BETTER PERSONS, BALANCE, AND TULIPS

I feel like I should clarify a bit about this whole "better person" thing, because I'm neurotic, and that's what I *do*.

So anyway.

There isn't a thing wrong with wanting to lose weight, or quit smoking, or whatever. Any of those traditional resolutions. Making a resolution about them isn't in any way a bad thing.

When I was just starting out in college, back when dinosaurs roamed the earth, I had these friends, Lori and Jeff, who had been recently married. Lori mentioned to me one day that whenever she would say that she would like to go to the cinema (or any variety of other things), that Jeff would say, "If you go to the cinema for two hours, that's two hours that you could have spent studying the Bible."

He basically made her feel that choosing to go to the cinema was choosing NOT to spend time with God.

It was clear to me that I could never have lasted in that particular relationship. Although I can't state with absolute confidence that beating your partner about the head and neck with a blunt object is strictly prohibited in the Torah, I'm pretty sure it's at least generally frowned upon.

Now, they were young, and so was I, and I think a lot of us religious types go through similar phases. We want to be super-duper Christians. We decide that the most holy thing *ever* would be to wake up in the morning and always thank God immediately for the new day, and then if we forget one morning, we work ourselves up into a state about it and feel like we've sinned and are horrible because we're not doing BETTER. The way I was raised added to this--there was a lot of that business of choosing TO do something that I wanted was choosing NOT to do something that was a more holy activity.

I remember going through this period when I thought, you know, you always read about these missionaries who coincidentally turned right one day instead of left, and this either saved their lives or led them into the path where they saved someone else's life, or or or. So when I left my house in the morning, I'd think, "Okay, God, which way do YOU want me to go this morning?" I didn't feel any particular pull in one direction or another, and this worried me, as it clearly indicated that I was not a very good God-listener.

I have clearly always known how to work myself up into a frenzy.

Now, although I hesitate to actually say the sentence, "You know, sometimes God just really doesn't give a rip," I do think he sometimes looks down on us, shakes his head fondly, and says, "Oh, bless." There may or may not be some eye-rolling involved, and if God is really all-seeing, then that's a lot of eyes to be rolling.

There are many, many neutral things in this world. I had a really hard time with that growing up, and I think I still do. I think it's also because sometimes neutral things aren't really neutral in some situations--for example, although it is neutral to like tulips, it is bad to be obsessed with tulips to the point where you find yourself sneaking into other people's gardens at night to steal THEIR tulips. So I'd self-examine myself into a semi-comatose state trying to make sure that I didn't have any little bit of tulip envy clouding my enjoyment, or wasn't deaf to a God who REALLY REALLY WANTED ME TO TURN LEFT THIS MORNING.

At any rate, I'm really glad that pretty much the first commandment we were ever given was to take a day off. A day where we're not supposed to do so much as cook. God has officially sanctioned the occasional non-work, non-study, non-anything day. A day on which to just enjoy ourselves.

Then, to top it off, he sent his only son to earth, and his very first miracle was to make sure everyone had enough to drink at a party.

The thing is that it is perfectly okay to just enjoy stuff. After posting that I want to be a better person, I took three days off of work so that I could plant tulips in my garden. I could invent some holy reason for this, but the truth is that I just kind of like tulips.

The older I get, the more I find that most things are about a balance, and about fine lines. When I was a kid, I never understood how there could be verses in Proverbs that seemed to advocate not being too terribly holy OR too terribly unholy. I still don't entirely get it (although, I have to admit that I have come to learn--by observation, mind you--just how much pain, fear and discomfort truly holy people go through and have gained an appreciation for mediocrity).

The balance, I think, is about living your life looking forward to heaven, but also kind of living like there is no heaven. That sounds weird and blasphemous, so let me explain.

We're supposed to be looking forward to heaven--remembering that some day we're going to be judged. We are supposed to think about this every time we're tempted to hurt someone else, even if nobody is ever going to find out. We're supposed to remember that there IS something more than this earth, so that we don't become entirely materialistic, etc.

But at the same time, when I look around the world, I see that most of the hurt is caused by people who have their eyes so focused on heaven that they don't see or care about all of the people they're trampling to death in their efforts to reach it. When I read about judgment day, and about all of the reasons that the world experiences wrath, I see that it would be entirely avoided if everyone on earth spent less time shouting about what God wanted, and more time planting tulips.

I think that God created a perfect world, and then sin was introduced into it. And although God says we're not supposed to love the world, I think it's the balance again--he's talking about not loving all of the fame, power, and the general competitiveness of it all. I don't think he's really saying that when he has given us gardens and sunsets and cups of tea and tulips we're not supposed to sit back every now and then and enjoy them, and love them, and thank him for how truly wonderful it all is.

It's balance. It's being thankful for what we have, but not being so self-absorbed that we don't also acknowledge that there are other people who are hungry, and tired, and afraid, and in pain, and we have an obligation to try to do something about it.

The fine line comes in when we're looking at our own motives.

Just as there are people who believe that you shouldn't enjoy any "not specifically Christian" activity, there are other people who will try to convince you that the thing you want to do really IS holy, and so you're actually being super-righteous by doing the things you like.

When it comes to tulips, I do believe that God created some lovely flowers (especially the parrot ones--trust me on this), and that in general, we're supposed to care for the earth and his creation in general. And I think that planting tulips in my garden could be construed as being a good steward, and I daresay that when the tulips come up in the spring, if God allows, then I will be very happy and thankful and have many moments in which I am reminded of how spiffy in general God is and how great his creation is.

I have also, as a result of my gardening, met a lot of people who would not have come into my life otherwise. And it has created opportunities for me to be nice to others and to generally be a non-horrible person.

However, although these things may be true, let's be honest here. I planted tulips because I like tulips. I may have even been, dare I say, just a bit greedy when it came to purchasing tulip bulbs to plant, and I may have overdone it just a tiny bit, although I will deny this vehemently if my boyfriend asks.

Or, for another example, losing weight. Between this and acquiring wealth, I have probably heard more people try to explain why doing these things are actually godly than almost anything else.

I've dieted plenty of times in my life. There is a temptation, when doing so, to explain to God why this is a holy thing, and why he should support my efforts. It is undeniably easier, after all, to be a better Christian when you're thin.

After all, how can I help feed the hungry and visit the motherless and sick when I have no energy? If someone needs help moving, helping them out is undoubtedly a very righteous thing to do. It is also undoubtedly very difficult when you have enough difficulty moving your own butt that moving a sofa is out of the question.

So I think how this starts out is, "Okay, I want to lose weight because I hate looking like a heifer. Ooo, wait, vanity is not a good reason. Okay, I'll MAKE myself want to lose weight for good reasons, and then I'll be being honest when I explain this to God." After ten minutes of concentrating on just how good we're going to be, and preparing promises about all of the works we're going to perform in our new, svelte, sexy (NO NO NO NOT SEXY, HELPFUL!!!) bodies, we're ready to start praying.

It really doesn't work like that. We're complex beings, and we almost always have multiple reasons for wanting things. Some of them are holy, some of them are unholy, and some of them are just neutral. I think we have a real problem learning how to deal with neutral, or with neutral/holy mixed with an ever-so-tiny amount of unholy. Also, as it turns out, it's not ACTUALLY possible to fool God, and he kind of knows.

It's okay to want neutral things, or to enjoy neutral things. It's even okay to pray about them. I will admit to having said a quick prayer here and there for the tulips I planted. It's in God's hands if they grow, and if I'm around to enjoy them if and when they do. So there you go.

So I guess that's it. I'm conscious that I want to try to be a better person, because I'm aware of the fact that I've let the balance in my life shift too far in one direction. But if and when I become a better person, I will still need to take time to rest, and I will almost certainly also be spending more time in my garden, possibly with tulips.