Archive for January, 2011

Please stop

My first reaction to such “religious” organizations such as Westboro Baptist and others is typical this: I want to cry. Yes, i know that this sounds like such a girl way to respond,but shut up and let me explain or I’ll punch you in the ‘nads.

We all get God wrong all too often. History shows this *clearly*. Even in the Old Testament, people are getting God wrong and doing horrible things in His name. I know, I know: a good Christian is supposed to view the Bible as Holy and completely true and accurate through and through. I’m sorry, but I know that the Bible was written and compiled by “human hands”. We humans are not known for our perfection. In fact, we are known for the opposite, for finding new and creative ways to fantastically screw everything up in unrepairable ways. For instance, the huge garbage dump I drive by on my way to the mountains. Beautiful mountains, gorgeous and lush valley, and a gigantic scar in the center where the beautiful earth has been ripped away so that a whole can be made to throw all our crap into. (Most of which, at this point, can be recycled or composted.) One of the most beautiful areas of the country tainted by a grand testiment to our ability to use,abuse,and waste. Go us!

 I’m geting off track, I know.

Anyways, so yea… I’m one of “those” Christians, who view the old testament as a grand display of how hard it is for us mere humans to understand a Great, Powerful, Holy, yet Loving and Gentle, and Forgiving God. How could we ever grasp that? And how can we blame the Isrealites for letting the popular religions of the day seep in and pervert the awesome covenant they had with God? They can’t be blamed for something we all do. It happens. And it still happens.

Fast forward to the time of the great monarchs and empires. And what do we have? Churches. Powerful,domineering, seeming in wealth and politics. Not at all what a church should be. I’m not about to say that *all* the crusaders were evil, and politically motivated. Most were, but not all. I believe like with most things, some good but ignorant people got swept up into the wave created by very enthusiastic, manipulative, selfish, scared, and dominating charismatic leaders, and felt they were doing what “God wanted”. But, I am going to say that I refuse to believe that the slaughtering of thousands of innocent lives across the entire planet, the ruination of hundreds of beautiful and unique societies and cultures, and the resulting hatred and violence of once segment of a population towrds their brothers, sisters, cousins, and children was ordined by the God I serve. I believe that the very God who created each and every one of these peoples, and gave them the abilities to create and form societies, was both greatly saddened and extremely angry to watch as hundreds of scared and selfish men rape, pillage, and destroy His beautiful creations. I think of tribal rituals and languages, beautiful and unique, now lost to all but a very few who are left to try to carry on and preserve their history. I think of the capturing and violence of the indian, african, and asian nations by their own people to be sold in slavery to the rich, white, “godly” western nations.

And I think about the pain and suffering of so many children, young adults, adults, and elders at the hands of those who claim to love God, but seem to know nothing of His love, grace, or unconditional acceptance of all human beings despite what they have done, are doing, or will do.

So when I see a “christian” going off about why “homosexuality is wrong” or “why we need a Christian dictatorship”, I want to cry. For all the people who have been beaten, raped, enslaved, condemned, murdered, hated, and destroyed by these types of “Christians”. And I want to find these broken people and love on them. To let them know that I, too, have suffered greatly at the hands of “good people”… And to show them through my loving and caring for them what God is really like. And I promise not to say a single word.

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Taking a dump.

I think the best word to describe me is not a blogger. I am a venter. And usually my venting appears in rapid-fire texts to twitter that read in the truncated and snipped manner of a highschooler trying to piece together bits of an outline to form the paper they are supposed to turn into their english class, which is the class right after study hall or home room.

So I’m going to attempt to start dumping all of that onto here. That way, no one is forced to see it if they don’t want to. Also, this way no one will really see it unless they seek it out. I am realizing that many people, myself included, like to spout off what we think… and twitter and facebook offer a way to do that which is actually less private and more public then our oppinions would otherwise be made known.

I’m tired out, guys. Tired of seeing other’s make fools of themselves, tired of making a fool of myself, tired of people responding to things posted on tumblr,youtube, and other places with so much hatred. I’ve always been a fan of “talking things out” and have believed that we could all get along much better if we just took the time to get to know, and respect, each other.  But too often, talking isn’t used to get to know anyone else, or to treat others with respect. It’s simply just another way to propogate personal oppinions. Just like in the school yard, those who talk the loudest and most aggressively will be heard. They will be the dominate voice. It seemes like back then, and even now, that the ones who do the loud, aggressive, “speaking for us all, I think…” kind of talking never seem to have the same oppinions as me. And there is a tendency to try to get my side heard… but I don’t think my attempts to talk loudly and be heard are really the best response. What’s to seperate me from the “others”?

The people who have made the biggest impact in my life are those who quietly surprised me.  The ones who don’t often try to let you know exactly what they think and believe and why you should believe the same exact way they do. it’s the ones who quietly live what they believe. The kind teacher who simply listened to me, who tried to help me calm down, and spoke value and worth into my life, but never actually shared hehr oppinion of me and what I was going through. The friend who quietly supports me, but if pressed will admit that they don’t agree with me… but they love me enough to put that aside. The quiet older brother who was well thought of and liked by his peers; but instead of pursuing popularity, he made an effort to sit with and befriend the kids that all the other guys made fun of. He hung out with people who he may not have agreed with, but who needed a friend, needed someone to *not* judge or look down on them.

So maybe the best thing isn’t to spout off about whatever is pissing me off at the moment. Maybe it’s better just to try to live in a way that I can someday surprise someone else. To have standards, but to not be one who throws those standards in everyone else’s face… but quietly lives a life of love and grace, remembering that I, myself, am just like the broken, bullied, bullies, and proprogators. And regardless of race, creed, sexuality, or religious or non-religious affiliation… we are all human. We are all in need of someone to love and value us. Most of all, we all deserve respect. And the right to have our own oppinions and beliefs.

But of course, if I do find myself needing blowing off steam, there’s always here: My quiet, unnoticed little corner of the room where I can scribble down my little, uninformed and crazy oppinions. Where hopefully I won’t offend or repel possible friends by shoving my beliefs down their throats.

Categories: Uncategorized


Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros, your evil little catchy song has been stuck in my head for days. *thanks*.

“Home.  Let me come ho-oo-ome. Home is whenever I’m with you. Oh Home! I’m coming ho-oo-ome! Home is when I’m alone with you.”

I want to find a “home”. And I don’t mean a house…or a city or state. We all know that home means more than that.

I grew up in a good home. I may not have realized it at the time, but I really did. I had a good family, four amazing brothers and sisters, two faithful and united parents, and the best dog and best cat anyone could ever wish for. It’s amazing how easy it is to take something like “home” for granted.  The feeling of home. Of being “at home”.

I’m at the age where my peers are going out and creating new “homes” with someone else. Now, I don’t really think of myself as a romantic… but there is something within me that resonates with the idea of finding home with someone, with taking that home, and making children with which to share that home, that love and knowing, with.

To me, home is the place of knowing, truly knowing, another person in all their entirity. It’s the place where you see all the good and bad in someone else, and accept and love them because of and inspite of them. It’s the place of absolute openness and acceptance. To be seen. To be known. And to still be loved and thought well of. Sadly,  Home is a rarity.

I’ve only felt home, outside of my family, a few times in my life. The rare close friend that I had, the one time that I was in love,  and with the few friends that I left college and still stayed in contact with. *These* are my homes.

Lately, I have been thinking about this a lot. Partly because I, physically, am not living in a physical house that belongs to me… and partly because I am separated from the majority of those who make up “home” for me.

I want to go home. I want to be surrounded by those who make up my home. And I want to find the person with whom I can both find and create and “home” with whom to share for many years to come.  Mostly, I want to be at the place again where I can “feel” my real Home no matter where I’m at. I want to be sure and to hope in the Home that can never be destroyed or stolen away or killed.

Lord, I want to come Home.

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