The Power to Become

Power to Become (From “Quiet Thoughts” by Paul S. McElroy)

“To criticize or to find fault with someone is to fail to see that person in his full possibilities. It is to see his many weaknesses rather than his many strengths…This alienates…To accept people as they are and for what they are, to place confidence in them and to encourage them, is to help them become better than they are. To treat people as if they were what they ought to be is to help them become what they are capable of becoming. Within every person is the capacity to become something greater than he now is. It is possible for each of us to become better and to help others to become what they ought to be.”

Living up or down to the expectations of those around us is a process most of us encounter everyday, whether we realize it or not. Recently, I saw a friend “become what they are capable of becoming” when they were treated “as if they were what they ought to be.” This friend was told by an older man in a position of leadership, who knew her all but 20 minutes, that she had a “God-given talent of leadership.” He told her “you’re either born with it or you’re not and you have it! I can see it! Not everyone is a leader but you have a natural ability to lead and you should use it. You were made to be a leader.” This man set expectations of my friend that she would be a naturally effective leader. He then proceeded to “place confidence in [her] and to encourage [her]” as he appointed her the leader of an operation that would require her to organize, direct and motivate 15+ people to complete an important task. As we might guess, my friend responded to the man’s expectations of her and transformed into a person many of us had never seen before. She was confident, enthusiastic, organized, and overall a very effective, natural leader! Since this day I have watched this friend become what she ought to be, become what she is capable of becoming; she lives everyday like that first day- as someone with a God-given talent for leadership.

When asked about that day my friend will tell you, “Well, when someone tells you that you have a God-given talented for something…you don’t want to let them down. You want to show them that they were right. So you do better.” This is the crux of living up or down to expectations. After my friend found her new life in response to the man’s affirmations, we all applauded her ability to live up to his expectations and become a better leader, as we should have. It is appropriate to celebrate someone who has responded to affirmation and raised expectations in a positive way, yet I find that people do not give much grace or understanding to those who hear harsh criticism and consequently live down to the expectations set of them. We can understand why someone would take positive encouragement deeply into the core of their heart and be compelled to become better because of it, yet we cannot understand how someone could be deeply affected and hurt by criticism that leads to lowered expectations and thus, stunts their progress towards a becoming what they ought to be.

People will make the argument that to truly be what you ought to be is to do so even in the face of criticism by others. It is supposed to be a sign of maturity to become better than we are and live out our full potential despite the low expectations of those around us. We are essentially told to “Buck Up!” and “Prove them wrong!” as to show that we are capable of being our best selves no matter what is raging around us. I agree that to press on and live up to the highest standards despite the fault others have found in us is admirable and should be expected of someone with a certain level of maturity. However, when it is someone we trusted and respected that finds fault, fails to see us in our full possibilities and sees our many weaknesses rather than our strengths…it alienates. This alienation leads to embarrassment, guilt and worst of all, shame. This alienation does not give us the best opportunity to “become what we ought to be.” I think it quite contradictory to applaud the encouraged person for living up to high expectations and simultaneously find fault with the alienated person when they struggle to disregard the fact that those around them have lost confidence in them and lowered their expectations.

I believe that McElroy was on to something. The best way to help someone become better is to treat people as if they were what they ought to be by placing confidence in them and encouraging them. All it took was a few words of affirmation from someone in a position of authority for my friend to realize her ability to effectively lead people. And in the same way, all it takes is a few words of incautious criticism from someone in a position of authority for a person to feel a great deal of shame and alienation.

May I always be someone who is encouraging and edifying to those that I truly care for. May I continue to learn how best to care for those around me and speak with gentleness in moments of observation and reflection so as not to cause them any unnecessary alienation or shame. And in refusal of that alienation may I come along side others, helping them to realize their abilities by treating them as if they already are what they ought to be. May I always set high expectations and enable those that I care for to reach them by providing ample words of encouragement and understanding. May I be cautious as to do everything in gentle love that does not break the spirit, but builds a sense of dignity. Amen.

Together at the Window

I got an email update from Andrea Gibson (spoken word poet/activist/life champion) today. I’m posting it here because I think it’s important, relevant and incredibly powerful.

“Everyone’s life looks so damn perfect on Facebook.   This morning I woke up wishing there was a site called Heartbook.    A site where we don’t pretend to be anything other than our gloriously boring selves.  A site where we post our worst photos beside status updates that say, “This day. Hurts. So much.”  Most of my life would make a terrible poem.  I rarely say anything in a tone that warrants an exclamation point, but damn if I don’t explanation point the hell out of Facebook.  Oh, to be that sustainably energetic!!!! Oh, to be that unflinchingly joyous!!!  

I have a new poem.  It was written for anyone whose internal status update is a heavy harmonica in the hands of a really low year.  In hopes that it brings some comfort.”

 

“Wondering who will be convicted of the crime of insisting you keep loading your grief into the chambers of your shame. You are not weak just because your heart feels so heavy. I have never met a heavy heart that wasn’t a phone booth with a red cape inside. Some people will never understand the kind of super power it takes for some people to just walk outside.

Some days, I know my smile looks like the gutter of a falling house. But my hands are always holding tight to the rip cord believing a life can be rich like the soil. I have never trusted anyone with the pulled back bow of my spine the way I’ve trusted ones who come undone at the throat screaming for their pulse to finally fight to pound.

So the next time I tell you how easily I come under my skin, don’t try to put me back in. Just say ‘Here we are. Together at the window aching for it to all get better.’

But know as bad as it hurts, our hearts may have only just skinned our knees.

Asking this world to dance, even if it keeps stepping on my holy feet….”

Thank you Andrea.

Reclamation of Self: Why I am Still Eight Years Old and Ready to Cure Cancer

When I was four years old I wanted to be an artist. For many years I received paints, crayons, art activity sets and colorful picture books for birthdays and Christmases. This was the first sign of the creative in me. By the time I was eight years old I decided I’d be a doctor and find the cure for cancer. My mom had battled against stage four breast cancer and thanks to surgery, chemo-therapy and radiation, she survived. At age ten I told a boy who used to make fun of me a lot that I was going to be the first female Major League Baseball player. I can still remember him laughing in my face and telling me that I’d never be as good at sports as him because I was a girl. It wasn’t long before I was beating him and many other guys out for a spot on my town’s Babe Ruth Baseball team. At age eleven I told my family that I was going to be the first female president and make a law that would illegalize cigarettes. My dad smoked 4 packs of cigarettes a day for the first 18.5 years of my life. I experienced the destructive nature of addiction to tobacco (which is not to be underestimated) and was ready to do something about it. When I was twelve I told my friend Andy that I wanted to be a famous trumpet player like Louis Armstrong. He told me it would be a lot of work to get there but I never doubted my ability to do it. At thirteen I saw a video on Dr. Paul Carlson in confirmation class and became super passionate about being a missionary doctor someday. I held on to that conviction for many years, dreaming about going to Africa and setting up free medical clinics, offering my services to those who needed it most, reaching the unreached and providing life-saving care. It wasn’t until I was 17 and struggling through honors chemistry that I realized it was never in the plans for me to be a doctor. That spring I began to think more about entering the world of non-profit work. Senior year of high school revealed my ability to lead a team of people, generate enthusiasm and passion amongst that team, and carry elaborate visions of what “could be” all the way through to completion. Under my lead, my council was able to create a new reality within our school and community. We proved that anything is possible when a group of people commit to going “all in” and refuse to give up when faced with challenges.

 

(Kindergarten, 2nd grade, 5th grade. I played baseball from 1997-2006 and softball from 2004-2008)

Up until a year ago, I was excited about working in non-profits, leading people, and working on big projects that would accomplish change and bring justice to those in desperate need of it. In many ways, I still am. But a few years ago, Jesus met me in a huge way and nothing has been the same since. As you can tell from reading the history of my life ambitions, I was born with a deeply held desire to give my whole life for something meaningful. I’ve searched for 21 years to figure out exactly what it is that I will give all of my passion to…and at every step of the way I have been pretty shameless in declaring my intentions to take this world by storm and do “big things.” A year ago, I saw for the first time how God had been working in my life and pushing me closer and closer to this calling all along. All the injustice that has lit a fire inside me, all the challenges I’ve stood up to, all the encouragement my successes have brought me, all the confidence I found in seeing my small dreams become big realities, and all the grace and love I have received from God leave no doubt in my mind; I am called to give my whole life to God and will give all of my passion to seeking justice for His people. There is no more guessing. I will go into ministry.

Though I know the direction in which my life is headed and know that God will be faithful in using me for His will, I have been experiencing a large amount of anxiety in anticipation of my upcoming December 2012  graduation from college and entrance into “the real world.” When asked recently by one of my college pastors what I want to do next January, I did something I really almost never do…I lied. I answered his question with a big, fat, ugly lie…I told him “I don’t know.”

I’ve been asking myself all week why I did it. Why did I say “I don’t know” when I am filled with dreams, passions, ambitions and the audacity to know that God has given me the power to see these things through? When did I become someone who is ashamed to stand up for myself and declare my intentions? Why did the fear of someone’s disapproval, judgment or skepticism prevent me from sharing my dreams? I grew up telling anyone and everyone about my plans to “change the world” and do the “impossible.” I listened to countless people tell me I’d never accomplish whatever it was I had set out for. And every time I proved them wrong. Every, single time. As a kid I ran around telling people I was going to be the first female president and MLB player. I filled myself with righteous passion and determination every time someone told me I couldn’t do something. And I never, ever let anyone limit me. Until now, when I suddenly feel like I’ve limited myself.

The truth is, I said “I don’t know” because I forgot who I was. I let myself be intimidated by the opinion of someone who is doing some of the things I feel called to do in this life. I forgot that I am still eight years old and ready to cure cancer. I am still twelve years old and playing better than the boys. I am still seventeen years old and defying gravity to bring positive change to my community. And I am still just as self-sufficient, relentlessly defiant, and shamelessly tenacious as the first day I ever dared to be powerful in the face of opposition.  Never before have I let another person’s misinformed opinion of me and my abilities hinder me. The moment I substitute anyone else’s “truth” for my own knowledge of myself and my inner strength, I have lost.

God made a fighter: a radical woman with complete disregard for limitations. It’s about time I return to myself. We have dreams to start living.

Kicking to the Surface of the Sea

After finally creating a performance archive last night I realized that I have publicly performed poetry at least 31 times in the past year! It’s incredible for me to think about, especially knowing that 25 of those performances have happened only in the last 6 months. While this is probably an insignificant number compared to poets who go on tour, doing a show every other night, I still feel a big sense of accomplishment when looking back on all the places I’ve been.

I remember the days of being uncontrollably nervous before every little performance. It was a typical case of pre-performance nerves: feeling anxious, feeling perpetually unprepared, and worse of all, not being able to enjoy what I was doing until it was over. I’m sure this experience is very familiar to anyone who performs anything in front of a group of people. Even in high school when I was a serious musician, I never pursued trumpet solo parts too aggressively because I knew I’d rather enjoy the excitement of being on stage performing rather than agonizing over the moment when all eyes and ears would be on me. Still, I never let those nerves stop me from performing and competing. I truly have always loved the art of performance: whether that was on a sports field, in a musical ensemble, in a speech competition, or sharing my poetry etc. This past year of performing so regularly has taught me how to shake the nerves and just enjoy doing what I love. I no longer feel anxious all day before a scheduled performance. I don’t need to over-rehearse and obsess about every line that I fear I might forget. I’ve stopped feeling sick in the hours before I take to the mic. Being a seasoned performer of poetry means that I have the freedom to appreciate every single moment of sharing my work with others.

A few weeks ago I saw Buddy Wakefield perform for a small crowd at Emerson College. Buddy’s poetry holds a special place in my heart and his work has influenced mine greatly. When he gave the audience a chance to ask questions I asked: “So you talk about how you lived out of your car for a few years while touring, how you left your job and took to the road, how you sacrificed a lot for this…what kept you going in those times? Why did you feel like this whole poetry thing was so important to do?” I’ll never forget his response. It went a little something like this:

“One night I was sitting on a couch with a good friend who is also a performer and I asked her the same thing. She said, ‘Buddy, you know why. For the same reason you do.’ And then I realized it was true, I did know why. When it came down to it, I just knew, I really, really believed, that one day – I was going to make it. Once the day came where I finally had the audacity to believe that I had a purpose in this life, I just knew that I had to go for it and  that if I kept going, I would make it somehow. And there came a time in my life where I just had to stop letting people in my life try and hold me down. There were a lot of negative people just keeping me back. And my friend, Tara Hardy, wrote “Tell me that my brothers will forgive me for kicking to the surface of the sea.” And I knew that I needed to get there, to push through to the surface.

For me there is nothing I like to do more than to take a piece from the bottom of the barrel and bring it to a place of light. I come from a lot of dark places. And I just know that there are a lot of things that people are afraid to say. A lot of people who have come from this place of darkness and are trying to get to the light but are afraid to talk about it. So if I can be that voice, and bring things to the light, that’s why I do it.”

Reflecting on all the times I’ve performed in the last year I wonder: Why do I think this is so important? It is uncanny how similar my answer is to Buddy’s. Close friends will often ask about the vulnerability in my work and say, “It must be really scary to just pour your heart out in front of people like that!” and I usually respond with “Well, its ok. I’m really not ashamed of what I have to say. I just figure that I am expressing what everyone else has felt but is too afraid to admit out loud.” And like Buddy, I have also come from some dark places. But I like to think that my poetry is bringing everything to a place of light. Amongst my poet friends, I am known for always taking a turn upwards at the end of my poems. (Check out Children of the Sand or Tiny Fractures if you don’t believe me.)  I too think of my poetry as a chance to express the redemption of all things: carrying what is in the dark into the light with the intent of bringing hope and peace to those who connect with my poems. There are people, myself included, who need to know that that light exists. “This is why I soldier shamelessly.”

And to the question: Why do I keep going? Like Buddy, I know somewhere deep inside me that I am going to make it one day. But “making it” does not necessarily pertain to my poetry endeavors. For me, “making it” means reaching a place of peace that transcends all things and from there, living sacrificially so that others might know how radically they are loved. I am also audacious enough to believe that I have a purpose here on this Earth and for me, that purpose is to glorify God by loving those around me. I continually expose my brokenness, admit to my weaknesses, call out my ugliness and own up to my struggles because one day I believe I am going to “make it.” This process of coming clean and being brutally honest in all things is excruciating. But I do it so that I might finally find the light. Most days, I think I already have.

“This is why I tremble when I dream. How the sunrise feels like an x-ray these days. How my bones show tiny fractures, but no breaks. I am crawling towards a home I have never known learning to fight fear with faith alone. This is my still broken heart crying out a delicate whisper into the darkness. Dear Love, I am singing as loud as I can a most joyous, shattering praise. Hear my prayer. Dear love, love…Love. Amen.”

The Weight of Words

I have always been inexplicably taken with song lyrics. Most people who look at my writing and hear me talk about my need to soundtrack my daily life (always having my iPod on) might not be too surprised to learn that I have been paying an abnormal amount of attention to words and the weight behind them for as long as I can remember. But from the inside out, I still do not understand this attraction to lyrics and I think it goes far deeper than anyone knows or I can explain.

Here’s what I do know: I can remember being 4 years old and crying my eyes out every time I watched the very end of my favorite movie, The Land Before Time. The song that plays over the credits is If We Hold on Together by Diana Ross and the chorus of: “If we hold on together I know our dreams will never die. Dreams see us through to forever. Where clouds roll by. For you and I” caused me to grieve (and re-grieve) the lose of my grandfather who had recently passed away. One day in kindergarten while on the school bus, Celine Dion’s “It’s All Coming Back to Me Now” brought me to tears, much to the dismay of the driver and my classmates. A lot of the adult-like sentiments in the song were over my head, but I had seen the music video and heard the song several times and when I heard that title line: “it’s all coming back to me now” it literally brought back to me all the memories I had of my grandfather who passed.

When I was 6 years old, I remember staring silently out the window of a car full of crazy loud kids reflecting on the chorus of “You Don’t Know How It Feels” by Tom Petty. Again, a lot of the adult sentiments were lost on me but as before, the title line: “You don’t know how it feels to be me” really resonated with me and caused me to close in on myself, my thoughts and my emotions: something I would make a habit of. Around the same age, I was in the car with my dad when the song Last Kiss by Pearl Jam came on which is about a fatal car crash. Again, I started crying. When my dad asked what was wrong I told him I was scared he would die in a car crash like the person in the song. I often worried about my dad who drove to work every night in the dark and through unsafe driving conditions. Hearing the lyrics in that song forced me to confront my fear of losing him.

Around the age of 8 I made my grandmother listen to Everything I Own by Nsync because it made me think of my grandfather and I thought that it might help her cope with missing him too. At the age of 10 right after both of my mom’s parents  passed away within 6 weeks of each other, I called her into my room and played the song I’ll Be There For You by the Moffatts. I must have hoped that the lyrics of the song would speak for me and express what I couldn’t say to her out loud but desperately wanted her to know.

The story continues on in the same way throughout my whole life. I transcribed all the lyrics from numerous songs into my diary as a 5th grader. I spent hours and hours looking up and reading through lyrics in the computer lab in middle school instead of doing my work. I wrote out lyrics in my “agenda book” instead of paying attention. Since somewhere around 7th grade, the time I had my own CD Player, I have sound tracked my entire life. Every stage of my life, every season I have been through is marked by certain songs containing lyrics that express and give a voice to the warring of my soul. Seventh grade was The Used, self titled album. Eighth grade was My Chemical Romance’s Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge. Fall of 2005 was Hawthorne Heights’ The Silence in Black and White. Spring of 2006 was Streetlight Manifesto’s Everything Goes Numb. Junior year was every Dashboard Confessional song ever written. Last spring of 2011 was Sigh No More by Mumford and Sons. When I think back to those particular times, all I can hear are those lyrics. Songs and their lyrics are such an integral part of my life, there is hardly anything that I do without having that soundtrack playing. I always had the music on full blast in my car. I never walk or ride anywhere without my iPod. I sleep to music. I get ready for the day with music. Whenever I am not listening to something happening in the outside world, I am listening to music and internalizing lyrics.

Because of all these things songs/lyrics have the power to dictate my disposition. This was extremely dangerous, especially in 8th grade when the music I listened to and the lyrics I internalized only perpetuated the depression I had fallen into. I have learned to harness the power of lyrics over my mood to effect positive change in recent years. It involves making the conscious choice to listen to encouraging music when I feel overwhelmed instead of losing myself in songs with dark, angry, self-destructive lyrics. But it also means allowing myself to continue to identify with lyrics that express emotions like sorrow, despair and helplessness in a realistic, honest, vulnerable way. Words are my coping mechanism of choice.

Song lyrics have played an unbelievably huge, central role in my formation as an individual and in my identity. Judging from what I’ve shared above, it seems I  have always been excruciatingly empathetic and introspective. The simplest way I know how to explain what goes on inside me  is just to say that I feel things…really, really hard. Going back through some of these stories reminds me that I’ve always been this way, even before I found out it wasn’t exactly normal to agonize over every emotion, question or internal struggle the way that I did. I’ve concluded that I experience the world through “relating.” The primary way in which I seek to understand others is by “relating” their experiences to my own and I consequently often take on the pain and emotions of others. I internalized lyrics as child and continue to do so today because I can “relate” to them,…because they speak to the unrelenting stream of compulsive thoughts flooding my brain all day, everyday.

I’m not saying its a good thing or a bad thing. I don’t know why I took to lyrics as a 4 year old.  I don’t know why words carry such weight with me. But at least it’s led to some good poetry!

Lyrics were the input, read about the output here: You Were Never Meant to Read This

Confident as the Oak Tree, Deep as the Well

On February 15th I performed my first Feature for the Walnut St. Cafe in Lynn, MA. You can read more about that here: "Every 72 Hours." The host of the poetry night, Tony Toledo, took notes during my 30 minute performance that included 7 of my original poems as well as little “talk abouts” in between poems. Tony jotted down words and phrases from my performance that caught his attention and presented it to me at the end of the night as a way to say thank you for sharing my work. What Tony created from my 30 minutes on the mic turned out to be a brilliant, and somewhat cryptic, portrayal of my heart and soul.
Here it it:

Steph Braman

reveal
storm cloud
static, choke, regret 
blind
snakebite
breakeven
feed me
shadow, guilt, honest asking
wash, wake, white flag
postcard, home
broken beauty scene, memories, pull
shameless
Flannel Fridays, innocent hips, barefoot bones
reckless, nameless
a helping hand, Joplin Bound
heart on fire, write it down
glory God, love life
tremble hello, crumble goodbye
shooting stars, gentle thunder
wild wanderings

Comfortable as old jeans
Clear as water
Confident as the oak tree
Deep as the well
Words from your mouth to our heart
paint pictures that will hang in our memory for a long, long time.
Thank You, Steph Braman.

-Tony Toledo (1/15/12)

Check out a video of my performance of "When the Fever Breaks" at the Walnut St Cafe! 

In Light of Being Condemned to Hell

Last night a fellow Christian who I have worked alongside for several months over the past two years told me that he thinks I (or perhaps "non-believers") will spend "eternity in hell separated from God." I cannot help but have a visceral reaction to such hate. Whether I am witnessing discrimination against the LGBTQ community, listening to my peers make jokes about the homeless, or reading internet posts celebrating the death of Osama Bin Laden, hate makes my stomach turn over and my heart break. Being confronted by such a hateful statement last night, especially because it was potentially directed at me personally, was a very painful experience.

This person, who I will refer to as Jack in order to keep his identity anonymous, posted a link on Facebook to an article discussing the ethics of abortions. Underneath the link were several comments between Jack and a mutual friend, I will refer to him as Ben, who were debating the issue. I am not one to engage in internet conflict and see little benefit to debating important issues through a computer screen. I had no intentions of getting deeply involved. At one point, Ben suggested that one of his Christian mentors had been involved in a situation where there was an abortion, and that this decision consequently has lead people to grow closer to God. Jack responded by saying, "It does not change the fact that what was committed was [sin] in the eyes of the Lord and has the potential to separate people from him for eternity." After reading this comment, all I wrote was, "romans 8:38-39 nothing can separate us." I did not expect the response I got from Jack: "If you believe as I do that "us" refers to those who know Christ as our personal Lord and savior and believe with our hearts and have confessed this with our mouth then I agree...if you do not believe this then I think you can and will spend eternity in hell separated from God."

This is heavy stuff. After reading and rereading the comment I cannot tell if Jack was telling me that if I don't believe in his version of "us" then I am going to hell? Or if he was suggesting that if anyone does not believe in Christ as their personal savior then they are going to hell? I can say that in the context in which it was written, it very much read as a condemning statement against me for believing that "us" might mean more than just those who "have confessed this with our mouth."

Before I go any further, I should say that I am the first to admit that I am not a bible scholar. I am not a theologian, a pastor, or even a seminary student. While  I spent from the ages of 12-19 going to church, camp, conferences and retreats it was not until November of 2010 that I fell deeply in love with God. I do not know as much about the Bible as I wish I did. This is my weakness. But I love God with all my heart, soul, mind and strength and I unrelentingly seek his kingdom everyday. I am humbly digging as deep as I can to know who God is and to live out the love that he intended us to bring to the world. This is my strength. I refuse to undervalue my beliefs about who God is and how he works just because I am young and informally educated, as well as admittedly undereducated. God created me to be an intelligent, prayerful woman capable of pursuing truth. I will not let my inadequacies shame me into silence.

After reading this comment I immediately felt physically sick and unsettled. In times of discomfort, confusion and anxiety I have learned that God should be the first place I turn to. So I prayed for Jack. I shed a few silent tears and I asked God to affirm me and give me strength as I know this will not be the last time I am confronted by hatred.

The truth is, when I posted my comment "romans 8:38-39 nothing can separate us." I was using it to suggest that nothing can separate anyone from the love of God. I don't know exactly what Paul was thinking when he wrote this, perhaps he did mean "nothing can separate Christians from the love of God." I cannot speak for Paul, but I can speak for myself and I truly believe that every single person is inseparable from the love of God. In light of this belief, some people have thrown around the term "universalism." I looked it up and Wikipedia describes Christian Universalism as "referring to the beliefs that all humans either may or will be saved through Jesus Christ and eventually come to harmony in God's kingdom." To me, this honestly sounds like the idea of unconditional love, grace and mercy. But I have noticed that this belief is highly stigmatized amongst Christians. If I say that I believe everyone has a place in heaven and that God will never cease to welcome us home, many Christians will label me a "universalist" and discredit me. But why is my belief that God is so good, so powerful, and so merciful as to offer all of us undeserved grace and forgiveness (even if it comes after death) so problematic for many of today's Christians? I personally believe the answer resides in fear. No matter what it may be, I refuse to deny my beliefs about the redemptive power of the gospel for fear of stigmatization. If believing that God is a god who loves unconditionally, redeems any and all things, and extends grace at anytime to anyone is going to illegitimate me within Christian circles…then I suppose I will eat my meals amongst the sinners and tax collectors. I think I prefer it that way regardless.

Jack also asked, "If [you] are referring to "us" as I believe you are, meaning all of humanity, then [how is] Jesus, the Bible, or the christian faith meaningful in the least bit? If nothing can separate us from God then why not live in any fashion we please and believe anything we want?" While I do believe that God offers us never-ending grace and forgiveness for all things, there is still quite a bit of meaning behind Jesus, the Bible and how we live our lives. The "eternal life" (John 11:25-26) that Jesus speaks about does not have to wait until we die, there is life waiting for us here and now. The eternal life that Jesus promises us is full of blessings, justice and love. If we "live in any fashion we please" and bury ourselves in sinful ways, we make the choice to live a life independent and ignorant of the joyful, purposeful life God has intended for all of us. As someone who has lived in rejection of God for quite some time, I can say that this is Hell. Jesus and our faith is relevant in the most meaningful way because without it, we will go through this life feeling unloved, unprotected, and at the mercy of the broken world we inhabit. With a confession of faith and devotion to Christ we are free to live in His love for us (eternal life) and are no longer bound by shame and guilt (hell). Even if we fail to realize how worthy God truly is while we are here on this Earth, I believe that we are still God's beloved children and His grace will bring us home.

Jesus brought a message of love to a broken world. For me, any answer that does not begin and end in love is one that forgets the cross. It seems like a distressingly large amount of Christians are so concerned with how God will love them once they die, that they forget how to love others while they are alive. 

In times like these it is imperative to remember that my hope and faith is in God, not in his people. If my belief in God was dependent on the righteousness of those who proclaim His name, I would have stopped believing a long time ago. But I know that God is good, independent from men. 

Not even the holiest of the holy has control over what will happen to us as we leave this world. We are called to trust God with all things and the eternal resting place of our souls is no different. I know that God is a loving, merciful God and I will trust that whatever He has planned for myself, my friends, my family and the strangers that I pass on the street is going to be redemptive, righteous and perfect.  I will not spoil my heart on conversations condemning people to hell. Instead, I will continually die to myself so that I may be a source of love to those around me in the name of Jesus Christ. I do not know how I will die, but I know how I will live. I will love unconditionally and without judgment.