Tag Archives: random thoughts

Spiritual Pruning

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This week, this article became a topic of debate* amongst my peer group:  How Christian America Dies.

DISCLAIMER:  Let’s call out the obvious slant here, lest you think I don’t know the pictures on the wall are crooked.  🙂  This article is from a site called The American Conservative, and the article is written by Pat Buchanan – I make no illusion that this is a balanced reference, nor does it reflect my personal views.  But I want to talk about it anyway, so if you lean the other way, bear with me here.

*Clarification:  When I say “debate,” I mean that someone posts the article on a message board.  The usual participants gather up mud and feces to sling at the “other team,” and very quickly the conversation, if there ever really WAS one, deteriorates into the usual Republicans vs. Democrats, Obama Sucks vs. Obama Saved Us, Christian vs. Atheist, Us vs. Them name-calling.  I should add that this is a “professional” bulletin board.  Working in HR, I can only assume that for some folks, having to be civil for the majority of the day takes its toll, and if these folks can’t spew venom SOMEWHERE, they’ll explode all over an unsuspecting employee, get fired, and become “part of the problem.”  Meh.  I guess trolling is cheaper than therapy.  But I digress.

Anyway.  Back to the article:

“This is a Christian nation,” said the Supreme Court in 1892. ”America was born a Christian nation,” echoed Woodrow Wilson. Harry Truman affirmed it: “This is a Christian nation.”

But in 2009, Barack Hussein Obama begged to differ: “We do not consider ourselves a Christian nation.” Comes now a Pew Research Center survey that reveals the United States is de-Christianizing at an accelerated rate.

Whereas 86 percent of Americans in 1990 identified as Christians, by 2007, that was down to 78 percent. Today only 7 in 10 say they are Christians. But the percentage of those describing themselves as atheists, agnostics or nonbelievers has risen to 23. That exceeds the Catholic population and is only slightly below evangelicals.

Those in the mainline Protestant churches—Presbyterians, Lutherans, Methodists, Episcopalians—have plummeted from 50 percent of the U.S. population in 1958 to 14 percent today. By accommodating the social revolution of the 1960s to stay relevant, mainline churches appear to have made themselves irrelevant to America’s young.

The decline in Christian identity is greatest among the young. While 85 percent of Americans born before 1945 still call themselves Christians, only 57 percent of those born after 1980 do.”

The author (go here if you want to read the article) then goes on to discuss why Christianity is on the decline, and some of his thoughts on the potential consequences.  As you can probably guess, he doesn’t find those consequences favorable.

I’m gonna throw out a differing viewpoint here.

This isn’t how Christian America dies.  This is how Christian America GROWS.

Here’s why.

It’s easy to be Christian when “everybody else is.” Back in the day, it was more of a societal norm. So easy to blend in. “All” schools did Christmas programs.  “Everyone” had a tree.  We all said “Merry Christmas” at the holidays, and the assumption and expectation was that it applied to everyone.  The bandwagon was full, but comfortable.

Things are different now. As a nation, we’ve evolved into much less of a melting pot, where everything has been masticated and homogenized, and more of a delightful stew, where there are hunks of beef, carrots, peas, potatoes, celery, onions, and a beautiful array of spices that make a rich broth unifying it all.

(Side note:  I’m not crazy about peas, and not a fan of cooked carrots.  But I support your right to chuck ’em in the stew – heck, you probably feel the same way about onions, right?  They all come together to enliven the broth that holds this together.  And if I really can’t stomach one more carrot, I can leave it on the side of the plate.)

In the United States today, these divergent (from “traditional Christianity”) viewpoints have become more mainstream.  They’re more common, more outspoken. They’ve come out of hiding and shown their faces to the sun. And in the light and the open air, they begin to take root, to grow, and to thrive.

This changes things for those folks who were so cozily sitting on the bandwagon where everyone agreed on things.  You can no longer assume that everyone is generally going to be supportive of your viewpoint.  In fact, if you come out with guns a-blazing, trying to violently shove your views in someone’s face…it might not go so well.

Your bandwagon is pulling away without you.  You can’t just state your beliefs and expect heads to nod in agreement.  You now need to be prepared to defend and support those beliefs with rational thought and research.

That isn’t going to be easy, especially if you just assumed the belief system you were raised with. Which a lot of us did, frankly.  I suspect that’s why the Christian numbers were higher in the previous generation – it was a family and social thing for many of us.  Mom and Dad took us to church, and we took OUR kids there, too, never really questioning it…it’s just what we DID.

But now it’s time to really dig in and find out WHY you believe what you do, and WHY -or <gasp> IF – it’s the right decision for you.

It’s challenging. It can be frightening. I mean, what if it turns out that everything you ever believed isn’t what you believe anymore? What if it’s no longer true for you?

What if you find out you were…wrong?

As difficult as this can be, this is an opportunity for you to really strengthen your faith.  You can truly challenge your core belief system by digging deeply into your faith, and finding out WHY you believe what you do.  You’ll delve into some readings, explore some scholarly data, read sermons and Bible studies, and talk to pastors. You’ll find out why others DON’T believe what you do, and you’ll likely discover why different faiths make sense.

You’ll prepare yourself to civilly and confidently express a logical, rational position on your beliefs.  (Because, let’s face it – “because Mom said so” isn’t exactly going to get you taken seriously.)

While you’re working through this exercise, one of two things will happen – you’ll either decide that you really believe something else, OR you’ll solidify your beliefs more strongly.

Either way, you’ll grow.

Admittedly, there is some fallout. Not everyone who deeply explores faith comes to the conclusion that Christianity truly represents their beliefs. But, for those that DO arrive there, their faith is undoubtedly stronger.

So, there are fewer, but those that remain are solidly set.

A firm foundation.

It’s like pruning a rosebush. You cut off the parts that weren’t really helping you bloom.

No matter where you land – Christianity, Buddhism, humanism, atheism….or some general sense of “everything is all tied together somehow” – you’ll undoubtedly stand more strongly.  You’ll have provided spiritual fertilizer, water, and sun, and your roots will stretch deeper into your soul.

And – having all of these different belief systems coexisting really gives us the opportunity to find out what we truly have in common. It allows us to dissent peacefully with the goal of deeper understanding. It teaches us that different is just that – different. It can teach us humility and humbleness as we are presented with fresh challenges, additional trials, and new information.

For those of us not secure enough in our spiritual walks to have a healthy discussion, these conversations can lead to insults and hurt feelings. But that exercise does NOTHING to deepen us spiritually as individuals. And in many cases, it’s lead by fear and insecurity. (But whether this applies to YOU or not, I can’t say – that’s between you and your soul/spiritual guide/God/conscience/brain.)

The Founding Fathers came here so that they could worship in the way that made sense for them.  Several of them were reported to be Christians (albeit different denominations), but a couple of them may have been Deists.  Thomas Paine challenged us to step outside the pews and look around a bit.

If we want to support why this nation was founded, we’ll do just that.

So – read, learn, study. Meditate/pray, if it applies. Think. And listen.

Peace, all.

Nominated for the Very Inspiring Blogger Award!

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One of the cool things about chucking your thoughts at the interwebz is the camaraderie and support you get from other bloggers.  There’s a whole virtual neighborhood out here – it’s a place where you can actually pick your neighbors, no less! – and you’ll find a huge variety of folks:  Some just like you and some completely different.  Some old enough to be a grandparent and some young enough to be your grandchild.  Some who write for the love of writing and some who write so they don’t implode, crumbling and falling under the weights they carry.  Some who suffer deeply, some who uplift and shed light everywhere they go, and some who manage to do both.

I am honored to meet you.  And you have no idea how much GOOD you are doing, simply by being here.  You can’t know how much it means when you simply click, “Like.”  It means I’ve been heard.  I’m valid.  And maybe, if I’m lucky, something I wrote resonated with you.

I get so much more from this community than I give.  And today, I see that the very talented cassandrarei has nominated me for the Very Inspiring Blogger Award.  She inspires ME every time she posts!

RULES:
Thank the person who nominated you for the award.

Thank you Cass!  Please keep writing.  You add so much to this community!

Add the logo to your post.

(I love the retro feel.  I feel underdresssed in my Cookie Monster PJs)

VeryInspiringBloggerAward

Nominate ten (10) bloggers you admire and inform them of the nomination.

There are so many talented writers out there….

The Persistent Platypus – love her energy

betternotbroken – sage advice and thoughts

The Ninth Life – inspiring and uplifting

Storyshucker – Just a good read that makes you think!

The Elephant in the Room – A brave soul.

This Little Diary – like the chocolate chip cookie at the end of your meal – just right!

karmasama – bite-sized smiles

theGoodVader – food for thought, and easily digestible

Living to thrive  – great balance of info, inspiration, and hope!

Vogue Infatuation – she lets me get my girly fix on!

<wild applause and standing ovations>

Burying my Inner Athlete

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Historically, I have not been a terribly athletic person.

(Wait. If we break this apart, you COULD say, somewhat truthfully, that if I was athletic, I was terrible at it.  So “terribly athletic” is deceptively close to the truth here.)

I didn’t play sports as a child.  I read books.  Lots of books.  I was a voracious reader with an insatiable appetite.  I remember vividly my mother sending a note to my second grade teacher to please, please allow her daughter to select chapter books instead of picture books.  I guess she got tired of helping me cart twenty books at a time back and forth to school.

So, I spent a lot of time on the couch reading, instead of “playing outside,” whatever THAT was supposed to mean.  My only physical activity, really, was the required “physical education” a couple of days a week in school.

And who here has excellent memories of gym class?

<crickets>

Yeah, me too.

In elementary school, gym wasn’t too taxing, really.  We all looked forward to the days where the gym teacher would roll out the big parachute, and we’d flap it up and down together, taking turns running underneath the bright, billowed canopy. (If your school didn’t do this, you totally missed out.  Trust me.)

I looked less forward to the mandated “square dancing.”  Let’s face it, no one wants to dance with the class egghead. Even in third grade, no one picks the smart girl to dance with.  Especially if she has glasses, braces, and an awkward haircut.  And ESPECIALLY especially if she’s chunky.  Or just plain fat.

It wasn’t just dancing where I was picked last.  That was the protocol for pretty much any team sport – in elementary school, this was largely kickball.  Of course, I couldn’t kick, I couldn’t run, and I couldn’t catch.  (Last-picked loser trifecta!)  I tried to stand in the outfield, sending anti-ball vibes to the kicker.  Fortunately, when you’re seven or eight, no one can really kick it much past 2nd base, so I didn’t screw up any big plays.

In middle school, there were new challenges.  I was still fat – when we were lined up for our scoliosis test (you remember, where they lifted your shirt up and drew down your spine with a ballpoint pen?) and they weighed us, I was the kid on the scale when they moved the “big weight” from 50 to 100.  I remember some gasps.  I remember my classmates’ eyes widening.  I remember that odd sensation of feeling so big and yet so small, all at the same time.

Gym class was harder in middle school.  They actually expected you to DO things.

Pushups.  (To this day, I still can’t do a single one.)

Pullups.  (You’re kidding, right?  I can’t even do a pushup.  What gravitational miracle do you think is going to transpire once you move the chair?)

Climbing the rope.  (HAHAHAHAHAHA.  No.)

And…group showers.  Yep, it’s not bad enough that you’re at least thirty pounds heavier than your classmates, and the only one who needs a bra*, but now, two or three times a week, you’re expected to CHANGE CLOTHES and SHOWER – NAKED – in front of other people.  Funny, I don’t actually remember what anyone else looked like.  I just remember feeling…big.  Naked and big.  Like the Darci doll in a world of Barbies, it was clear I didn’t fit in this toybox.

*Ah, my first bra.  In 5th grade, I distinctly remember asking my mom for a bra, because it hurt to run in gym class.  Mom said I was too young (even though I needed to shave my pits, WHATEVER MOM) but reluctantly took me to the local Ben Franklin to try some on, since I insisted.  I walked out with a 36B.  Mom was, and still is, a 34A.  Totally blew her cups out of the cabinet at the ripe age of 10.  That had to be…awkward. 

In high school, the stakes got higher.  By now, we had some decent athletes among us.  I was not one of them.  (OBVIOUSLY.  I think we’ve established this.)  But, our gym teacher coached track, volleyball, and a few other sports I don’t care about, so she used gym class to condition her hopefuls for the sport in season.

In the fall, it was track.  She had a cross-country course all laid out for us – leave the high school, turn left at the bottom of the hill*, run in front of the elementary school, across the field to the middle school, do a lap at the track, and then back up the hill to do four laps in the gym (as well as some bleacher climbs, pushups, cartwheels, pole vaults, or some other thing that clearly was not going to happen.)

*Our high school hill was legendary.  When it snowed, people came from all over the county to sled down it – well, before there were six lawsuits for every light pole and before helmets were even an afterthought.  It wasn’t truly winter until someone busted a bone doing a total yard sale out of a plastic saucer shooting down High School Hill.

In the winter, we moved the fun indoors…to swimming.  Humiliation, Boss Stage:  you now have to parade around ALL of your peers, boys AND girls, in a <gasp> SWIMSUIT.  (Oh, the horror!)   

And to add insult to injury…remember I said I wore glasses?  I am EXTREMELY nearsighted.  I am “butter the toast, get butter on my nose” nearsighted.  I am so nearsighted that if I hold a book up to my face to read, I have to close one eye, because if one eye can focus on the type, the other eye is too far away to see it.  Yeah.  THAT nearsighted.

So one day I’m standing by the end of the pool, waiting my turn to do a 25-yard crawl.  The gym teacher is at the midpoint.  She’s telling people when to go, spacing us out so we don’t crash into one another.  (Really, I should just go last.  No way I’m catching up to anyone in front of me, and I won’t slow the group down if I’m on the tail end.)

I’m shivering by the edge of the pool, ready to dive in.  I’m waiting, and waiting….nothing.

I yell out to her, “Do you want me to go?”

Nothing.

“Mrs. A!  Should I go now?”

Silence.

After a couple of rounds of this, I relax my stance.  I step away from the edge of the pool.  Clearly, something is wrong, and I’m not swimming any time soon.  (Boo hoo, I’m crushed.)

Then about five minutes later, she’s IN MY FACE yelling at me.  Whu…?  Well, apparently, when I was standing there asking her “can I go?  how about now?” – she was WAVING AT ME to go.  And I kept standing there asking “Do you want me to go?  Do I go now?” while she was waving at me.  The one who LITERALLY CANNOT SEE PAST HER OWN NOSE.  Comedy of errors, anyone?

Worst part is, she totally didn’t believe me that I couldn’t see.  (Gah, I hated that b!tch….)

So that was my introduction to what it meant to be physically fit.  Suffice it to say I didn’t actively seek out exercise of any kind for most of my adult life.  When you’ve spent twelve years being told you’re absolutely terrible at something, you usually quit doing it.

But marry a self-loathing for your body with external criticism about your lack of physical abilities and it’s no wonder, really, that you give birth to a whole family of food issues and eating disorders.

My upbringing and my experiences worked together like well-meaning grandmothers to knit together a robe that I was all too happy to slip on.  It was comfortable and familiar, and I clung to it like a favored baby blanket, reluctant to let go of the security it gave me.

I didn’t ever think about whether I LIKED dragging the old, tired garment around.  It was simply a part of me, and I kept it close long after I should have outgrown the ratty thing and chucked it in the rags bin.

Even now, as I’m working to recover, I can only set the blasted thing down long enough to wash it periodically.

For some reason, I’m unable to get rid of it – this blanket of poor body image, of uselessness, of self-doubt and criticism, stitched with fat-feeling threads on seams that are never thin enough, and finished with a band of anxiety and depression.

I know I don’t NEED it.  That’s just silly.  Right?  But yet, I keep slipping it back on over my shoulders – when I’m stressed, when I’m tired, when I’m frustrated.

I’m just starting to realize that it really doesn’t fit all that well, and the colors are all wrong for me.  But I think it’ll be hard to throw away until I find something to replace it.  Hopefully, something woven from joy, love, and contentment, with a soft lace border of peace.

Fowl Play in the Workplace

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And now for something completely different….

I work just outside of a major metropolitan area.  But, like most cities, we’re fairly compartmentalized – once you get outside of the beltway, you’re in the wilderness fairly quickly.  We’re only about 10 miles from a large city, but very quickly, the 4-lane highway dissolves into a two-lane road, and you’re driving past fields and farms in short order.   When we have visitors coming out to the facility, part of my directions include “drive past the chicken farm and over the train tracks, then turn left.”  And the directions are accurate.  There is a legit free-range chicken farm not 2 miles from work.  Unlike the legend, these chickens seem to know better than to cross the road…

…unlike the turkeys.   But more on that in a sec.

Over the last few years, our metro area has had some challenges with an overrun of Canadian Geese.  The geese are awful.  They’re loud:  HONK HONK HONK EVEN AT FREAKING 6 AM YO.  They’re messy:  They leave droppings everywhere – on walking trails, in parking lots….and these are large birds, so they leave a LOT.  And they’re extremely territorial:  Once they decide to nest somewhere – a watershed, a man-made lake, the base of a light post, between lanes at the bank drive-up window, RIGHT OUTSIDE YOUR WORK EXIT…you can forget about using that space for anything else.  They’ll hiss, honk, chase, AND BITE you to get you to stay away.  Trouble is, some ding dong marked these suckers as “protected” – so you can’t (legally, coughcough) shoot them.  So they crap all over everything and terrorize us as we DARE cross the pavement trying to get to the safety of our cars.   Fortunately for me, I can move pretty quickly in 4″ heels, so I haven’t been pinched in the calf by a ticked-off goose…yet.

Since it’s finally looking like spring around here, unfortunately, the geese are starting to come back.  However, to their credit, the geese have acclimated to people enough to understand traffic, for the most part.  They generally tend to stay off the roads, save the occasional exception where a family is crossing with hatchlings.  SUPER FUN when you’re late to work and all four lanes of the beltway come to a screeching halt to avoid flattening the baby pest parade.  <eyeroll>

So, while we’re used to the geese, we seem to have a new addition to the wildlife assortment this year:  wild turkeys.  I suppose they’ve always been in the area, but for some reason (global warming?  food foraging?  running for office?) they seem to be more prolific as of late.

On Monday, I left for work feeling pretty accomplished – because, this past weekend, we FINALLY took down our Christmas tree.  (Yeah.  I know.  I procrastinate, what can I say?)  But my mood went south as I noticed that my 25-mile commute was heavier than usual.  With the arrival of spring comes the return of everyone’s favorite travel season…ROAD CONSTRUCTION.  So one of the major highways I take was reduced to two lanes.  The annual appearance of orange (just like the first winter snow, first thunderstorm, or any display of flashing lights) turns everyone into a COMPLETE FREAKING MORON.  In this state, we merge “zipper style.”  This means that you use ALL lanes up to the merge point, and then take turns merging.  Believe me, this is CLEARLY marked and there are signs ALL OVER THE PLACE, but I swear, once you put people in the safe cocoons of their cars, they lose both natural fear of being struck AS WELL AS THEIR FREAKING MINDS.  So merging (which the locals cannot figure out; it’s not car dancing, SOMEBODY @$#$%!NG GO ALREADY) slows everything down for miles and (obviously) gives me mild road rage.

<pausing to breathe slowly into a paper bag and go to my happy place>

So once that was behind me, and I got off the main highway, I was surprised to find a similar backup at a traffic light a few miles later.  The cause of this backup?  A very confused turkey.  Right in the middle of the intersection.  Poor thing was just wandering around aimlessly, taking its time going absolutely nowhere, and having no clue (or care) that it was making pretty much everybody irritated and late.

I eventually got to work.  (Fortunately, no one cares what time I get there.)  And as I was juggling my coffee, my smoothie, my giant purse, and my lunch as I headed towards the front door, I found that we had a visitor.

TurkeyPretty, isn’t he?

So on Monday, he just wandered around the main entrance.  He watched people as they came and went, and was generally a source of entertainment for everyone.

On Tuesday, Luke (come on, he TOTALLY looks like a Luke, doesn’t he?) was back…a little bolder, a little badder.  He decided to engage us all in a game of hide-and-seek that no one knew they had been invited to play.  The rules:  Hide behind something – a car, a transformer – and when a person comes by, jump out in front of them.  Fortunately for me, I have a main-floor office right by the front door, so I got to watch several folks jump out of their skins as they turned the corner and were face-to-face with a giant bird.

After most of our employees had arrived for the day, he decided, like most good performers do, to up the ante.  He flew up to the roof of the building (OK, I knew turkeys could fly, but up to a 3rd story?) and proceeded to sing us the Song of His People.  For his stage, he chose the corner just above the (ironically appropriate) CEO’s office.  GOBBLEGOBBLEGOBBLE GOBBLEGOBBLEGOBBLE…for a full half-hour as he splayed his feathers and strutted back and forth, showing off for everyone.

Unfortunately, Luke’s thirst for danger was increasing.  On Wednesday morning, I got a report from our 2nd shift customer service department:  the night before, when one of our new hires went outside for a quick smoke, Luke decided to turn hide-and-seek into a game of tag.  He managed to chase this poor woman around the corner – and when she screamed and jumped up on the picnic table, he followed her there, as well.  (I am VERY SAD that our security camera cut off the feed as she turned the corner.  VERY. SAD.  Why have a security camera system if you can’t catch instant YouTube classics like this?!)

Time for a strategy meeting.  (Because, when you work in HR, turkey removal is part of your job description, right?!)  My suggestion – that we blast him with pepper spray and roast him over a company bonfire – was rejected.  (Why?  People are starving in this country, folks!)  We decided to ask our publisher (our company owns and runs a hobby magazine as well) what he might do, because our publisher is one of those absent-minded-professor-crossed-with-a-hipster types who is quirky, deeply intelligent, has both an extensive vocabulary and an insanely quick wit, and has had a deeply rich and fascinating life and knows something about pretty much everything.  So we figured he’d be our best bet in turkey eviction.

He responded to the challenge immediately, with enthusiasm and vigor.  “No no NO!  You CANNOT let the turkey chase people.  It has now established dominance over people and will never leave.  You can’t run from it. You gotta be BIG, you gotta be LOUD, and you need to BE THE ALPHA!”  He then stomped into the lobby and grabbed a six-foot walking stick that was inexplicably leaning there against the grandfather clock (seriously, the random things you find in family-owned businesses) and rushed outside.

Luke was strolling at the side of the building.  The publisher glared at his target.  He sturdied his stance, as a baseball player staring down a star pitcher, mentally preparing to hit a home run.

He shook his hips, and beat the stick onto the ground, once, twice…three times, eyeing his opposition menacingly.

Then he raised the stick over his head, screaming a battle cry that he probably learned from studying ancient Viking slaughter rituals, and took off full force after Luke.  “GAAAAAAAAAA GAAAAAAAAAAAAWWWWWWWWWWWWW GAAAAAAWWWWW”

Right in front of the executive suite, and in full view by the conference room holding a meeting with international vendors.

I love privately held companies.

Luke ran around in circles for a bit, attempting to charge some onlookers, but they gamely stood firm in “looking big”.  Defeated, Luke flapped his wings and retreated to the roof.

Twenty minutes later, Luke waltzed up to our main entrance and took a massive dump just outside the door.  (“Oh look!  He signed up for direct deposit.”)

Since chasing the turkey with a stick proved to be SUPER EFFECTIVE (uh…notsomuch) a couple other folks decided to give it a shot.  (We’re always looking for creative and innovative (read: free) additions to our wellness program….)  One lady, bless her heart, just wasn’t in peak turkey-pursuit condition.  Luke barely glanced at her over his shoulder, slowly taking a couple half-hearted steps away from her as she waved the stick, approaching him with what can best be described as a very determined stroll.

As she quickly ran out of breath, she passed the stick to our champion athlete (he rollerblades marathons for fun.  FOR FUN.)  This dude, as lean as the stick he wielded, ran back and forth across the grassy areas of the site for a good twenty minutes, waving the stick, and dodging and weaving like someone avoiding gunfire (just to keep the turkey guessing…?  I cannot imagine what was going through this turkey’s head.)  Eventually, he managed to successfully chase Luke off the property and across the street.

He was back an hour later, pecking at dead bugs off everyone’s license plate, looking up and gobbling at me through my window every time a train went by.  (Even the turkeys complain about the working conditions.  Sheesh.)

Sadly, it was time to admit defeat.

But not for long….wild turkey season opened on Thursday.

I like to think that Luke retreated and went into hiding, and that he’ll come visit us again one day.  Maybe we’ll try to coax him out of hiding to come say hello at our next board meeting.  Judging by what the board said about my last compensation proposal, I think he’d really bond with a couple of our members.