Afraid of the Pagans

I am afraid of the pagans... or the heathens... depending on your definition.


Did I really say that out loud?

All my life, I've grown up fairly sheltered, in a Christian home. A good home.  A religious, Jesus-loving, Bible-thumping home.

And I sincerely loved Jesus and started talking to Him on my own from the time I was about 3 years old.  Feel free to think that I was brainwashed, but I know that I haven't been talking to myself all of these years.
 
But when I read an article this week, How To Raise A Pagan Kid In A Christian Home, it shook me.  And it also resonated with my deep belief that I don't want to shove Christianity down anyone's throats - including my kids' throats.  I want it to be real - so real that my kids don't need to be prodded and pushed and forced and coerced - but that they actually WANT to know the same Jesus that I profess to know because they actually SEE IT displayed in my life in an appealing context.

However, I've sheltered my kids.  I don't necessarily feel bad about all of it - I mean, it's not like I should turn on a porn channel and say "Hey kids, this is the kind of crap there is in the world, so get used to it!".  But I've been careful - really careful.

My "sheltered" kids climbing on the fence to talk to a neighbor.

Today we ran into an old neighbor (a child, around 11 or 12) and her eyes lit up with recognition when she saw us.  I wouldn't say she came from the best of homes, but I also wouldn't say her home was bad.  They rented the house across the street, and the mom had a boyfriend living with her and then another suspiciously dead-beat sort of guy sleeping on their couch, and they had their parties... TV blaring all the time... that kind of stuff. 

I would let her hang out at our place, but in limited measure.  Truth be told, I was nervous... what if she influenced my kids for evil?  What if she taught them bad words or told them about "bad" movies that she was allowed to watch?  What if she sang non-Christian songs to them... songs written by people like.... Justin Beiber!?!  (ha ha... you know I had to throw that in there!)

So when I saw her today, my heart melted a little.  I've personally been going through a lot of changes, and have been doing a lot of assesment of my beliefs and behaviors - asking myself questions like "Why do I act this way?.. respond this way?... etc."  Basically, I'm trying to figure out if my actions really line up with what I think I believe in my heart and if I'm being honest, it doesn't always translate properly.  I'm not exactly who I think I should be according to my beliefs and desires.  I've definitely got a ways to go...

Perhaps my present day actions and responses are merely the response to being afflicted with the homeschooled-religiously sheltered mentality that I was given in my growing-up years.  But I'm not throwing out the baby with the bathwater.  I homeschool my kids, yes... but my primary reason is not to "shelter" them and keep them from the big, bad world.  I love the freedom it brings us as a family, when we can learn and grow - creatively, unhindered, together.  (But that is a subject for another blog.) However, when I was in high-school, I definitely felt that one of the reasons I was homeschooled was to shelter me.  (And my parents had their reasons, and I do respect them for all their efforts!)

Yet, when I look at the Jesus we see in scripture, the Jesus of the Gospels, I see someone who unreservedly enjoyed ALL manner of people.  Especially heathens.  Maybe even pagans (insert winking smiley face here!).  He was accused by the religious people of being a winebibber and a glutton (see Matthew 11:19).  In today's standards, that might be translated as Jesus being accused of being a party animal and a pot-head! (Or maybe a foodie!)

So I'm left with this thought about my perspective:  something is messed up.  What is it that I fear?  Why couldn't I freely open my home to a (then) 8 year old child who just enjoyed the rowdiness of my full household?!  What is it that makes me freeze up when I'm talking to... gasp!... non-believers?!

I know one thing... I don't want to come across as arrogant.  I don't want to be self-righteous like the Pharisees whom Jesus called out time and time again for their hard hearts and their blatantly unloving (godless) behavior. 

So the answer to that is humility, and love.  I'm not on this earth to call out people's wrong-doings.  It's just not my job.  Christians, the Bible is pretty clear that the only ones who we should be ragging on for bad behavior is the people who actually profess to be believers... the ones who should know better!  (See 1 Corinthians 9:5-13)  

What else?  I'm also afraid of not knowing what to say.  I'm afraid of being stumped when someone asks me to defend my faith.

Should that keep me from being engaged in relationship with people who believe differently?  No.  I hope not.  On one hand, I would hope that if I'm speaking with grace and humility, as well as speaking from my personal experience - that I don't have to have every "i" dotted and every "t" crossed.  On the other hand, I'm not saying that personal study isn't important... but it would be pretty ridiculous to avoid all conversations of potential contraversy and challenge until you feel that you are fully educated in every area of doctrine, theology, eschatology, ecclesiology, and every other "ology" that there is pertaining to scripture.

Let's bring this full-circle.  I stated my fear of heathens.  This realization and admittance is embarrassing.  I really love some "so-called" heathens and I know the world is full of wonderful, kind, compassionate "heathens".  Do I personally believe that they need Jesus?  Yes.  Do I need to treat them like they have the plague and I should avoid them at all cost?  No.

My challenge, (and really I am challenging myself,) is to be REAL everywhere I go, with everyone I meet.  I don't need to hide my Christianity, but I also don't need to use my "religious words and sayings" as a battering ram against those who don't believe.  If my Christianity is real... it will speak for itself in my actions, deeds, family, lifestyle... and in my love.

To take it another step... and I do so with much trepidation... if my Christianity is real, then my kids don't need to be lectured continually on how "moral" and "Christian" they should act, but they will absorb and ascertain for themselves the truth of a relationship with God, if I am indeed living a life that cries for relationship with a heavenly Father and is not just about following a rulebook.  That means I shouldn't be afraid to be kind and loving, and to open my home to all kinds of people.

Now hang on, it doesn't mean I have to allow my neighbor's kid to bring over "The Exorcist" and have a movie night with my children... 3 year old included!  For sure there is an element of common sense.  But what I recognize in myself (and I could be the only messed-up Christian who feels this way) is an unnatural fear of "badness" seeping into my household. As if my beliefs are that innocuous and tepid that they could be plowed over by a couple swear words and mildly lascivious behavior that might be displayed in my home by a... heathen.

I recognize that this has become a rather long post.. though it still seems incomplete to me.  So if you've followed me thus far, my concluding thought would be... liberty.  A Christian life is meant to be a free life.  Romans 8 talks plenty about being freed from the "law of sin and death".  If we are truly free, then what have we to fear?  Certainly not our neighbor who just wants to chat about kids and the crazy weather and how their in-laws are coming for Christmas. 

In the words of Jesus "Love your neighbor as yourself."  Since I don't live in a commune (yet!) my neighbors include a lot of different people...  even some heathens.  So I'm committing myself to be more open, friendlier and less fearful as I continue this life-long journey.

Runaway

I have always wanted to run away from home.

I'm serious!  Almost as far back as I can remember, there were plans made, partially carried out, but never totally completed as I sought to run away.

I remember when I was about 8 or 9 years old, and I was fed up with living in a city and seeing my dad work long, hard hours all the time.  I didn't have the freedom to run wild in wide open spaces, and I figured I should run away and live in the woods somewhere.  I believe I had just finished reading "My Side Of The Mountain" by Jean Craighead George, in which a young boy leaves his city life, runs away and "lives off the land" by himself for many months.  At any rate, I was convinced that my life would be so much better, and that I wouldn't have to deal with people who didn't like me or didn't understand me, if I could just be one with nature.  I packed a backpack, stuffing in a blanket and pillow and a few articles of clothing, and started the trek down to the corner of my block.

Once I reached the crossroads (at the end of my block) - the place where I would have to decide North or South; left or right, I paused and began to consider my "running away idea" a bit further.  For one thing, the weather wasn't the greatest at the time.  Also, supper was in an hour, and I was hungry.  I made some halting steps forward, attempting to plunge into my new life of "wilderness girl", then I would reconsider and turn back towards home -  until, finally my appetite and reasoning took over and I sheepishly sneaked my things back into the house and gave up on the idea altogether - for the time being.

By the time I was 12 or 13, and filled with teenage angst, feeling that my parents "sucked" and didn't understand anything (ha ha... now I'm the parent, and I see things a little more clearly!) I began to plot my escape from home once again.  This time, a friend and I planned to run away together.  We made our elaborate escape plan, talking of how we'd jump onto a Greyhound bus, and go to Vancouver, where her dad lived.  Everything would be better there - we could have brand new lives and be whoever we wanted to be.  Life would be one big party.  Time and time again, we devised our perfect get-a-way; how I would tell my parents that I was sleeping over at her house, and she would tell her parents that she was at mine- then we would escape!  Somehow, we (thankfully) never had the guts nor the money to go through with the plan, and although something in me desperately yet foolishly desired to run away, I didn't follow through.

A couple years later, when I was 15, the plot thickened.  I was on a church youth mission trip to England and Scotland, and I was still a mixed up, misunderstood teenager who just wanted to get away.  While it was a relief to be so far from home, in a foreign land where everyone spoke with charming accents, I dreaded returning to my life back in Canada.

We were waiting for a train -  piles of baggage spread out in the terminal, with tired teens stretched out; some snoozing with their heads resting on their backpacks.  I remember eating a delicious peanut butter-chocolate ice cream bar, and gazing out at the enormous trees in the distance and the gorgeous brick and stone buildings.  And I thought to myself:  I could just walk away right now.  I'll just take my backpack, pretend to head towards the loo (bathroom) and I'll disappear.

Really, one of the only things that held me back was the idea of just how much trouble my youth leaders would be in once it was found out that I was gone.  I wasn't so self-centered to think that my actions wouldn't result in consequences beyond myself, and I didn't relish the thought of these innocent youth leaders being torn apart by my dad (with his bare hands).  So I couldn't go through with the escape.  After another few days of adventure, I was homeward bound - back to my world, my life... back to me.

Somehow, I grew up a little, matured a little and adjusted to my life.  Instead of running away from home, I began to go for jogs and would run away - even just for an hour or so.

Eventually, I was "grown up" and in my first year of Bible College and I met a guy.  Well, I didn't meet him there - in fact, I'd already known him for a few years, but I suddenly saw him with new eyes.  So the dating began, and the intimate conversations and opening up my heart - learning to trust.  One weekend, he took me home to meet his family.  By this point we were quite "serious" and knew that this was no ordinary friendship, but one destined to be life-long.  Amid the noise and laughter and chaotic abundance of family, I felt small and intimidated.  His family was larger than mine, and having 3 boys in the family (and one older sister) caused plenty of ruckus and activity.  After a rather loud family dinner, we sought to get away and have some time to ourselves, and I think my sweet boyfriend wondered what had made me so moody.  We went for a walk on the quiet streets of his sleepy home-town, and I told him how overwhelmed and intimidated I felt.  Something inside me felt scared - scared of this bursting forth of emotions and conversation that flowed easily, without hesitation.  My family wasn't really like that.  We were quiet, civilized, reserved.  We didn't have yelling matches (camouflaged as friendly debates) at our dinner table.

And then, I played the "immature girl" card and I ran.  I took off from my befuddled boyfriend, legs stretching and feet rhythmically pounding on the bumpy, semi-rural road as I tried to escape something... attempting to run from the feeling of  vulnerability that accused and intimidated me.

The very one who I should have trusted the most, said that my actions scared him - suddenly I was like a skittish colt - wild, terrified and on the run.  When I finally settled my tumultuous emotions, I turned around and headed back to the one who wanted to understand me and care for me.  I found him: walking the streets searching for me, and praying for me.  He held me close and made me promise to never run away from him again.

When I married my best friend, 10 months later, I promised to stay with him forever, and I put my running shoes away (for a while).

Still, occasionally I have the fleeting thought to run away from my life.  I might be simply headed out on a grocery trip, the kids left at home with their dad, and me - alone for the moment; away from the needy, away from the weight of responsibilities.  Something will pop into my head and say:  Just take off!  Grab some cash from the ATM and disappear!  RUN!!!

But I don't.  I know better.  I know that I can run as far and as long as I want, but I will always have myself to contend with.  I now know that this "runaway" tendency comes from within and not from my circumstances.

This runaway heart has been seeking contentment for a long time.  I've learned that contentment isn't found in the car you drive, the neighborhood you live in, the body-type you struggle to maintain (or attain) and it isn't even found within any human relationship - because people just can't meet all your needs; they can't be your savior no matter how badly you may want them to be that in your life.

Who can whisper calm and quiet into my racing heart?  Who can vanquish the whirlwind of fear and discontent that threatens to drown me time and time again?  Who can stop me from thinking that the only answer is to run away?

Ironically, I have been finding the answers when I run.  No, I'm not running away anymore, rather I'm running to:  I run to escape my worries, and to find the calm of Almighty God's presence.  I run to find quiet in my soul.  I run to simply be set apart from my thoughts, my selfishness and my puny perspective - to find peace, sanctity and refuge.

I run for dear life to God, I'll never live to regret it.  Do what you do so well: get me out of this mess and up on my feet. Put your ear to the ground and listen, give me space for salvation.  Be a guest room where I can retreat; you said your door was always open! You're my salvation - my vast, granite fortress    -Psalm 71:1-3 The Message

Something inside me will always be a runaway.  But now I run with purpose; I always return home, and I never come back feeling the same as when I left.

It will be okay (but God is waiting to hear from me)

I haven’t talked to God about this yet. I prayed so much during the entire situation; I was confessing the Word, standing on my rights as a believer in Christ.
When I was in the hospital, in the middle of the night, I had gone to the bathroom and ended up passing out and falling down, hitting my face on the floor. I called out to God. Nothing felt real.
I sang to myself over and over in bed, caressing my lower abdomen with my hands, singing a children’s memory verse song that my kids listen to: “You knit me together in my mother’s womb…I praise you, I praise you… You knit me together in my mother’s womb. Because I am fearfully and wonderfully made… I praise you, I praise you… Because I am fearfully and wonderfully made.”
Over and over I sang. It was all I could do. I just had to believe that God was taking care of my baby.
Do I feel let down? I don’t really know. I guess I just feel like something was wrong with the baby, and it couldn’t survive in this world.
Part of me feels so sad though, and guilty… like I didn’t want the baby enough. Like maybe I didn’t try hard enough or get serious enough as soon as the bleeding started.
Yet I knew the facts. I knew that if a miscarriage is going to happen (in the first trimester) that there is nothing ANYONE can do. I know in my head that this really isn’t my fault. There is just a sadness in me though that wonders “why?” and wishes there was more I could do.
I don’t know when I’ll be able to talk to God. I don’t want to get angry at Him, but I still wonder why this happened. Why does an innocent, very much wanted and anticipated baby have to die? Especially when there are hundreds of thousands (maybe more) babies who aren’t wanted and are aborted every year. I wanted this baby! I would have loved it! I’ve got kids who would have adored it, cared for it, welcomed it into the family with happy hearts and open arms!
I think God is waiting for me. And He certainly is big enough to handle my outbursts, fear, and pain – even accusations. I sense that He is there, waiting to comfort me. But I know He is patient. He understands that I don’t feel ready. I’m scared to face this, and face the feelings inside of me. I’ll talk to Him soon though. I know that despite the agony and uncertainty and fears that I have; I know that I will ultimately be okay.