On the Prophets

Just past the second anniversary of my passage into the world of agnosticism, I took time over the weekend to reflect on a few of the things I was, and in some ways still am, supposed to be. While some kids were supposed to be lawyers, or politicians, or doctors…

I was supposed to be a missionary.

I was supposed to be ordained.

I wasn't just supposed to have a minister's license—I actually did.

And most of the things which appealed to me then about the ministry are still, two years later, stubbornly rooted deep in my identity. The humble minimalism, the call to peace and reflection, the craving to mediate and enable restoration, the silent burden of the wise—these flames still glow to beckon the capricious moth of my soul.

I Regret My Virginity

I wanted to give this a better title - something subtle and intriguing which would avoid alienating any reader. And then I realized that this is an issue for which subtlety and intrigue have gone way, way too far. So, women of the world, please hear me again, ever so loudly and clearly:

I. Regret. My. Virginity.

This is a critical statement. In any logical, coherent setting, this is utterly earth-shattering evidence. Why, asks the good secular reader who did not grow up in the shadow of the epitome of chastity? Because, I respond, this one statement invalidates the cornerstone of youth groups around the world:

You will never regret waiting.

Now I must be fair; there is plenty I do not regret. I do not regret the absence of pregnancy scares. I do not regret my freedom from STDs. I do not regret my platonic friendships. I do not regret the pain I avoided in stock of breakups. I do not regret my goody-goody label, and still prefer it to slut. I count my lucky stars that I was never among those for whom the choice was not their own. In short, I'm grateful to have completely missed out on emotional, physical, and social turmoil - that which the church relentlessly associates with pre-marital experiences.

Caveats aside, my regrets remain.

Discussing Death with Myself

A near transcript of a conversation with myself this morning. I probably wouldn't have posted on it, but then an older friend voiced some of the same thoughts a few hours later (verbatim) and I began reflecting on them again.

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Call me selfish—I don't want to die.
"Is there a plausible reason why humans should die?"
There's all kinds of reasons I shouldn't want to. So let's consider this conclusion as significant personal progress toward mental health and move on.
"Come on. We can do better than that. Why do humans die?"
Hmm. Rocks are indestructible.
"Why not humans?"
Humans are life. Life takes a lot of energy to sustain it.
"So do stars. Why do humans live a fraction of a star's lifespan?"
Life is fragile. It's delicate. It wears out.
"Why? How is that an evolutionary advantage? Why? Why? Why?"
Thinking.
Thinking.
Thinking…

Because life evolves. Of course. I am the latest, greatest, and freshest. I hold the energy of the world in my fingertips. I am the promise of an unpredictable experiment, but one which is fast drawing to a close. By the end of a decade I will be quite molded in nearly all my ways, useful for maintaining the world I constructed only long enough for another generation or maybe two to take their chance. And then I will create room for them.
"Therefore, what is the meaning of life?"
The meaning of life is to establish more fit, more resilient life.
"Can one fail at life?"
No. To fail at life is simply to allow resources and energy to be made available for more fit, more resilient life.
"And what is the meaning of death?"
The meaning of death is to allow resources and energy to be made available for more fit, more resilient life.
"And a final question. How will I die?"
Humbly, knowing that I became fit and resilient at my chance in order to provide those after me with a new chance to thrive beyond what any of us can dream.

Family Time

I've been on Spring Break this past week, which I chose to spend with my family. Ah, my family…where the boys play football, the girls sparkle and cheer, the food guarantees early diabetes, and the cars are as sacred as those who love the Lord. I've concluded that there are two types of people in my family's mind: those who love the Lord and those who do not. I can at least thank Him that a snow storm cancelled our trip to the Creation Museum.* We're all still praying that their struggling Christian bookstore sells—soon.

And yet…

And yet something happened on this trip. In the midst of the stark, cutting, black-and-white worldview, I was unexpectedly reminded of some insight into the world. (Shocking, I know, that another worldview would give new insight into the world. So I'm slow, cut me some slack.)