Proof of my ridiculousness. Exhibit B

In my last post I failed to place content into context. Why am I writing blogs pertaining to my failures? Well, I’m quite convinced that Christians spend a great deal of time masking and burying their weaknesses and sin so as to slip incognito into a world of self-glorifying perfectionism. If we’re truly honest with which truths Christianity is founded upon, It makes little sense to pretend our lives are hunkey dory. It's founded on the same principle that people wear make-up. It's adhering to made-up guidelines that create a product as artificial and unrealistic as the morals that support them. "Perfect skin" seems to be the pursuit of most Christians, including myself. And I have totally fallen for this lie. As subversive as I try to be, on the inside, I'm terrified of what most people think. I would even go so far as to say that any rebelliousness I put forward is, in itself, the concealer I use to hide this big pulsing ZIT.
In writing these blogs I hope be exposed. On Derek Webb’s album “The House Show” he talks about how the best thing for any of us is to have our deepest, darkest sins broadcasted on the 12 O’clock news. My goal is that I can start to believe that Jesus is the Gospel and not Bill. Through this, I hope that I would be able to cultivate enough evidence to show myself that I need perfect love. Not just the affection of people close to me; their love is exhaustible; they, in the end, will not know how to love me.
I hope to recognize that, in the scheme of all things, someone as proportionately insignificant as I would need something bigger than the universe to appropriately tend to my fallacies. Talk about being a mooch.

Proof of my ridiculousness. Exhibit A

For the past month I, along with a select few in North America, have been glued to FIFA's World Cup. Being someone who doesn't know much about the family heritage, It has been a great deal of fun watching the Netherlands play. Looking at the players and seeing their build, they reminded me of my dad and uncles who, although were never in that good of shape, resembled them quite well. Not only were there family look-a-likes but they were an awesome team to boot, making it to the finals.
I have surely gained a good deal of pride for my background while ascertaining more of a cultural identity. While creeping towards the finals, after knocking out Brasil, I shared with God what I was going through, that I was really happy in gaining what was lost through my family's immigration
to Canada 50 years ago (or so). I then asked the Lord if he could help the team win the Cup, thinking that “Hey, he wants to know what I desire”.
Not exactly what happened; right? After a dirty game, Spain wins with a disputed offside goal. At first I wasn't upset, I tried to stay calm and collect. However, after an hour or so I soon became more and more angry. At one point I seriously wanted to single-highhandedly take on a gaggle of Spaniards, oh, if you didn't know; Dutch people have tempers. In my silent brooding the Lord then spoke. If I were to put this feeling to words it would be to the effect: “Bill, I hope you're mad; it looks good on you because when you prayed for a sporting event you neglected all the suffering and pain going on in my world”.When God speaks to someone in Tokyo he speaks Japanese; when he speaks to me he's facetious .
I don't believe that my renewed “Dutchiness” is sinful. It was in completely abandoning some of my most fundamental views on who Jesus is and what my relationship with him is for. I managed to migrate myself even more within myself. One of the most grace-filled moments of the past month has been when God called me on my bullshit.