Good-Christian. What does that even mean?

Anyone who knows me knows I'm not a fan of defining oneself with labels. For instance I am neither liberal nor conservative; neither Republican nor Democrat. To me Pro Life would have to mean anti abortion; anti capital punishment; anti euthanasia and physician-assisted suicide. But that's not what it means to Pro Life movements. See what I mean? I just don't like labels, at least for myself.

Another label I don't care for is Christian. I know what it's supposed to mean, how it's supposed to define me and my world-view. But I also know how the semantics get played with in various regional colloquial and in the media. "Christian" seems to mean something quite different to many different peoples, which muddies and dilutes the definition completely.

Even so, and strangely enough last night I referred to a family member as trying to be a good-Christian in regard to a certain situation in their life. A non-believing friend immediately challenged what I had said, "Good Christian. What does that even mean? I know a lot of people for whom that means many different things." For some reason I became defensive about his inquiry. That's because I regarded it as a challenge instead of the critical insight that it was. I believe I responded (I hope I responded) tastefully and respectfully. But it wasn't until this morning that I realized the real truth: He's correct. "Good-Christian" doesn't really mean anything.

In order to be "good" at something, one must first have a clear definition of that state in which one desires to excel. And this is why I struggle so much with the label Christian. The whole premise of Biblical belief is that we are fundamentally incapable of achieving goodness outside of the grace of God through Christ. We can certainly try to be good by some definition thereof. And we probably should, but we could not succeed. And if I tried to offer some definition of what it means to be good or a good-Christian, I would only be successful at creating a new religion. And what the world needs now... ain't a new religion.

And that's okay, you know? Because I don't subscribe to a religion for myself or for my children. And I don't wear the moniker "Christian" as I'm unclear to what it means. If one must label me, I suppose I'm comfortable with "believer in the Way"; or "pilgrim"; or "disciple of Jesus of Nazareth." But those would only be for comical hubris more than social necessity. Because you see, we should be listening critically when someone is telling us that we need to believe this or that; or that we need to support their position; or that our behavior must model theirs. Instead, I have a Bible. I read it in its entirety for myself, both by myself and with others. I study with like-minded individuals as well as those who are other-minded, to include the occasional non-believer. I seek insight from knowledgeable scholars, and I pray for insight and inspiration. Then I model my behaviors and world-view accordingly. My core in its simplest definition includes reverence and awe for my Creator, love for my fellow man, respect for the world in which I live, and recognition that I do not have a soul but rather I am a soul. Certainly my creed and theology is much more complex, involving doctrines such as the Trinity, sola scriptura, and the sufficiency of grace. But none of this is relevant to this particular post.

So if this post was encouraging at all, I hope you've been encouraged to challenge your own self-awareness and the way you choose to be viewed by others. Do you want to be known as a Christian? There's nothing wrong with that. But examine all of the world's baggage that you are taking on when you do so, and whether or not all that baggage is really who you are and what you believe.

Today

Yesterday was a terrible day for my son and I. I was very angry and resentful, I'd had enough and was completely finished caring, and I told him so. I was selfish, and cruel, and dragged him around all day to my errands, just so I could ignore him. When we think we have a lifetime, when we think we are invincible, we tend to take liberty with those we love the most.

Today was a terrible day for a dear friend of mine. Today he buried his son. A fine boy who was friends with my daughter, and was a mentor to my son in Scouts. I watched at the funeral as his mother held her baby boy in her arms for the last time, as his father said goodbye, and as they gently set the lid of the casket down. A family. One that I love so much. I can't fathom this.

I did my best to stay composed because I had to read a Psalm and share about my years knowing their boy, an awesome kid who ended his own life. I spent some time looking at my boy, and knowing that my friend would give his entire world for just one more day with his son.

Yesterday was a terrible, angry, hateful day. I saw in my son someone I didn't want to know. Today I see a person. Flawed. Just like his father. My son, with great skills, and honorable character. And with challenges, but determination. Today I did something I have never done before. I asked my son to forgive me. Then I asked God to forgive me too.

Go wake up your son, and give him a hug.

I’m forgetful when I’m crabby

Today I am crabby. And when I am crabby, my wife and kids suffer, because I am insufferable. I get this way when the right combination of conditions create the perfect storm in my temperament.

1. I have had a phlebotomy, meaning I am one pint low on blood.


2. I skip a meal, meaning my blood glucose is low.


3. I forget just how wonderful, right, and good my wife and children are, meaning I know I don't deserve them but I don't want to admit it.

I can blame the former two on physiology. But the latter item is pure jerk. And today it was set off by being awoken out of a nap (I'm aware of the irony that I am complaining while living a lifestyle that allows me to take midday naps!) by my daughter speaking cute-talk to ZsuZsu, the indoor cat. Which is fine, except my seemingly ungrateful Labrador, Cheerio perks up and goes barreling down the stairs to see what is being offered to the pets. Want want want, me me me, more more more. "I'm needy." "I want." "Give to me."

Sigh. Well… she IS a dog. So I'll say no more.

But just as I'm drifting back into sleep, mmmmmm, sleep, I'm awoken by my daughter again, whose all excited about something to do with the Captain America movie and is explaining it to my wife. Logan, who is upstairs outside my door designing a lego-something-or-another perks up and goes barreling down the stairs. "What?!" "Captian-America-what?!" "Did you say something about Captain America?" "Are we going to see Captain America?" Not if I don't get some sleep, you're not!

I usually find it adorable when my children are excited by simple things like seeing a movie. But… today… the perfect storm has brewed… and I am NOT in the mood!

Did I not SAY we would see Captain America?

Did you not believe me?

Aren't we driving all the way to south west Austin tomorrow to go the Lego event and buy you, probably everything?

Where's the thank you for that? Haven't heard it yet?

Didn't one of you just see, like, three movies this month? On my dime? Where's the thank you for that?

Didn't you just get new school clothes, like, a month early? Hmm? Thank you?

Don't you live a big house I can't afford in the country with two cars in the driveway and four computers and go to outstanding schools and get to do EVERYTHING with your friends so long as it isn't illegal, immoral, or fattening?

Didn't you FORGET Father's Day?

Don't you have chores to do?

(Insert exasperated sigh here)

By tonight, I will have remembered that Mahalia is an excellent student who sacrifices evenings and weekends to serve her community in the Civil Air Patrol. That she is beautiful and funny, and doesn't know it, and doesn't care. That she gets everything, but asks for nothing.

That Logan has overcome so much since his premature birth and endless months in the hospital, to become a focused student who loves camping, and engineering, and Cub Scouts. He takes his commitment to doing a good deed everyday seriously. He is always anxious to lend a hand, and never complains.

That Mahalia is a tireless reader. She shares my love of mystery and science fiction. She passionately seeks me out to watch old episodes of Doctor Who and X-Files. She fasts, and prays, and reads her scripture.

That Logan shares my interest in Air Power, woodworking, and bad-ass cars. He loves his country and the flag. And.. well.. he knows who Jesus IS anyway.

And Brook… is everything. She's saved me. She's shown me a possibility that was once not even in my understanding. She has brought me grace, and goodness, and hope. She permeates everything I am with her beauty, and laughter, and wisdom. She's done more than complete me, she's my beginning. No poetry does her justice. Majesty doesn't dare speak her name.

Yep. By tonight I will have remembered all of that.

Enjoy your weekend friends,

--Scot

A rose by another name: Scot

My daughter and I bought my wife four Peace Rose bushes this past Mother's Day. Oh my goodness, you'd have thought we struck gold. My wife is out with those roses every day, trimming, watering, weeding, and caring. Nearly every morning the breakfast table is adorned with a beautiful full and fragrant bouquet of pinks and peaches. When they are fully bloomed, you can smell them all around the kitchen table. And when I snap a picture with my phone's camera, the flash makes them light up and glow. They are simply glorious, in a way that I'm sure the roses in Heaven probably smell and glow.

My wife puts them in the fridge at night. Because if she doesn't ZsuZsu, the indoor cat, pulls them out of the water so she can drink from the little vase. They lie about on the table all night, wilting. They lose their color and the pedals darken a bit on the edge. In the morning, if you're not careful the pedals will tumble off the stem.

I was looking at just such a display this morning over breakfast. I was admiring how they tried so hard to maintain their color for me. And how you have to get really close, but they still smell sugary and wonderful. I glanced up to see my wife glaring at them with disdain. I'm sure she was more infuriated with the cat, but nonetheless… and I resented her just a bit for it.

I felt so silly connecting so deeply with flowers. Flowers! Not manly plants like oak trees or fire bushes. But pretty little pink and peach flowers. Dead ones, no less. But in them, I saw me. Picked at through these years, from time to time lying helplessly thirsting for more water, Living Water. Resented by a flesh seeking more beauty, more life, more fullness. More. But I hope that when God sees me, this dilapitated leftover, picked at and exhausted, He says, "WOW, all that color! Mmm, and the fragrance! Not dead yet. Nope. Beautiful. Scot, you are just beautiful."

Have a great day, friends. Enjoy.

--Scot