James Dean, James Dean, I know just what you mean.

Man, people are hurting.  How come I always miss that point?

I'll admit that I'm pretty spiteful.  Whenever people say stuff to me that I don't like, I usually respond properly where they can see and then think of clever and cutting responses the next time they speak.  And I never say those things.  Partly because I've cooled off by the time we talk again, partly because I know I shouldn't say stuff like that, and partly because I'm afraid.  But my motivation isn't really what I'm talking about.  I'm pretty familiar with my motivations.  What I have to think about is the other person's.

It's trite to say that "you don't know what there going through right now."  It's not even close to being the main reason we should value people.  But it's generally true.  People do have bad days.  Sometimes they coincide with ours.  I just forget that other people have pasts, too.  I always figure everything revolves around me, so that past is less consequential.  Stupid.  But the guys I mock in my head and the faces I'd like to spit on live in a fallen world too.  They don't need my pithy slashes.

I gave this post its title because it reminds me of "Rebel Without A Cause."  So misunderstood and treated so badly.

What's the deal?  I wish I connected with Christ more so I could start acting like Him.

Really

I was talking to Josh about how funny it is when people who are really good at something spend all their time doing other stuff that they don't even seem to enjoy.  I don't know if this disease is accompanied by an image problem or just a desire to do something different, but it's just strange.  All the people we've observed that do this aren't as easy to be around as when they're doing what they really care about.

And then there's people like us who don't really know what we care about.  We just like God really well and the stuff we've always liked and new experiences.  No idea what that's going to look like in the future.  Hopefully we can do something useful.  Or just be prepared to do something that's good.

I was thinking about all the cultural stuff that you have to do if you're a missionary.  Speak differently.  Eat differently.  Drink differently.  Express yourself differently.  I think that's part of sanctification, but I think a bigger thing than doing new stuff is giving up old stuff.  The new's coming.  Does it have any room?  And what do people like Josh and Andrew and me do when we don't even understand the old stuff, let alone know how to give it up?  I didn't realize I cared so much about politcal theory until it was smashed in Rwanda.  I didn't realize I cared so much about having personal space until I had to share a small room with two other guys in Long Dorm, one of whom wanted all the space.  It's strange.

So what do I care about?

Really.

Discomfort

I accompanied Amy and her family this weekend to one of those parties where nobody but the host knows everybody else.  Most of the guests were somehow connected with the British Commonwealth, and we were the only Americans there.  We were told by the host when we arrived, "Yeah, just grab a drink and start meeting some people."  And then we were left alone.  So we started meeting people.  I spent most of the time talking to an Indian family about how the first-down lines move on American football games.  It was uncomfortable at first, but I liked it.

I wonder how much of maturity begins in discomfort.  "Growing pains," right?  Right.  You've got to suffer through that first back-packing trip to really know what to expect and love the next time.  You've got to drive around some streets you don't know to get the map in your head.  I wonder how our relationship with God parallels that.  Evangelism, sure.  You don't really get it until you've done it.  But what about the experiential relationship?  Confession?  Humility?  Maybe everything that's really good is an acquired taste.  Maybe that meat that God feeds us has to be chewed up a million times before we get the hang of not having milk.  Maybe we should glory in our discomfort, as it's a part of sanctification, too.