What if?

I feel at a loss right now honestly. I have recently felt quite unsettled and disturbed at all the conflicts in Iraq and concerning the Palestine-Israel conflicts and the U.S. Military violence in countries all around the world, specifically within Iraq.

Me in my JROTC uniform my sophmore year of high school...goodness gracious!

As a child I was taught to place my right hand over my heart and say loudly and proudly the "Pledge of Allegiance" and sing with fervor the "National Anthem". In my household growing up the voice of Rush Limbaugh and other Right-Wingers bounced off the car windows and the hallways of our home. My parents, to the best of my knowledge, voted Republican, usually citing their opposition to abortion and the "government-handouts" (i.e. Welfare, Food Stamps, and WIC and Medicaid) as reasons for their allegiance to the Republican party. And at one point during my wandering through the "what do I want to be when I grow up" nonsense, I even contemplated serving my country in the Air Force, my parents seemingly supportive of this endeavor of Patriotism. Thankfully obesity and a bum right knee blew that whole dream.

It is funny to me, as I reflect on my upbringing, how I am now sitting in a two bedroom apartment in the middle of the Charlotte ghetto. I would say most of the people that surround me in my neighborhood probably vote Democrat or not at all, often feeling their voice means little to nothing. Many of the people I live next to are on Welfare, buy groceries with their Food Stamps or milk with WIC and take their babies to the clinic using Medicaid.

Now I shudder to think of my life had I actually joined the military. How the government would have merely used me as another pawn in their sick game of Divide, Conquer and Devour; Imperialists dressed in Democratic suits...wolves in sheep's clothing if you will.

Just about thirty minutes ago I was downstairs on my couch contemplating what the Gospel of Christ means to me and what it requires of me in this life here on earth. A stew of emotions is simmering under my chest. Do I give what I have to the poor and follow Jesus? What if following Jesus means going into war zones or places where the name of Jesus just might get me killed? What if following Jesus means that my husband may be killed, leaving me alone? What if following Jesus is not at all what I have been led to believe it means?

What if following Jesus looks nothing like what I have seen all my life? That all the Sunday afternoon potlucks in big church buildings, and the silly youth-group games, and the mission trips to Wales (yes...Wales) are not at all the reality of a very starkly real Gospel of a man, a Carpenter, born of a Virgin, crucified on a cross for the sake of all humanity? What if following Jesus is actually full of blood, sweat and tears...joy in the guise of heartache and sorrow? That when I die, it will not be in a bed under the care of  my family but in a strange place, alone, with only the Word to keep me company and its promises to give me hope?