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| I'm almost finished with my first class. I have an A.
I started my second class.
I'm training for a marathon.
Still teaching piano lessons.
Re-vamping some of my gymnastics skills.
Working at the college pregnancy center.
Considering a hair chop.
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| Starting school in three weeks!!!!!! 
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| I was thinking today about love.
I was thinking today about what it would be like to really know love.
The cliche "God is love" started running through my head. Yeah, yeah, I know, I know. Christians represent! Whoot whoot! Imagine me rolling my eyes in pissed off annoyance. Christians represent what? God? Jesus Christ? Mercy? Grace? Love?
Whatever.
Little Christ... is that a joke? Maybe that's really supposed to mean something.
What though?
My experiences with Christians have not been all bad as the intro to this entry may seem to indicate. I love my fellow believers, and I do claim to be a Christian. I write those words because stereotypical Christianity makes me angry. The other day, I heard someone criticize a fellow believer for admitting that he had doubts... that he didn't always feel certain, that sometimes he wondered, and that sometimes he was completely overwhelmed with fear.
Can I please admit that sometimes I'm scared shitless too? that sometimes I don't understand God's purpose in something? Is that OK???
Or does it mean that I am a bad Christian? Or maybe not even a Christian at all?
What's to become of me because I watch a movie now and then with friends? or the fact that I enjoy being entertained? that I enjoy laughing?
I've been criticized for these things, and it makes me fearful, terrified actually because I wonder how I'd be shunned if people really knew me- that watching a movie or saying a bad word now and then aren't the "worst" things I've done.
I was thinking about this as I ran the other day, and it hit me how my love is just as conditional: "I'll love you as long you don't look down on me for my past or as long as you aren't judgemental." Kind of ironic, huh? I've turned my back on my brothers and sisters because they judged me. Yet, all the while returning the favor.
Love- it applies everywhere.
We're all sinners, all in need of the same amount of blood. No more, no less than our brother or sister.
We're all sinners, whose only hope of salvation lies in the same grace. No more, no less than our brother or sister.
Perhaps that's what "little Christ" means.
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| I heard the shouts of the all the people and wondered what the commotion was. I headed toward the main road in the middle of the small town. It was quite crowded, and I could hardly see past all the people. When I finally reached the road, I saw a strange man riding on a donkey. Who rides a donkey in 2007? The crowd was exuberant, screaming and calling out to this man. Suddenly he looked right at me. It was as if he could see right through me, and I could feel his eyes searching my heart. I wanted desperately to hide from his piercing look, but I couldn't move. Even as he continued down the road, my feet were rooted to the spot. When I could finally move and returned home, it was almost dark. I opened the door, and jumped. He was sitting on the couch in my living room.
"Hello, Becky."
He knew my name?
"I know you well."
I was scared. I ran for the bathroom and grabbed the phone on my way. I was going to call 911. I jumped again because he was in the bathroom too.
"How...?"
"I am everywhere and right here."
Suddenly I grew angry. It's what I do when I am confused... or facing any other unwanted emotion.
"GET OUT!!!!" I shouted.
"I will leave, but only for now."
Once he was gone, my house was quiet. I hated the silence, but even more, I hated the way I felt when he looked at me, when he was near me. It was as if I were naked, but this feeling went well-beyond the physical. He was inside of me, but not as anyone else ever had been. He knew me. He knew me, and I didn't like it.
The next morning, I got up for my daily run. It was early, about 5:30, and I walked out the front door to see him sitting on the front steps.
"May I go with you?" he asked. I considered for a few moments: Can I trust him? What if he is like all the others? I took a deep breath, "OK." Afterall, there would be others on the trail. We ran in silence, but when we got back, he spoke, "I'll just wait outside." And he did. All day. I wondered what he was waiting for, but chose not to ask. My day was pretty normal aside from a strange man sitting outside the front porch all day. When I finally went to bed, I assumed he'd be gone in the morning but kept the phone close just in case. I was surprised the next morning when I left at 5:30 again to see him sitting there waiting for me. "OK... you can come."
The cycle continued until Wednesday when I broke the pattern and asked him if he'd like to have breakfast. "I'd love to."
His company was quite enjoyable, and he spent the entire day with me. He did on Thursday as well, but this day, he grew more personal, asking me things I didn't want to talk about and invading my heart. He went past the point of common decency, and I became angry all over again. "Leave!" He looked at me with sad eyes as if he knew I was going to say that, then smiled and left. I allowed my anger to swallow me. I couldn't handle anything else. Little did I know where that anger would take me. I fumed as I fought to fall asleep. Somewhere in the night, I eventually did fall asleep and began to dream.
I was on the same road I ran to several days ago, only it was many years earlier. The road was dirt, but I ran anyway. It was softer than the pavement I normally ran on, and felt especially good considering I was running in leather sandals. I heard shouting just like the last time, and I slowed to a walk as I approached the crowd. There were three men carrying what looked like to long pieces of heavy wood in the shape of crosses. He was one of them, and again, he looked right at me. It was like deja voux of the past/future. Which one, I wasn't sure. What I did seem to know was where they were taking him. I was drawn as if by a magnetic force to what I knew was coming, and I hardened my heart so I could cling to anger. As they walked up the hill, I followed, pushing my way to the front of the crowd. At the top, I lost myself, grabbing one of the hammers on the ground. I was driven beyond my control, yet I knew exactly what I was doing. I screamed something untinelligable and raised the hammer. When I brought it down, I saw him looking at me.
"What am I doing?"
"I know you well." I brought the hammer up again.
"Stop!" CRASH!
"I know you well."
Despite the fact he never spoke out loud, I heard him clearly. Up and down went the hammer. I couldn't make myself stop. I wanted to, but I couldn't, and what haunted me most was that he seemed to know that.
Be angry, just be angry, I thought.
"I know you well."
"Maybe so, but I don't want you to. I am disgusting. I am a damaged whore and a murderer, not someone you should love. Leave me alone!!!"
"I know you well."
I raised the hammer again.
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| i'd like to be four again.
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