"Us" Against "Them"

Rolling Stone has a political feature in each issue called, “Threat Assessment: The Good, The Bad, and The Scary,” in which they place news stories on a sort of sliding scale where then rank items as either “With Us” (Good) or “Against Us" (Bad/Scary). Interestingly enough, the good, “With Us” items are on the left side, which is shaded blue, and the bad, scary, “Against Us” points are on the right, which is colored, appropriately, red.

Who exactly is the “Us” in this scenario? Is it fair that the compilers of the sidebar assume that their readers are both leftward leaning and Democrats?

The following are some examples that all readers of Rolling Stone are supposed to herald or abhor (although many are undeniably funny):

With us: “Bedbugs infest Fox News Studio”; “Taliban mortar fire disrupts Toby Keith concert in Afghanistan”; “Ecuador signs constitution giving nature inalienable rights.”

Against Us: “Obama chooses Bud Light for 'Beer Summit'"; “Legal name of candidate running to replace Sen. Larry Craig: 'Pro-Life.'”

What if I like Bud Light? Or Toby Keith? Does that make me a bad person? I had no idea Rolling Stone was so snobby.

It would be one thing if they simply wrote about their opinion, but to assume that their readers all fall within the “with us” end of the spectrum is insulting. Perhaps the column’s creators are believers in absolute truth?

The anatomy of donating a kidney (aka @!$# Genes!)

The other day I heard a program on NPR about George Price. Not only was he the geneticist who discovered the mathematical equation for altruism (the Price Equation), but he was a man who worked to prove his own formula wrong.

This theorem can be observed in ants--among other critters--that work to protect the lives of their relatives over the lives of those that don't share some of their genetic code. Apparently, the reason for such selflessness is selfishly motivated by the desire to preserve their genes.

While I can relate to the fact that I would be more willing to donate a kidney to my brother than a stranger, I balk at the notion that it's because I am instinctively preserving my genes for future generations. I mean, first of all, my brother has already been fruitful and multiplied, so saving him really has nothing to do with saving our family genetics--if my brother or I were adopted, and I happened to be a match, I would be willing to give my brother a kidney because he is my brother, not due to some evolutionary predisposition.

Price's mental state nonwitstanding, I'm pretty sure he would too.

Do, do, do; lo, lo, lo...

Friends, what kind of car do you drive?

Because I'm thinking if I have a list of "friends cars" in my head (please be specific: color/make/model/bumper stickers/state of registration), instead of being mad at a driver (in a red/Honda/Civic/with a Red Sox bumper sticker/and Massachusetts plates) who cuts me off on the highway (we're in a construction area for crying out loud!), I can wave and say, "After you, my friend!"

This would replace my terribly bad habit of calling the driver of such a car one of my preferred names such as douche or loser. For a time, I would try to interrupt myself and say, "Do---" or "Lo--". It wasn't long before I began singing the syllables to the melody of the Sting song: "Do, do, do; lo, lo, lo..."


Can you help me sing a new song?

Do hard things...

I just watched the movie, Eat, Pray, Love. I certainly had an affinity for the beauty and cultures (read: food!) that she experienced, but I found her answer to life's great question far too easy: "God is within you, as you." How convenient. If God is in me, then all I need to is love myself. Perhaps the case could be made that if God is in me, then I am also obligated to love others, but if I am God, cannot I do whatever I like?

The Scriptures would say, "No," to a degree. God is love, therefore He must love. I, however, am a selfish, weak human who can barely muster the strength to love people that get under my skin. Sure, I may not be mean outright, but if the world could hear the words that my spirit mutters, all would be made plain. If I congratulate myself on an act of charity, honesty prods me to acknowledge that even when I do something loving, there are times when I hold back. I hold back because true selfless love costs me too much. It is inconvenient. Do I clean up after dinner for my 80-year-old mother even if I haven't eaten? Not today. What about the annoying family friend that drops in unexpectedly? Do I listen to them as attentively as I ought? Do I truly love them when they are present? Oftentimes not.

Even as I fail at doing what I ought to do, I am drawn to things that challenge me. I don't like easy answers. I mean, I like 'em, but not really. Easy is easy, so where is the satisfaction in that? I prefer things like, "Turn the other cheek..." or "love your neighbor..." which includes those who aren't so "easy" to love. See a pattern here?

Perhaps the beauty of a title like Eat, Pray, Love is that each one is progressively harder than the last. Eat? Easy. Pray? Possibly. Love? God help me.

My Non-Fiction Life

    I am currently reading two books simultaneously: Timothy Keller’s The Reason for God and Radical: Taking Back Your Faith from the American Dream by David Platt. Yes, I love non-fiction, and it is only in recent years that I have come to enjoy fiction as much. Perhaps it is because non-fiction books are so helpful and practical and full of good advice, yet very rarely do I find the life and actions of a fictional character worthy of repeating. Jane Eyre, Anne of Green Gables, maybe, but while I love Louise Erdrich’s prose, I wouldn’t say that many of her characters are worth imitating. Non-fiction, on the other hand, I can count on—to enrich my life and challenge me to be a better person; fiction often feels merely like an escape. This begs the question, Who doesn’t like to escape? But it is precisely because life frequently demands escaping that I feel compelled to stay—face it head on—fight the good fight. I would much rather spend my time improving this life than trying to get out of it—that is, until I die.
    The piece of non-fiction that has impacted my life most profoundly is Elisabeth Elliot’s autobiographical book, Loneliness: It can be a Wilderness. It can be a Pathway to God (more recently titled, The Path of Loneliness: Finding Your Way Through the Wilderness to God). I was seventeen years old when my first love decided upon his sophomore year in college that he wanted to date other people. I retreated to this book and found deep consolation in the words of a woman—twice widowed—who was still able to declare amidst all the suffering, “the Lord himself goes at your head; he will be with you; he will not fail you or forsake you. Do not be discouraged or afraid” (Deut. 31:8). Now, that I can dig.

Roommate Moment #1

Tonight my Mom and I had one.

She was cooking dinner (courtesy of dreamdinners.com) and waiting on the fish of our "Baked Fish and Chips" to finish baking. Meanwhile, she had pulled out the "chips" and squirted some ketchup on the cooling cookie sheet. The next thing you know, we are standing over the stove talking and eating french fries hot out of the oven.

Who knew that 80-year-olds could be so fun and spontaneous?

I do.

I too, can trust Him

From the daily devotional, Streams in the Desert:

"Surrender your very selves to God as living men who have risen from the dead." (Romans 6:13.) (Weymouth.)

I went one night to hear an address on consecration. No special message came to me from it, but as the speaker kneeled to pray, he dropped this sentence: "O Lord, Thou knowest we can trust the Man that died for us." And that was my message. I rose and walked down the street to the train; and as I walked, I pondered deeply all that consecration might mean to my life and--I was afraid. And then, above the noise and clatter of the street traffic came to me the message: "You can trust the Man that died for you."

I got into the train to ride homeward; and as I rode, I thought of the changes, the sacrifices, the disappointments which consecration might mean to me and--I was afraid.

I reached home and sought my room, and there upon my knees I saw my past life. I had been a Christian, an officer in the church, a Sunday-school superintendent, but had never definitely yielded my life to God.

Yet as I thought of the darling plans which might be baffled, of the cherished hopes to be surrendered, and the chosen profession which I might be called upon to abandon--I was afraid.

I did not see the better things God had for me, so my soul was shrinking back; and then for the last time with a swift rush of convicting power, came to my innermost heart that searching message:

"My child, you can trust the Man that died for you. If you cannot trust Him who can you trust?"

That settled it for me, for in a flash I saw that the Man who so loved me as to die for me could be absolutely trusted with all the concerns of the life He had saved.

Friend, you can trust the Man that died for you. You can trust Him to baffle no plan which is not best to be foiled, and to carry out every one which is for God's glory and your highest good. You can trust Him to lead you in the path which is the very best in this world for you.--J. H. McC.

"Just as I am, thy love unknown,
Has broken every barrier down,
Now to be Thine, yea, Thine ALONE,
O Lamb of God, I come!"