What is "playing the victim" exactly?

I noticed that when I make comments about racial issues or poverty or trauma and healing, one of the responses I get is that I am enabling a victim mindset.  "The're just playing the victim."  No one likes a whiner. This victim mindset is deeply abhorrent to basic American sensibilities.  

 

But it got me asking myself a question.  What is a victim mindset exactly and what is the alternative that I am actually striving for within my own heart?

 

The victim sees the world as a competition for compassion. Either my pain is legitimate and worthy of compassion or yours is legitimate and worthy of compassion.
The sufferer sees both the uniqueness and the commonality of pain.  For the sufferer, pain becomes a unifier.  They know that compassion is a renewable resource.

 

The victim finds it difficult to hear the stories of others with different pain.
The sufferer listens well because they know what it is like to feel pain.

 

Victimhood leads to paralysis.
Suffering leads to stillness.

 

Victims want an eye for an eye.
Sufferers are settled in their hope for justice and long for the day when it will come.  They know that it will be more severe than an eye for an eye.

 

Victims want restitution now.
Sufferers know that the struggle for justice is a long battle.

 

Victims see themselves as entirely unique.
Sufferers have had an entirely unique journey, but they delight in the commonalities and find solidarity in other's stories.

 

Victims stay in a state of unfocused anger.
Sufferers have a clear focus and vision for the future.

 

Victims feel powerless.
Sufferers know that they are both weak and powerful beyond words.

 

Victims are waiting for the abuser to make the next move.  Nothing can happen until there is at least an apology.

Sufferers move in strength with or without apologies.

 

Victims live in terror of further pain.
Sufferers know that they are stronger than any pain that could come. 

 

Victims require clarity. 
Sufferers live in the midst of many unanswered questions.

 

Victims focus on "me" and "mine."
Sufferers focus on justice and mercy and what is real.

 

Victims unconsciously carry pain from one situation into the next.
Sufferers are well aware of all of their pain.  They have cried through it all.

 

Victims minimize their pain in moments of pleasure.  Pleasure is an escape from their pain.
Sufferers bear their pain constantly, but they know that joy can coexist with pain, so they laugh a lot.

 

Victims unconsciously wish they were the abuser instead of the victim.
Sufferers know that the curse on the abuser is automatic, multi-faceted and thorough and is ultimately worse than anything they would ever want.

 

Victims feel smaller than their suffering.
Sufferers know that they are bigger than their victimization.

 

Victims are constantly trying to prove that their pain is legitimate.
Sufferers know their pain is legitimate and grieve that other's just don't get it.

 

Other times victims try to hide their own pain and delegitimize it.
Sufferers are never scared of their grief and shame. They are free to talk about it.

 

Victims tend to see others as victims.
Sufferers see others as sufferers. 

 

Victims obsess with "logical" arguments.
Sufferers know that the greatest truths in the world are like the wind - powerful, uncontrollable, inevitable.

 

Victims have difficulty finding effective solutions.
Sufferers are a mighty force for social justice and mercy that cannot be stopped.  Their tears are a mighty river that washes through the barren desert of self-protection, power, control, religiosity, and manipulation. 

 

You may want to be a sufferer, but be careful.  Throughout history they tend to get killed.

What is happening exactly? Is this story going anywhere?

There are days when the toilet clogs and my neighbors on the first floor get a rain shower in their kitchen, and then there are days when the sun shines brightly.

There are days when the city calls me at work to say that there is an i on line 23 of chapter 46 that is not dotted.  Then there are days when folks talk about giving us millions because we are doing such great work.

There are days when folks pray and life seems good.  Then there are days that seem like a New York pot hole.

Folks experience God, then people get angry and run away.

Life is full of incongruences and detours.  Ups and downs are the norm.

What is the cohesive narrative?  Where is the forward progress? 

Are we going to the promised land or just wondering in the desert?  Are we just sitting on an ash heap with a potsherd? I wonder if Daniel knew how many nights he would spend in the Lion's Den?

These are the questions I wonder about sometimes.

Wouldn't it be nice if there was a beginning, ending, and you could see the progress in the middle?

In Eastern philosophies, I am told there is more of cyclical view of time.  We Westerners tend to expect things to be linear.  Nature certainly seems cyclical, so maybe the Eastern folks were on to something, but the Bible does tell a story about time.  The story has an author, a beginning, and ending.  Some of the chapters are just pretty long and confusing. 

"Looking unto Jesus the author and finisher of our faith" (Hebrews 12:2)

What's the problem with leadership?

Theoretically, there is a desire in every man to be "the man."  We all want to be the "top dog," the "Big Kahuna," large and in charge, but why is there such a dearth of good leadership nowadays?

From presidential candidates, to cell group leaders, to program directors at work, leaders are hard to find.  I used to read leadership books by folks like John Maxwell or Steven Covey, but now that I have had a taste of leadership I fantasize about a cabin in Montana.

What's wrong with leadership?  Why is something that seems like an honor turn out to be such a burden instead?  Everyone who doesn't have it wants it, but many who have tasted it, ache.

Something dawned on me the other day.  Leadership involves a painful paradox.  You have to have qualities that conflict with each other.

You need to be . . .

Soft and hard both.
Gentle enough to hold the hand of a child and strong enough to take a bullet for him.
Sympathetic toward everyone, yet not swayed by anyone.  
Focused on a goal but not preoccupied.
Think strategically with an eye to the future, but be present in the moment.
Be relaxed, but vigilant.
Have fun, but don't be foolhardy.
Show your feelings, but none of the petty ones.
Show your emotion, but none of the bitter ones.
Show your desires, but not the perverted ones.

Enjoy the people you are leading while dying on a cross in front of them.

No wonder it is hard to find a leader.

"And I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all people to myself." (John 12:32)

What happens when I am not successful?

When I decided to run a half marathon, the response was almost universally positive.  It was really quite encouraging.  People said things like, "Wow, I could never do that" or with a whimsical tone, "oh really, maybe I should do that some day."  The affirmation propelled me to start training, something that was really good for my body as well as my heart and spirit.

Yesterday was race day.  I could barely contain my excitement.  I felt good, the park was gorgeous, the energy at the starting line was hard to contain.

Unfortunately, at about mile 4 a recurring issue with my left knee flared up.  As much as I tried to ignore it, the pain turned my carefully developed stride into an awkward limping gait. My first priority was to finish the race, so I decided to slow down even walk if necessary to try to nurse the pain into a functional pace.  I stopped for a little medical advice and pressed on.  I would walk for a minute or two then jog for 40 seconds and repeat.  The walking periods gradually got longer and the jogging moments got shorter.

Lots of people started passing me.  I had no problem when the young men passed me.  I had mentally prepared for that because the trainers say to be sure to stick to your planned pace regardless of what others do. 

At the mile 5 marker, a loud speaker came on, "stay to the right, leader coming through."  I turned around to see a truck behind me.  I stayed to the right to let the truck pass and a bit behind him was this nice young man cruising along at maybe a 6 minute mile pace.  Since the route loops around a lake twice, I knew that for him, the spot was mile 10.  He had "lapped" me.  Behind him were others cruising along in the sunshine.

But that was to be expected.  I am no Olympian.

Soon bigger, older people started passing me, and I started getting frustrated.  The race started lagging on.  I had all the energy in my heart and lungs, but I was weighed down with a knee that wouldn't cooperate.  It was as if I had a ball and chain tied around my left ankle. It really got to me when a power-walking lady who looked 60-something caught up to me.

I started thinking about success and how much the world values "success" and how hard it is to feel weak and unsuccessful.  When I talked with folks about the half marathon, I got affirmation and respect.  Just the notion that I am going to do it, garners a sense of assumed success and status.  We earthlings like things like marathons.  Sacrifice, discipline, desire, determination, hard work that all adds up to success -- that's the storyline we love. 

But there I was hobbling along as if I hadn't trained at all, looking mostly like an idiot.

As I hobbled down the trail, its as if an ancient master was taking me for a little walk to tell me something -- not so much like a race.  "Let me tell you something about the world," He said, "the world likes success.  You like success.  You like success because then you can be over someone (like that power-walking lady and all those people who "shouldn't" have passed you), but there is a different way.  Look at this sunshine I made for you.  Look at the way it sparkles on the fresh snow.  Talk to the special people walking beside you.  You have such a hard time not feeling "successful," but that feeling is itself the test.  Are you willing to press on even with that feeling, even with the reality that you are towards the back of the line? Let me challenge your notions of who exactly is the first. The greatest should be like the least, the master should be the servant, the first should be last."  (Luke 22: 25-27 with a lot of poetic license).

P.S. Now it occurs to me.  This race was for mom, and nothing was more like her -- acknowledging  brokenness, finding beauty in the change in plans, communing with the Creator.  Maybe it was a success after all.

Why do snow flakes fall?

It seems a little odd, really.  Billions of snow flakes gently falling on this city, and each one is being cursed at.

Yes, it is March.  Yes, the sloppy, icy, dirty, remains of winter are driving us all crazy.

But the snow flakes keep coming down gently, each one exquisitely made.  Outside of world-famous museums, numberless masterpieces all being destroyed without ever being really seen.  Seems a bit ironic.

We have no shortage of artwork.  We have a shortage of viewers.

Yet God keeps gently painting, one stroke after another, while we scurry and fret the "treacherous" conditions of the sidewalks.  We fume because we have to shovel yet again when it is exercise we all desperately need and otherwise would pay good money to Richie's Gym in order to get.

God just keeps sprinkling his fragile artwork all around knowing we will trample it in a huf.

What does this say about God?  What does it say about us?

"Consider the lilies" Jesus said.

Does love win?

Its been over 20 years, but I still remember my profesor at Bible Institute asking the class, "Which is the most essential attribute of God -- love, truth, or holiness?"

 

Being quick witted and a bit cocky, I said, "Truth, because even the existence of God's love is itself a truth."

 

I thought my logic was solid, but the question has revisited me over the years. If I was so right, why then are the greatest and second greatest commandments -- indeed all the law and prophets -- summarized by the command to love (Matthew 22:37). Why does love remain after faith and hope have reached their limits (I Corinthians 13:13)? Does love really win?

 

In my work as a Non-Profit Administrator, love doesn't seem to win state contracts.  Efficiency, data management, and tight procedures do that.

 

Love doesn't really help the bottom line of any budget.

 

Love doesn't really add up to "success."

 

Love doesn't win the arguments.

 

Love doesn't set the record straight or garner you the respect you deserve.

 

In fact love is mostly thankless.

 

Why does God say love is the most important?  

 

Maybe because it slices deeper.

 

Love requires that I stay soft on the inside when every part of me wants to grit my teeth and survive.
 

Love requires vulnerability. Many virtues -- self-discipline, holiness, purity -- can be demonstrated without vulnerability but not love.  To love you have to let your guard down. Its unsafe.  It requires vulnerability.

Love makes me feel powerless.  Sometimes I must admit my inability to do anything, to have any real power, to make things better, to fix things, to really even be what I want to be.
 

Love requires the possibility of pain -- no, in this life, it guarantees pain.  To love is to hurt.

 

Essentially, love forces us to cut down the plastic idol of control, the illusion of our self-efficacy and safety. 

To love we must assassinate our inner monarch, and embarrassingly allow the inner child to stumble out instead.  It requires total transformation.

 

Love does win, if you are willing to die that is.

 

What is the big deal with money?

		If the "love of money is the root of all evil," why do I love money so much?  This is a question I asked myself today and the thought came to me, I don't actually like money, I like intangible things that I supposedly get with money. I counted 11 such things. 1. I like the feeling of being "responsible" rather than vulnerable. I would rather have AAA membership than risk bothering someone at 2 in the morning when my transmission goes out.  Frankly, I would rather have a new, big vehicle that doesn't "go out" and therefore, never need to bother anyone regarding transportation issues, ever.  2. As a matter of fact, I like flying and then renting a car.  That brings up the second thing I actually like, independence. I like independence a lot, but the third thing I like is close behind that.   3. I like being appreciated -- feeling like I have something to give that I am sure will be accepted. My wife surely will smile if I put a $50 gift card in her Christmas stocking. Will I get the same smile with a coupon for 48 hrs. of my undivided attention?  Who would ever want 48 hours with me?  My wife does, of course, but it is easier to give something that is not really me. The same is true for the kids at the YMCA. If I write a check, it will be appreciated. If I offer to tutor the same kids at the YMCA, will the kids think I am boring?   The homeless guy will smile if I give him $20. What will he do if I put my hand on his shoulder, look directly into his eyes, and ask him about his day and invite him home to share my left over rice?   4. I want to feel like an "effective leader." When I don't know how to lead my family, a few simple words can do amazing things. "Let's go to McDonalds," and I am immediately the hero.   5. I want to make good decisions.  Well actually I want to avoid making hard decisions. Is it a new washer or a trip to see my extended family?  When money is not a factor, the decision is easy, let's do both.   6. I want to be the safe guy.  When I got a quote for chimney repair recently, I could have shown the credit card and the potentially dangerous problem would disappear.  I don't like delaying solutions.  I want to be the safe guy or more than that, the miracle worker. Money can do that sometimes.   7. I want to be confident.  I really don't like doing things I don't know how to do. Back to the chimney repair, what about figuring out how to fix it myself?!?    8. I want a stress-free moment.  Coming out of a stressful meeting in Manhattan, there is nothing I like better than a few minutes of solace at Starbucks.  Or sometimes life at the office is just too much, and I have got to get away -- away to Dunkin Donuts.   9. I want to think I am creative.  I like going to places like "Build-a-Bear Workshop" where you pick out all the pieces and the machine makes it into an adorable teddy that everyone is bound to love.  It takes a whole new level of risk to pour out your creative energy into making pieces of art out of recycled trash.  Folks are more likely to wonder who forgot to take the trash out than they are to gaze in wonder at my creativity.   10. I want to feel cared for.  Forgive me if I sound like Freud, but I like to taste good healthy things. That $6 smoothly at Jamba Juice sure looks good. Maybe I should stop at Au Bon Pain to taste the triple chocolate brownie.  In the city, there is an endless supply of things that scream, come, relax and enjoy.  These things make me feel cared for -- really, eating good food is a nurturing experience.   11. I like feeling and looking professional and trendy (male equivalent of beautiful) rather than show my true looks.  Macy's sport coats or even new stuff at Target is so much better than that old stuff in my closet at home.    So I want money to get all these intangible things.  I want to be responsible, independent, and appreciated.  I long to be an effective leader who makes good decisions, is nice, confident, stress-free, cared for, and looking good all the while, so . . .  I will work hard and make that happen!    What's wrong with that?  That is the American way.  If only I would have checked "Mechanical Engineering, or Pre-Med, or Pre-Law," I would be there. I wouldn't be having this conversation with myself.  Or would I?   For me, this is one of the most revolutionary aspects of the Gospel and rocks my mind whenever I stop to think about it.  In spite of all of these benefits of having "enough," Jesus sings a different tune, "Looking at his disciples, he said: 'Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God.'" (Luke 6:20). Paul adds, "Those who want to get rich fall into temptation and a trap and into many foolish and harmful desires that plunge people into ruin and destruction." (I Timothy 6:9).    What is Jesus saying?  He seems to have an issue with my core statement:     "I want to be responsible, independent, and appreciated.  I long to be a good leader who makes good decisions, is nice, confident, stress-free, cared for, and looking good all the while, so I will work hard and earn enough to make that happen  -- at all costs, even relationships, and my physical exhaustion."  Perhaps, the problem with this statement is that, Jesus says, "Come unto me all you who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest." (Matthew 11:28)  Maybe if He would respond to my blog, He would say,   Instead of trying to look responsible allow yourself to be thought irresponsible while being your true needy self. Instead of achieving independence, embrace mutual dependence. Instead of feeling appreciated for the things you give, give yourself whether it is appreciated or not. Instead of being a good leader by bribing and manipulating, lead boldly into the awkward dissonance. Instead of making easy decisions, remember that God offers wisdom to make the hard decisions. Instead of being the nice guy, you have the power to be the truly good guy. Instead of acting confident (which is really playing it safe), remember that true courage involves risk. Instead of grabbing the stress free moments that Starbucks offers, receive the peace that passes understanding. Instead of hiding behind others creativity, really create. Instead of caring for yourself with taste sensations, care for yourself by reminding yourself of the Father's words. "Man does not live by bread alone but by every word that comes from the Father" -- especially when that word is "This is my son in whom I am well pleased." Instead of trying to look good, remember that Jesus was naked on the cross while the Pharisees wore Prada. In short, be yourself in all of your needy, fearful, bland, ugly, boring, lonely, uncomfortable, unsuccessful, uncertain plainness. Stop trying to insulate yourself, then you will know that I am caring for you. Like the lilies, you will know rest for the very first time.

 

 

Is loneliness such a bad thing?

Not sure why, but my favorite time to jog is on a misty night. What some might call dreary or lonely, I think of as peaceful.  It's beautiful.  The park lights turn the asphalt into a bed of a million crystals. The droplets glisten everywhere. The world stands still. It's just me and the open road.  Like me, the trees are crying rain drops and yet are at peace. Nature is my cathedral and I move forward slowly down the aisle in awe and silence.  Tears and joy are equally welcome in this sacred space. Neither one needs explanation.

 

My spirit says that I was made for this.

 

Through the drizzle, it feels like there is a lonely Voice from outside of time calling me off the carousel of life. He is calling me into something too amazing and too simple for words.

I have always been an advocate for "community," but lately I have found peace in aloneness. There is a way in which we were meant to run our race alone. Doesn't the Bible say, "every man shall bear his own burden," and in another place, "To their own master, servants stand or fall."  Am I a depressed recluse or is something good happening here?  Could it be that silent worship is the path that leads me from loneliness to aloneness to wholeness?  Is this not a necessary journey?  If I were to bypass loneliness, wouldn't I miss out on something grand?

 

 "Then Jesus was led by the Spirit into the wilderness" - the Bible 

 

 

Anger or sadness? I wonder why people choose anger?

The Bible doesn't condemn anger.  Jesus got angry in the temple.  God gets angry.  It's not a bad emotion in itself, but it is also possible -- even likely -- to sin when you are angry. 

 

In contrast, Jesus says those that mourn are blessed. 

 

So when life smacks me in the face, when circumstances get hard, why do I choose anger instead of sadness? 

 

Anger makes me feel strong. 
Sadness makes me feel weak.

 

Anger energizes.
Sadness is still. 

 

Anger makes me feel like the issues are clear.
Sadness often comes with confusion.

 

Anger feels there is a solution.
Sadness leads me to admit my inability to find solutions.

 

Anger is self-protective.
Sadness makes me feel vulnerable.

 

The audience applauds anger.  Think of the last rousing speech you heard.
Sadness invokes an awkward silence. 

 

Anger affixes the problem firmly onto others.
Sadness leaves me open to consider my own participation in the problem.

 

Anger demands justice.
Sadness knows that what we really need is mercy.

 

Anger doesn't feel like it hurts me.
Sadness hurts me, it hurts badly.

 

Most people don't say they want to be angry.  It doesn't feel like a choice to be angry.  Instead we say the other person, situation, issue caused my anger!

 

But,

 

I wonder if the real reason people are angry is that the alternative is sadness, and that would just plain hurt too much.

 

What is the end of the race like exactly?

Many of you know that in April I signed up for a century bike challenge as a way to deal with my grief about losing my dad and hopefully do some good in the process.  The long-awaited ride was yesterday.

From time to time, I have thought of this ride as a metaphor for life.  The 100 mile bike ride was my race to celebrate dad's 81-year race.  The struggle to prepare and finish my bike ride reminded me of the struggles of life and death and finishing well.

It was no less true yesterday.  At about mile 70, I wanted to be done.  When I signed up for this particular ride (Escape New York), a biker friend of mine said, "Are you crazy? You shouldn't sign up for that one for your first century ride.  It has unbelievable hills on it.  One place you go up a hill for ten miles." 

Of course, I didn't listen, but yesterday I was starting to think she was right. 

From about mile 70 to 90, I thought a lot about dad's last years.  The last leg of a journey is not easy. Getting old and dying is not for the faint of heart. Even though one "does everything right," there is physical pain to deal with, many losses of relationships because many of your friends and family members die, and then there is the loss of daily independence and dignity.  Add all this to the waves of doubt and questions that the enemy sends along. Dad's last years were rich but it was really, really hard for him, and I don't think his struggle was particularly unique.  It is just plain hard to finish a race.

Four miles from the end of my ride, there was the Walnut Climb, 302 total vertical feet to be exact, 171 of it with no leveling out at all.  In that moment, I experienced a glimpse of what dad's last months were like.  It takes everything you have to finish your race.

At the top of the hill I trudged forward, a little bleary-eyed. 

Then it happened.  I turned a corner and emerged from the evening shadows into a scene that is forever etched in my memory.  I think pain has a way of making one more receptive to beauty because the scene before me was among the most beautiful I have ever seen.

The ground gently dropped away from under my feet until I was 200 feet above the banks of the Hudson river. The river -- more like a lake at this point -- was dotted with various peaceful boats and a lazy barge.  The setting sun turned the Manhattan buildings on the other side into a warm golden color. The cool ocean breeze was a refreshing contrast to the sticky humidity of the long day. The towering arches of the GW Bridge looked to me like giant gates welcoming me home, and I wondered if this is what it was like for dad.  Welcome home, thy good and faithful servant.  Your race is done.

As tears streamed down my face, somewhere in the deepest part of me I made a vow, "I will finish my race" -- even if it is hard, even if it takes more tenacity than I have, even if it takes 40 more years, even if I suffer, I will finish my race having spent all my energy for things that matter. 

As the saying goes, "Its not easy, but its worth it." 

  

Here are a few pics attempting to capture the grandeur of what I saw.

 

 

Here's the card my wife gave me after it was all over.

 

 

 

Does pain matter?

Does God promise a life of ease? No. 

So, what about all the promises of peace and light yokes?

This verse has often intrigued me.  "Forasmuch then as Christ hath suffered for us in the flesh, arm yourselves likewise with the same mind: for he that hath suffered in the flesh hath ceased from sin;" (I Peter 4:1). There is something good about  suffering, and he even specifies that it is real, physical suffering. 

This verse has often puzzled me.  I get the picture of monastic flagellation.  Folks obsessed with their own sinfulness that beat themselves in prayer and confession.  Worse yet, it sounds masochistic or sadistic like the phrase that has always given me chills -- "It pleased the Lord to crush him. . ." (Isaiah 53:10).  Is it somehow good for us to be in pain?  What kind of God proposes these sorts of things ?!?

Certainly, the Biblical concept of pain and suffering is wildly more complex and rich than I can understand and certainly more complex than the view proposed by modernism.  By modernism, I am referring to the basic approach dominant in the western world that says, "Pain is bad. Hard work and modern science can fix it."

There is a fascinating phenomenon common among teens who are in tremendous emotional pain.  They cut themselves.   Using razor blades or glass or knives, they pierce their skin to the point of gentle bleeding.  The cuts are significant but not to be confused with suicide attempts.  Cutting is an on-going way to express pain.  The behavior, of course, baffles care givers and frustrates child advocates.  If one is in so much pain, why hurt oneself more?!?  Ironically, the more one tries to correct the behavior, the more the teen insists on it.

I have been intrigued by this cutting behavior and now wonder if it is less bizarre/dysfunctional and more,  simply a reality, deeply rich with meaning. For someone who can't cry, cutting is their tears. One of the most vivid pictures I have seen is a drawing one teen gave me.  It is a simple pencil drawing of an eye that is crying -- only instead of drawing the tears, the teen used her own blood to paint the tears. This is not the type of art they teach in high school art class.

So am I saying cutting is beautiful?  No, but we all understand the beauty and health in tears.  When crying, the body, emotion, and spirit express a singular emotion.  Like tears, cutting brings the pain into the light by expressing it in the body.  This seems more redemptive than endless rationalizations or Pollyannaish optimism. At least it is real.

Jesus is real, too. 

Perhaps it wasn't enough for Christ to bear the consequence of sin in a spiritual sense.  He wanted to make his pain corporeal, so we could see it, so it would be real, real pain, real shame, and he calls us to do the same.

Protestants typically show the cross empty, clean, brilliant, triumphant -- perhaps with a gleaming purple robe draped decoratively over it.  Is this not indicative of our view of redemption.  Christ makes us confident, clean, raised up, but I think I see why people call us plastic.  The bloody crucifix is more real.  This is the type of Christ we have.  One who feels so deeply that he embodied his pain lifted up for us to see and enter into. It is only in that identification with Him.  It is only with a little blood and pain, that sin can be destroyed.  We need to have "that same mind" Peter says. When we make our pain visible with His, it is redemptive, and sin melts away.  Perhaps you have felt this pain in fasting or in serving others.

I thought about this as I was biking the other day.  My thighs were burning, my heart was burning, and God was there.  My pain was real, and God was real, right there with me. Sin was the farthest thing from my mind. Perhaps this is a little taste of what Peter was talking about.

I don't advocate choosing pain, but when it comes my way, I am learning to let it do its work.  Pain takes us to the end, to the bottom, to the place where transformation happens.  As the love song goes, "take me to the place you cry from."  

Christ went there.  I want to go there too -- even if it hurts.