In times of chaos and violence, may we “pursue the things which make for peace” (Romans 14:19). May we make sacrifices, choose compassion, and love wholeheartedly.
In times when everyone seems to be an “extremist” of one sort or another, may we remember the wise words of Martin Luther King Jr. in his “Letter from Birmingham Jail”…
“So the question is not whether we will be extremists, but what kind of extremists we will be. Will we be extremists for hate or for love? Will we be extremists for the preservation of injustice or for the extension of justice?”
In times of hatred and disagreement, may we be agents of peace in our own world – in our friendships, in our homes, in our words, in our thoughts, and in our hearts. May we become the peacemakers.
Something I heard in a podcast this week deeply resonated with me, as I continually seek to understand who God is and how we can know Him.
“In the book Flatland, there are these characters that are two-dimensional, and I like that idea that we are these limited creatures, dimensionally, scientifically. We are these tiny little specks of dust in the cosmos, and we have a very limited perspective and ability to understand the great mysteries of reality.
If you can, imagine a three-dimensional character coming into the world of Flatland. In other words, imagine sticking your finger through a piece of paper. To a being that lives on the plane of the piece of paper, your finger would look like nothing but a line, and as it got closer or farther away, the line would get longer or shorter. But, there’s no way it could even comprehend what a finger would be in three-dimensional space.
Similarly, we know mathematically that our experience of three-dimensional time and space is not the full comprehensive view of reality. Quantum physics shows us that there are potentially many dimensions, and many perspectives that those dimensions bring to the universe.
So as a “Flatlander,” of sorts, as a race of beings that lives in a very limited perspective of the cosmos and of all things, of reality, who are we to know anything but our dimension?
Here’s what it’s like for me. When you experience this thing that so many of us have attested to experiencing – the experience of what we would want to call God, transcendent, the infinite ground of our being, all the words and the language that we use – let’s talk about, what is that metaphysically? What is that in its essence? I don’t believe we can know.
I think that it’s sort of like encountering the line in Flatland. In Flatland, every time you approach that same line and you experience that line, you don’t have any way to know if it’s just another line of all the lines in your reality. In other words, am I just experiencing some sort of hallucination in my brain? Am I just experiencing some sort of wonder, some sort of emotional chemicals that are flooding my brain? Or is there actually some sort of metaphysical “Other” that is doing this from the outside on some level?
I don’t know that we can know that, because we can’t see outside of the paper. Our senses don’t work outside of the paper. All we can perceive is the line. But what the axioms and a different sort of post-deconstructed faith has become for me is, I notice that every time I approach this line in Flatland, something happens.
And so my decision, as a Flatlander, is, do I approach the line? Or, do I ignore it, in fear that it’s just a line? Do I just stay away from the line, because there might not be a finger poking through the paper; it might just be some sort of internal two-dimensional object that makes me feel a certain way? Or do I just approach it with a humility and acknowledgment of mystery, that I think there’s more than the paper, and that I hope that that line has something to do with that that’s more than the paper?
But at the end of the day, what am I going to do? Am I going to approach the line? Am I going to pray? Am I going to try to follow Jesus’ teachings? And these are all things that I know that when I have approached them, when I have engaged in these disciplines and practices, I know from experience, and there are plenty of studies and evidence in the world to support it, that it’s actually good for the world. Good religion is beautiful. Good religion is taking care of widows and orphans, and keeping oneself from being polluted by the world. And I can attest that it’s good. I’ve seen it, I’ve experienced it.
And so I have a decision. And to me, this is what faith has become, actually. It’s not anymore about a metaphysical certainty. It’s not even a belief in the way that I understood belief to be before. It’s about, what am I going to do with my life? Am I going to approach the line? How am I going to interact with the objects that I see within the page? Because that’s all that I can see. Am I going to get caught up in my own head and ignore the line? Or am I going to live my life in a way that is open, and hopeful, and faithful to the mystery that I believe exists beyond the page?”
Just like Michael Gungor, I myself “notice that every time I approach this line in Flatland, something happens.”
When I pray to God, my life and the lives of others improve. When I study Jesus’ words, I find peace and hope. When I follow Jesus’ teachings, my sense of purpose is clear. When I worship, I feel part of something greater than my own existence.
What experiences have you encountered when you “approach the line” that have inspired you to seek and follow God?
Summertime reminds me of how quickly life passes. Although the days are longer, they seem to pass so much more quickly. The moments I spent months daydreaming about come and go in a flash before they fade into only memories.
With this intensity of summer comes an appreciation for time spent with family, for evenings spent outdoors, and for moments spent uncluttered by worries and stress. But with summer, at least for me, also comes a time for reflection. A time to think about my life – about how I choose to live.
This summer, I have been challenged to live with intention.
Am I intentional about the words I use to communicate? Am I intentional about what I allow to influence me? Am I intentional about how I choose to affect the world? Am I intentional about my priorities? Am I intentional about serving others? Am I intentional about refining my beliefs, and am I intentional about the way I live them out?
I hope that my answer to all of these questions might someday be yes. And until then, I will do my very best to live with intention in every area of my life, because even our smallest choices and our most insignificant beliefs hold a power that changes us, and that may even change the world.
P.S. Thank you, Erika, for your encouragement that never ceases to inspire me and to motivate me to become a better person.
As a teacher of English as a second language, I consistently meet students from all over the world. The question “Where are you from?” is very common in my classroom. I myself am frequently asked this question after people learn that I speak Spanish. In both of these cases, a one word answer of a country or a city never seems to fully capture the essence and complexity of a person’s identity. For this reason, I was so excited about a project that my students worked on that quickly became a source of some of my favorite moments from this school year.
The project consisted of reading a poem entitled “Where I’m From” by George Ella Lyon, and using it as an inspiration for a personal poem. Instead of answering “Where are you from?” with an answer about a physical location, it involves sharing memories about different aspects of your childhood, heritage, and upbringing to represent where you are from on a deeper level.
Although my students were hesitant about writing poetry, and some were even resistant to sharing about their personal lives, I could not have been more moved by their final poems. Some of them brought tears to my eyes, as I learned so much about each student and all the things that make them unique. I also personally enjoyed writing my own poem, and reflecting on the different aspects of my heritage and family that have impacted and shaped me…
I am from picnic tablecloths on the living room floor, from homemade play dough and wooden toys. I am from the kitchen table (solid, smooth, covered with eraser shavings and crayon marks). I am from the honeysuckles blooming along the backyard fence, The pecan trees dropping the pecans, like treasures waiting to be found, just like my future dreams and desires.
I am from astigmatism and big noses, from Carley and Reiner. I am from the bookworms and the storytellers. From you can do it, and don’t give up. I’m from “Come, Lord Jesus, be our guest,” and prayers before bedtime.
I am from Driespitz and Valencia, from arroz con leche and cream cheese dip. From the books my mother read to me as a child, the hours my father spent helping me with my homework.
On the walls, in the photo albums filed away on the shelf beneath the stairs, sit all these memories of past smiles and joys, a picture of things to come for future generations.
I always enjoy designing wedding invitations, but these were particularly exciting to create, because they were for my brother’s rehearsal dinner. I have such beautiful memories from that evening, and it was such an honor to contribute this one small detail.
I recently read the poem “If” by Rudyard Kipling with one of my classes. Even though I taught this same poem last year, these lines caught my attention this year:
“If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run…”
Any time I read the word “unforgiveness,” I feel a small twinge in my heart, because I know it is one of my weaknesses. I struggle with pride and stubbornness, two traits that make it very difficult for me to apologize and admit mistakes.
However, I realize that conflict creates a chasm between people that, if rectified, can bring them closer than they were before the divide. I recently heard someone advise married couples to race their spouse to apologize anytime there is conflict. I think this imagery perfectly coincides with the lines from Kipling’s poem. What if, rather than sitting in that ominous silence after an argument and waiting for the other to speak first, we raced each other to be the first to humble ourselves and admit to wrong?
Tanner is the perfect example of this. As soon as anything even slightly offensive escapes his lips (which happens only rarely), he immediately apologies and asks for forgiveness. Ever since I recognized this humility in him when were dating, I was both convicted and inspired.
I aspire to continue to grow in humility so that in the unforgiving minute, I can learn to run the distance and close the chasm.