ON BEING CHRISTIAN

Yesterday a young woman at work expressed her surprise to hear me mention God.

"I just never took you for a Christian," she stated.

We don't know each other very well. She is nineteen and full of the rowdy faith of the untested. A rookie in life's game. She talks a lot, and listens rarely, and we encounter each other only in passing.

I did not take offense to her comment, but I did take exception.

It is true enough, I do not wear Jesus as an overcoat, do not advertise my faith on the walls of my home, nor do I stand on the street corners handing out tracts. I will always wish you a good day but never a blessed one, and through the years my speech has become peppered with expletives of a more raw nature.

I also find it very difficult to hide my disdain for the superciliously religious among us and find them to be, to borrow a quote from Joyce Myers(Yes, Chelsea, I know who she is.)so heavenly minded they are no earthly good.

So, no, you will not find me standing under a flashing neon Jesus sign wearing a 'what would Jesus do?' T-shirt. However, do not make Chelsea's mistake and throw me into the heathen hole, for I no more fit there than I do the ultra conservative Christian one.

Sit with me a while, share your challenges, your fears, your dreams and you will find God at the heart of any advice I impart for he is the core of who I am.

When I was a very young girl, running from my fear of hell's fire, seeking God as an escape route, he showed me his love. It was this love that set my fears to rest and this love I have trusted through out the years.

During years of confusion and false guilt, when I could no longer find my way, his hand patiently lead me back home, back to him, back to grace.

At the end of my marriage, when all that remained of me were bloody, mangled bits and parts, he bundled me up, lovingly sat with me, even as I pushed him away, and gently put me back together, one jagged, shard at a time.

When my daughter left home at seventeen in an angry teen-aged huff, and my mother and sister assisted her rebellion-the worst betrayal I have ever known-it was God who reached down and pulled me back to my feet. It was his arm on which I leaned, his strength from which I drew the courage to keep going.
You will not find me in a church on Sunday, but you will find me at the homeless shelter, sweeping, cooking, cleaning, talking, listening as people open their hearts.

I will never stand on a street corner yelling scripture to the masses, but I will sit and rock tiny, sick babies whose moms and dads are too sick either physically or emotionally to do the job their selves.

You will not hear me randomly quoting Christian platitudes to life's struggles, but you will hear me encouraging inner-city school kids to read their poetry, to tell their truths through verse and rhyme.

You will rarely hear me spouting scripture to the life problems you face, but you will feel me sitting silently beside you, my arm across your shoulder for as long and as often as you need.

Christian?

Well, I'll let him be the judge of that.

When I look in the mirror, I see a sinner. No better, no worse than any other, saved by grace, shaped by love.

Merry Christmas Everyone!

I'll see you in the New Year.