My responses are in blue.
Dear Mr. Moore:
Thank you for contacting me regarding the proposed bailout of the auto industry.
Great, this is going to be a canned response.
In my judgment, the Big Three auto makers have arrived at this point through their own poor management. The fact that so many American manufacturing jobs are at risk is the only reason these companies deserve any taxpayer assistance. In order to avoid digging ourselves into a deeper economic hole, we must take action. But we cannot simply have another bailout. Any assistance from the government must come in the form of a loan with significant strings attached to force these companies to restructure the way they do business.
Just because these three companies employ large amounts of people, they deserve taxpayer assistance? Why is that my concern? I don't want my money going to bail out the union workers who can't be fired, who have a better benefit and retirement package than the majority of Americans, and who make a sub-standard product. The American people have spoken out on this issue already. If they wanted to bail out the Big Three, they would have been buying their cars.
Further, I have a real problem with the federal government getting into the business of lending money to companies. I don't want the government telling companies how to do business.
First, we must insist that the Big Three increase their average fuel economy to 50 miles per gallon by 2020. Automakers must also increase production of flex-fuel, electric, and plug-in hybrid vehicles. Foreign car companies have been building fuel efficient cars for years, and now in this era of volatile gas prices, the American manufacturers find themselves at a disadvantage.
They don't "find" themselves at a disadvantage. They put themselves at a disadvantage. They manufactured and set themselves into a market niche, and when that market dried up, they screwed themselves. They aren't victims. They're stupid. And I don't want my money subsidizing stupid (though it does pay Senators' salaries, so...).
We must also ensure that no taxpayer money goes to reward the people who got us in this situation in the first place. Shareholders in these companies should not receive dividends until they return to financial health. We must place limits on executive compensation and eliminate golden parachutes. Finally, we must insist that these companies replace their senior management. We need new leadership and fresh ideas to get us out of this mess.
Sounds like tough talk. I just doubt it'll happen. I'd also love to see them get rid of the unions. I'd also like to have a solid gold toilet seat, but it's just not in the cards.
I appreciate the time you've taken to contact me about this important issue. I am committed to keeping America on the leading edge of manufacturing and technological innovation. Please do not hesitate to share your views with me in the future.
So I can ignore them.
Saturday, December 6, 2008
Thursday, December 4, 2008
To The Honorable Ander Crenshaw,
I wanted to write in reference to the proposed bailout of the "Big Three" automakers that has been in the news. As one of your constituents, I wanted to voice my opposition to this bailout. Florida taxpayers have enough to worry about just trying to make ends meet; they can't afford to support the short-sightedness of the auto executives and leaders of the auto workers' unions. If anyone deserves a bailout, it is the taxpayers, who spend one-quarter of the year working just to pay their taxes.
I don't know all of the details of the proposal, though I am encouraged by the news that congress is thus far frowning upon the groveling auto execs. Please continue this cynicism of their motives and methods, as you continue to cogitate the issue with your fellow Representatives.
As a Sailor, I also must thank your for all the support for the military you've provided to the Navy families in Jacksonville over the years. I believe strongly in the values upon which this country was founded--that's why I've dedicated my life to serving it. One of those values is responsibility. If Congress won't hold these automakers accountable, who will? I trust you'll do the right thing.
Thank you for your time.
Respectfully,
Christopher Moore
ENS, USN
I sent a similar letter to Senator Bill Nelson. Let's see what they say.
I wanted to write in reference to the proposed bailout of the "Big Three" automakers that has been in the news. As one of your constituents, I wanted to voice my opposition to this bailout. Florida taxpayers have enough to worry about just trying to make ends meet; they can't afford to support the short-sightedness of the auto executives and leaders of the auto workers' unions. If anyone deserves a bailout, it is the taxpayers, who spend one-quarter of the year working just to pay their taxes.
I don't know all of the details of the proposal, though I am encouraged by the news that congress is thus far frowning upon the groveling auto execs. Please continue this cynicism of their motives and methods, as you continue to cogitate the issue with your fellow Representatives.
As a Sailor, I also must thank your for all the support for the military you've provided to the Navy families in Jacksonville over the years. I believe strongly in the values upon which this country was founded--that's why I've dedicated my life to serving it. One of those values is responsibility. If Congress won't hold these automakers accountable, who will? I trust you'll do the right thing.
Thank you for your time.
Respectfully,
Christopher Moore
ENS, USN
I sent a similar letter to Senator Bill Nelson. Let's see what they say.
Saturday, November 29, 2008
Fuck theives
Darius was robbed.
Darius is my nine year old son. He's been saving up his allowance. He had almost $50 saved. He counted it last Saturday night when he got to my house. Every time we've gone anywhere for the last week, he's surreptitiously grabbed his wallet when he thought I wasn't looking, in hopes of finding a spiffy new toy on which to spend it. He didn't want me to see because he knows I'd urge him to save his money, and really, where's the fun in that?
So each time we went anywhere, he'd leave his wallet sitting in my car. Why he didn't put it in his back pocket like every other man on the planet, I don't know. I guess I hadn't taught him that yet. Also, it's hard to buy something at the store, when your wallet is still in the car. Luckily, I have a habit of religiously locking my doors--owing to an incident whereupon a Jacksonville Public Library DVD was stolen from my unlocked car. Those assholes tried to tell me I owed $70 to replace it. So now I can't check out books from the library. But I digress.
Thursday afternoon, on our way to Thanksgiving dinner at my girlfriend's house, we stopped at the Great Blue Monster to buy some dessert. Darius, as always, asked if he could look at the toys. Being the pushover that I am, I agreed and he found one he liked. Grabbing it, we headed to the checkout counter (which had surprisingly short lines for 3 p.m. on Thanksgiving). As I was paying for the desserts, Darius looked in his wallet to pay for his toy. It was empty.
Now, I know the feeling of expecting to see money where there is none. I know how his stomach dropped. I could see the chin pucker and the tears crowding at the eyelids, waiting to fall. Forty-six dollars, to a nine year old, is like, well, a lot. As we pieced it together, we discovered that the only time that the wallet has been out of his sight or on his person in the last week, it was either in my locked automobile, or on his dresser. I counted all the windows in my car and noticed nothing amiss.
Turns out, the day before, Darius brought a friend over to play. I was cooking dinner when in walked Darius with Andy, who's a year younger, and Andy's big brother Tony, who looks to be about 13. I thought it was weird that a 13 year old would want to hang out with his little brother and his friend, but I didn't think too much of it. They played for about an hour and then went home.
When Darius discovered his money missing, he remembered seeing Tony "messing" with his wallet, which was sitting on his dresser. So what's a dad supposed to do? If a teenager is seen "messing" with a wallet that contains money, and then the wallet contains no money, common sense suggests that said teenager took the money. In the absence of any other plausible explanation for the disappearance of the money, Occam's Razor says that Tony must have taken it. If it walks like a duck...
So I had Darius scour every inch of his room. I looked through my car. We made sure that the money is not here before I went to do what I knew I had to do. Darius, of course, was devastated. I tried to use his disappointment to teach an object lesson: take care of your shit. Also, don't trust teenagers. Just kidding.
Besides the DVD, I've had other stuff stolen from me. In high school, I had $60 taken from my backpack that was in my friend's room. That was at a time when sixty dollars was almost a week's salary at Taco Bell. Thievery was rampant when I was on the JFK. My Navy Peacoat , a nice inner-frame hiking backpack (come to think of it, the same one that had $60 taken out of it in H.S.), and a small granite pyramid I bought in Cairo: all stolen. Those three were probably the worst, since they were all stolen from my shop. It was a secure space, so the only people who could have stolen them were people I worked with and considered friends. The point is, I knew exactly how Darius was feeling.
If losing all that stuff did anything for me, it made me more honest. I loathe theives, and I'm rarely tempted to take something that doesn't belong to me. I tried to use this episode to instill the same thing in Darius. And to teach him to keep his wallet in his pocket.
Finally, I saw no way out of going to talk to Tony's parents. Since we didn't get back home from Raquel's folks' house until late, I had to wait until Friday to talk to them. When I went over there, they were at work, and I spoke to Tony's grandfather. Well, I spoke at him. And he spoke at me. I, in English, he in Vietnamese. We didn't get very far.
Luckily I saw Andy later and he told me his parents worked until pretty late. So this morning after breakfast, I went over there and spoke with his mom. She speaks English, though it's often hard to understand her with her thick accent. I explained the situation, as delicately as I could (I suppose there is still a chance that Tony didn't take the money). She said Tony was staying over at a neighbor's house, so she sent Andy to get him. While we waited on her front porch, we made awkward small talk. She asked which house I lived in, and I pointed out my place three houses down. I mentioned how much I like the neighborhood--how I like that there are so many kids for Darius to play with--and asked her how long they'd lived here (three years). She mentioned how much she likes it, mostly because (and I wish I were joking about this) there are so few black people in the neighborhood. Wow.
Finally, Tony walked over, groggy-eyed, having just woken up. I explained why I was there. I told him Darius saw him messing with the wallet and asked if he knew anything about it. He assured me that he didn't. He didn't even look inside, he said. Great. Now what.
If he did take the money, then he'd have no compunction lying about it. If he didn't take the money, then he's telling the truth. Either way, we're really no closer to getting the money back. I looked at his mom who said something to him in Vietnamese, and she seemed unlikely to help. I tried to put myself in her shoes. If someone came to me accusing Darius of stealing something from their kid, how would I react?
First, I'd find out it Darius actually did it. I would ask him. If he said yes, his punishment would be less harsh. We'd give back whatever was taken and figure out some sort of restitution. Maybe he would wash their car or something. If he said no, I'd tear his room apart and make sure that he was telling the truth. If I found out he stole, and then lied about it, the punishment would be so harsh that he would never dream of stealing again. I think giving away his three or four favorite toys (especially the ones he saved to buy himself) to the kid he stole from would be a good start.
But that's my kid. I can't dictate how someone else deals with their delinquent. But Tony will never come in my house again. Darius can still play with Andy, and Andy can come over. I hope Darius learns to take better care of his stuff. I hope Tony goes to jail--I'm sorry, that's not fair. I truly hope Tony didn't do it. If I find out he didn't, I will march over and apologize to the entire family. But honestly, I don't have any other explanation. If, somehow, I find out he did, I'll march back over and demand the money back, lest I press charges. I know, $46 hardly seems worth it, but fuck I hate thieves.
Darius is my nine year old son. He's been saving up his allowance. He had almost $50 saved. He counted it last Saturday night when he got to my house. Every time we've gone anywhere for the last week, he's surreptitiously grabbed his wallet when he thought I wasn't looking, in hopes of finding a spiffy new toy on which to spend it. He didn't want me to see because he knows I'd urge him to save his money, and really, where's the fun in that?
So each time we went anywhere, he'd leave his wallet sitting in my car. Why he didn't put it in his back pocket like every other man on the planet, I don't know. I guess I hadn't taught him that yet. Also, it's hard to buy something at the store, when your wallet is still in the car. Luckily, I have a habit of religiously locking my doors--owing to an incident whereupon a Jacksonville Public Library DVD was stolen from my unlocked car. Those assholes tried to tell me I owed $70 to replace it. So now I can't check out books from the library. But I digress.
Thursday afternoon, on our way to Thanksgiving dinner at my girlfriend's house, we stopped at the Great Blue Monster to buy some dessert. Darius, as always, asked if he could look at the toys. Being the pushover that I am, I agreed and he found one he liked. Grabbing it, we headed to the checkout counter (which had surprisingly short lines for 3 p.m. on Thanksgiving). As I was paying for the desserts, Darius looked in his wallet to pay for his toy. It was empty.
Now, I know the feeling of expecting to see money where there is none. I know how his stomach dropped. I could see the chin pucker and the tears crowding at the eyelids, waiting to fall. Forty-six dollars, to a nine year old, is like, well, a lot. As we pieced it together, we discovered that the only time that the wallet has been out of his sight or on his person in the last week, it was either in my locked automobile, or on his dresser. I counted all the windows in my car and noticed nothing amiss.
Turns out, the day before, Darius brought a friend over to play. I was cooking dinner when in walked Darius with Andy, who's a year younger, and Andy's big brother Tony, who looks to be about 13. I thought it was weird that a 13 year old would want to hang out with his little brother and his friend, but I didn't think too much of it. They played for about an hour and then went home.
When Darius discovered his money missing, he remembered seeing Tony "messing" with his wallet, which was sitting on his dresser. So what's a dad supposed to do? If a teenager is seen "messing" with a wallet that contains money, and then the wallet contains no money, common sense suggests that said teenager took the money. In the absence of any other plausible explanation for the disappearance of the money, Occam's Razor says that Tony must have taken it. If it walks like a duck...
So I had Darius scour every inch of his room. I looked through my car. We made sure that the money is not here before I went to do what I knew I had to do. Darius, of course, was devastated. I tried to use his disappointment to teach an object lesson: take care of your shit. Also, don't trust teenagers. Just kidding.
Besides the DVD, I've had other stuff stolen from me. In high school, I had $60 taken from my backpack that was in my friend's room. That was at a time when sixty dollars was almost a week's salary at Taco Bell. Thievery was rampant when I was on the JFK. My Navy Peacoat , a nice inner-frame hiking backpack (come to think of it, the same one that had $60 taken out of it in H.S.), and a small granite pyramid I bought in Cairo: all stolen. Those three were probably the worst, since they were all stolen from my shop. It was a secure space, so the only people who could have stolen them were people I worked with and considered friends. The point is, I knew exactly how Darius was feeling.
If losing all that stuff did anything for me, it made me more honest. I loathe theives, and I'm rarely tempted to take something that doesn't belong to me. I tried to use this episode to instill the same thing in Darius. And to teach him to keep his wallet in his pocket.
Finally, I saw no way out of going to talk to Tony's parents. Since we didn't get back home from Raquel's folks' house until late, I had to wait until Friday to talk to them. When I went over there, they were at work, and I spoke to Tony's grandfather. Well, I spoke at him. And he spoke at me. I, in English, he in Vietnamese. We didn't get very far.
Luckily I saw Andy later and he told me his parents worked until pretty late. So this morning after breakfast, I went over there and spoke with his mom. She speaks English, though it's often hard to understand her with her thick accent. I explained the situation, as delicately as I could (I suppose there is still a chance that Tony didn't take the money). She said Tony was staying over at a neighbor's house, so she sent Andy to get him. While we waited on her front porch, we made awkward small talk. She asked which house I lived in, and I pointed out my place three houses down. I mentioned how much I like the neighborhood--how I like that there are so many kids for Darius to play with--and asked her how long they'd lived here (three years). She mentioned how much she likes it, mostly because (and I wish I were joking about this) there are so few black people in the neighborhood. Wow.
Finally, Tony walked over, groggy-eyed, having just woken up. I explained why I was there. I told him Darius saw him messing with the wallet and asked if he knew anything about it. He assured me that he didn't. He didn't even look inside, he said. Great. Now what.
If he did take the money, then he'd have no compunction lying about it. If he didn't take the money, then he's telling the truth. Either way, we're really no closer to getting the money back. I looked at his mom who said something to him in Vietnamese, and she seemed unlikely to help. I tried to put myself in her shoes. If someone came to me accusing Darius of stealing something from their kid, how would I react?
First, I'd find out it Darius actually did it. I would ask him. If he said yes, his punishment would be less harsh. We'd give back whatever was taken and figure out some sort of restitution. Maybe he would wash their car or something. If he said no, I'd tear his room apart and make sure that he was telling the truth. If I found out he stole, and then lied about it, the punishment would be so harsh that he would never dream of stealing again. I think giving away his three or four favorite toys (especially the ones he saved to buy himself) to the kid he stole from would be a good start.
But that's my kid. I can't dictate how someone else deals with their delinquent. But Tony will never come in my house again. Darius can still play with Andy, and Andy can come over. I hope Darius learns to take better care of his stuff. I hope Tony goes to jail--I'm sorry, that's not fair. I truly hope Tony didn't do it. If I find out he didn't, I will march over and apologize to the entire family. But honestly, I don't have any other explanation. If, somehow, I find out he did, I'll march back over and demand the money back, lest I press charges. I know, $46 hardly seems worth it, but fuck I hate thieves.
Saturday, November 15, 2008
I Can't Help...
Falling in love, it turns out, can happen quickly, or it can happen slowly. For me, it was both. I knew within just a few weeks of meeting Raquel that I was in love with her. Now, for the record, I maintain no bullshit Hollywood ideas of love. I don’t think that love is something that happens to you, nor does it happen outside of our ability to control it. When I say I fell in love with Raquel, I mean that I knew that I wanted to be with her forever (or until she turned out to be crazy). I could foresee the possibility of a day when my feelings toward her would change, but I couldn’t (and still can’t) imagine a scenario where I would want to let my feelings dictate my actions (unless she did turn out to be crazy, though I think we’re beyond that point now). But I’m just now realizing that, although I discovered what I believe to be the closest thing to love at first sight, I didn’t realize that you can fall in love with the same person again and again.
I just remembered a day she came to see me while I was living in Pensacola. For some reason, we bought a gigantic bottle of bubbles. It had one of those economy sized wands with four or five rings on it, for maximum bubble capacity in a single dip. We discovered, driving around that day, that 25 miles per hour is the perfect speed to drive to maximize bubble production while holding this wand out the window. We drove all over Pensacola—a trail of bubbles following my SUV all over town.
That afternoon we went to the beach—found our own little corner on the western end of the island—and stayed until the sun began to set. We had a package of sour fish candy, and Raquel would suck all the sugar off of them, and then feed me the sticky, naked gummies. I remember being annoyed by it, but I didn’t want to spoil the moment by bringing it up. I’ll always remember the way she looked in the black and red bikini I helped her pick out—radiant in the golden light of the evening. We soaked up the sun and the salty air and watched as the breeze carried our bubbles over the white sand.
And laughed.
My God, I’ve laughed more in the last 23 months than in the previous 23 years. I used to be truly afraid that I’d never meet someone who could hold my attention for longer than a few months. I truly believed that after a certain amount of time, all relationships just get routine and monotonous—that this is simply a fact of life, like gravity or the inanity of televised dance competitions. How wrong I was. No, Dancing with the Stars is simply a delight; and every day with Raquel is more interesting than the last. She made me remember how great it feels to laugh.
As I lay in bed remembering that day, it occurred to me that, although I was madly in love with her long before we blew bubbles on the beach, I was falling in love with her again on that day—and again as I remembered it tonight. The great thing about love is that it isn’t beyond our control. We can choose to experience it again and again, as often as we desire.
I just remembered a day she came to see me while I was living in Pensacola. For some reason, we bought a gigantic bottle of bubbles. It had one of those economy sized wands with four or five rings on it, for maximum bubble capacity in a single dip. We discovered, driving around that day, that 25 miles per hour is the perfect speed to drive to maximize bubble production while holding this wand out the window. We drove all over Pensacola—a trail of bubbles following my SUV all over town.
That afternoon we went to the beach—found our own little corner on the western end of the island—and stayed until the sun began to set. We had a package of sour fish candy, and Raquel would suck all the sugar off of them, and then feed me the sticky, naked gummies. I remember being annoyed by it, but I didn’t want to spoil the moment by bringing it up. I’ll always remember the way she looked in the black and red bikini I helped her pick out—radiant in the golden light of the evening. We soaked up the sun and the salty air and watched as the breeze carried our bubbles over the white sand.
And laughed.
My God, I’ve laughed more in the last 23 months than in the previous 23 years. I used to be truly afraid that I’d never meet someone who could hold my attention for longer than a few months. I truly believed that after a certain amount of time, all relationships just get routine and monotonous—that this is simply a fact of life, like gravity or the inanity of televised dance competitions. How wrong I was. No, Dancing with the Stars is simply a delight; and every day with Raquel is more interesting than the last. She made me remember how great it feels to laugh.
As I lay in bed remembering that day, it occurred to me that, although I was madly in love with her long before we blew bubbles on the beach, I was falling in love with her again on that day—and again as I remembered it tonight. The great thing about love is that it isn’t beyond our control. We can choose to experience it again and again, as often as we desire.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Why I Believe
Today I asked myself exactly why I believe. I've spent the last decade or so trying to figure out what I believe, and that's a question that I'm still not entirely certain of. But I realized in the midst of a rather heated internet argument (is there any other kind?) that I'd never taken the time, at least not lately, to ask myself why I believe at all. It only took a moment to realize that I didn't know why—I just do. I thought of my psychology classes—Freud's idea that our Superego is formed before our Ego; that our basic ideas of religion and morality are based upon subconscious fears of castration and a desire to take the place of our fathers—and other such gobbledygook. We'll inherit all of our parents' beliefs before our brains have developed enough to decide whether we even want to. It made me uncomfortable to think that maybe the only reason I still believe—even now after years of questioning, thinking and reasoning—was because my parents believed.
For many years, I feared that if I didn't "feel" god, then I wasn't a true believer. If I didn't feel Christ's love, then my faith must not be strong enough. Jesus said, "Blessed are they that have not seen, and yet have believed." I think (I hope) the same could be said for those who believe without feeling. It's easy to believe something you feel, deep within. But a relationship with God, much like any other relationship, must be based upon something more than feelings. For many years I relied solely upon emotional response to define my relationship with God. I could work myself into a tear-stained frenzy at church thinking about Jesus's sacrifice. But when I'd go home, the feelings would recede, and I'd feel lost. Turns out, emotion alone wasn’t enough to sustain my faith.
So I tried to logically defend my faith. I've been unable to do so, other than to say that it just seems the more "logical" explanation to me. I understand that Newton's Law of Conservation of Energy states that energy can neither be created nor destroyed. Same for matter. Ultimately, all this stuff had to come from somewhere, and for whatever reason, I've not heard a compelling enough explanation from science as to how you go from nothing to stuff that can be neither created nor destroyed, all in a fraction of a second. Now, it's very possible that science has an explanation that could satisfy me, and I'm simply not scientifically adept enough to understand it. Or possibly, I've just never been introduced to such an explanation (though, with the abundance of "science worshipers" I’ve discovered online, I'd think that such a theory would be rampant). But, in my own admittedly limited understanding, the idea of an intelligent creator is no more far-fetched than science glossing over two of it's most basic laws, simply for the sake of being able to call itself the most logical explanation. But none of that is evidence. It’s not proof. It’s speculation—the ramblings of an amateur philosopher. So it turns out, the part of my brain that processes emotions isn't enough to keep my faith strong, and I certainly can't reason my faith into existence. And then it hit me: I want to believe. Is it possible simple desire is sufficient to sustain my faith?
My brain can give me hundreds of reasons that the bible is improbable. My "heart" can gaze upon the cross and feel no twinge of emotion. But when I think—rationally—about what that cross represents I realize that despite all my doubts, despite my hardened heart, I desperately want to believe that it's true. Why?
Am I afraid of the consequences of unbelief? I think I used to be. But that ship has sailed. Since I left my church four years ago, I've spent a lot of time ignoring my faith, or, at times, my lack of faith. At first, I felt uncomfortable ignoring it. Then, I started to realize that even if God is everything I once feared He was, I don't want to worship or serve a God who doesn't show Himself, yet refuses to allow my mind to question. Did He not give me a mind with which to ponder? Then why would He be angry and condemn me for doubt?
No, I realized that I want to believe the Gospel because it is such a good story. Certainly, my literary side appreciates the story line—the hook, rising action leading to a climax and resolution, only to learn that there’s more yet to come. But I also hope that it’s true. I want to meet the author of this story. Sure, it sounds naïve, but I’m a sucker for great book.
Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate all that science is capable of doing. In fact, I believe that there is almost nothing science couldn't do, given enough time and ingenuity. I'd even like to believe that one day we could prove (or disprove) God's existence. I also don't believe that science is mutually exclusive from God. Perhaps we are closer to Him—scientifically—than we imagine. Perhaps the Big Bang theory is as close as we've come to describing the physics behind God creating all this. Who knows? The more whacked out theories I hear (did you know that Einstein proved that time travel is possible? That's incredible!), the more I believe that we are coming ever closer to describing those things which we once thought were magic.
Hell, we've been doing that for years. Thousands of years ago, we thought the sun, and rain, and moon and thunder were gods. Perhaps one day, the entity that I call God will be proven to be a simple scientific process. I'm sure some people I sit next to in Church would call that line of thought blasphemous, but it excites me. I've always believed that the typical view of God among believers was far, far too narrow. What if He created us without limits? What if He created us with the power to surpass even Himself? If we are His children, doesn’t it make sense? Isn’t that what parents want for their children—to do greater things than they’ve done? The bible says God destroyed the tower of Babel and confused man's language because, working together, there was nothing mankind couldn't accomplish. Hearing that, I’m inclined to believe that we could one day scientifically describe every force in the universe. There’s nothing we can’t do. Perhaps our history was (and continues to be) a narrative of mankind coming back together, responsible enough to finally wield the awesome power with which we’ve been entrusted.
That’s a story worth reading. That’s a story worth hoping for.
For many years, I feared that if I didn't "feel" god, then I wasn't a true believer. If I didn't feel Christ's love, then my faith must not be strong enough. Jesus said, "Blessed are they that have not seen, and yet have believed." I think (I hope) the same could be said for those who believe without feeling. It's easy to believe something you feel, deep within. But a relationship with God, much like any other relationship, must be based upon something more than feelings. For many years I relied solely upon emotional response to define my relationship with God. I could work myself into a tear-stained frenzy at church thinking about Jesus's sacrifice. But when I'd go home, the feelings would recede, and I'd feel lost. Turns out, emotion alone wasn’t enough to sustain my faith.
So I tried to logically defend my faith. I've been unable to do so, other than to say that it just seems the more "logical" explanation to me. I understand that Newton's Law of Conservation of Energy states that energy can neither be created nor destroyed. Same for matter. Ultimately, all this stuff had to come from somewhere, and for whatever reason, I've not heard a compelling enough explanation from science as to how you go from nothing to stuff that can be neither created nor destroyed, all in a fraction of a second. Now, it's very possible that science has an explanation that could satisfy me, and I'm simply not scientifically adept enough to understand it. Or possibly, I've just never been introduced to such an explanation (though, with the abundance of "science worshipers" I’ve discovered online, I'd think that such a theory would be rampant). But, in my own admittedly limited understanding, the idea of an intelligent creator is no more far-fetched than science glossing over two of it's most basic laws, simply for the sake of being able to call itself the most logical explanation. But none of that is evidence. It’s not proof. It’s speculation—the ramblings of an amateur philosopher. So it turns out, the part of my brain that processes emotions isn't enough to keep my faith strong, and I certainly can't reason my faith into existence. And then it hit me: I want to believe. Is it possible simple desire is sufficient to sustain my faith?
My brain can give me hundreds of reasons that the bible is improbable. My "heart" can gaze upon the cross and feel no twinge of emotion. But when I think—rationally—about what that cross represents I realize that despite all my doubts, despite my hardened heart, I desperately want to believe that it's true. Why?
Am I afraid of the consequences of unbelief? I think I used to be. But that ship has sailed. Since I left my church four years ago, I've spent a lot of time ignoring my faith, or, at times, my lack of faith. At first, I felt uncomfortable ignoring it. Then, I started to realize that even if God is everything I once feared He was, I don't want to worship or serve a God who doesn't show Himself, yet refuses to allow my mind to question. Did He not give me a mind with which to ponder? Then why would He be angry and condemn me for doubt?
No, I realized that I want to believe the Gospel because it is such a good story. Certainly, my literary side appreciates the story line—the hook, rising action leading to a climax and resolution, only to learn that there’s more yet to come. But I also hope that it’s true. I want to meet the author of this story. Sure, it sounds naïve, but I’m a sucker for great book.
Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate all that science is capable of doing. In fact, I believe that there is almost nothing science couldn't do, given enough time and ingenuity. I'd even like to believe that one day we could prove (or disprove) God's existence. I also don't believe that science is mutually exclusive from God. Perhaps we are closer to Him—scientifically—than we imagine. Perhaps the Big Bang theory is as close as we've come to describing the physics behind God creating all this. Who knows? The more whacked out theories I hear (did you know that Einstein proved that time travel is possible? That's incredible!), the more I believe that we are coming ever closer to describing those things which we once thought were magic.
Hell, we've been doing that for years. Thousands of years ago, we thought the sun, and rain, and moon and thunder were gods. Perhaps one day, the entity that I call God will be proven to be a simple scientific process. I'm sure some people I sit next to in Church would call that line of thought blasphemous, but it excites me. I've always believed that the typical view of God among believers was far, far too narrow. What if He created us without limits? What if He created us with the power to surpass even Himself? If we are His children, doesn’t it make sense? Isn’t that what parents want for their children—to do greater things than they’ve done? The bible says God destroyed the tower of Babel and confused man's language because, working together, there was nothing mankind couldn't accomplish. Hearing that, I’m inclined to believe that we could one day scientifically describe every force in the universe. There’s nothing we can’t do. Perhaps our history was (and continues to be) a narrative of mankind coming back together, responsible enough to finally wield the awesome power with which we’ve been entrusted.
That’s a story worth reading. That’s a story worth hoping for.
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