Apr. 17th, 2005

butterfly: (Cross -- Lance)
So, my brother is emailing me. Partly about just life and also... to preach at me, apparently.

It's the evangelism aspect of Christianity that I have the most problems with, to be perfectly honest. Well, and the "one true way" part. Honestly, there are a whole lot of reasons why I'm not thrilled with Christianity at the moment and none of them have a thing to do with God.

I've never had an issue with God. If you've seen Fiddler on the Roof -- I'm Tevye. I talk to God. Sometimes to complain, sometimes to praise, sometimes just because.

I've had two somewhat unearthly experiences in my life. Times when a person who wasn't there helped me through emotional times. I have felt the hand of God in my life, more times that I can count. I have had prayers answered, some more obvious than others.

But telling my brother that means nothing, because if I do not worship in the way that he does, then it isn't real (reminds me of people slagging off John Kerry for not being 'Christian enough' when the man is Catholic).

My concept of God is all-encompassing. God Is and Is Not. God is all of us and none at all. God is so much bigger than anyone can comprehend and yet its embrace is the definition of understanding and of love.

Sometimes, I say 'he' and sometimes I say 'she', but neither is truly accurate to my perception of God, who is both and neither. God is the brightest star in the heavens and the smallest grain of sand, and yet neither, because to exist is to experience the Is Not.

God is both the atom and the spaces in-between.

My God is without limit and without size. Infinite and infinitely loving, because to exist is to feel and to create is to love. Perhaps that's the writer in me speaking, but I cannot separate creation and love. For me, creation and love are one and the same (as are destruction and fear).

And again, perhaps it's the writer in me that has no issues with an all-loving God who allows its creations to create a world of horror, if they so choose. The writer does not always choose how the story is written and how the characters act. The writer knows the characters intimately, more than anyone else, but sometimes, the story writes itself and fighting that is always a losing battle, because if you do win, you end up with characters that no longer feel alive. You either lose the characters or the story, and I will always choose to save the former.

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