faith of Chinese farmers & that Christian

Somewhere, somehow I became that Christian. 

The one signing up for community service, but doesn't really need to the label of Christ-follower. The fashionably informed kind drinking free-trade coffee with soy milk, talking about this authentic, interesting book discussing the trials of Christians on the other side of the world. The one who would show up to drink the Kool-Aid, but refused to live on the compound.

Not an atheist, because I believe there is a God. I even believe He loves me. But not really a believer, either.

See,God said He has it all worked out, but the things He said don't make sense. If He was all perfect and right and infinitely wise, why can't He figure out a way to convey that in a way I get? I'm not asking for parted water or even universal health care. I just need my small, quiet life to work.

Not feeling like I'm trying to iceskate uphill in the middle of a blizzard would be a rockin' good start.

I tried not being a Christian for a while. In college, Buddhism beckoned, simple and pure. 

Kneel here, and stay. 

Be. 

The answers will come, or you will burn off enough dukkha to understand. 

There is a place, a goal, a point. 

So what if I have to burn off my individuality to get there? And really, who wouldn't want to surrender suffering to the universe, especially if it meant not having to feel anything?

Me, actually. Blame my family of engineers and intimate groups of overachievers, but if I'm going to hurt and strive for years during this lifetime alone, I need it to show for something.

I need more than a goal. I need a destination, a place to rest. 

Where the struggles strengthen others, and I am not one of tapioca-same millions or billions who decided feeling nothing was a just reward for feeling things they didn't like. 

And couldn't control.

Since I can't be that Buddhist, I'm back to being that Christian. Birthed, married (maybe), and buried under the Name. Wish the living were as settled.

But still trying to protect God from Himself. He said there's a plan and a hope, but I've heard that before - and got screwed. I'm not surrounded by perfect gods. I live with imperfect, more-than-slightly skewed humans.

I can see how the alternative to the all-consuming imperfection shows the absolute need for divine perfection. I just don't think I'd know if I saw it.


I can almost guarantee I wouldn't believe it, and trusting it would almost require more than voting Republican. And I hate that I have become that Christian.

So I sit in my comfortable, stylish chair, humming some new modern hymn, wishing for the faith of Chinese farmers.