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That's my name, but not my handwriting.
Well, it’s that time of year. We’ve packed our bags, thrown on some shorts, and piled into the family ‘95 Ford Aerostar van, heading for the coast. It’s been four years since we last visited Cannon Beach, Oregon. I’ve got mixed feelings about going back, but overall I’m thrilled to be on vacation.
We’re still driving there as I write this on my iPhone. My thoughts are very stream-of-consciousness, but I’ll do my best to be coherent.
Jason doesn't smile. Ever.
During high school, I was told I ought to start keeping a journal and recording my thoughts. It seemed as impossible as it was uninteresting—my life has never been exciting, so why write about it? But, despite this self-deprecating attitude, I did manage to record a few odds and ends throughout my formative teenage years.
In particular, I wrote of two different occasions that my family visited the Christian Conference Center at Cannon Beach, Oregon. Unlike the rest of my family members, I spent most of my days grappling with angst, disillusionment, and insecurity. What follows is an entry in my little black book that I’ve never forgotten to this day:
Photo by Jim Goldstein.
[04 Aug 2007 | Saturday]
Most of my memories about my childhood seem to be surrounded with a glowing haze of antiquity, as if those days exist as little more than fragments of something that never actually happened. Was I ever so small that I could actually lay down on one of the carpeted steps and take a snooze? Did Todd and I really throw ourselves from the top of the banister and land in the entryway unscathed? Were our bones made of rubber?
Light as a feather!
It’s true, I’m not a social butterfly. Nobody has ever accused me of being too open, too friendly, or too sociable. It’s not something I suspect will ever happen, nor do I plan to help it along, but all the same I am beginning to loosen up. Or, dare I say it, I’m beginning to step out.
What this means is that I’ve taken some time to examine myself. I’ve considered many of the areas in my life where I’ve fallen short of God’s standard for normal, everyday, Christian interaction. For years I’ve been wrapped up in my own desires and pursuits, concerned only with how people, places, and things affect me. What makes me happy, what makes me comfortable.
I made a difficult decision the other day. One of my co-workers tried organizing a late birthday party for me, despite the fact that I didn’t want one. Originally it was a ploy to get me drinking, later it became an excuse for a social event (still with drinking involved), and in the end it was probably manipulative.
Generally, I have a hard time saying no to people. Women in particular. But, after considering the damage that could be done to my witness, I personally told this person I wouldn’t be attending the party. It was received poorly, and as of yet I’m receiving the silent treatment. Such is life.
The reason I say the decision was difficult is not because I’m inclined to drink. I’m not, and my resolve on that issue is second only to that of Superman being better than Batman (which is unshakeable, but not nearly as relevant). Anyhow, it was difficult because it meant giving up an opportunity to be the semi-center of attention and make people laugh. That’s something I enjoy, to my shame.
I’m not sure what kind of fallout I’ll endure for this decision, but I’m thankful to God that He gave me the strength and conviction to just say no.
What a lovely bonnet.
This morning I had Raisin Bran for breakfast. As I poured the contents from the cardboard box into my bowl, my hopes and dreams of finding those little nuggets of chewy goodness hidden amongst boring flakes of bran began to fade. Apparently, my bowl was completely devoid of raisins.
In safe hands.
Every day, children die. Before they know what it means to live, before they have a chance to cry, their lives are swept away forever. This is happening now, it’s happening here, and it’s a travesty.
The arguments for and against abortion have been raging on long before my birth, and I suspect they will continue long after I’m gone. It’s a shame we have to argue at all. This is America. Land of the free, home of the brave. We are a nation that was once founded upon Biblical principles and a desire to worship God as we pleased. This idea, this concept of freedom from oppression and the right to make our own choices is both our greatest strength and our greatest downfall. We are, inevitably, a nation that embraces choice. There are good choices, there are poor choices. We make both every day, some without thinking.
