listen to all my crazy crap.
At first I was just plain angry (I flew through the steps of denial and questioning pretty quick), blaming things on my tiredness, on the documentarists, and on God for giving me freedom of choice, but a jaded heart. But irrational things don't happen to last too long and pretty soon I was crying out on my face for a heart that is as soft as cream cheese, bleeding and oozing with compassion for the poor and the oppressed, and hands that would express that heart through action.
What I wanted was admirable; the way I wanted it was like with a dollar menu item on drive thru, cheap and quick. I wanted that good heart now, and thought it would just download in me like a computer program.
It's not like that at all.
God reminded me as I sat blubbering through my tears that having free choice actually means that I have choice over my heart: whether it be jaded or malleable like play-doh.
I could choose to care.
I could choose to care! That thought blew my mind away.
Later that night, I finished and checked off the action steps on that page - not necessarily cheerfully, but with a deep sense of satisfaction and purpose. And you know, after I was done, I really did care. Going through the steps, the actions, working for the sake of those children - these things added up, and I genuinely I-will-sacrifice-things-in-my-life-for-you cared. And that's when I decided to make this blog, to not just keep the things I hear and care about to myself, but to give others a chance to also choose to care.
I'll end with a quote from an article I read the other day. It really made me think.
"...Maybe this just proves that I'm Catholic, but I don't think there's anything wrong with making people feel guilty; I think we should have a sense of guilt or, if you prefer, a responsibility about this suffering in our midst."
Thursday, July 10, 2008
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