Faith Musings

“I’m kind of searching.”

 “I don’t really think about that stuff.”

“I’m a ‘spiritual person’ – not religious.”

Oh yes – time for another essay.

As a child, I was a curious, open minded mind who continuously absorbed information from school, parents, friends, friend’s parents, neighbors, and so on. Slowly my mind began to fill with images, sensations and experiences; the world around me began to take form and meaning.

When it came to faith and religion, I gobbled up everything I was taught as fact by my school and household. The Bible is true. The Bible has all the answers. God loves me. Jesus died for me to void all the bad stuff I do. Every word from every mouth was true, true, true. I didn’t understand when my friends struggled with their faith, and I didn’t know how to help them “see the light.” I didn’t understand the appeal of Hedonism. I had never read the Koran, and I didn’t know what made Allah any different from Adonai.

Instead of embracing my ignorance, I became very curious … but quickly discovered very few people in my immediate circle had much information on other religions or religious texts, or at least few were willing to share. I got the impression that other faiths and their writings were in some way bad, and that by reading them I would taint my spirit somehow or that my Christian identity would be marred by the stains of their dark and evil powers. As in the Garden of Eden, the tree of knowledge seemed to be forbidden.

My mind was quickly filled with simplified derogative summaries of those other people. Mormons were crazy and wanted to be aliens. Muslims were also nuts and felt obligated to kill people. Jews were bitter because they missed the boat. Buddhists and Hindus were uneducated and had no logic in their philosophies. New Agers were basically leftover hippies.  For a long time I felt as though I was taught to pity these poor “other” people who had rejected the message of Christ. Lucky for me I was going to heaven, but how sad that they were all going to burn, burn, burn.  This mentality was thankfully short lived. As my own faith deepened and matured as I grew up, my curiosity expanded and matured as well.

Traveling to Thailand, I saw what it was like to live the life of a Buddhist in a culture where Buddhism was standard. I had the opportunity to teach English to a class of monks and serve a small orphanage.  I saw that these people were not stupid, and I noticed things in their faith that were beautiful; their teachings were basic, but they tried to answer similar questions; what is this life, and how are we to live it?  I was in Thailand as a missionary for Christ.  My goal, as I understood it, was to enlighten the people I met with the good news of the gospel.  In the time I spent there, however, I found myself changed and influenced deeply by the faith of Buddhists, Christians, and even Atheists.  I drank in the beauty of the land, people, and culture and widened my own life perspective and reality in a breathtaking way.

Much later, I traveled to Jordan and Israel and encountered Jews, Muslims, and Christians in the Middle East.  The majority were lovely people, searching like me for answers in a broken world, taking hope in their faith and traditions, some with vastly more devotion and love than I had ever before encountered.

"Seek first to understand, then to be understood." - Stephen R. Covey

(Who is this Covey guy? A Christian, right? Nope, he’s a Mormon.)  I wish with all my heart that people followed this principle; an attitude like this embodies such humility, such respect, such love – it could easily bring me to tears if I allowed it.  In recent years I feel as though I find the most ‘Christian’ things in non-Christian places, and like many for a long while I was disgusted and angry with organized religion as a whole.  (Why is it fury is so much more comforting than sadness and despair?)  It is a challenge not to choke and suffocate on the failures of the church as an institution; it is a daily struggle to keep my enthusiastic inner cynic quiet.

Not to mention the painful friction of evangelism I am still learning to embrace.  On one hand, I believe I have this gift, this faith, this beautiful knowledge that I want everyone to share with me.  When people don’t want that gift, I feel obligated to somehow sell them on it, like one might sell insurance on a DirecTV dish.  (Convince them it’s useful, they need it, and they’ll regret not taking it later.)  But then I remember that faith is not for sale, and I’m not trying to earn a twisted spiritual commission for padding church numbers.  It is free to accept and free to reject, and there is peace to be found in that fact.

“Preach the gospel at all times. When necessary, use words.” – attributed to Saint Francis of Assisi

In the end, it all boils down to a choice; one which leads to a lifetime of choices.  I choose to believe the gospels; I choose to alter my behavior in accordance with the teachings of the church.  I freely admit that this choice is part logic, part emotion, and part hope.  I know and accept that I could be wrong, and acknowledge the pitiful holes in my understanding.  My prayer is to love others in the way we have been called, to be a living witness to the hope I have accepted, and always be quick to listen first.

NaNoWriMo

This post may seem a little early, but I figured I'd get people excited well before the grand event.  What is National Novel Writing Month? Well, it is madness, chaos, pain, sweat, tears, agony – and it’s glorious!  If you have ever thought about someday writing a novel (or even if not), this is the most exciting kick in the pants ever.  Thousands of people all around the world participate each year, accepting the challenge to write 50,000 words in one month.  (That month being November.)

Last year I “won” with flying colors, finishing at around 71,000 words by the last day.  (Though I must admit I kind of jumped the gun and cheated by starting a couple days early since I was so excited.)  I have yet to go back to that rough tome I pounded out for editing, but I know it’s there waiting for me.  I struggle to put into words just how proud I am of what I did, and how incredible it feels to watch the little word counter click upwards bit by bit.  At the end of the month, though the frustration can be incredibly burdensome, you have produced something many have never managed: a fully loaded rough draft.

I have started my outline for this year's story already, thinking through characters and plot twists, arming myself for the frenzy.  Last year I wrote an adventure story which took place in Australia that vaguely resembled a fanciful trip I took there when I was in high school.  This year I'm planning on doing a more blatant fantasy/sci-fi style story that is so far turning into a freak hybrid of Heroes and Narnia that follows a girl who has the ability to smell lies.  Should be interesting!

If any of you fellow writers think all this sounds exciting or fun in any way, I highly encourage you to sign up and join the madness when the time rolls around. Let me cheer you on, or join us for a late night keyboard mashing party. You won’t regret it.

Santa Cruz Island

3 Days.  60 miles.  Fracking awesome. (Video here.)

This weekend Ka Nai'a outrigger embarked on an epic journey that many of us have been looking forward to all season: paddling out to Santa Cruz Island.  (A training run for our upcoming race to Catalina.)  For you non-locals, the Channel Islands are a lovely little chain that you can see on clear days off the coast of Santa Barbara.  Roughly 30 miles of open ocean separate Scorpion Harbor (our destination) from our home harbor of Santa Barbara.  (Below, I added a nice little line to this photo to demonstrate our approximate route.)

Questioning our sanity, we awoke obscenely early Friday morning to be on the beach ready to go at 5 AM.  Chris was gracious enough to get up as well and drop me off, with a simple command to have fun and be safe.  The sun was not quite out yet as we excitedly slid the canoes onto the black, still ocean waters.  The harbor was wrapped in mist and fog, giving an eerie glow to the pier and dock lights as our voyage began in full.  Co-workers and "friends" had tried to scare warn many of us in the days prior of recent shark activity in the area, but we were undaunted.  Numbering 17 brave souls in total, 6 in each of our two canoes and 5 in the support boat that lead the way, our excitement far outweighed our collective nerves.

Half way across the channel the wind picked up, and steadily got worse as we approached the island, which loomed illusively in the distance.  It took a little under 5 hours, but we made it across with no problems.  The whoops of joy and pride echoed from the boats into the hills as we came into the harbor, greeted by awestruck kayak tourists who had been ferried out that morning.  (It was hard not to judge them, but I managed to keep my prideful smugness at bay despite their dorky bright yellow helmets and life jackets.)


Our campsite was a small trek from the loading dock, and we forced our aching bodies to haul our double bagged possessions for the weekend over.  We made ourselves at home with tents and a small feeding frenzy of power bars, relishing our accomplishment.  The local red foxes eyed our food greedily, darting in and out of our campsite with catlike agility and little to no hints of intimidation.


After hydrating thoroughly, the day was still young so a few of us took an 8 mile hike into the hills of the island.  The views were lovely, and peering back at the mainland was invigorating.  "Can you believe we
just paddled across that channel this morning?" we kept asking one another in mild disbelief.  The feeling was indeed quite unique and incredible.  Collectively we had done something that few others will ever even think to do, and we could not have done it alone.  (At least, I wouldn't want to try.)

One of the paddlers had taken it upon himself to be the weekend chef, and our bellies were never in want.  From breakfast burritos to home-made salsa and granola, it was a heavenly feast.  I slept well both Friday and Saturday night despite a torrent of wind that swept through the canyons, and relished the company of teammates and the beauty of our surroundings.  There was swimming, laughing, toenail painting, stretching, sleeping, eating, more eating, and good company.


Before we knew it, the time had come to do it all over again.


The return sojourn had some unique surprises in store.  To begin with, the wind picked up early so the first hour of paddling away from the island could have easily been featured in some kind of I-Max film, or at least accompanied by Indiana Jones theme music.  The waves were cresting as I was stationed in seat 1 of the canoe, taking full hits of white water to the face and whooping like crazed cowboy; feeling very much alive and grinning like a fool.  It was a tough run back, and the mainland was encased in a thick cloud of fog which made it incredibly difficult to figure out exactly how far away we were.  Tired, hungry, and low on energy, it was an sensational moment to recognize "the red bell buoy" straight ahead.  Spirits soared and we dug in hard for the last leg, cheered on by a smattering of tourists along the pier.

Incredibly enough, we all had plenty of energy left over to put the canoes away and haul ourselves back to the launch ramp of the harbor to sort out our gear.  Happily, there was also a pile of leftover food to greet us on which we feasted while slapping one another on the backs with gusto, so happy to be home.  What started as an already tight team resulted in something else, something special.  I'm not sure what that bond is exactly, but it's good.  Almost as good as the hot shower I took when I got home.

Gratitude as Virtue

"When asked if my cup is half-full or half-empty my only response is that I am thankful I have a cup." - Sam Lefkowitz

Today I decided to be grateful for several things, the first one being my job.  Yesterday was a little rough because it was Monday, which means it was an incredibly slow day.  I’m talking snail stepped in bubble gum slow.  Lots of folks are out on vacation, and generally there is always a lull in the already pitifully light workload around the office during the summer.

When things are incredibly slow, it’s easy to let myself feel whiny.  What am I doing here? Does this work define me as a person?  But then I was reminded today how grateful I am to have a job that I honestly do enjoy and allows me to afford an abundance of things, both necessary and frivolous.

"In our daily lives, we must see that it is not happiness that makes us grateful, but the gratefulness that makes us happy." 

- Albert Clarke

 But all that got me thinking, what is gratitude? Is it saying “thank you” when expected or appropriate?  Consider the following scenario:

Mom: Eat your peas.

Child: I don’t wanna.

Mom: You should be grateful for the opportunity to eat peas.

Child: I’d be more grateful for some ice cream!

Both child and mother in this case here misuse the term “grateful,” I believe.  It is perfectly possible to be grateful for the opportunity to eat peas/ available food and still prefer to not eat it.  By not wanting the peas, the child is not necessarily being ungrateful.

Gratitude is not simply a sentimental feeling, much in the same way patience is not a feeling.  I think the ability to remember to be grateful is learned, and can be something to strive for.  Thus gratitude is more like a virtue that shapes not only emotions and thoughts but actions and deeds as well.  In reflecting on this, I decided to do a little research and was struck by some of the things I found. 

Apparently, “Grateful people are happier, less depressed, less stressed, and more satisfied with their lives and relationships.  Grateful people have more positive ways of coping with the difficulties they experience in life, being more likely to seek support from other people, reinterpreted and grow from the experience, and spend more time planning how to deal with the problem. Grateful people also have less negative coping strategies, being less likely to try to avoid the problem, deny there is a problem, blame themselves, or cope through substance use. Grateful people sleep better.  Numerous studies suggest that grateful people are more likely to have higher levels of happiness and lower levels of stress and depression.”

Sounds like something worth pursuing, right?

“Gratitude is not only the greatest of the virtues but the parent of all others.” - Cicero

That’s pretty interesting, when you think about it.  Do all other virtues first stem off from the ability to recognize how much you have to be appreciated?  Does this often naturally lead one to thank an outside force larger than themselves?  God/ the universe/ chance/ fate?

A traditional Islamic saying states that “the first who will be summoned to paradise are those who have praised God in every circumstance.”  It was also suggested that profound gratitude is among the signs of true religion. 

"Gratitude is the heart's memory." - French proverb

It does ring true that anytime I am tempted to envy a neighbor for x,y,z or wish that my life looked more like ______, a quick list of the things to be grateful for can put it all back into perspective.  It seems then that gratitude is a virtue to be practiced at every opportunity, over things both great and small.

This is not about becoming someone who is constantly reminding people to look on the bright side or be thankful for the crappy hand they are dealt, but rather recalling (on some subconscious level) at all times that there is always something good to hold on to.  This does not mean, I think, that you have to see the upside to every situation, but rather dwell on the brighter spots instead of the dark ones and keep your priorities in a healthy place.

Know and appreciate what you have before you lose it.

Dear Winter

I know that there are many other parts of the country that have been melting in the dire, sultry heat this summer, but I assert that those super heated folks are thieves.  Yeah, you heard me - thieves!

Summer has completely skipped the majority of So. Cal this year, Santa Barbra especially.  Not only has it been windy, it has been down right foggy and frigid.  And you know what? We're sick of it!  (Especially we paddlers who are out in it at 6AM!)

That is all.