Tonight's entry was inspired largely by a friend of mine; someone I was close with in high school, but don't consider myself particularly close with anymore. Although I occasionally find myself wishing I was close with this individual again, I've come to the conclusion that it's actually a good thing that distance has developed, and here's why. 

See, this person patronizes my faith. And that, my friends, is what tonight's entry is actually about. Not friends, family or life; it's about me, and my faith. To be specific, it's about my faith in Jesus Christ, and what it means to me. Now, before you choose to change the channel and avoid a religious lecture, just give me a few more seconds of your time and allow me to elaborate. 

Here's how an exchange with this person (or people of this nature) will inevitably progress. At some point, we'll be discussing an issue that relates to the mutual values we share as individuals raised in church and brought up with the values of Christianity. We'll share our perspectives and more often than not, find a strong amount of common ground. But in the end, somehow it always manages to happen that a slight reference to my faith is slipped into the conversation, typically just in passing. Usually it's some sort of patronizing statement; a phrase intended to have both no meaning and significant meaning at the same time. When people like this use such phrases, it's for a very simple reason: it makes them feel like they're doing their job as Christians, because they're subtly hinting that I'm a lousy Jesus freak and my refusal to subscribe to their blind and non-researched conclusions makes me both ignorant and inferior. 

So, allow me to clarify. I was baptized, raised and brought into adulthood within the Lutheran Church, Missouri Synod. I attended private Baptist grade school and middle school. I've asked every question I can possibly think to ask about faith, God, and what His role in my life is. I believe in the death and resurrection of Jesus; I believe that faith and belief in His saving grace is the only path to Heaven. I also believe that my gay friends deserve the right to marry, and I'll probably never vote for a Republican in my life. (I happen to enjoy the earth and would like to preserve it - another fantastic irony of the party of values destroying God's creation. But that's neither here nor there). I'm frequently cynical and downright caustic about overwhelming displays of passion and faith, because I don't feel comfortable expressing my beliefs through methods that seem completely counter-productive to the ultimate goal of allowing others to see the value of saving faith. 

Here's what I believe is the core of my faith. See, the ultimate message of Christ and His movement is incredibly simple: unconditional. I've ranted about it here before; that word should be the only one that matters. See, when a friend loses a brother or a mom is diagnosed with cancer, there is no greater beacon of love and support than the church. I've seen it first-hand and will see it again; the notion that everything else is irrelevant and the only priority is ensuring your brother or sister in Christ is given support in whatever ways you can provide, be it emotional, spiritual, or anything else. This is what I believe in, above everything else. The value of faith and Jesus is to sacrifice yourself for another; not to judge, hate, spew lies, and tell people why God will deny them salvation due to their wicked choices. I see a fine line between the messages of the Westboro Baptist Church and some of the "values" I was taught in grade school. Obviously, I was never instructed to spew hatred on such an extreme level, but I was taught that Catholics were inferior or considering the possibility that God didn't create the Earth was a sin, because you weren't showing faith. 

The statement I'm making here is borderline heretical, in the sense that it contains more than a hint of sacrilege. Faith, to me, does not rest as the cornerstone of my walk with God. I was taught to emulate the actions of Christ above all others, and what action is the only decision that matters? Sacrifice. Unconditional, everlasting, self-destroying sacrifice; the desire and willingness to completely disregard yourself in the pursuit of another man's health, safety, happiness, and salvation. 

I don't worry if the Bible is completely true or not; that's not the cornerstone of my faith. I don't worry if the Creation story is accurate, if the Antichrist even exists, or if Jonah was swallowed by a literal or figurative whale. I don't spend my time organizing "straight camps" or meddling in politics in a desperate attempt to damn enough people to sleep peacefully at night. What I try to do is simple. I try to constantly challenge myself to think differently; to see my faith from the eyes of another religion, or to explore new ways of living the common values instilled in me through my Christian upbringing, of which I am tremendously proud. I try to notice when people are in need, and do what I can to support them. I try to be a good friend, a role model as a brother, and a responsible and appreciative son. But, in the end, I trust God to help me with these things. I trust Him to show me new ways to embrace unconditional sacrifice, because those two words are what I believe is the true cornerstone of an effective walk of faith.

We're taught to pick up the cross. We are not taught to pick up the cross in order to set the weight of our cross on the first person we can sufficiently damn through our righteousness. We are not taught to shelter ourselves in communities where the love for the organization outweighs the love for the purpose of the organization. We are taught to emulate Christ and sacrifice ourselves first, in order to find humility and joy through others. 

If this was the attitude I could find in mainstream Christianity, I'd have more of a desire to be a part of it. For now, I'm content to live as my imperfect self, taking each new day as a challenge to learn more about unconditional sacrifice. It's all that matters. 

Wow. 

That was one of the most incredible 40 minutes of my entire life. 

A picture of yourself. 

So it took a few more than 30 days, but the photo challenge is complete. For now, I'll complete the challenge by reposting something I wrote last July; the first public entry I posted since my failure in Colorado. It rings true for me every day. 

"When I sit down to pray before bed every night, I pray for a lot of things. I pray for my parents and my brothers; the people who mean more to me than any friend or item could possibly eclipse. I pray for friends all around the world; those who I talk to on a daily basis and those who I have drifted from. Recently, I dedicate time to pray for the Week of Hope crews who became my family for that one week of emotional highs and lows in Colorado. I pray for Trinity Lutheran; the only church I've ever known. I'll even admit I usually add in a little prayer for a White Sox win tomorrow (but only if it is God's will, of course). I pray for the humility and discernment to share my faith in a way that others can respect and relate to. 

But above everything, when I reach the end and focus on myself for a few minutes, there's really just one thing I ask for. (Technically, you can break it down into two parts). First of all, I ask for another 24 hours, as nothing is ever certain. But most importantly, I ask that if I am given those 24 hours and I return to pray again the next night, I will have gone through those seconds and minutes as if they are both the first and last I will ever receive. I wish them to be my first so that I am an infant; blind from prejudice, stereotype and bias. I wish them to be my last so I am oblivious to fear, hesitation and procrastination. 

Do my failures far outnumber my successes? Of course they do. I'm just like everyone else in that regard. But as someone who frequently goes to bed just as the sun is rising, I find comfort in the symbolism of the earliest parts of the morning. As I'm drifting to sleep, putting to rest the wonders and frustrations of my day, many others are waking from their rest and preparing to meet whatever challenges await them. It is the exact same time both for myself and them, and yet we may as well be on different worlds. 

My meaning? Time, space, and life wait for no one. They don't stop or adjust themselves to fit where you are. So why bother even acknowledging their existence?"

A picture of someone you miss.

Hey girl who used to live around the block, I miss you. Our summer remains the best one I've ever had, and you've taught me more about life than I think you'll ever understand. You once said in some dumb survey that you could see us being friends in 20 years; I laughed at the time, 'cause I was still mad at you. But you know what? I think you were right. And I'd love to make that happen, one porch chat at a time.

A picture that can always make you smile.

I can't help but give this photo a "stupid grin" every time I see it. Nine years later, and he still loves to sleep on my dad's shoes. 

A picture of something you're afraid of.

I'm terrified of ever feeling as lost as I did that week. Coming home was both the most difficult decision I've ever made and the most important decision I've ever made. But I hope I never have to make a decision like that ever again. 

A picture of you and a family member.

Love and miss you Papa, every day. Thanks for teaching us how to be men.

A picture of something that means a lot to you.

This one is self-explanatory. 

A picture of your day.

I found this to be one of the most interesting entries so far, because it's already evident how much life has changed from when I began this challenge. When I was asked on day four to provide a picture of my night (which in retrospective is essentially identical to today's challenge), I posted a picture of Red Robin, which was my place of employment at the time. Since that time, I was fortunate enough to get an interview and then a full time position in Guitar Center's pro audio department. My commute changed from five minutes to twenty-five minutes, my job went from entirely tip-based to entirely commission-based, and technically I went back to work for the same company who hired me directly out of high school at 17. (Music and Arts is owned by Guitar Center).

It's been a strange transition. In many ways, I loved working at Red Robin. Despite the frequently rude guests and poor tippers, I worked with a fantastic and diverse group of people who forced me to never judge anyone by how they look or what my first impression may have been. Race, religion, gender; it was all irrelevant. You came in and worked together to make the restaurant run as smoothly as possible. (Obviously it wasn't quite that rosy; not everyone was a team player. But I met some fantastic people). That's not to say Guitar Center doesn't have excellent employees; so far, everyone has been accommodating and friendly. But there's definitely a difference in the mentality and the closeness between employees, and although it's not a bad thing, it's something I miss about the grind of being a server. 

I really like my new job at Guitar Center, and I'm looking forward to continuing to improve in my knowledge and sales skills. But I miss the people at Red Robin, more than I ever realized I would.  

A picture of something you wish you could change.

I'm proud to play a tiny role in the rebuilding of America's Gulf Coast in the wake of Hurricanes Katrina and Rita. However, given the chance, it's pretty easy to say I would prevent them from ever happening. Just like any natural disaster, lives were lost and homes were destroyed; this just happens to be close to my heart because I've been there and witnessed both the destruction and the rebuilding first-hand. 

(The photo is one I took on our first day of work in Biloxi back in 2008; the sun is rising behind the Biloxi water tower).