Please excuse me today, I am not feeling well. I won't participate, won't support anything you try to do that exposes my vulnerability. I am tired - I spent a good part of my night being slapped, hugged, punched, cursed, and humiliated in front of the only people I have learned to love. I spent the evening not bravely, but necessarily. Honestly not knowing if I would survive the chaos that never seemed to replicate itself consistently. Not knowing if the first outburst, the first onslaught would be the end of it, or if the alcohol would buoy or belay the extent of the violence. I threw myself into last evening's hell knowing no matter what would happen, I would lose something in the bargain. I am sore and I am tired. So please just leave me be today, and if you choose not to, understand that whatever reaction emerges from me is not directed at you as a human being, merely the festering frustration of having no peace, no place to retire to safely. Resisting you will break no bones, will shed no blood, will be a war halfway on my own terms, what passes for the semblance of power in my world. I will forget what ever happens when you call me out, won't think of you any differently tomorrow than I did today. You will suffer if you invite yourself into my world today, it will haunt you for years to come I suspect. I will disrupt your consistency, your sense of purpose, your concept of a good person, your lesson plan. Nothing personal is what I have always been told, but the triumvirate of alcoholism, mental illness, and abuse needs to assert itself efficaciously, never bearing any residual malice for its fodder. You will share, even if briefly, that senseless sort of malevolence that cannot be ignored, cannot be shrugged off. For your sake, I pray you just leave me be today, just leave me be.
Saturday, April 21, 2012
Thursday, April 19, 2012
Ghosts
I am not sure they are ghosts, it may be that they were never even real. I carry them around though, and they visit me periodically, mostly in dreams, sometimes at random moments throughout the day. Some carry pain, some regret, and some just remind me of the vast emptiness inside me. Often, I can stay ahead of them, working hard and pressing forward into new challenges. It is only when I stop and rest that they catch up.
I don't want to tote these images around anymore. I want to leave them here next month when I move on to the next segment of my life. I need to leave them here. Images from my distant and recent past, reminders of failures and pain that reconstitute themselves perfectly with each apparition. Time doesn't seem to weaken them, and sometimes I am not sure what is worse, suffering from a visit, or secretly missing them. I imagine it is like a drug habit - wanting to remember, to either fix or repair the damage, or just to languish in the few good moments associated with them, knowing that afterward I will feel worse, either way.
Perhaps if they weren't here, I would have no more excuses to focus on and I would be free to forge my future. I have never felt I have been at such a threshold before, not like I do now. I always felt I was just moving forward in a aimless fugue, aware of only what was directly in front of me. Perhaps I don't have the courage to face a future independent of the damage and excuses of my past. I do sense this is my last good chance to do so, and I need to jettison some things once and for all - ghosts and excuses.
I don't want to tote these images around anymore. I want to leave them here next month when I move on to the next segment of my life. I need to leave them here. Images from my distant and recent past, reminders of failures and pain that reconstitute themselves perfectly with each apparition. Time doesn't seem to weaken them, and sometimes I am not sure what is worse, suffering from a visit, or secretly missing them. I imagine it is like a drug habit - wanting to remember, to either fix or repair the damage, or just to languish in the few good moments associated with them, knowing that afterward I will feel worse, either way.
Perhaps if they weren't here, I would have no more excuses to focus on and I would be free to forge my future. I have never felt I have been at such a threshold before, not like I do now. I always felt I was just moving forward in a aimless fugue, aware of only what was directly in front of me. Perhaps I don't have the courage to face a future independent of the damage and excuses of my past. I do sense this is my last good chance to do so, and I need to jettison some things once and for all - ghosts and excuses.
Sunday, April 15, 2012
Chivalry
Ok, I know it's a sexist word, at least to some, and for me to begin a post about what it means to be a man is probably not very wise. But I am a man, I cannot help it, nor am I comfortable with anyone else defining who I am. I am also very aware that if I don't take the time to do this, someone else will. So here goes, what being a man means to me:
First and foremost, I need to acknowledge God, and to acknowledge the strengths he has give me. Those strengths include concern for the welfare of others and the ability to express myself. Lately, I have witnessed others victimizing those they felt were less powerful than themselves, and in the last several incidents, those perpetrators were women. In the past, I was willing and able to engage these people in defense of those they hurt - this was not a strength by the way, just a convenient exercise to indulge something that was not a strength, my proclivity for conflict. This is the hallmark of rationalization, that occasional intersection of motive and opportunity that launder a sinful act in the wake of an injustice. I had read Kant's concepts of duty, lectured on it, and missed the point completely. I have risked whatever I have at times to engage these skirmishes, not because I am honorable, but merely because I probably don't value myself very much, and any loss was not really a loss, or worse yet, most likely inevitable eventually anyway. I have heard that many heroes (not calling myself one) have given themselves for similar reasons.
As a man, I need to learn to advocate for others (not just women) in a different way, and if I am ever honest with myself, my courage will have to be forged a new way. I have a few of these tests in front of me at this very moment, and no, there will be no frontal assault this time. After all, any damage to be would be minimal and selfishly inflicted while the collateral damage done to others would be far more serious. I do imagine it will call for some sort of sacrifice on my part, but the kind I don't want to indulge. As I am writing this, a very uncomfortable realization is forming as I begin to formulate a new kind of response to one of these issues. More like dread actually, a good indicator I am now thinking correctly.
So chivalry will be redefined from this moment, at least for me anyway.
First and foremost, I need to acknowledge God, and to acknowledge the strengths he has give me. Those strengths include concern for the welfare of others and the ability to express myself. Lately, I have witnessed others victimizing those they felt were less powerful than themselves, and in the last several incidents, those perpetrators were women. In the past, I was willing and able to engage these people in defense of those they hurt - this was not a strength by the way, just a convenient exercise to indulge something that was not a strength, my proclivity for conflict. This is the hallmark of rationalization, that occasional intersection of motive and opportunity that launder a sinful act in the wake of an injustice. I had read Kant's concepts of duty, lectured on it, and missed the point completely. I have risked whatever I have at times to engage these skirmishes, not because I am honorable, but merely because I probably don't value myself very much, and any loss was not really a loss, or worse yet, most likely inevitable eventually anyway. I have heard that many heroes (not calling myself one) have given themselves for similar reasons.
As a man, I need to learn to advocate for others (not just women) in a different way, and if I am ever honest with myself, my courage will have to be forged a new way. I have a few of these tests in front of me at this very moment, and no, there will be no frontal assault this time. After all, any damage to be would be minimal and selfishly inflicted while the collateral damage done to others would be far more serious. I do imagine it will call for some sort of sacrifice on my part, but the kind I don't want to indulge. As I am writing this, a very uncomfortable realization is forming as I begin to formulate a new kind of response to one of these issues. More like dread actually, a good indicator I am now thinking correctly.
So chivalry will be redefined from this moment, at least for me anyway.
Thursday, April 12, 2012
Haya
The Prophet said, "Faith (Belief) consists of more than sixty branches (i.e. parts). And Haya (This term "Haya" covers a large number of concepts which are to be taken together; amongst them are self respect, modesty, bashfulness, and scruple, etc.) is a part of faith."
This particular hadith is very important to me, as "haya" is something I don't think I have ever understood, before or after my conversion to Islam. Of the four terms listed above (self respect, modesty, bashfulness, scruples), I probably only feel partially comfortable with my scruples, though they can be bent fairly easily when convenience beckons. Perhaps this is why I admire so many Muslim men I have known (Dr. K., many of the men in the Academy, men in the refugee camp I lived in, the Pakistani doctor and legislators who are bravely battling the horrors of acid attacks, etc.) over the years, I see this concept in their behaviors, in the way they treat people, in the way they carry themselves. I have so much to learn, so much to repair I fear.
My strength, or what I confuse for it, has been an opposite reaction to the insecurities I was raised with. I am quite sure I have never really respected myself, and I have learned later in life this is not an uncommon malady. I was shocked when I heard a favorite author tell his audience that we all know deep down we are just impostors. Although I feel confident in my work, I know there is so much more to learn, so much more to improve. But I have also learned that in order to lead people, you need to project confidence - that is my issue, keeping things confident and not letting them slide to the arrogant.
I do like the occasional bouts of modesty that overtake me from time to time. It feels good and natural. Perhaps one day I will wear that mantle more comfortably, without losing my passion. I have a lot to do.
This particular hadith is very important to me, as "haya" is something I don't think I have ever understood, before or after my conversion to Islam. Of the four terms listed above (self respect, modesty, bashfulness, scruples), I probably only feel partially comfortable with my scruples, though they can be bent fairly easily when convenience beckons. Perhaps this is why I admire so many Muslim men I have known (Dr. K., many of the men in the Academy, men in the refugee camp I lived in, the Pakistani doctor and legislators who are bravely battling the horrors of acid attacks, etc.) over the years, I see this concept in their behaviors, in the way they treat people, in the way they carry themselves. I have so much to learn, so much to repair I fear.
My strength, or what I confuse for it, has been an opposite reaction to the insecurities I was raised with. I am quite sure I have never really respected myself, and I have learned later in life this is not an uncommon malady. I was shocked when I heard a favorite author tell his audience that we all know deep down we are just impostors. Although I feel confident in my work, I know there is so much more to learn, so much more to improve. But I have also learned that in order to lead people, you need to project confidence - that is my issue, keeping things confident and not letting them slide to the arrogant.
I do like the occasional bouts of modesty that overtake me from time to time. It feels good and natural. Perhaps one day I will wear that mantle more comfortably, without losing my passion. I have a lot to do.
Thursday, April 5, 2012
Scars
I was very excited last night when I noticed the documentary Saving Face was on a dubious website where I could watch it now for free (another ethical discussion for another time). It is a documentary about one Pakistani plastic surgeon living in London who returns to Pakistan to help repair the faces of women who have had acid thrown upon them by husbands and spurned suitors. I can't begin to discuss the emotions I feel when I watch this film - not like the brief adrenaline rushes I have felt occasionally in the past after watching 90 minutes of something that felt inspirational and generated some very vacant life-changing resolutions, what I feel now is very different. Perhaps because this issue gets at some core concepts for me as a human - abuse, disfigurement, degradation, and the fundamental silence that afflicts apparently decent human beings as they watch these horrors happen to other people.
I muse often about my scars, those on my head and face, my arms, both hips, both knees, my back, and my ankle ( I am sure I have forgotten some as I have long since abandoned my full-length mirror), the stories behind them (even the true ones), and how I have come to live with them. Don't get me wrong, I am not trying to compare my scars to the terrible carnage done to these women, nor am I trying to compare my experience to theirs, I am only asserting that I can extrapolate enough to make a human connection to their misery that just won't let me forget their suffering. My scars are minor, and as a male, have even become part of a rugged persona of sorts, but I wasn't always comfortable with them, far from it.
My first significant scar came when I was very young when I pulled a skillet of grease down upon myself from the stove. It left a permanent bald spot on the top of my head, and two half-dollars sized scars on my left arm. I learned to grow my bangs long to cover the scar, but when the wind blew it was always noticeable. Although I never took to wearing hats as a result, I was constantly aware of the scar, and was always pulling at my hair to make sure it was covered. I didn't like playing basketball or the running events in track as I couldn't control my hair, and I really didn't care for headbands. It took a very long time before I overcame this self-consciousness. I was not teased too much growing up about it, but it affected my self-esteem to a great extent I think.
The rest of my scars have been fairly won in combat of some sort - sports or battles with my step-father. Consequently they come with a weird sense of pride or begrudging nod to my manhood. But there are other scars here too, the invisible ones. I carry a hidden scar for each time I did not intervene when my step-father terrorized my mother and my sister, every time I did not help someone in need, every time I overlooked an injustice at work or school, every time I failed to act on my conscience. These have disfigured me the most I think.
So now, I watch the courage of these women who have existed in terribly abuse relationships, only to be sprayed with acid or gasoline by family members (incredibly, sometimes by a sister in-law or mother in-law), with complete incredulity not knowing how they persevere. Some are even forced to return to the homes to reconcile as they have nowhere to go or need to remain with their children. What pains me most is the Muslim community that by-in-large ignores this phenomenon, particularly the male segment of that population. Men whose vanity pollutes and degrades the name of my faith, men who should stop this vile practice with their own hands, men who instead turn their heads and head to the mosque to lecture others on their behaviors. No, not men, not Muslims.
There is nothing in my faith that suggests I treat women as inferior beings, subjugated property, or anything less than full partners in my human walk with God. I cry as I watch these women deal with their scars, and I lament a good part of that nation of men weaker than they, scared by their own cowardice.
I muse often about my scars, those on my head and face, my arms, both hips, both knees, my back, and my ankle ( I am sure I have forgotten some as I have long since abandoned my full-length mirror), the stories behind them (even the true ones), and how I have come to live with them. Don't get me wrong, I am not trying to compare my scars to the terrible carnage done to these women, nor am I trying to compare my experience to theirs, I am only asserting that I can extrapolate enough to make a human connection to their misery that just won't let me forget their suffering. My scars are minor, and as a male, have even become part of a rugged persona of sorts, but I wasn't always comfortable with them, far from it.
My first significant scar came when I was very young when I pulled a skillet of grease down upon myself from the stove. It left a permanent bald spot on the top of my head, and two half-dollars sized scars on my left arm. I learned to grow my bangs long to cover the scar, but when the wind blew it was always noticeable. Although I never took to wearing hats as a result, I was constantly aware of the scar, and was always pulling at my hair to make sure it was covered. I didn't like playing basketball or the running events in track as I couldn't control my hair, and I really didn't care for headbands. It took a very long time before I overcame this self-consciousness. I was not teased too much growing up about it, but it affected my self-esteem to a great extent I think.
The rest of my scars have been fairly won in combat of some sort - sports or battles with my step-father. Consequently they come with a weird sense of pride or begrudging nod to my manhood. But there are other scars here too, the invisible ones. I carry a hidden scar for each time I did not intervene when my step-father terrorized my mother and my sister, every time I did not help someone in need, every time I overlooked an injustice at work or school, every time I failed to act on my conscience. These have disfigured me the most I think.
So now, I watch the courage of these women who have existed in terribly abuse relationships, only to be sprayed with acid or gasoline by family members (incredibly, sometimes by a sister in-law or mother in-law), with complete incredulity not knowing how they persevere. Some are even forced to return to the homes to reconcile as they have nowhere to go or need to remain with their children. What pains me most is the Muslim community that by-in-large ignores this phenomenon, particularly the male segment of that population. Men whose vanity pollutes and degrades the name of my faith, men who should stop this vile practice with their own hands, men who instead turn their heads and head to the mosque to lecture others on their behaviors. No, not men, not Muslims.
There is nothing in my faith that suggests I treat women as inferior beings, subjugated property, or anything less than full partners in my human walk with God. I cry as I watch these women deal with their scars, and I lament a good part of that nation of men weaker than they, scared by their own cowardice.
Wednesday, April 4, 2012
Ignorance
The Prophet added, "The angel caught me (forcefully) and pressed me so hard that I could not bear it any more. He then released me and again asked me to read and I replied, 'I do not know how to read.' Thereupon he caught me again and pressed me a second time till I could not bear it any more. He then released me and again asked me to read but again I replied, 'I do not know how to read (or what shall I read)?' Thereupon he caught me for the third time and pressed me, and then released me and said, 'Read in the name of your Lord, who has created (all that exists) has created man from a clot. Read! And your Lord is the Most Generous." (96.1, 96.2, 96.3)
Illiteracy has been a major part of my life since the summer of 1985 - nearly 27 years now. I stumbled over it as a Peace Corps Volunteer in Jamaica, after my primary post as an instructor at a teacher's college fell through. I have written about this many times before, and to make a long story short, ended up working for JAMAL (The Jamaican Movement for the Advancement of Literacy) for two years, teaching reading classes and eventually establishing and supporting classes across the western side of the island. This changed my life forever, and when I returned to the United States, I changed my coursework and studied reading, cognition, and education. Since that summer, I have been involved with literacy education of some sorts constantly, and the non-literate have been a large part of my life.
These experiences have drastically changed my notion of ignorance - I must confess I probably once held that non-literate people were ignorant by definition, but my parameters were all wrong. People aren't illiterate by choice, and they certainly aren't limited in other cognitive functions. As a matter of fact, some of the most dignified people I have ever met couldn't spell the word dignified! They live very difficult and complicated lives, often close to the earth, far from the convoluted machinations of more learned folks. And I never taught them to improve their character, far from it, I hoped the advent of literacy did not erode it! The fact that Allah chose such a person to reveal His word is perfectly logical for me, especially when I think about my varied religious experiences. A pure heart is a perfect vessel, whether the owner of that heart can decipher scribbles on paper or not.
Sometimes I think about those early Muslims, and the changes they had to make to fulfill their faith - the ancient superstitions of their forefathers, the barbaric practices they deemed pragmatic, and the destructive but convenient diversions from their brutal realities. They made these changes in the presence of the word of God, delivered by a simple, honest man. This humbles me when I think about my short-comings in my faith. I really cannot grasp the magnitude of the changes the Prophet heralded, and those early converts who gave their lives to Allah.
This notion of illiteracy also brings me to one of the strengths of Islam, in my opinion anyway, that of our personal responsibility to read and consider the Holy Koran. And although I may go to the Mosque and listen to a learned Imam on occasion, it is incumbent upon me to live a correct life and to know how to comport myself with God and in this world. This is so different than my previous experiences with churches where God's word was sometimes hoarded and parsed out sparingly by men who had closed themselves from my world in cloistered and secret clutches. I do understand the benefit of others' wisdom, but the lessons I have read in the Koran and hadith are simple enough for me. So simple as a matter of fact, that my human side is tempted to manipulate and pervert them. At the end of the day though, my conscience knows the difference, and I try to listen openly to my conscience especially during isha'a prayer.
Finally, the notion that correlates illiteracy and life close to the earth resonates very strongly with me - my faith is not grounded (no pun intended) in some high, esoteric rhetoric, rather it is forged with simple daily routines that reinforce the basic goodness around me, not the distractions of the masses scrambling to produce convenient, self-serving realities. Working from the simple to the complex is honest work - manipulating the complex to change the simple is the devil's duty.
So, to finish these thoughts with something potentially heretical, I don't find much of a miracle in God's choice of our Prophet; it makes perfect, beautiful sense to me.
Illiteracy has been a major part of my life since the summer of 1985 - nearly 27 years now. I stumbled over it as a Peace Corps Volunteer in Jamaica, after my primary post as an instructor at a teacher's college fell through. I have written about this many times before, and to make a long story short, ended up working for JAMAL (The Jamaican Movement for the Advancement of Literacy) for two years, teaching reading classes and eventually establishing and supporting classes across the western side of the island. This changed my life forever, and when I returned to the United States, I changed my coursework and studied reading, cognition, and education. Since that summer, I have been involved with literacy education of some sorts constantly, and the non-literate have been a large part of my life.
These experiences have drastically changed my notion of ignorance - I must confess I probably once held that non-literate people were ignorant by definition, but my parameters were all wrong. People aren't illiterate by choice, and they certainly aren't limited in other cognitive functions. As a matter of fact, some of the most dignified people I have ever met couldn't spell the word dignified! They live very difficult and complicated lives, often close to the earth, far from the convoluted machinations of more learned folks. And I never taught them to improve their character, far from it, I hoped the advent of literacy did not erode it! The fact that Allah chose such a person to reveal His word is perfectly logical for me, especially when I think about my varied religious experiences. A pure heart is a perfect vessel, whether the owner of that heart can decipher scribbles on paper or not.
Sometimes I think about those early Muslims, and the changes they had to make to fulfill their faith - the ancient superstitions of their forefathers, the barbaric practices they deemed pragmatic, and the destructive but convenient diversions from their brutal realities. They made these changes in the presence of the word of God, delivered by a simple, honest man. This humbles me when I think about my short-comings in my faith. I really cannot grasp the magnitude of the changes the Prophet heralded, and those early converts who gave their lives to Allah.
This notion of illiteracy also brings me to one of the strengths of Islam, in my opinion anyway, that of our personal responsibility to read and consider the Holy Koran. And although I may go to the Mosque and listen to a learned Imam on occasion, it is incumbent upon me to live a correct life and to know how to comport myself with God and in this world. This is so different than my previous experiences with churches where God's word was sometimes hoarded and parsed out sparingly by men who had closed themselves from my world in cloistered and secret clutches. I do understand the benefit of others' wisdom, but the lessons I have read in the Koran and hadith are simple enough for me. So simple as a matter of fact, that my human side is tempted to manipulate and pervert them. At the end of the day though, my conscience knows the difference, and I try to listen openly to my conscience especially during isha'a prayer.
Finally, the notion that correlates illiteracy and life close to the earth resonates very strongly with me - my faith is not grounded (no pun intended) in some high, esoteric rhetoric, rather it is forged with simple daily routines that reinforce the basic goodness around me, not the distractions of the masses scrambling to produce convenient, self-serving realities. Working from the simple to the complex is honest work - manipulating the complex to change the simple is the devil's duty.
So, to finish these thoughts with something potentially heretical, I don't find much of a miracle in God's choice of our Prophet; it makes perfect, beautiful sense to me.
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
Reconnecting
I really enjoyed my spiritual journey last Ramadan when I went through the Holy Koran and read and commented on each sura. I have kept much of the progress I made, but I have slipped on things too. I thought it would be nice to read and reflect on some Hadith now as I begin to prepare for another change in my life.
"The reward of deeds depends upon the intentions and every person will get the reward according to what he has intended. So whoever emigrated for worldly benefits or for a woman to marry, his emigration was for what he emigrated for."
This is a very relevant reference for me on so many levels. First, I have worked very hard on my intentions, making sure they were correct, not self-serving, and worthy of Muslim who loves God. I am comfortable that I do most things for the right reason, and if there is personal benefit that follows, then it is a natural consequence. My intentions aren't always pure, and lately they have been tested by a particularly noxious person, but all in all, I have resisted changing my nature to meet the challenge. I am a very ambitious person, and I spend a great deal of time reflecting on the motivation behind those ambitions. To me, this hadith speaks to motivation and reward, two things that have been on my mind lately.
I realize now that at my age and station, to accomplish things I must be out a head of them leading the way (for awhile anyway). When you do this with good people, they are grateful and willing to show that gratitude in a million ways. This often flatters me but makes me increasingly more uncomfortable. I really do look at the projects I work on now as sustainable programs designed to do good for a great number of people - I have realized late in life that these entities need to be free standing and unattached to a personality in order to reach meaningful fruition. It is a delicate dance, creating an initial dependence then transitioning to full autonomy. Luckily, I have chosen wonderful people to work with lately, and I see this all unfolding before me. It really is far more wonderful to see these teachers recognize their own worth and excellence than to hear them praise me. Twenty years ago, I would not have understood this kind of reward I think. Feeling this new kind of satisfaction only drives me harder towards other ventures now.
The second part of this hadith is very pertinent for me, as I continue to try to understand the role of love in my religion. I have been selfish in love and I have been almost completely selfless in love, but I am not sure either motive was correct. Most likely, I simply committed the sin of placing myself before God, then placing someone else there. I am still not sure how this is meant to work, how this partnership with another human being enhances my relationship with God. I have some work left to do here I guess.
I plan to keep reflecting on things during this next month as I prepare to move to my new job. Although I will be very busy, I think it is an appropriate time to take measure of myself and my relationship with God.
"The reward of deeds depends upon the intentions and every person will get the reward according to what he has intended. So whoever emigrated for worldly benefits or for a woman to marry, his emigration was for what he emigrated for."
This is a very relevant reference for me on so many levels. First, I have worked very hard on my intentions, making sure they were correct, not self-serving, and worthy of Muslim who loves God. I am comfortable that I do most things for the right reason, and if there is personal benefit that follows, then it is a natural consequence. My intentions aren't always pure, and lately they have been tested by a particularly noxious person, but all in all, I have resisted changing my nature to meet the challenge. I am a very ambitious person, and I spend a great deal of time reflecting on the motivation behind those ambitions. To me, this hadith speaks to motivation and reward, two things that have been on my mind lately.
I realize now that at my age and station, to accomplish things I must be out a head of them leading the way (for awhile anyway). When you do this with good people, they are grateful and willing to show that gratitude in a million ways. This often flatters me but makes me increasingly more uncomfortable. I really do look at the projects I work on now as sustainable programs designed to do good for a great number of people - I have realized late in life that these entities need to be free standing and unattached to a personality in order to reach meaningful fruition. It is a delicate dance, creating an initial dependence then transitioning to full autonomy. Luckily, I have chosen wonderful people to work with lately, and I see this all unfolding before me. It really is far more wonderful to see these teachers recognize their own worth and excellence than to hear them praise me. Twenty years ago, I would not have understood this kind of reward I think. Feeling this new kind of satisfaction only drives me harder towards other ventures now.
The second part of this hadith is very pertinent for me, as I continue to try to understand the role of love in my religion. I have been selfish in love and I have been almost completely selfless in love, but I am not sure either motive was correct. Most likely, I simply committed the sin of placing myself before God, then placing someone else there. I am still not sure how this is meant to work, how this partnership with another human being enhances my relationship with God. I have some work left to do here I guess.
I plan to keep reflecting on things during this next month as I prepare to move to my new job. Although I will be very busy, I think it is an appropriate time to take measure of myself and my relationship with God.
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