Owning the criticism

Interesting that constantly I hear about how Peter was so weak, and then "he was the only one to get out of the boat." Always the encouragement to be the person who "steps out on the water in faith." But I'm wondering why we feel the need to constantly focus on pre-Pentecost Peter and not the fierce warrior who provided leadership to the first organize community and ushered her in to an age without a visual Christ. This dynamic, fearless believer who shows no sign in the Bible of remaining in the limbo between the boat and the water.

So why focus on the early disciples, manufacturing stories that sound endearing toward Peter's naive view of faith, limiting his true power? I think if we have to admit that the disciples were chosen out of the world's forever population, we have to admit that we are in fact the small, childish ones. Not only would I not step out of the boat, I wouldn't have boarded in the first place.

We focus on the perceived flaws of the disciples of Christ so we don't have to face the truth: that out of all the people who ever lived, He chose Judas to mentor over me.

Could we have known?

After reading the post from this summer about love, I see how my ideas about self have matured. It meant a lot to me to be pursued, met some internal need to have a visual for my value. But as I am right now, I have come to a calm, a peace, a self contentedness that really leaves little need for outside redemption.

Coming out of a past I hadn't expected into a present I hadn't dreamed, it seems displacing that I would so quickly change all my plans without fear. And it didn't lead me to great hope--very much the opposite-- the relational risk led me to chaos, drama like I had never seen and still feel really inadequate to handle. I should be bitter. I should be at least remorseful about seeing no beautiful pay off that churchily makes work worth something divine. But you know what, displacement isn't a season--it's life. For a person who believes that the world has woefully come short of love, compassion, and justice, it shouldn't be a surprise when I feel displaced from everything that America taught me to love. If every scripture of every religion is true in saying that something greater can be achieved here, I should feel a disconnect with the present. The present brokenness is only added motivation to be internally just.

I'm not upset about being mistreated. I am fully aware that greater acts of violence occur all over the world. I'm not bitter about being degraded. I acknowledge that women are made commodities globally, bought and traded, in reality or in conversation, for their assets and benefits, as soulless objects. I'm not even angry over the abuses that try to bastardize the truths I know--that life is about action, that every human being has worth by default of breathing, that God showers love without regard. Rather, I am motivated to war for a world of peace. If I can constantly go through the discipline of examining my internal layers for prejudices and hatreds, seeds of violences that could become actions, I have the potential to accomplish world peace, literally. If everyone I come in contact with experiences true and open acceptance, support, and sacrifice, for a moment my whole world can be at peace.

The only war worth fighting is the one inside my own damaged mind, fighting against the gut hate reaction and choosing to attempt something higher. Nothing short of justice could ever make a degraded person feel rightly elevated. There are too many forces in the world fighting to conceal the dignity of life and community; my fight is to return the human spirit to it's rightful place as the expression of God's love.

This is the part where it gets especially difficult: I have to recognize oppressors as human and needing that same dignity. I don't know what to do with that most of the time.

Never Wasted Time

Do i have regrets? Isn't that a right of passage into some kind of official adulthood? But I can't find any wished outcomes or do-overs, even down deep under layers of mistakes and tears and unfulfilled promises. If regret ushers me into adulthood, maybe that's the meaning of child-like faith-- if I am open with Providence, He renews any wasted time. What could I regret when He is the reauthor of my story? Maybe one day I will stop trying to write the first draft and be content being a character and not the originator. I regret nothing.

I only hope to focus on the reality of my placement, taking joy and pride in my servanthood. I hope for a less edited tomorrow.