Category: Theology

There are many weird things about me. One is that I dislike greatly the idea of Philip knowing things I do not, and that includes all things theology. Except his ancient languages. He can keep those, I’m still trying to master English. So I try to keep up on what he’s learning, who he’s learning about, etc. One of the many problems of this attempt of mine is that, well, Philip is way smarter than I am, and retains knowledge at a ridiculous rate. He can also find insights in places I would never think to look, and make connections where I saw none. So I try to be content in keeping up at least with some of his books, especially any biographies he has to read. In doing this, I’ve discovered that I love, love, love reading about missionaries. I’m fascinated by their devotion, their willingness to give up comforts, conveniences, their families and their lives. I just finished one on Bill Wallace that was fascinating and moving. Which leads me to another weird thing about me…

I have no idea why I like reading about missionaries, because almost without exception, the book ends in tragedy, and I despise sad stories. Anyone who knows me well knows I refuse to see a movie unless I know whether or not it ends happily. I inevitably hate the novels that are sweeping the nation in popularity, end up on Oprah’s book of the month club and are considered “must reads”, because they’re usually described as “haunting”, or “a masterpiece in human frailty”. I have no desire to spend my free time being depressed. So, why am I drawn so much to the stories of missionaries? I am struck every time by the way a life dedicated to God truly is beautiful beyond comprehension. I’m able to piece together a clearer picture of what God expects of us, what we are called to do for Him, and how He alone gives us the strength to do this. I read the biography of Adoniram Judson, and half way through it I got so angry and sad that I threw the book across the room, and cried for a while, then picked it right back up.

The connection that I’m now seeing is that, in the life of any Christian who is true to the call of God, tragedy and grief, unexplained and unexpected, always find us. This is important to know and remember, don’t you think? Not that we should dwell on this or become obsessed with it, but I know for me it’s time I opened my eyes to recognize that every Christian is at war, all the time, and will be until the Lord returns or takes us home.

Such happy, warm, holiday thoughts I’m sending out. 🙂 But in a bizarre, magical way, I am. Somehow, through all of this, Christians are the happiest people, the people most at peace with who they are and who they belong to. Christians can find the joy where others cannot, and can even find the ridiculous and humorous in strange places. For proof of this read anything by Frederick Buechner or G.K. Chesterston. It’s quite amazing, actually.

Still, I love my happy movie, happy books, and happy blogs.

Anyone disagree, agree, or have any good, happy movies or books to recommend? 🙂

A friend and I were discussing the first chapters in Genesis today. ( I feel so scholarly and theological just typing that.)  It’s currently the book I am studying in my Sunday school class.  Jen and I were talking about how, when it’s a story that you cannot remember ever not knowing, it’s hard to look at it through fresh eyes, and really try to understand.  All of the sudden, I had all of these questions, and it was exciting!

So tonight, on my way to the store to buy a pie crust, because for some reason Faith and I have decided to bake a pie tomorrow, I listened to this new Christmas CD that Philip bought me by Shane and Shane.  There’s a song on the album called Born to Die.  I’m going to attempt to put a link to the song on here for you to hear.  All of the sudden, in the car, I was crying.  There’s a part of the song that says, “You don’t take my life, you won’t take my life, you don’t take my life, I lay it down”.  I saw with fresh eyes the miracle of Christmas and what it meant for the world.  I thought for the first time about how close Jesus came to dying as a baby, and would have, had an angel not told Joseph in a dream to leave in the middle of the night.  Again, nobody took His life, He laid it down.  How tragically beautiful and moving, and beyond any words that could sum up that kind of sacrifice.

Let me add, I’m not a pretty crier.  Some girls are, and I quite envy that, since when I start to cry, it’s very hard to stop.  So there I am, in the middle of Safeway, trying to choose a pie crust, with tears in my eyes, and make-up running all over my face.  Not pretty, my friends.

And to catch you up on a few things, a friend bought me a 25 dollar gift card to Starbucks before she read my blog, Callie put Santa on top of the manger and lightning didn’t strike our house, Justus wrapped himself in Christmas garland, giggling the whole time, and Callie has about 10 books and 15 stuffed animals in her bed right now.