collecting coffee cups

I remember the night I discovered I wanted to be a writer.

It was a Saturday night, or Sunday morning rather, around 1 or 2 am. My roommates were out, and I think my friends had gone to a party I wasn't interested in. So, in proper fashion, I spent the evening listening to country music, flipping through magazines, and popping my freshly purchased goldfish into my mouth. I realize that this sounds entirely lame, but you have no idea how splendidly content I felt.

To be completely honest, I don't know how it happened. Maybe you could call it God, maybe you could just call it a full stomach and a Kenny Chesney overdose, but there was this moment. And I knew. It was the closest thing to an epiphany I've ever experienced.

It was like through all the noise surrounding me, audio and otherwise, my mind somehow put all these tiny, little pieces of my life's joys, passions, and strengths together and in an instant...I wanted to be a writer. I was overjoyed, excited, and dancing. Because, this is something I like. This is something I can do. This is something that might allow me to advocate for one of my heart's greatest passions- orphans.

The day before, I had written a short essay. The essay - if you can even call it that - was a reflection on both my Christian upbringing and my months of weary church hunting since arriving at college on my own. I think writing it played a big role in this epiphany, and I would like to share it with you....

I’m collecting coffee mugs.

Because apparently, the thing to do is give church visitors a mug to welcome them.

Cute…except 1) I’ve been to so many churches in the past 6 months that even the cool thermos kinds don’t really excite me that much anymore, and 2) I live in a DORM ROOM (with about 6 cubic feet of space to myself), not exactly the place to be storing a super-cool collection of evangelical hot cups.

But this isn’t really about coffee cups. Or at least I sincerely hope not.

My complaint is not about the coffee cups, not even about the exchange of welcoming friendliness and openheartedness for a small announcement in the bulletin proclaiming that visitors may pick up their “gift” at the “welcome desk”. It’s not even a complaint, really. Not a proclamation, because heaven knows I’m a nineteen year old girl whose life has not yet produced such profound wisdom. And definitely not a critique, because once again, I am in no position.

What I really want to know is how much of this “Christian girl” persona that I have so desperately attempted to make a part of me is a product of our “contemporary Christian” culture, and then how much, after scraping all of that away, is an authentic relationship with the most holy trinity. I have been told for a long time not to believe everything I hear in church, but I am just now realizing what a deep impact this modern culture of “Christianity” has had in my mind and heart.

From early on I tuned my ears to the obvious Houston radio listening choice for any good Christian: “eighteyninepointthreeeeekayesssbeeeejaaaayyyyy!” I attended Vacation Bible School where I was taught to pledge my allegiance to not only the American Flag but also the Christian flag. (I always wondered what that whole Christian flag thing was about….and later wondered why in the world I would want to pledge my allegiance to a country either, hmm.) One time, I even witnessed to Kingwood’s own hellbounds by delivering the Good News (in the form of a lovely little green and black New Testament) door-to-beveled glass door. The best part of my contemporary Christian childhood, though, was definitely learning a multitude of songs proclaiming the three easy steps to becoming a Christian. (Sometimes the A,B,C’s, other times the 1,2,3’s…either way, those songs fully equipped me to, at the age of 8, convert my generation.)

Middle school and high school came and I was surprised to learn that as a Christian I am actually a soldier for Christ. Who knew? Apparently, we good Christian people are fighting in a war against an evil culture. (Ironic, really.) As a soldier, I am expected to denounce the homosexuals, stand up to my evolution-loving and horrendous public school teachers, choose fun, fashionable, modest clothing options, read my hot pink bible and highlight lots of great verses in multicolored splendor to later use in arguments with my less-than-godly friends, listen to a lot of Newsboys CDs, read a lot of Focus on the Family literature, and of course, support the troops- duh. By following these simple guidelines I was able to ENLIST.

But was it all bad? It certainly was not all good. But I like the Newsboys! Why have we created this cookie cutter mold of what Christians should think, act, say, and do? Or am I just jaded?

I know these things were my experience, and not the brainwashings of all young Christian-raised children. But I cannot help but question this CULTURE that has permeated my life. Because my parents did not do this to me at all. I pursued the contemporary Christian way of life on my own. It was at least easier than having to think about these things on my own.

How do I now reconcile all of this? God is glorious, and in the midst of all the songs and pamphlets, he captured my true heart. Who I have portrayed myself to be is not completely fake. And yet, I think of the Sunday school teacher who told me it was okay to kill people if it was fighting in a war for your country. I think of stuffy preachers in stuffy suits preaching stuffy sermons. Yet I believe that they all think they’re doing the right thing. It’s not a conspiracy. Perhaps we are just all misguided followers desperately struggling to keep ourselves within the margins.

I have no idea. All I know is that I’m pretty sure something went incredibly wrong, and I never want to mindlessly follow again.

I’m going to go to bed now. And in the morning I’ll read a devotional without swallowing it whole and make use of one of those coffee cups. Because I do love coffee, and I do love Jesus. The Jesus of restoration, justice, love, hope, truth, and life.