Putrid Humanity

Dear readers,

I fear that my blog does not provide a fair representation of my true human condition. My blog seems entirely too hopeful, entirely too positive and upbeat. Far too often I am in a foul mood, full of desperation, even anger. Somehow, in these times I am able to keep myself from putting finger to key. You can be assured that I am not always optimistic about the state of the world, not always upbeat about the (comparatively small) trials and tribulations that I face. It is not until the dust settles, and I am able to put a creative, positive spin on the events of my life that I dare tell anyone about the foulness, the putridity of being human that invades my soul on a regular basis.

A while back, I blogged about my grandmother's funeral, about the beautiful sprinkling of first snow that crowned the morning. If I were to have written that entry the same day of the funeral it would have sounded a lot different. My mother was driving me nuts. I had no patience for my husband, who fidgeted through the long catholic church service. My feet were cold and I was miserable. The funeral was nearly unbearable for me. My father was there. I hadn't seen him in 17 years. My uncle had asked him to stay away from us, so he made a childish game of "escaping" every time we would be within 15 feet of each other, and then looking at us forlornly, almost angrily when no one was looking. He was pathetic, almost sheepish, this man that had so much power when I was the child and he was the abuser. It made me hate him even more.

Hate is one of those conditions of putrid human nature that beguiles me. Part of me would like to believe that in this situation, Jesus, in his righteous power, would have responded by zapping him into oblivion, turning him into dust or something along those lines. Another part of me wonders if Jesus would have felt pity on this pathetic form of a man. I certainly did, and acknowledging this feeling only made me angry with myself. I only have a snapshot from which to judge this man, a glimpse of a childhood horror. Jesus can see him as a small boy, abused, ashamed, hurting. Jesus can see him as a man broken, addicted, ashamed. Every time I feel I have forgiven and forgotten this man, I am reminded that forgiveness is not a one time thing, put the nail in the coffin, it's gone now. It sickens me that I must forgive him, over and over and over. Jesus forgives me over and over and over.

To be entirely fair. It was not all terrible either. We left the funeral reception early. My husband, a man whose compassion for an often unruly wife astounds me, was in fine form that day. Without a word being spoken, he grabbed my warm boots from the trunk, drove me back to my grandmothers grave site, and held my hand as we walked across the snowy graveyard to where she was laid to rest. This was the moment that I blogged about. From his compassion I was able to pull some glimmer of hope and grace from this moment.

Perhaps, that is just who I am. I hold on to things, mull them over then finally extract some grain of positivity from the situation, as I try to convince myself that this new positive grasp of the situation is how I really feel. Is this habitual behavior just a coping mechanism? Have I just become adept at putting on a show? Part of me thinks this is true. The same part of me that wants my father to spontaneously combust. Another, greater, part of me believes that this is the mercy of God.

I am a perfectly imperfect example of the duality of the human condition. I am angry, a lot. I am sad often. I hold hate in my heart. I am capable of doing and saying terrible things to the people I love. I am positive. I experience moments of happiness often. Forgiveness and grace dwell in the deepest part of my being. I am capable of loving people so immensely that the world fades away. I guess this being a part of humanity, in all its putridity and beauty, is part of the journey.

Now that I have shared this with you, take heed. As you read my blog, do so with caution. Remember, at the heart of the positive words I share about my journey to change myself and change the world, is my anger, the smell of rotting flesh on battlefields of the DRC, and the faces of children that have gone hungry, been abused, and died at the hands of God's people; most importantly, remember that all of these things are washed in the light that humanity was created in the image of Christ. Amen.

Christmas?

It has been difficult to get into the Christmas spirit this year. My husband and I are usually anticipating setting up the tree before the halloween decorations even go up. November 1st is our normal Christmas decorating day, we dispose of jack-o-laterns and set up the tree, but that did not happen this year. As I set up the Christmas tree last night, fussing with the lights, that would periodically work and then blink and then not work at all, I was feeling very sorry for myself. I kept thinking God, why can't anything ever go right in my life. Why don't these stupid lights work. Can you just give me a break here God?

Alas these questions were not answered concretely, but I did find myself feeling rather foolish for being so sorry for myself. I work for World Vision, each day I see the profiles of literally thousands of children around the world who, in the current global economic condition, are worried about where their next meal is going to come from. Children living with horrible sickness, unable to get the life saving medical attention they need. God's reply in conversations such as these never comes to me in words, it comes to me in the form of a profound "Aha" moment.

I will admit, we have had a string of misfortune lately. My grandmother passed away, the day we returned from the funeral my husband was fired from his job, we both got a very serious case of the flu, my flu progressed into an aggressive lung infection, Phil still doesn't have a job, I start my second job tomorrow, I am exhausted already. All those things suck, but that said, we do have a lot to be thankful for. My husband's job wasn't really that great anyway, and we are learning a valuable lesson about life on a budget, I am getting better with the help of several medications, and my new job isn't really all that difficult, and it is with a great organization, the Salvation Army, so it is going to further my career in the long run. I am thankful. And I do feel like an idiot for my little "episode" yesterday.

Things are tough all over. Feeling sorry for myself isn't going to change our circumstances. Feeling sorry for the 58 children from the developing world who died from poverty related causes while I typed this blog post isn't going to change anything either. Hard work will make a difference. Moments like this help renew my spirit, ignite my passion for creating global change and remind of the true heart of Christ. I have a reason to be hopeful, as I remember why Jesus was sent to earth all of the temporal circumstances that I am facing fade to the background where they belong, and my true calling resurfaces in the foreground. I celebrate that hope. I guess there is some intrinsic value to feeling sorry for myself after all, I learned the true meaning of Christmas. Happy Advent everyone!