Some people associate an "all-or-nothing ultimatum" with identifying as a Christian: "You believe the entirety of the Bible and take it as fact, or none of it. There isn't room to pick and choose."
This is a big challenge for people who—by contrast—identify as Christian, but take more of a middle-ground approach on many of the issues the Bible raises.
On one hand, I get it. Religion isn't Chipotle: you don't get to customize your order and get something completely different than the patron behind you ... or do you?
Like most children who grew up attending church, I took all of what I was taught as fact. The stories of apples, snakes, arks, and crowns of thorns swam around in my thoughts. As I closed my eyes each night, I drew comfort from these stories.
As I got older, I was faced with contradictions between what I had come to believe and what I was experiencing. I began to doubt. In all honesty, this doubt brought along with it an enormous amount of guilt.
The first time my faith came into question was during a 6th-grade mythology lesson. As a society, the ancient Greeks had created gods to help make sense of the unknown. These gods were blamed for misfortune or worshiped for blessings. The idea of creating tales to help cope with unexplained events brought comfort into a situation that was previously frightening.
The concept of stories explaining the unknown was a part of my own faith background, too.
The second time I examined my identity as a Christian was near the end of college. I attended a church that was a different denomination than the one I grew up attending. They still used a Bible though. So how different could it be? I left in shock about not only how differently the sermon was approached, but how the meaning in the words had changed for me.
It became apparent that the Bible was being interpreted in a number of ways to fit a purpose, or even a specific agenda.
As a consequence of this experience, I found it difficult to see the Bible as factual. My opinion was a fact is not interpretable. You shouldn't be able to read the same passage and draw individualized conclusions from it.
Overwhelmingly, I had the urge to find fault in all of it.
As the years have passed, I still find comfort in the faith I had as a child. I have allowed myself to accept the Bible for what I believe it is: a wonderful guide for life, yet still subjective to the reader.
After openly talking with others, I have found I'm not alone. People might not use the phrasing "pick and choose," but they have found other ways to meet in the middle when it comes to the Bible and its rich selection of narrative.
I have found my own way to believe. I personally don't need the approval of other religions or institutions; I need only the approval of God. I will find what I think is good, and in the good, there will be God or whatever he/she may be called.
I think a middle ground can exist. It just takes people realizing their own way can't always be 100 percent right. Finding faults in other people and their interpretations is easy, but taking the time to understand each other's thoughts and ideas—and recognizing that just because they're different doesn't necessarily mean one of us is wrong—would leave us all much better off in the end.
Written by Alisha Wittstruck
Interesting. What's your take on the Bible and inerrancy and literal and figurative meanings and how we read it and what it means to believe in it?
You can let us know what you think about this by clicking here and leaving a comment.
You can let the folks at THRED know what you think by clicking here.
Tuesday, July 23, 2019
Tuesday, July 9, 2019
When Your Parenting is Put to the Test
In a few weeks, my son will be on his way to college. At such a time, lots of parents take stock. (Just Google "tips for parents of college students," or look for online essays on the topic).
I'm a bundle of nerves, sublimating my anxiety by buying sheet sets and collecting boxes for the car ride, one which will result in driving home without the boy who, now almost a man, was the second-grade "new kid on the block," the diligent Eagle Scout, and the senior high school student playing Macduff in "Macbeth."
As parents, we tend to second-guess ourselves a lot along the way to such transitional times. Did we give our kids the tools they need to succeed in work, in relationships, in the challenges they will inevitably encounter? What about the times we waved the white flag when we should have stood firm, or didn't give in and perhaps should have?
Whether you are a stay-at-home parent or have a career outside of it, you are likely to have the same question: Did I help my son or daughter navigate the rocky path to adulthood as best I could?
At such times, you might also remember how many other people and places have influenced-and will continue to influence-your child. There's the English course in junior high where he was introduced to a famous British poet for the first time, one he can't wait to study in college. There's the music class where she learned to play the trumpet: she's already signed up for marching band next summer.
Then there's the music he plays when he's hanging with his friends-and the door is closed. And let's not forget the friend who's grappling with drug addiction, the Cub Scout trip to the mountains, the Saturdays volunteering at the hospital, and the mission trip to Guatemala.
There are so many threads that weave the fabric of a person's life. As parents, ours is only one of them, though certainly one of the most important.
Your voice and influence won't cease to matter when they show up at their freshman orientation week. But they will be put to the test as perhaps never before. And in that way, the example you set may, ironically enough, be very important. Are you a person of your word? Are you generous-with praise, with money, with moral and psychological support? Are you a good friend?
Part of the fun (or so I'm trying to tell myself) of being the parent of a college student is watching what happens when you become the backbeat of your child's life, instead of the melody. I feel as though I'm cramming for a very important test ... and I'm not sure how I'll do.
Ask me in a year. I'll let you know how it goes.
Written by Elizabeth Eisenstadt Evans
A kid going off to college can be traumatic—for both the kid and the parents. If this has been an episode in your life, how did you handle it?
You can let us know what you think about this by clicking here and leaving a comment.
You can let the folks at THRED know what you think by clicking here.
I'm a bundle of nerves, sublimating my anxiety by buying sheet sets and collecting boxes for the car ride, one which will result in driving home without the boy who, now almost a man, was the second-grade "new kid on the block," the diligent Eagle Scout, and the senior high school student playing Macduff in "Macbeth."
As parents, we tend to second-guess ourselves a lot along the way to such transitional times. Did we give our kids the tools they need to succeed in work, in relationships, in the challenges they will inevitably encounter? What about the times we waved the white flag when we should have stood firm, or didn't give in and perhaps should have?
Whether you are a stay-at-home parent or have a career outside of it, you are likely to have the same question: Did I help my son or daughter navigate the rocky path to adulthood as best I could?
At such times, you might also remember how many other people and places have influenced-and will continue to influence-your child. There's the English course in junior high where he was introduced to a famous British poet for the first time, one he can't wait to study in college. There's the music class where she learned to play the trumpet: she's already signed up for marching band next summer.
Then there's the music he plays when he's hanging with his friends-and the door is closed. And let's not forget the friend who's grappling with drug addiction, the Cub Scout trip to the mountains, the Saturdays volunteering at the hospital, and the mission trip to Guatemala.
There are so many threads that weave the fabric of a person's life. As parents, ours is only one of them, though certainly one of the most important.
Your voice and influence won't cease to matter when they show up at their freshman orientation week. But they will be put to the test as perhaps never before. And in that way, the example you set may, ironically enough, be very important. Are you a person of your word? Are you generous-with praise, with money, with moral and psychological support? Are you a good friend?
Part of the fun (or so I'm trying to tell myself) of being the parent of a college student is watching what happens when you become the backbeat of your child's life, instead of the melody. I feel as though I'm cramming for a very important test ... and I'm not sure how I'll do.
Ask me in a year. I'll let you know how it goes.
Written by Elizabeth Eisenstadt Evans
A kid going off to college can be traumatic—for both the kid and the parents. If this has been an episode in your life, how did you handle it?
You can let us know what you think about this by clicking here and leaving a comment.
You can let the folks at THRED know what you think by clicking here.
Tuesday, June 25, 2019
Gratitude—The Big and Small of It
Many of us, myself included, use the words "thank you" as carelessly as "excuse me" or "gesundheit." We tend to throw around "thanks" without necessarily giving it a thought. We say it at the Starbucks drive-thru, after opening a present, or when someone holds the door for us. But I want to talk about gratitude, and I'm not entirely sure that thanks and gratitude are as synonymous as we might think.
To be fair, I try (at least some of the time) to be genuine and sincere when expressing thanks—even in the most trivial of circumstances. I'll sometimes see people do a double-take when I do express genuine thanks. Sometimes the thank-yous that seem trivial to me, may not be to someone else.
Less ubiquitous than thanks, and assuredly far less automated, is gratitude. I think gratitude has both a macro and a micro aspect to it. My genuine gratitude towards someone could be macro to them, even though it seems micro to me.
In my estimation, micro gratitude is more closely related to the expression of thanks, but without the same impetus. For example, at this moment I'm very grateful to be on a plane pointed towards home and to my daughters who I haven't seen in a week. The sensation of gratitude and its expression are very specific and intentional. (Even more so because I almost missed my flight.) I miss my girls. This plane is getting me back to them, and therefore I'm grateful on a number of levels. The micro aspect of gratitude is also the one I'm more frequently aware of primarily because many little things happen every day for which I should be grateful.
The macro side of gratitude is a bit more nebulous (which is probably one reason we are less frequently aware of it). Still on the topic of my girls—I'm grateful for them beyond words. But I'm not always mindful of that fact, especially on no-nap days when I long for the peace of early bedtimes.
Today, for example, has been quite frustrating, with airport shenanigans, delays, and a higher-than-normal amount of bureaucratic inefficiency. All of those things combined played into my earlier expression of thanks that I'm at least now headed in the right direction. As I arrived at my gate (the second one, which required two rounds of airport security) and my ire was rising, I met a woman who had been through that same security as well as four terminal changes to be on my flight. Her cheerful expression of relief at finding the right gate finally completely shamed my experience and returned my sense of perspective.
It's a question of perspective, and true gratitude is a game-changer in that regard.
I believe it is impossible to be grateful and anxious at the same time. True gratitude tends to quickly dampen anger. If I'm being honest, and really spending some time focusing on the macro side of gratitude, things that often give me tunnel-vision (see also: stress) usually diminish in importance.
The great part about both the macro and micro sides of this is that when they're combined, they usually give me ample opportunity to realign that perspective. I can be grateful I made my flight with just one terminal change (micro), I can be grateful for my kids in general (macro), and I can also be grateful for the reason for the flight at all, which was celebrating my fifteenth wedding anniversary. I'd call that a check in both macro and micro columns.
The magnitude of those things makes my somewhat ridiculous morning gallivanting around the San Francisco airport seem quite unimportant in comparison.
Gratitude is certainly more prominent when there is an upcoming national holiday dedicated to it, as well as another one focused on gifts and giving, which also generates thankfulness (or not) for those gifts. However, during this busy season, I often find myself contemplating the nature of gratitude all year long in everyday life, rather than simply in conjunction with a holiday or even a season.
How often do I really focus on expressing gratitude—not just an automated response to a barista, a delivery guy, or the customer service rep who fielded my call—on a person who did something that merited thanks, however small. If I'm being honest, I don't do this as often as I should. I know folks who begin and/or end their days making a list of things they're grateful for, and I believe they are happier because of it.
Likewise, how often do I try and take in the view of gratitude for the large-scale things present in my life that make it what it is? Again, the answer is far less often than I should. How is it that the people I know with the most difficult situations are sometimes the most grateful for what they have? Is it privilege that makes me ungrateful?
I'll conclude by saying that I am very grateful for the opportunity to put thoughts out into the ether on this forum. If my words cause even one person to pause and consider something more deeply or in a different way, I'm grateful.
Written by Aaron Roose
Let us know what you think about gratitude's different levels (micro and macro) by clicking here and leaving a comment.
You can let the folks at THRED know what you think by clicking here.
To be fair, I try (at least some of the time) to be genuine and sincere when expressing thanks—even in the most trivial of circumstances. I'll sometimes see people do a double-take when I do express genuine thanks. Sometimes the thank-yous that seem trivial to me, may not be to someone else.
Less ubiquitous than thanks, and assuredly far less automated, is gratitude. I think gratitude has both a macro and a micro aspect to it. My genuine gratitude towards someone could be macro to them, even though it seems micro to me.
In my estimation, micro gratitude is more closely related to the expression of thanks, but without the same impetus. For example, at this moment I'm very grateful to be on a plane pointed towards home and to my daughters who I haven't seen in a week. The sensation of gratitude and its expression are very specific and intentional. (Even more so because I almost missed my flight.) I miss my girls. This plane is getting me back to them, and therefore I'm grateful on a number of levels. The micro aspect of gratitude is also the one I'm more frequently aware of primarily because many little things happen every day for which I should be grateful.
The macro side of gratitude is a bit more nebulous (which is probably one reason we are less frequently aware of it). Still on the topic of my girls—I'm grateful for them beyond words. But I'm not always mindful of that fact, especially on no-nap days when I long for the peace of early bedtimes.
Today, for example, has been quite frustrating, with airport shenanigans, delays, and a higher-than-normal amount of bureaucratic inefficiency. All of those things combined played into my earlier expression of thanks that I'm at least now headed in the right direction. As I arrived at my gate (the second one, which required two rounds of airport security) and my ire was rising, I met a woman who had been through that same security as well as four terminal changes to be on my flight. Her cheerful expression of relief at finding the right gate finally completely shamed my experience and returned my sense of perspective.
It's a question of perspective, and true gratitude is a game-changer in that regard.
I believe it is impossible to be grateful and anxious at the same time. True gratitude tends to quickly dampen anger. If I'm being honest, and really spending some time focusing on the macro side of gratitude, things that often give me tunnel-vision (see also: stress) usually diminish in importance.
The great part about both the macro and micro sides of this is that when they're combined, they usually give me ample opportunity to realign that perspective. I can be grateful I made my flight with just one terminal change (micro), I can be grateful for my kids in general (macro), and I can also be grateful for the reason for the flight at all, which was celebrating my fifteenth wedding anniversary. I'd call that a check in both macro and micro columns.
The magnitude of those things makes my somewhat ridiculous morning gallivanting around the San Francisco airport seem quite unimportant in comparison.
Gratitude is certainly more prominent when there is an upcoming national holiday dedicated to it, as well as another one focused on gifts and giving, which also generates thankfulness (or not) for those gifts. However, during this busy season, I often find myself contemplating the nature of gratitude all year long in everyday life, rather than simply in conjunction with a holiday or even a season.
How often do I really focus on expressing gratitude—not just an automated response to a barista, a delivery guy, or the customer service rep who fielded my call—on a person who did something that merited thanks, however small. If I'm being honest, I don't do this as often as I should. I know folks who begin and/or end their days making a list of things they're grateful for, and I believe they are happier because of it.
Likewise, how often do I try and take in the view of gratitude for the large-scale things present in my life that make it what it is? Again, the answer is far less often than I should. How is it that the people I know with the most difficult situations are sometimes the most grateful for what they have? Is it privilege that makes me ungrateful?
I'll conclude by saying that I am very grateful for the opportunity to put thoughts out into the ether on this forum. If my words cause even one person to pause and consider something more deeply or in a different way, I'm grateful.
Written by Aaron Roose
Let us know what you think about gratitude's different levels (micro and macro) by clicking here and leaving a comment.
You can let the folks at THRED know what you think by clicking here.
Tuesday, June 11, 2019
What if I'm Wrong?
During the Soviet-Afghan war (1979-1989), a group of U.S. special forces—operating undercover—were captured by Soviet special forces. On searching the U.S. soldiers, the Soviets found large amounts of U.S. dollars—funds designated for their covert mission. It was a ton of cash.
The Soviets were baffled to realize the U.S. soldiers were carrying out their mission willingly. Why would you be fighting in such a harsh, unforgiving place, when you could take all that cash and get out of there?
It was a turning point among the war-hardened team of men from the Soviet special forces. Their passports were held by their government while they were fighting in Afghanistan. They fought because they were under orders. Yet here was a bunch of guys who fought not only because they were soldiers, but because they personally believed in the ideals of their country.
This is a true story. I know one of the Soviet soldiers who was there. It changed his life and the lives of his men.
It got me thinking—what if someone told me everything I've learned about life was wrong? That my understanding of right and wrong is haywire, and what I thought was gold is essentially worthless. That my perception of reality comes from a systematic program of brainwashing.
Now imagine if you're the person that has to break this news to someone. What do you say?
"You're an idiot. You're like this because you're a product of a narrow-minded sheltered life. You have an evolutionary genetic fault that causes you to be pre-deposed to this idiocy."
Sadly, on social media these days, this approach seems to be the norm. There are plenty of folks trying to change someone else's long-held mindset (or maybe protecting their own) by bullying them online. This is especially true in the areas of politics and religion. We've entered an era of verbal warfare, thinking that words don't really inflict injury. But they do. They have led to a greater divide in this country.
An idea: what if we learned to use a posture and tone of dialogue online, instead of debate?
Some might say, "I'm absolutely certain about what I believe, so why would I need to dialogue? I just need to debate and convert people to my way of thinking." I'm not advocating for arbitration—though there's definitely a need for that on some social issues. What I'm suggesting is that we can get better at agreeing-to-disagree if we have a posture and tone of dialogue instead of debate.
Why is debate our default position? Why is it that we struggle to listen to other points of view?
In my opinion, it's because we've developed a calloused layer of pride in our culture. If someone attacks our left- or right-leaning political position, or our Christian or atheist beliefs, we don't start by assuming it's possible we could be wrong. We don't start by assuming someone else's point of view might have value. We start with, "How can they be so stupid?"
Our culture has instilled a sense of "me first." We have been taught to fight for our rights. We have been instructed to stand on our own two feet. God forbid you should attack my beliefs; I'll come out fighting.
I'm not suggesting we need to let go of our strongly held, time-tested beliefs. I'd be a liar if I said I didn't want everyone to adopt my worldview, and I'm quite happy to debate it with you. But maybe if we started conversations with a tone and posture of dialogue, instead of debate, we might actually learn something from each other instead of engaging in verbal warfare.
In the Bible, there's story about some religious orthodox Jews who brought a woman to Jesus who had been caught in an affair. According to their law, she needed to be stoned. Jesus doesn't disagree with them, but essentially says "go ahead, just make sure the first person that throws a stone at this woman doesn't have anything sinful in their life." They all walked away without throwing a stone.
It always seems to be the people that have an egocentric approach to life—whether it's politics or religion—that are demanding a public stoning. Something needs to change.
That's why we started THRED. Yes, we're a Christian organization and have strongly held beliefs about life and faith. But we see the need to replace debate with dialogue. We may not agree on whether there's a God, but maybe we can work together for justice in our communities. We may not agree on how the world came into being, but maybe we can work together to protect the environment and restore the beauty of the earth we live in. Maybe there are some things we can agree on that can change this world regardless of our differing motivations.
Of course, if I can convince you of my worldview, I will try. But I want to learn to listen with a posture that says, "I am willing to truly listen to your point of view and learn from you." To have this posture, there needs to be a layer of humility. It may not be the automatic reaction like our pride is ... but maybe that can change over time.
Written by Andrew Fitzgerald
For many of us, it's easy to adopt a different persona online. Do you try to stay true to who you are when you're conversing online?
Do you take liberties online that you might not in face-to-face conversation?
You can let us know your thoughts on using social media by clicking here and leaving a comment.
You can let the folks at THRED know what you think by clicking here.
The Soviets were baffled to realize the U.S. soldiers were carrying out their mission willingly. Why would you be fighting in such a harsh, unforgiving place, when you could take all that cash and get out of there?
It was a turning point among the war-hardened team of men from the Soviet special forces. Their passports were held by their government while they were fighting in Afghanistan. They fought because they were under orders. Yet here was a bunch of guys who fought not only because they were soldiers, but because they personally believed in the ideals of their country.
This is a true story. I know one of the Soviet soldiers who was there. It changed his life and the lives of his men.
It got me thinking—what if someone told me everything I've learned about life was wrong? That my understanding of right and wrong is haywire, and what I thought was gold is essentially worthless. That my perception of reality comes from a systematic program of brainwashing.
Now imagine if you're the person that has to break this news to someone. What do you say?
"You're an idiot. You're like this because you're a product of a narrow-minded sheltered life. You have an evolutionary genetic fault that causes you to be pre-deposed to this idiocy."
Sadly, on social media these days, this approach seems to be the norm. There are plenty of folks trying to change someone else's long-held mindset (or maybe protecting their own) by bullying them online. This is especially true in the areas of politics and religion. We've entered an era of verbal warfare, thinking that words don't really inflict injury. But they do. They have led to a greater divide in this country.
An idea: what if we learned to use a posture and tone of dialogue online, instead of debate?
Some might say, "I'm absolutely certain about what I believe, so why would I need to dialogue? I just need to debate and convert people to my way of thinking." I'm not advocating for arbitration—though there's definitely a need for that on some social issues. What I'm suggesting is that we can get better at agreeing-to-disagree if we have a posture and tone of dialogue instead of debate.
Why is debate our default position? Why is it that we struggle to listen to other points of view?
In my opinion, it's because we've developed a calloused layer of pride in our culture. If someone attacks our left- or right-leaning political position, or our Christian or atheist beliefs, we don't start by assuming it's possible we could be wrong. We don't start by assuming someone else's point of view might have value. We start with, "How can they be so stupid?"
Our culture has instilled a sense of "me first." We have been taught to fight for our rights. We have been instructed to stand on our own two feet. God forbid you should attack my beliefs; I'll come out fighting.
I'm not suggesting we need to let go of our strongly held, time-tested beliefs. I'd be a liar if I said I didn't want everyone to adopt my worldview, and I'm quite happy to debate it with you. But maybe if we started conversations with a tone and posture of dialogue, instead of debate, we might actually learn something from each other instead of engaging in verbal warfare.
In the Bible, there's story about some religious orthodox Jews who brought a woman to Jesus who had been caught in an affair. According to their law, she needed to be stoned. Jesus doesn't disagree with them, but essentially says "go ahead, just make sure the first person that throws a stone at this woman doesn't have anything sinful in their life." They all walked away without throwing a stone.
It always seems to be the people that have an egocentric approach to life—whether it's politics or religion—that are demanding a public stoning. Something needs to change.
That's why we started THRED. Yes, we're a Christian organization and have strongly held beliefs about life and faith. But we see the need to replace debate with dialogue. We may not agree on whether there's a God, but maybe we can work together for justice in our communities. We may not agree on how the world came into being, but maybe we can work together to protect the environment and restore the beauty of the earth we live in. Maybe there are some things we can agree on that can change this world regardless of our differing motivations.
Of course, if I can convince you of my worldview, I will try. But I want to learn to listen with a posture that says, "I am willing to truly listen to your point of view and learn from you." To have this posture, there needs to be a layer of humility. It may not be the automatic reaction like our pride is ... but maybe that can change over time.
Written by Andrew Fitzgerald
For many of us, it's easy to adopt a different persona online. Do you try to stay true to who you are when you're conversing online?
Do you take liberties online that you might not in face-to-face conversation?
You can let us know your thoughts on using social media by clicking here and leaving a comment.
You can let the folks at THRED know what you think by clicking here.
Tuesday, May 28, 2019
Do You Pray Like a Preschooler?
Have you ever been in a restaurant when a customer doesn't get what they want, and they completely freak out? Are you sometimes that customer? It's certainly a tense and awkward situation when this happens. You're sitting there listening to the person yell that they ordered cheese on their burger, and somehow the meager slice they received just didn't cut the mustard.
As awkward as it can be, I'm never surprised. This is the culture we have set up for ourselves: "I have money. I want to spend it on what I want, and you must give it to me. And if you don't give me what I want, I have the right to act like a three-year-old who needs a nap."
It doesn't surprise me that this is the way we often treat prayer. And it's not limited to Christian prayer. I hear people from different walks of faith talk about sending out positive energy so they can get what they want. It's like a magical wish list. We add small things we think might be nice. Then we add grand things just in case God is feeling generous. Then we add things we actually want in the middle of all that. Then if God doesn't give us what we want, we get mad and wonder what's the use.
I've even seen something like this on a certain evangelist's website: post your prayer, and if two or more people like your post—and of course you have enough faith—then God will give you what you want. Sometimes you see people praying for a real need. They are praying for someone they love to be healed of cancer. Or they are praying to get a job and not become homeless. I even saw someone's request for more faith.
But in the middle of these heart-wrenching needs that you want to pray for, there are other prayers. You might find some disgruntled soul who no longer likes his Porsche and wants something better. Or they might want a house with a few more bedrooms. Now I'm not saying you can't pray for expensive things, but are these prayers selfish?
The problem with having this mentality toward God and prayer is what happens when you don't get what you want? Does it mean you don't have faith? Does is mean God doesn't love you? Treating prayer, which is a gift from God, in this way is dangerous. It can lead people away from God—unnecessarily—if it doesn't appear that He is listening or responding to their requests.
Prayer shouldn't be this complicated. We shouldn't use it to try to convince God to grant us our every wish. It's better to just pray, and trust God to answer how He will. The best example of this is Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane praying before He gives His life for the sins of the world. And as He's sweating blood from the intense pressure, He prays to His Heavenly Father to take this burden away. But He concludes the prayer by saying, "Yet not My will be done, but Yours."
Jesus has complete confidence that whatever takes place will work out for the best.
As I said earlier, prayer is a gift. It's a time when we can have a holy conversation with our loving God. He cares about our wants but more than that, He cares about our needs. So the better approach is to use prayer as a way to give everything that is weighing on our hearts to God, and trust that He will respond in the way that is best for us.
This means that God might say no to your request to win the Powerball—even if you promise to give more money to the church if you win. 😊
It's easy to make our prayers grand wish lists of things we think we can't live without. Do yours resemble that kind of prayer sometimes? Do you notice it when they do?
If you pray, why do you do it? And what do you hope to get out of it?
Written by Micah Glenn
You can let us know your thoughts on prayer by clicking here and leaving a comment.
You can let the folks at THRED know what you think by clicking here.
As awkward as it can be, I'm never surprised. This is the culture we have set up for ourselves: "I have money. I want to spend it on what I want, and you must give it to me. And if you don't give me what I want, I have the right to act like a three-year-old who needs a nap."
It doesn't surprise me that this is the way we often treat prayer. And it's not limited to Christian prayer. I hear people from different walks of faith talk about sending out positive energy so they can get what they want. It's like a magical wish list. We add small things we think might be nice. Then we add grand things just in case God is feeling generous. Then we add things we actually want in the middle of all that. Then if God doesn't give us what we want, we get mad and wonder what's the use.
I've even seen something like this on a certain evangelist's website: post your prayer, and if two or more people like your post—and of course you have enough faith—then God will give you what you want. Sometimes you see people praying for a real need. They are praying for someone they love to be healed of cancer. Or they are praying to get a job and not become homeless. I even saw someone's request for more faith.
But in the middle of these heart-wrenching needs that you want to pray for, there are other prayers. You might find some disgruntled soul who no longer likes his Porsche and wants something better. Or they might want a house with a few more bedrooms. Now I'm not saying you can't pray for expensive things, but are these prayers selfish?
The problem with having this mentality toward God and prayer is what happens when you don't get what you want? Does it mean you don't have faith? Does is mean God doesn't love you? Treating prayer, which is a gift from God, in this way is dangerous. It can lead people away from God—unnecessarily—if it doesn't appear that He is listening or responding to their requests.
Prayer shouldn't be this complicated. We shouldn't use it to try to convince God to grant us our every wish. It's better to just pray, and trust God to answer how He will. The best example of this is Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane praying before He gives His life for the sins of the world. And as He's sweating blood from the intense pressure, He prays to His Heavenly Father to take this burden away. But He concludes the prayer by saying, "Yet not My will be done, but Yours."
Jesus has complete confidence that whatever takes place will work out for the best.
As I said earlier, prayer is a gift. It's a time when we can have a holy conversation with our loving God. He cares about our wants but more than that, He cares about our needs. So the better approach is to use prayer as a way to give everything that is weighing on our hearts to God, and trust that He will respond in the way that is best for us.
This means that God might say no to your request to win the Powerball—even if you promise to give more money to the church if you win. 😊
It's easy to make our prayers grand wish lists of things we think we can't live without. Do yours resemble that kind of prayer sometimes? Do you notice it when they do?
If you pray, why do you do it? And what do you hope to get out of it?
Written by Micah Glenn
You can let us know your thoughts on prayer by clicking here and leaving a comment.
You can let the folks at THRED know what you think by clicking here.
Tuesday, May 14, 2019
My Actions & My Intent
In recent years, I've noticed a trend: my friends and acquaintances have been justifying their not-so-great actions with the phrase, "but I'm not a bad person."
To me, that is a particularly nondescript way of defining one's self. Because at any given time, the sum of the things that do define you will be far smaller than the sum of the things that don't. I am a 27-year-old man. I am not a 26-year-old, 25-year-old, 53-year-old etc.
Doesn't it make more sense to define yourself by stating what/who you are? In other words, wouldn't it be easier to say, "I am a good person."
But therein lies the problem. That statement would force us to confront the truth: we don't feel that we are inherently good. And to make that statement and to be lying in doing so would be, well, ironic.
So, how do we define what it means to be a "good person"? That question is probably a bit too lofty for a blog post. Therefore, I will pose another: is it a worthwhile endeavor to attempt to define what it means to be good?
When I began this post, I asked a number of colleagues that question. Invariably, we all concluded that the answer was likely "Yes," but we could not put a finger on why.
In my opinion, we as humans have a unique focus on intent. It's not usually a person's actions alone that define them for us. We care about the things that led up to the action. That's why whenever a mass shooting occurs the news anchor remarks about the defendant's facial expression as they are sentenced, and we learn about the pre-existing conditions that person was living in. It is unnerving if that person sits emotionless or if it becomes apparent that there was nothing remarkable about their life before the incident. Meanwhile, we are relieved if they are repentant.
This same instinct is what allows us to forgive a child who breaks our favorite vase or writes on the wall. Likewise, this is what allows us to give our best friend a pass when they say something that offends us. We are concerned with the hearts of our cohabitants, and we understand nuance on a fundamental level.
Additionally, when we look introspectively, we attempt to define ourselves in regard to this amorphous set of values that we have been establishing internally our whole lives. And, well ... I think it's worth it. There are moments when we cut ourselves some slack because we know we don't mean to devalue our relationships when we flake out at the last minute. In that moment, our intent matters in helping define ourselves to ourselves. "I'm not a bad person."
Now we are back where we started. As I stated earlier, defining what it means to be a good person in its entirety is a fool's errand. But it does seem as though we are always doing so in part. Based on the previous example (flaking out on your friend), we see that you could hardly call yourself a good person just because your intent wasn't malicious. In this way, not being a bad person is passive.
But in order to be considered (even if it is only to some degree) a good person, you'd likely have to do something positive. Perhaps something like ... showing up? This is just my opinion, but it seems that intent alone cannot define us either. It must be paired with action.
I know these examples will be cliché, but they make the point. Mother Theresa would have just been a lady with nice thoughts if she hadn't acted in Calcutta. Kobe Bryant would have likely been another dad with unfulfilled dreams if he hadn't gone to the gym daily to work on his shot. See what I mean? Actions paired with intent define us.
The reason I say all this is to affirm something that I started this post saying. It is important to consider what it means to be a good person.
Consideration is defined on dictionary.com as
(noun)
1: careful thought, typically over a period of time
2: thoughtfulness and sensitivity toward others
Consideration spurs intent. Intent leads to actions. Actions become habits. And I would argue that habits, given time, end up weaving themselves into our legacy (the way people think of/define us). Being defined as a good person doesn't happen in a vacuum. It happens in relationship. When we look in the mirror and ask ourselves, "Am I a good person?", we have to consider how our actions/habits generally affect others.
And while we may never agree on the full definition of what it means to be a "good person," it's important to consider it. Because consideration can prompt change. Change is the agent of growth. And growth may just be the purpose of life.
Written by Jon Christopher
You can let us know your thoughts by clicking here and leaving a comment.
You can let the folks at THRED know what you think by clicking here.
To me, that is a particularly nondescript way of defining one's self. Because at any given time, the sum of the things that do define you will be far smaller than the sum of the things that don't. I am a 27-year-old man. I am not a 26-year-old, 25-year-old, 53-year-old etc.
Doesn't it make more sense to define yourself by stating what/who you are? In other words, wouldn't it be easier to say, "I am a good person."
But therein lies the problem. That statement would force us to confront the truth: we don't feel that we are inherently good. And to make that statement and to be lying in doing so would be, well, ironic.
So, how do we define what it means to be a "good person"? That question is probably a bit too lofty for a blog post. Therefore, I will pose another: is it a worthwhile endeavor to attempt to define what it means to be good?
When I began this post, I asked a number of colleagues that question. Invariably, we all concluded that the answer was likely "Yes," but we could not put a finger on why.
In my opinion, we as humans have a unique focus on intent. It's not usually a person's actions alone that define them for us. We care about the things that led up to the action. That's why whenever a mass shooting occurs the news anchor remarks about the defendant's facial expression as they are sentenced, and we learn about the pre-existing conditions that person was living in. It is unnerving if that person sits emotionless or if it becomes apparent that there was nothing remarkable about their life before the incident. Meanwhile, we are relieved if they are repentant.
This same instinct is what allows us to forgive a child who breaks our favorite vase or writes on the wall. Likewise, this is what allows us to give our best friend a pass when they say something that offends us. We are concerned with the hearts of our cohabitants, and we understand nuance on a fundamental level.
Additionally, when we look introspectively, we attempt to define ourselves in regard to this amorphous set of values that we have been establishing internally our whole lives. And, well ... I think it's worth it. There are moments when we cut ourselves some slack because we know we don't mean to devalue our relationships when we flake out at the last minute. In that moment, our intent matters in helping define ourselves to ourselves. "I'm not a bad person."
Now we are back where we started. As I stated earlier, defining what it means to be a good person in its entirety is a fool's errand. But it does seem as though we are always doing so in part. Based on the previous example (flaking out on your friend), we see that you could hardly call yourself a good person just because your intent wasn't malicious. In this way, not being a bad person is passive.
But in order to be considered (even if it is only to some degree) a good person, you'd likely have to do something positive. Perhaps something like ... showing up? This is just my opinion, but it seems that intent alone cannot define us either. It must be paired with action.
I know these examples will be cliché, but they make the point. Mother Theresa would have just been a lady with nice thoughts if she hadn't acted in Calcutta. Kobe Bryant would have likely been another dad with unfulfilled dreams if he hadn't gone to the gym daily to work on his shot. See what I mean? Actions paired with intent define us.
The reason I say all this is to affirm something that I started this post saying. It is important to consider what it means to be a good person.
Consideration is defined on dictionary.com as
(noun)
1: careful thought, typically over a period of time
2: thoughtfulness and sensitivity toward others
Consideration spurs intent. Intent leads to actions. Actions become habits. And I would argue that habits, given time, end up weaving themselves into our legacy (the way people think of/define us). Being defined as a good person doesn't happen in a vacuum. It happens in relationship. When we look in the mirror and ask ourselves, "Am I a good person?", we have to consider how our actions/habits generally affect others.
And while we may never agree on the full definition of what it means to be a "good person," it's important to consider it. Because consideration can prompt change. Change is the agent of growth. And growth may just be the purpose of life.
Written by Jon Christopher
You can let us know your thoughts by clicking here and leaving a comment.
You can let the folks at THRED know what you think by clicking here.
Tuesday, April 30, 2019
Old Friends, New Friends, and the Lonely Spaces In-Between
My family made four cross-country moves before I turned 18. I don't remember the move from California to Michigan because I was just a toddler. The move from Michigan to Illinois was a mixture of excitement for something new and sadness because I quickly missed my friends of eight years. The next two moves, when I was 11 and 16, turned my already naturally introverted personality into that of a human frightened of meeting new people and who reveled in close friendships with a select few.
When I got married, I was convinced that I was done with moving. When my husband and I finally settled into our home in Indianapolis, I felt like we were in our "forever" place. We might eventually need a new house, but we would live in the city until at least retirement. I would never have to go through the painfully awkward experience of moving to a new city again.
We celebrated my 30th birthday with our closest friends and our newborn daughter. The next day, my loving husband, who knew the emotional scars that remained from moves during my adolescence, informed me that his boss wanted him to transfer to a new city, two hours away.
I spent the next year trying to mentally prepare myself for the painful task of picking up and starting over.
A year later, we packed up our belongings and moved away from one of my sisters, friends that were like family, a church community that I loved, work colleagues who made my job easy, and a place where I felt I belonged. As soon as we moved, I dove into working on our foreclosure house purchase and grad school classes to distract myself from the fact that I wasn't where I wanted to be. I wasn't very fun company, and I'm thankful that my husband actually stuck around to see me come out of the deep loneliness that settled in.
I reached one of my lowest points shortly after our move, while I was trying to find the bank that was "hiding" in plain sight on a main road just a half-mile from our house. I eventually found it after calling my husband and explaining my frustrations though angry tears. I don't know what exactly was the final straw, but something snapped then and I sat in my car at the ATM, my husband on the other end of the phone, my toddler daughter in the backseat, and screamed the Cadillac of profanities.
I am not proud of that moment of human weakness.
As an introvert, I treasure rare moments alone, the times when I am allowed to just take a step back from everyone and everything and be with my own thoughts, interruption-free. I know that some people do not understand the difference between happily being alone and being lonely, but over the years I have learned that they are two entirely different states of being. Alone time refreshes me; loneliness slowly destroys me from the inside out.
Of course, my introverted tendencies don't always help me cure my loneliness. In my adult life, my husband and I have moved five times, four of them fairly significant distances. Three of those four significant instances, I moved into situations where I already knew people and had some kind of initial connection in my work and church life. Those connections helped to build our community, no matter how small. In the move from Indianapolis, that was not the case. I got along great with my grad school classmates and fellow TAs, but I wasn't hanging out with them outside of our small basement office. My family tried multiple churches over the course of two years before we finally settled into a church we liked. But we still failed to make connections like the ones we had when we lived in Indianapolis. When our son was born a year after we moved, I missed the community I had when our daughter was born two years earlier. I longed for a playdate that included babies sleeping on the floor, while friends and I talked about the joys and struggles of motherhood.
My four moves growing up taught me that friendships after moving can remain, as long as one is willing to work on it. But in order to emotionally survive a change in location, I needed to build new communities. While Facebook and text messages help me stay connected to geographically distant friends, they are no replacement for Steak 'n Shake nights with my girlfriends and dinners with laughter, good food, and a glass or two of wine.
As a culture, we are getting really good at being connected, but we are miserable at connecting. We need to be better at noticing loneliness and connecting to those who just need someone to notice them and listen to what they have to say-it's a difficult task to open our social circle to someone new, but it can make a critical difference. For example, when we first moved to Texas, our family spent six weeks living in our 30-foot travel trailer while we waited for our house purchase to go through. A college acquaintance invited us over for dinner to get us out of the camper. That single invite led to Easter dinners, impromptu BBQ nights, and a Thanksgiving camping trip. It was the beginning of genuine friendship.
We are social creatures. Some of us need bigger communities than others, but we all need our own "tribe." I love social media because it keeps me connected to friends and family across the globe. But on a bad day, sometimes I just need someone to say yes to a couple hours hanging out at Starbucks while I nurse a Java Chip Frappuccino.
And maybe now that I am finally rebuilding my own tribe, I can occasionally step out of my introverted self to help someone else find theirs.
Written by Sarah Styf
You can let us know your thoughts by clicking here and leaving a comment.
You can let the folks at THRED know what you think by clicking here.
When I got married, I was convinced that I was done with moving. When my husband and I finally settled into our home in Indianapolis, I felt like we were in our "forever" place. We might eventually need a new house, but we would live in the city until at least retirement. I would never have to go through the painfully awkward experience of moving to a new city again.
We celebrated my 30th birthday with our closest friends and our newborn daughter. The next day, my loving husband, who knew the emotional scars that remained from moves during my adolescence, informed me that his boss wanted him to transfer to a new city, two hours away.
I spent the next year trying to mentally prepare myself for the painful task of picking up and starting over.
A year later, we packed up our belongings and moved away from one of my sisters, friends that were like family, a church community that I loved, work colleagues who made my job easy, and a place where I felt I belonged. As soon as we moved, I dove into working on our foreclosure house purchase and grad school classes to distract myself from the fact that I wasn't where I wanted to be. I wasn't very fun company, and I'm thankful that my husband actually stuck around to see me come out of the deep loneliness that settled in.
I reached one of my lowest points shortly after our move, while I was trying to find the bank that was "hiding" in plain sight on a main road just a half-mile from our house. I eventually found it after calling my husband and explaining my frustrations though angry tears. I don't know what exactly was the final straw, but something snapped then and I sat in my car at the ATM, my husband on the other end of the phone, my toddler daughter in the backseat, and screamed the Cadillac of profanities.
I am not proud of that moment of human weakness.
As an introvert, I treasure rare moments alone, the times when I am allowed to just take a step back from everyone and everything and be with my own thoughts, interruption-free. I know that some people do not understand the difference between happily being alone and being lonely, but over the years I have learned that they are two entirely different states of being. Alone time refreshes me; loneliness slowly destroys me from the inside out.
Of course, my introverted tendencies don't always help me cure my loneliness. In my adult life, my husband and I have moved five times, four of them fairly significant distances. Three of those four significant instances, I moved into situations where I already knew people and had some kind of initial connection in my work and church life. Those connections helped to build our community, no matter how small. In the move from Indianapolis, that was not the case. I got along great with my grad school classmates and fellow TAs, but I wasn't hanging out with them outside of our small basement office. My family tried multiple churches over the course of two years before we finally settled into a church we liked. But we still failed to make connections like the ones we had when we lived in Indianapolis. When our son was born a year after we moved, I missed the community I had when our daughter was born two years earlier. I longed for a playdate that included babies sleeping on the floor, while friends and I talked about the joys and struggles of motherhood.
My four moves growing up taught me that friendships after moving can remain, as long as one is willing to work on it. But in order to emotionally survive a change in location, I needed to build new communities. While Facebook and text messages help me stay connected to geographically distant friends, they are no replacement for Steak 'n Shake nights with my girlfriends and dinners with laughter, good food, and a glass or two of wine.
As a culture, we are getting really good at being connected, but we are miserable at connecting. We need to be better at noticing loneliness and connecting to those who just need someone to notice them and listen to what they have to say-it's a difficult task to open our social circle to someone new, but it can make a critical difference. For example, when we first moved to Texas, our family spent six weeks living in our 30-foot travel trailer while we waited for our house purchase to go through. A college acquaintance invited us over for dinner to get us out of the camper. That single invite led to Easter dinners, impromptu BBQ nights, and a Thanksgiving camping trip. It was the beginning of genuine friendship.
We are social creatures. Some of us need bigger communities than others, but we all need our own "tribe." I love social media because it keeps me connected to friends and family across the globe. But on a bad day, sometimes I just need someone to say yes to a couple hours hanging out at Starbucks while I nurse a Java Chip Frappuccino.
And maybe now that I am finally rebuilding my own tribe, I can occasionally step out of my introverted self to help someone else find theirs.
Written by Sarah Styf
You can let us know your thoughts by clicking here and leaving a comment.
You can let the folks at THRED know what you think by clicking here.
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