No god but God...

I am reading a book that shares its title with part of the twofold profession of the Islamic faith, the shahadah, which says, "There is no god but God and Muhammad is God's messenger." Written by Reza Aslan, it is by far one the most enlightening books I have read on the Islamic faith, its origins, and its current state. It places Islam in term that most can understand, certainly anyone with any background in Church History. He claims, as I have long thought, how Islam is progressing in much the same manner that Christianity has. The struggle for any religion, especially one as mystical and prophetic as Islam or Christianity, to meet with Modernity is violent and bloody. I am amazed by the similarities, the shared stories, and the common growth patterns between the two religions. Both proselytizing religions, the tools and methods used throughout history to gain new members are almostly laughably the same.

The most striking observation (or rather instruction) I have come across yet, is that the "terrorist acts" committed by extremists (and we must remember that most Muslims are not extremists), are committed in portions of the world, which will not only goad the West into engaging with them in Jihad, but that will also, and more importantly, directly affect, through pain and death, those Muslims that are tempering their faith with Modernity. Christians saw much of the same intensity during through the Crusades and again during the Spanish inquisition, and the Protestant Reformation. I find it horrifyingly sad that those Muslims that are trying to bring their religion into their western lives, are meeting the painful and disgusting rebuke of those that should most understand them.

This idea is one I can so connect with, although I have never seen any rebuke as difficult as these eastern brothers. Although I have met those that disdainfully call the "The Catholic" or even those who try to convert me to Christianity, or oppositely those who believe I am not fully committed to the Catholic church, I have never worried that I would be physically harmed. There is still pain though in that moment when I see the horror in the eyes of someone opposite me wondering why I no longer love Jesus in a way they can understand. They feel immediately disconnected from me and from my religion, they question my faith and my commitment to Christ, and this breaks my heart. Not only because I am personally hurt that they could believe such of me, but also because my heart so desires the merging of my two worlds that my heart may find a place to be complete. I can only imagine what those Muslims now living outside of those areas in which their society is fully entrenched in their religion feel when they walk about. It must be something like leaving Bible College, where you know that every person with whom you speak shares at least the basics of your faith and the core of your value system, and going to a world where you are lucky to have one friend that also believes in Jesus, let alone a community of faith.

I want so now to embrace those that are working to bring their faith into a society that is trying to reject them. To say that I can see that we share common bonds, and that we should join in discourse over coffee and hookah to remember those men from whom we both spring, Abraham, Moses, Adam, God.

Let sleeping dogs lie.

Today I received an email from a friend with whom I rarely agree, especially where politics are concerned. We agree on the basics: We love America, we hate crime, we love Jesus. Beyond that the waters get murky and the tempers start to rise.

Today she sent me an email containing an essay titled "I'm Tired" by some guy named Robert A. Hall. I need to form a rebuttal, but since I think it would be ill received sending it directly to her, I will post it so that everyone can argue equally.

My rebuttal:

I'll be 26 soon and have worked diligently at any job that would take me since I was 16. Despite being 26 and single, I still put in 60 hour weeks, so I call in sick when I am sick, but I work my tuck-us off. I make enough for the average 25 year old in her first job out of college. I will never inherit income, and I am working to get where I want to be. I can't conceptualize retirement, because my life plan doesn't extend beyond the next 5 years. When I get tired, I go to sleep and wake up... wake up to a world I love.

I wake up to spread the wealth, because regardless of how little I make, or how hard I work, there is no reason to not give. Even if the person I am giving to is the crazy guy that stands outside of my office asking for quarters so he can ride the bus three blocks up the street, run back down, and do it all over again. Even crazy people need a little love. I don't care how lazy or stupid you are. If you need and I can give, please just ask.

I wake up to pay taxes to help keep people in their homes, even the over priced ones, because they were trained by the generation before mine that we could have whatever we want. Because maybe life, or their parents, never taught them that entitlement wasn't inherent in the constitution, so they need a little help. Because I've looked homelessness in the face and I wouldn't wish that on anyone. I am more than happy to oblige - even though I can only afford 1 bedroom in a 3 bedroom apartment I can't stand.

I wake up to left-wing millionaires, whom I admittedly disagree with, but whose message I will hear and discard as I choose. They have earned millions off of the frenzied american heart. They are just capitalists, and if we hate them so much maybe we should try socialism.

I wake up to come to my office where hundreds of Muslim students study. I adore them. They are sweet and kind and peaceful. Not all Muslims are extremists. If we took a step back and looked at what Christians were doing when our religion was the same age that Islam is now, maybe we would shut our mouths and wait for them to come full circle. Seriously, does no one else realize that they are 1300-ish and when we were 1300-ish we were committing the same acts in the name of God?

I wake up to hate affirmative action. I agree that it is the most incriminating piece of legislation out there. Who cares about race? Let's talk about social standing and economics. But we do have to remember that in all of this, most of our low income students are students of color and their need for aid in school is not based on the color of their skin but on the money in their pockets. If they do not have the money to succeed, in all likelihood neither does their community, and by extension their school system. And so for them to even hope to go to college and change the ghetto culture of violence and fatherless children they need lower college admission standards. Let's fix the ghetto problem, not the race problem.

I wake up to a president that is black, but again, who cares? And why do we keep talking about the individual. Good Lord, this country is never going to turn around if we don't pay off national debt, forgive international loans, and stop caring so much about our darn capitalist freedoms. Goodness. By the people, for the people, of the people. Note that it does not say by the individual, for the individual, and of the individual.

I wake up to a country that is spending too much energy bashing what we voted in and not enough energy focusing on how we as a nation can make this a livable situation. If we focus on our local communities and put in our efforts in our families eventually it will work it's way up. I believe America alone could end international poverty if we just stopped being so selfish and nit-picky.

I wake up to a world that does not understand the Middle East but continues to bash it and I cry. I cry for the way we hate without information, without understanding, without context. "Our Oil Money" - maybe if we didn't depend so on oil by buying big trucks and gas guzzlers we would have such a problem with Saudi Arabia?!

I wake up to a world that fights about global warming. Why don't we just give it up and live responsibly? What a concept.

I wake up to a father that is addicted to drugs and alcohol and when people tell me it's not a disease I want to punch them in their ever loving faces. Until you have searched the underworld of a city for a man you love and found him unconscious a dirty alley, you don't know drugs and the disease they are. And yes you should support and help them and pay for their damage because you are a part of society, and society makes even its ugliest constituents.

I wake up to a world where I am consistently confused with "undocumented workers" of both the Hispanic and middle eastern variety. It's America. Most people can't tell you what race a person is by looking at them, even if they are educated. I am Portuguese. Not Hispanic, Not Lebanese, not Greek, not halfrican, and yes, I've received them all. We are one of the few countries in our world that expects all of it's citizens to speak only one language. Why is that?

I wake up to a world of latte liberals, who have fought in wars they don't agree with, and lose friends, loved ones, and even themselves... just like the rest of us. JDBman is a great example. If you want to meet a vet who doesn't always agree with the war, but who fought in it, and will stand behind our need to be there, talk to him... I'll even introduce you.

I wake up to a world were there is no virtue in politics. Stop expecting it. It never has been and it never will be. And bringing God into American politics will only exacerbate the problem.

I wake up to a world where we pay athletes, entertainers, and politicians because we are willing to give money to see them shine. It makes us feel good to lay down a fifty bucks to see a good show. And when they make mistakes we get to trash talk them which makes that fifty bucks that much more worth it. If you have a problem with the athletes, entertainers and politicians... stop paying to see them in action. We create entitlement with our own frenzied need to be a part of something bigger than ourselves.

I wake up to a world where I don't know what the heck a poverty pimp is, but I have to visit the schools in the slums of Seattle and see the kids that live on welfare. They may have TV's and air conditioning, but they don't have proper nutrition or a stable emotional climate. Again capitalism gets in the way of our ability to see what people need and how we can provide for them.

I wake up to right wing senior citizens complaining about how everyone else is out to get them and take away their individuality, unalienable rights, and Christianity - blaming all of our problems on Islam and multiculturalism.

I wake up. Unlike the seniors waking up to the damage their generation has created for America, I wake up to my generation who has every potential to save the world. I wake up to my generation which is ready to submit itself to the responsibility of freedom.

I am still grieving.

Every day at work I listen to music while I work. Today I put on an old playlist… one from about this time last year. It was going along, happily, and I was singing joyously and giggling while I typed my emails. Then in a sudden and unexpected transition the music moved into “Seasons in the Sun” which was the song my aunt Moira played when the Uncle who love me died last April. My laughter caught in my chest and the tears started streaming down my face.

Please Jesus, tell me when this pain will cease. I still miss him every day. I still can’t hang up his picture on my wall because I still cry every time I see it. I still hate the very thought of his end. I am still angry that he, who chose life, died.

I miss Nan, but her death seemed right – like a rest – as if her life needed to end to form a kind of completion.

I wonder if his death will ever seem that way. Because right now it still seems wrong. As if the sky changed colors and though still beautiful, and maybe even still blue… it is not that right shade of blue. It will forever just be wrong. Just uncomfortable. Just as though it should not be able to be real and yet it is more real than even my own heart.

Lenten Miracles

Hello my Lenten miracles,

I love lent. Adore it. But this year is going to be hard. Rather than just giving something up, I am working to break addictions. It's not easy going.

In favor of that, I have a little blog to track my Lenten successes and failures. I don't wish to keep it here, because I want to give all of you the opportunity to opt out of knowing exactly how imperfect I am. If you don't want to know my sins, my wretchedness, my life then don't read the other blog. I want to be perfectly clear: I am sharing the other blog because I am willing to. This does not mean I am willing to put up with your suggestions, criticisms, censure, pity, or authorial need to change who I have decided (yes consciously decided) to be. So fair warning. It is a clean and family friendly new blog. But it is honest in a few ways this one has not been. So without further disclaimers, here is my Lenten journey: The Fat Lady Hums

I am looking forward to some Lenten Miracles. You are all Lenten Miracles, by the way. As I am.

As Olive Jade Wigand is.

As Kingston deleon Debois is.

I am celebrating these new lives. and my new life.

Lenten Love to all.

B.

The sweet silver song...

When you walk through a storm, hold your head up high
And don't be afraid of the dark.
At the end of the storm, is a golden sky
And the sweet silver song of a lark
Walk on through the wind, Walk on through the rain, though your dreams be tossed and blown
Walk on, Walk on, with love in your heart, and you'll never walk alone. You'll never walk alone.
-Carousel

The storm is over. And guess what? I'm not walking alone.

Nan and Ian are dead. That storm is over. They are gone. Dad is not on my plate right now, and there doesn't seem to be anyone I need to take care of... how bizarre.

JDBman and I don't get to hang out anymore. His girlfriend put her foot down, very appropriately. I've been angry, annoyed, hurt, confused, and now I understand. I will miss him, but I both understand his need to listen to his girlfriend, and know that he is incapable of standing up for his life, if it means confrontation. As much as I wouldn't want him to make another choice, I know that the fact that he didn't even discuss it with her, means, yet again, that he is certainly not a man I would invest romance in. But I will miss my friend.

Pam moved. I miss her. A lot. More than I know. But life is a lot less stressful now.

I thought if these two friendships ended, I would have no one but family, but I was so very wrong.

I'm a happy and overworked camper.

PS. Baby Wigand is on her way. I can't wait to know her and her name.

A funny valentine

I found the following among my notes at work.

The first: I'm not sure where it came from or why I wrote it but I must have written it when out drinking with the Kronbachs, Ben, and Jessica for Ben's Birthday.

The second: I think must be a quote from a TV show. Maybe "Dead like me", which is one of my fav's. It's a shame it was canceled.

November 30th, 2009
Broken hearts, broken minds
the soul in front of me bleeds
my veins cry out to hold you
but my conscious holds still

I see you there
holding your pieces
I know in me
resides the glue

You don't see the healing in me
Because my fears hide from you
There is no certainty
That it is you I will heal
So I continue to wait
for the bravery to move

When you're young...
Sex is a big buffet and you are just a fat man with a fork.
As you get older it gets harder to grab a fork.

Simul iutus et peccator

On June 3rd, 2007, I wrote the following. It was in reference to a night I spent with my father. It was the beginning of what has been my life with him from that day to this one.

Last night the earth exploded.
I watched as men bled from the swollen part of the head.
He built the bomb, but I lit the fuse.
The burst of sound at the shattering of the earth
was heard by so few it seems.
Comfort was nowhere, not even in Pete's Dragon
could I find respite.
With dawn all was set right
and I was angered at the audacity
of whoever hid the pain and blood from all humanity.
Yet with the light the selfish sleeper woke from the dream
of the dream that should not come
and I rose to watch the dead man walk.
He rolled cigarettes
while we ate breakfast with the Beatles.

That night my father got so drunk that he couldn't move. He passed out in an alley where I found him slumped over behind a dumpster. I got him in my car and drove him to his friend's house, all the way listening to his shouts and derogatory comments. After leaving him with friends, I got a call that he was picking fights. As I drove up I saw my dad walking toward my car. As I came to a stop he began to fall, face first and nothing to stop the coming tragedy. My feet hit the ground as his face hit the pavement. It took five minutes to get him back in my car. Unable to raise anyone on the phone, I drove to my brother's house in a frenzy. I ran inside and began to weep as I tried, through my sobs, to explain that my father was in the car bleeding from the head - I thought he would die. From there Ben took care of it. He drove us to the hospital, though we did not go in, and then sat up with him all night, while I tried to calm down inside. I still have nightmares about that day.

The amazing part to me is this: at the time I felt selfish. I felt like it was my duty to care for my father. This line "Yet with the light the selfish sleeper woke from the dream of the dream that should not come" was all about me. I woke up that morning knowing (in the way you "know" things when you think you are so right... even though you are so wrong) that I was a horrible person for even dreaming of a world where I could dream of adventures like school and travel.

I came home from Simpson believing that Simpson was my one break from my world, my life, my tragedy. I have been living that lie since then. I came home expecting to hate this life... to be "stuck" here until my sentence was up, my service paid, so I could move on with my life.

It is time, in this long journey of claiming me for me, to claim my life, my choices. I choose to be in this city now. No one else keeps me here. I choose to care for my father, because I don't think I can handle the emotional upset if something worse happens to him (not in a "it's my fault" kind of way, but in a "the world has gone wrong" kind of way). I choose this life. It is not my sentence, my punishment, my prison.

For this reason, my life, here, there or anywhere, can be whatever I want it to be. This means that just because I am here in Seattle, does not mean that I have to play by my perceived rules of this place. I have boundaries. I can live by soul and not by obligations.