Christ is Not the Center of My Life.

In this moment, I couldn't love Jesus more. He is amazing, He's my hero. I love Him, and can hardly wait to be with Him in Heavenly bliss forever.

The prophet Tobit, blind and
praying for his own destruction.

 But He's not the center of my life.

Yeah, I can practically hear the record scratch, see jaws drop, and little old men are all going blind at the sheer unquestionable blasphemy of those abominable words that I just typed across this page. The Hellfire is licking at the corners of all of our screens, now that I've said it. That is, if you haven't punched those screens out from righteous zeal and indigence. How can I dare to claim to love Christ if he's not the center of my life?! Isn't that the tagline for this blog? To "point back to God with a Christ-centered life?"

Same Mess or "Same Crosses," But New Creation in Christ!

As a kid, we all had chores, and naturally my mom would be on us about them. The worst was when we'd do our own particular chore but, because there were eight other people in the house, it inevitably got undone. My mom would point to whatever it was and say "that is the same pair of shoes as yesterday," or "that is the same coat/dish/toy/towel/game/throw pillow as two hours ago!!!" And, knowing that I'd very honestly put those things away, I'd shout "Well, this is the SAME HOUSE! Did you expect the neighbor's shoes?"

I was defensive because, often, she was accusing us of shirking; Mom thought we left work undone and was upset. But I have to wonder if sometimes her source of exasperation was the fact that we make those same messes over and over. It was the same house, the same people living in it, with the same bad habits. I found myself wondering absurd things, like if she'd be happier if the messes were 'nicer' messes, instead of things she was bored with looking at. Or if they were made by less-annoying people: we were raucous and sloppy, and that never changed. Or were in a less-boring house.

Finally Letting Go of Grudges: Our Bitterness Hurts Us, Too.

There aren't many things to talk about at work for me, as I'm finding I don't have a whole lot in common with my co-workers. Mostly, talk about high school, smoking, and PlayStation and Xbox, when I'm more of an "oh-my-Lord, thank you for giving me lungs" and "oh look, Nintendo!" kinda gal. So when a topic floats up that I can relate to, like bizarre customer behavior, I go all in. But their attitudes were little different than mine.

I don't need to talk; my finger tells you I'm angry

A Matter of Nurture: Why the Wound of Homosexuality Claims It's Nature

I've been yelled at by professors, been eaten alive by an area full of students (some I had considered pals) who happen to overhear my thoughts on this, and lost a couple friends who found my opinion just too emotionally unbearable. I've had gay friends disagree, but take it in stride, while straight friends threw absolute fits at the mere suggestion that, no we weren't "born this way." I tried, but I could never get out of them why this suggestion hurt so badly. All I was told was an insult to the dignity of their friends, to the suffering homosexuality attracted individuals had gone through, believing that environment and experiences were the primary determinate for a person's sense of sexuality. They plead that I "just can't know," which is ironic, because they don't know that I do know.