Logic

The most difficult class I took in college was one called “Logic.”  This should tell you something about me.  Anyway, I had taken a philosophy class my first semester, freshman year, and the next class in that series was Logic.  It fit a general requirement and I assumed it would be an easy A.  Unfortunately, it turned out to be all about formulas and proofs.  It was like taking geometry in high school all over again.  I had nightmares about standing in front of a blackboard, receiving the barks of Mr. Knight as I fumbled chalk.   I scraped out of Logic with a B minus, and to this day, I hold that class personally responsible for keeping me from graduating Summa Cum Laude (furrows brow, shakes fist in silent aggression). 

That class left me with some understanding about logical conclusions, however.  A lot of “if this then that’s.”  As fate would have it, I was also doing some soul-searching at that point in my life.  It’s a long story, but I had basically come to the realization that either my life was worth living, or it wasn’t.  And my life was not worth living.  Throughout my adolescent years, I had tried every path you could think, from New Age mysticism to atheism to eastern religions and philosophies.  Reluctantly, and as a last resort, I found myself in a non-denominational church that spring.  And reluctantly, things started to make sense.  I had never approached Christianity in a logical way, always believing it a crutch for the masses. But as I opened my mind to the teachings and examined the world around me, it was the only thing that made sense. 

As I turned my life over to God, I gave Him an ultimatum (because, you know, I’m at liberty to do that…).  I remember praying one night that, if this was real, it needed to be my everything.  It didn’t make sense to worship a God, but only give myself to Him in pieces and portions.  Here’s where the logic comes in:

If God is the Alpha and the Omega, the first and last; if He is the reason for my existence, your existence, and the existence of everything; if He created everything and everything works in a greater plan that all points to Him, then it follows that everything I do and say should be for Him.  If He created me for Him, my only goals in life should be for Him, directed by Him. 

Let’s follow this rabbit a little further, shall we?  It sounds like this God is pretty selfish, huh?  Creating all of us and everything just for Him.  I mean, how arrogant, right?  Shouldn’t we just get to live our own lives the way we want?  But we forgot something else with regard to logic: A does not equal B.  God is all goodness, all love, all perfection.  I am not.  I am fault and carelessness and sin, even when I have good intentions.  I am worthy of nobody’s worship.

God takes His goodness one step further, too.  He doesn’t force our worship, our love, or even our respect. He gives us the choice. 

So what does all of this lead us to logically conclude?  God is worthy of everything we have, everything we say, everything we do.  He cannot be an afterthought in my life.  He cannot take the passenger seat or wait until I feel like going to Him.  My existence is proof of His.  My life should be proof of His goodness and mercy. 

And one more thing – this conclusion doesn’t mean that life as I wanted it is over.  You see, I’ve also realized that what God has planned for me is so much more amazing than anything I could plan for myself.  Not “win the lottery, live on a yacht” amazing, but “I can’t believe I did that” amazing.  At nineteen, my ten-year plan had me alone in an apartment with a crappy office job and a persistent feeling of insignificance.  God has given me a husband, a career, a beautiful child, and purpose. 

The popular thing to do is ridicule Christians for their beliefs, and I used to subscribe to that philosophy.  Now I see, though, God is the logical choice.

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poetry drafting

I find myself gazing in a mirror,

Hoping for a new result.

Reflection looks back

Smug smiling,

Eying the deficiencies,

He sneers distaste and snaps for a better:

                “It will not do,

                 Oh no, it will not do.”

 

I claw the glass and turn my back.

Unfazed Reflection taps attention –

Still here.

I sheet him in paper,

Which burns right through

I coat him in paint,

Which melts right down

Bleeding black, blending

My colors into bleak shades of gray.

 

Truth enters, draped in a blood-red robe.

I hide my face in shame,

                “It will not do,

                 Oh no, it will not do.”

 

I scour the floor for a hiding place,

Broken, defeated, unable to stand.

Truth watches my fleeting attempts,

                “It will not do,

                 Oh no, it will not do.”

Takes His robe from His back,

Bearing blood-red scars,

Covers Reflection –

It does not burn,

It will not melt.

 

Reflection is silenced,

And I,

I can stand.