sunday

Sunday is my favourite day of the week. Aside from the fact that I think our sanctuary is ugly, and the fact that I'll go to bed at night knowing that I'll have to wake up to a weekday, there's nothing about Sundays that I don't like. The sun always seems so much brighter on the way to church (the effect of which is tragically counteracted by the artificial lighting of said sanctuary), and there's always that hint of freshness, of "You have the whole day ahead of you!", hanging alluringly in the air.

Sunday starts with God, and being in church for the first three hours of the day leaves enough of a mark to ensure that Sunday ends with God, too. Sunday brings friends of the best and closest kind, and time with them, and memories of them. Sunday enacts unspeakable rituals involving television screens (which will remain unspoken of but are still very much worth mentioning indirectly). Sunday dissolves into impromptu plans and lunch with my favourite people. Sunday is always new, always different, and never disappointing in the end.

Sunday is also becoming the sustenance of my spirituality, something my life has been devoid of for far too long. Relevance and controversy are beginning to manifest themselves in the conversations that I have on Sundays outside of church hours, and I'm hoping that this is just the start of a dialogue that blossoms into regularity. If it is, then I'll finally have what Friday night and Sunday morning haven't been able to give me.

Sunday is my favourite day of the week.

if only you knew

You know what I think? I think you're selfish. Selfish! I think that's what it all boils down to. All of this faceless, misdirected angst, all of this moaning and groaning about anything and everything you could possibly hope to moan and groan about. It's all because you're selfish! And I think that's the problem I have with you, and the problem I've always had with you, and the problem I most likely will continue to have with you if you don't start changing the way you are.

Of course, if there were a measure to selfishness I'd probably score much higher up the ladder than you would, and maybe a lot of other people would do the same. That's not the point. The point is that you happen to belong to a particular breed of selfishness -- one that, among other qualities, possesses the trademark characteristic of being oblivious to its own condition. You don't even realize that there's a problem. Why, you ask? Because you're too busy criticizing everyone else.

Introductory psychology does have its merits in revealing interesting facts about human behaviour. One of the things I've learned is that humans always think of themselves in an above-average, better-than-reality light (yes, this applies to you, even if your social image is one of utter depression and self-loathing). When critically analyzing ourselves or any aspect of our characters, we'll always be more inclined to recall positive features than negative ones, and whenever we compare ourselves and our abilities to those of others, especially our intellectual capacities, we always think of ourselves as "better than most". Maybe this is a natural mechanism of protection that prevents the shallow end of the gene pool from committing suicide.

Whatever it is, it has the unfortunate effect of making us believe that nothing is our own fault. You know damned well what I mean, because you're especially guilty of this one. You, in your absolute blindness to anything but grief and pain, are willing to blame God, nature, every man and his dog, money, and circumstances, but never will the responsibility rest on your own shoulders. Clever little thing that you are, though, you'll try to convince everyone that you're thinking you're the first person who needs to be blamed, by pointing out your specific flaws which need to be "prayerfully rectified"; but what good is prayer when you don't even mean the words you're saying? Give it a couple weeks, give it a month, and you're back to your old self again. You never did think it was entirely about you. There was always someone else to lay some or all of the fault on, and as long as that sliver of hope remained alive, the demons had something to work with.

And so you kept on your wavering course, staring into shadows instead of appreciating the light that cast them. You wouldn't settle for anything short of perfection, but you refused to look in the only place that perfection even existed -- with God -- choosing, rather, to be perpetually disappointed by your failures and the failures of the people around you. In order to justify your endeavour, you shed any and every notion that you were satisfied with your life, and then made sure that everyone else could see your deplorable state. It was really quite strange and disturbing to watch, sort of like an inverted, perverted Franciscan asceticism, as you disclaimed all familiarity with every good and godly thing that ever was. You tore your clothes in a masterful display of showmanship and cried out on a God that'd forsaken you; and all the while God watched, his heart torn by your ridiculous blasphemy, unable to answer a prayer that was never directed at him to begin with.

Because in the end, you weren't praying. You weren't hoping to be scooped out of the dark times. You were content to spiral down the self-destructive path if it meant having something tangible to cling to while you did it. So long as you had and knew your source of pain, you could model your life and its purpose around that antagonistic relationship. The prize awaiting you at the bottom of that deep, cold pit was a final exit, a flourish, an unrestrained blaze of glory. You dove head-first towards that plainly visible goal. It's a pity that no one ever makes it to the bottom.

But you already knew that. You wouldn't be in this situation to begin with if you hadn't once before been caught and brought back out of the chasm you'd jumped into. Redemption was something you'd experienced first-hand. So why do it, then? Maybe you caught the Orange County bug of turning your life into something horrible and therefore meaningful. Maybe you longed to remember the taste of forgiveness. Maybe you never really tasted it the first time around.

If only you knew. Snow falls and winter is white, the sun shines and the summers are bright. The trees paint themselves brilliantly in the autumn, and even a little drop of rain in spring is a beautiful thing to witness. If only you knew. Friends can never be perfect, and that's the wonder of having friendships. Picture-perfection is only attainable once you've come to terms with that reality. If only you knew. Your life isn't about being cool or being different or being liked or being disliked; it's about being. If only you knew.

If only you knew how much better life could be, if you'd let it. If you only knew how much he'd care for you, if you'd let him. If only you knew.

that question again

A question was asked yesterday at Gilead, and it never quite got answered. I thought I'd offer my thoughts on it. As a prescript, anyone reading this post should be aware that it's written from an entirely Christian perspective, and that as such it doesn't apply to any non-Christians. This is a response intended for anyone who might've still been curious at the end of the night, and wanted a more concrete explanation rather the reflex-reaction, ultra-conservative Protestant answer of "No".

The question was this: is it right for a Christian to date a non-Christian? Yes, it's a familiar one.

I'll begin by talking about the issue in the context of marriage (since, believe it or not, there isn't any scripture that talks about dating). Marriage is meant to be, literally, the spiritual manifestation of the relationship between Christ and the Church. St. Paul states it explicitly in Ephesians 5: "For a husband is the head of his wife as Christ is the head of his body, the Church; he gave his life to be her Saviour." Well, those are pretty weighty words, but what do they mean? Paul goes on further to explain: "As the Church submits to Christ, so you wives must submit to your husbands in everything. And you husbands must love your wives with the same love Christ showed the Church. He gave up his life for her to make her holy and clean, washed by baptism and God's word."

So, marriages are meant to reflect the love of Christ and the Church's reciprocation of it. A godly, husband-wife relationship can't exist without the aspect of Christ-Church love. If this is the case, then the inevitable question must be asked: can Christ-Church love exist in an unchurched, non-Christian setting? I think you'd be hard-pressed to claim that it could. A person who rejects Christianity would have a decidedly hard time, to say the least, trying to exemplify its most core premise. Likewise, the act of spiritually inheriting the roles of Christ and Church would be impossible in a marriage between a Christian and a non-Christian; neither Christ nor the Church can be embodied in a setting where either, or both, are rejected.

I should point out, before I continue, that it'd be in your best interest to take a moment to review the Ephesian chapter (or at least from verse 21 onwards). I'm cautioning you because the passages I've been referencing address the command for a husband to love his wife, and for a wife to respect her husband, and not specifically the issue of relationships between Christians and non-Christians; there's therefore always the danger that I've taken some ideas out of context.

Still, I believe that the two concepts -- on the one hand, that spousal love is a manifestation of Christ's relationship with the Church, and on the other, that marriage between Christians and non-Christians is somehow "wrong" -- are inseparably linked. Why? Because my understanding is that Christ and the Church are unified by their love and obedience of God, the Father. My understanding is that Christ and the Church are both permeated and sanctified by God, the Holy Spirit. My understanding is that Christ and the Church are justified and redeemed by the love and sacrifice of God, the Son. Marriage, therefore, also exhibits these qualities. Can the same be said of the union between a Christian and a non-Christian? I don't think so.

Everything I've discussed so far has been about marriage. How does it apply to premarital relationships? There's the view that dating relationships should be for the purpose of finding an eventual spouse, and thus if a person of interest wouldn't qualify as an eventual husband or wife, then that particular individual shouldn't be of interest. Is there anything biblically explicit to back that up? No, because back then society was sensible enough to be forward about these sorts of things, and to get straight to the point and marry instead of screwing around irresponsibly. Of course, back then people also got married when they were sixteen years old, whereas now you're lucky if you do it before you're twenty-five. The difference? Capitalism. The result? Marital feelings emerging in and around the age of sixteen, but being supressed in some other, smaller form until marriage actually becomes an option eight or nine years down the road. Thus the interim step of dating is created, to satisfy our primal needs while still attempting to maintain our ethical standards.

In moderation, this is a wise idea, especially since it can closely mimic the courting that once took place between potential lovers in the past -- an entirely safe, respectful, God-honouring process. In excess, dating leaves you scarred from past experiences and makes it exponentially more difficult, with each additional relationship, to settle and find the one meant for you.

Let's put the relative moral ambiguity of dating aside for the time being; that's a topic for an entirely different discussion. How do we reconcile dating relationships with marriage in at least a remotely Christian context? I honestly ascribe to the view that we're genetically wired to be looking for a mate before we're twenty years old. If history isn't enough of an indication, then how about our sex drives or the fact that we all start getting interested in the opposite gender at around the same age? (Of course, societal perversion has somewhat distorted that natural inclination by indocrinating sex-values at a ridiculously young age.) But the key word in the sentence is "mate". Not "date", mate. In my opinion, any romantic relationship should exist for the purpose of mating; and since mating involves sex, and sex is an option only in marriage, any romantic relationship exists only for eventual marriage. What other sensible explanation, from a Christian perspective, is there? To have fun? That would be selfish. To gain experience? No, what you need isn't experience, but the right character that usually gets associated with it; the only thing that experience on its own can teach you is how to lie by acting in a prescribed way. Marriage, or the intended pursuit of it, is the only godly purpose that a dating relationship can have.

In short: marriage between Christians and non-Christians is theologically inadvisable, and since relationships are a precursor to marriage, relationships between Christians and non-Christians are also inadvisable. Sorry for the hardline-conservative answer, and sorry if the opening paragraph decieved you into thinking I was a bit more liberal-minded. Well, actually, in reality I am -- I think it's theoretically possible for a Christian and a non-Christian to be romantically involved (not married). It's just that there's a razor-thin line that needs to be walked, by both parties, in the process. To date, I haven't ever seen that sort of a relationship "work out" in the idealistic way that makes people all giddy about it to begin with. As a Christian, dating a Christian is the much safer route.

the impossibility of sacrifice

It's an interesting predicament that you and I seem to have found ourselves in. On the one hand we're encouraged, by every concievable sense of morality and theology and rationality, to develop qualities of selflessness and modesty. Why, after all, should you bite off more than you can chew? You ought just to take as much as you need and leave the rest for everyone else. According to the laws of natural science, there should be no gain in having more than what's necessary -- animals that stop eating after acquiring a certain number of calories are exemplary of this principle -- and I doubt you'll be able to think of any substantial argument to deny this claim.

Meanwhile, Western human civilization, also known by the synonyms "capitalism" and "devil-worship", cunningly whispers the opposite idea into our hungry, expectant ears. The indoctrination of the free-for-all, take-what-you-can-at-anyone's-expense mentality begins at such an early age that by the time we're old enough to think straight, it's already become a literal second nature. It's the wonder and magic of society; somehow, all of that naturally established order is annihilated and replaced by the most pointlessly chaotic, pseudo-structural absurdity.

Maybe that explains why the act of giving something up can be so immensely difficult. And it really is, no matter how selfless we think we might be -- letting go tends to go against every fibre of our beings, regardless of whether we're attaching ourselves to a possession or a habit or even something immaterial. Don't believe me? When was the last time you gave something up without a single selfish thought about what you were doing? Most likely happened months, or even years, ago -- because even that thoughtful gift and that kind action were careful investments laced with ambitious designs and the expectation of reciprocation. Once you've tasted the fruit, you can never go back to life without it.

The Easter season has gotten me thinking a lot about this. Ash-Wednesday is next week and marks the beginning of Lent, the forty days of fasting and penitence in preparation for the Holy Week of Christ's arrival and eventual execution in Jerusalem. I've been thinking about observing Lent, in some shape or form, for some time; and so I've decided, in addition to fasting, and on each of the forty days, to remove one thing from my daily life that I enjoy or take for granted. On Good Friday, then, I should have a total of forty material or immaterial possessions and habits from which I've fasted, with the last being abstained from for just that day, the second-last since the day before, and so on.

I was pretty excited about the idea until I realized that forty is a pretty sizeable number of things to give up. For starters, I wasn't sure if I could even think of so many, and even if I were able to draw up a list, whether or not I'd be able to stick by it would be a wager I wouldn't be too inclined to bet on. The painstaking awareness of the loss of each of them would just underscore the point; that a willing sacrifice devoid of motivation for personal gain is an extraordinary, almost impossible feat for a human being to accomplish.

I've still resolved to go ahead with Lent. The more practical outcomes of letting go of the norms of life are obvious, and in a season of repentance I'm sincerely hoping that the process will help to shape a different attitude. At any rate, though, I don't think I can plan on successfully giving aspects of my life to God without some kind of resistance, voiced or otherwise. I guess that's the reason why we fast to begin with -- our grudging unwillingness to let things go exposes that very flaw and our need to depend on greater strength than our own.

Is it really our fault? Part of it has got to do with human nature, I think, although I'll leave it at "part" to ensure that we aren't left without the blame that we deserve. Consider every ungodly act, from spiteful thoughts to rude words to immoral conduct to mass murder, ever committed in the history of the world: couldn't it be said that the root of these evils -- and by extension, of evil in its entirety -- is selfishness taking precedence over selflessness? And isn't the opposite then true of our most noble and virtuous acts of love? I mean, even the original sin was a greed, a taking, that didn't need to be fulfilled; and the one act that redeemed us from it was a love that didn't need to be given. I guess things aren't any different today.

i don't belong here!

So, after some additional thoughts on friendships, here's what I've found. As a sidenote, I'd like you to be aware, before you continue reading, that this isn't some spiteful whine post.

It's the unfortunate outcome of life that the vast majority of people you encounter will never understand you. At least, that's been the story of my life (and I'm aware of the fact that "I'm misunderstood" has become the most obnoxiously cliched axiom of the 1990s, but I really do mean it). Most of the people I interact with have no grasp of who I am, or what I'm doing, or what my intentions are. For many, it's the almost-excusable flaw of casual acquaintance; for a fewer number, it's because of the human tendency to interpret everything seen at face value. Some people just don't have the time to work their way through me. And a relatively small number try genuinely to get to know me, but I'm just somehow beyond comprehension.

Am I "complicated"? To satiate my hatred for obnoxious cliches of the 1990s, I'll say that I'm not (relatively speaking, anyways, since all people are complicated). I don't think that's the issue. I think the problem is that I -- specifically, my mental and emotional infrastructure -- am so incredibly different that I don't only seem to be alien, but my existence is entirely inconcievable. It's like explaining a sphere to a circle; people just don't understand, and no matter how hard I try, most of them never will. To put things into a concrete perspective for you, consider this, which came up at a conversation during lunch yesterday:

I like U of T. I don't mind its impersonality; in fact, I appreciate it.

I sincerely believe that the above statement says more about me than most of the things I've posted on this blog. Unfortunately that doesn't matter, because you're still stuck on trying to figure out what the hell is wrong with me.

Misunderstanding contributes to this general sense of un-belonging-ness that I seem to now experience with relative frequency. And I don't mean to say that I feel out of place regardless of where I am, but that I feel out of place where I know I probably shouldn't -- in other words, where I'm supposed to have my strongest, most regular relationships. Thus Fridays and Sundays have become a constant, almost mocking reminder of the fact that the group I'm supposed to identify with the most is the one that makes me feel the most alien. In a thousand lesser scenarios this wouldn't be so much of a problem, but when I feel more like myself in a literature class full of strangers that I've never spoken a word to than I do in a church that I've spent the past three years in, I think I'm right to feel a little bit uneasy.

This weekend has been a comfort, though, in revealing that not all of my relationships with people follow along that vein. A trek downtown with a dear friend on Saturday made me realize that there are still others who operate on the same intellectual wavelength as I do; likewise, spending the past few Sunday nights running medical drama marathons with an equally dear friend has shown me the beauty of an unpretentious friendship that carries a mutual, unspoken comprehension. My dearest friend of all embodies understanding in its fullest, in that even when she doesn't understand me, she's still aware of it.

Don't get me wrong -- I understand that being entirely understood is entirely impossible, and I'm not developing a Hollywood-complex of desiring an unattainable state of perfection either. I just know that there aren't enough people in my life who can and do understand me, as my recent experiences within the social institutions that I've become so accustomed to are revealing to me. So, in light of the local spread of non-political liberalism, I'm considering a bit of a change -- a new approach, integrating myself in different areas, resolving to find people similar to myself in places other than the ones I've been looking.

And if I'm successful, I'll finally be able to stop pretending that I fit in where I don't belong.

my fair lady

How much beauty could you ask of a girl? I daresay that this is as good as it gets.

twist of fate?

I lost.

This was the last record of my progress that I thought to take before it happened. If you want a shot of the bitter end, it's here -- but the numbers are cut off by the end-game popup. If you're curious, the final score was 382,440.

You're probably thinking that getting two words out of a possible seventeen was a bad way to go out. You're probably right. In fact, you're probably thinking that losing on "eyelid" was a bad way to go out too. Again, you're probably right. In my own defense, though, I'd just started the round when I was interrupted by a phone call that I thought I could answer in time to come back and finish. Obviously I overestimated myself, because this most unwelcome sight was all that was left to greet me when I came back.

If you're wondering about the time discrepencies, I started the game on Saturday (Sunday morning, to be precise), left it running until I got home from class today, and picked up where I left off (which was at 4:21 AM, the last time I took a screenshot). If you're wondering about authenticity, you'll notice that the rings in the background of the applet frame run undisturbed behind the numbers, which is a feat that quite honestly is beyond my Photoshopping abilities. If you're still wondering about anything, then it's likely about my desktop scheme and the lack of XP-flashiness; in that case I have one word for you, you unfaithful pagan.

The righteous hammer of God has struck me down at last. Maybe this is justice exacted for signing out course textbooks from libraries. Well, if it is, then I must say that it was well worth the price.

confessions of an impenitent man

I would desperately like to meet another snob. I think it would do me well to sit and try to have a civilized conversation with someone as detached from reality as I am, not to mention that the clash of such selfish, arrogant, condescending attitudes would undoubtedly be the event of the century to witness. After all, it isn't every day that two people laying claim to the same lofty title wind up together in the same room.

(I actually had to delete an entire paragraph that would've otherwise gone here because, in the process of attempting to provide details about my snobbism, I realized that I was in danger of being seen as a snob. Ironic, isn't it? If you'd like to see the deleted paragraph, drop me a line so that I can spit in your face and call you a Gaul.)

It's a sad twist of fate that made me this way, especially in spite of my parents' every effort to prevent it from happening. And give them credit, because they tried, they really did. I mean, I didn't even start exhibiting these sorts of tendencies until recently.

Well, alright, that isn't exactly true. I've always thought of myself as smarter, although my psychology textbook tells me that that's something we're all guilty of (which still doesn't exactly make me feel any better). At any rate, though, it was only recently that I began to become a snob about things that I really didn't have any justification in being snobbish about (not that I had any justification in being so about my intelligence, but it had at least a little merit since it was in the textbook).

Here's what I think happened to me (BRACE YOURSELVES, ALL YE FAITHFUL): according to what I've gathered from reflections and observations, I can only conclude that I became this way through my interaction with the church. Yes, the church! Isn't it amazing? I only really started caring about my socio-economical status and my image and how I fit into incredibly specific stereotypes (and if I didn't, the meticulous modifications that needed to be made in order to make myself fit) after I started attending church.

What a strange idea! To think that the community of God did this to me? Well, okay, I'll stop that train of thought here; it's not anyone's fault, obviously. But I get this unnerving feeling that being surrounded week after week by unfaltering, often pretentious smiles and an overall attitude of "NOTHING IS WRONG WITH ME, I AM QUITE NORMAL AND I CAN PROVE IT TO YOU!" might've affected the way I thought about things. And of course, back then I wasn't the only snob! I was surrounded by a budding pool of other amateurs who all aspired to ascend to new heights of elitism, as their parents had before them; and so constantly I was bombarded by meaningless discussions and worship times that became more about showcasing clothes and wealth and prosperity and status than about anything else, including the cookies!

And boy, did your parents ever teach you how to dish that garbage out! I mean, everything from subtle hints (which, by the way, weren't subtle -- some of you really need to work on your delivery! i.e. when you mention you went shopping and then immediately divulge where and how much you spent without being asked, you've kinda given away the fact that all you wanted to do was give the impression that you had money to spend) to full-out display of "the goods" (I don't need to see your new shoes or your new iPod or, for crying out loud, YOUR MONEY) was more than enough indication that you thought you were God-Emperor of the English-speaking congregation and needed a way to prove it. And -- I could go on, but I actually just realized that I entirely lost my original focus in this post, which was to criticize myself, not you! Oops.

And now I've outgrown your amateur acts. I've moved beyond petty tricks and into the realm of full-blown tactical strategizing in order to establish my superiority over others. Over you. Surprised? Maybe that's a sign that I'm accomplishing my task well. I should probably be disturbed by the fact that I'm not entirely disturbed by that thought. Well, okay, no, I'm not unphased by this whole thing. I mean, if I had the choice, I think I'd much rather be irresponsible, or undedicated, or indecisive, or wasteful...

... actually, that's a lie. I wouldn't rather be anything else. Maybe that's exactly why this pride -- this snobbism -- is so lethal, at least to me; because I don't want to let it go. It shapes me and gives me identity, in a sea of look-alikes to whom identity and form are all that matter. It's a shame that I can't find a suitable secular identity in God, or else this whole mess would be made much easier. Life would be a one-way road to heaven, instead of having traffic run in the opposite direction. But reality isn't that forgiving, and I'd be hard-pressed to tell you which direction I'm headed in right now.

in case you don't see anything wrong with it...

This is absolute bullshit.

I hate extremists. I hate people who are so arrogantly closed-minded that they can't even imagine that anything exists beyond their own little bubble. I hate the self-righteous, who take God and law and morality into their own wretched hands and deal out whatever judgements suit their beliefs.

Not every Muslim is a terrorist; yeah, I think I get that part, and I'm sorry that it's developing into a stereotype these days. But when 20,000 people annihilate a Christian neighbourhood and then start torching foreign embassies, all because of an editorial cartoon in a newspaper, you can't help but understand why it's becoming one.

There is no justification for proactive violence. You can try to argue with me, but until you can come up with some kind of a moral philosophy that's strong enough to displace what's one of the only universally held laws in all of human society, you'll lose. And, so, I'll say it again; there is no justification for proactive violence. What does that mean? When the occasional madman with a gun comes along your way, and the only way to stop him is to take him out, can you take him out? Sure. But otherwise, you're left to your other devices. The only rationale that merits jeopardizing life is the act of preserving it.

And I can say with certainty that an editorial cartoon has never jeopardized anyone's life. It might've offended some peoples' beliefs, but does that allow for mobs of protestors to rampage through cities and rob other people of their livelihoods? There are rock bands whose trademark symbols are upside-down or crossed-out crosses. Do Christian hordes pillage music stores or burn down recording labels because of it? No. A member of parliament made an idle comment about Nazism two months ago that happened to offend many Jewish Canadians. Did Jewish hordes burn down Parliament Hill? No. Instead they raised their concerns with the MP in question, the statement was retracted and the problem was resolved.

I've got nothing against peaceful protesting. I've got nothing against signing a petition or speaking out in public or making a statement through a publication or taking part physically in a demonstrative rally. What I do have a problem with is burning, killing, and otherwise thinking you're above the law -- ironically, even your own law, which forbids those sorts of things -- and that you're free to do whatever the hell you feel like doing because something in a newspaper ticked you off.

This kind of extremism doesn't make you pious, it makes you unfaithful, unable to clear time in your political schedule for the divine will of the very thing you believe in, and instead resolving to execute that will yourself. It doesn't make you strong, unless blindness to any perspective other than your own is a strength to you. And it sure as hell doesn't make a statement, at least not a positive one.

At any rate, true extremism supercedes violence. True extremism is being able to live morally in any situation, and not compromising by sacrificing one belief to uphold another. It's loving when everyone else says you should hate, not the other way around.

storge, agape, love

By the time I was six years old, I already knew what I was going to do with my life. At least, I'd narrowed it down to three things -- although I fully intended to accomplish all of them -- and one day, talking to my parents on my way to school, I revealed my intentions:

"I'm going to be a paleontologist, a violinist, and a professional hockey player when I grow up."

My parents laughed. "That's a lot to do, you know."

"I know."

"Well," they told me, "it's a good idea, and you'll need to work for it. But it'll fit you well."

Six years later, at the age of twelve, I'd stopped playing the violin and my dreams for hockey were beginning to meet with reality. I had, though, struck up a profound interest in computers at the same time; I'd fallen for their malleability, their simplicity, and the unwavering, loyal obedience that they exhibited. Walking through a shopping mall one weekend, I told my parents:

"I'm going to be a computer engineer when I grow up."

"You'll need to be strong in mathematics for that," my dad replied. "That's what universities will look for."

"I know."

He looked at me for a moment and nodded. "It's a good idea. You'll need to work for it."

In high school, I lost all hope of pursuing a computing career. I had no interest in anything that involved numbers, and I'd begun to realize how bored I would be to sit idly in front of a screen for the rest of my life. But by now, I was also well on my way to finding myself in the long-lost Christianity of my childhood, and I saw an alternative option that I also sensed I was being called to. In the car, coming home one night from fellowship, I dropped a bit of a bombshell on my mom:

"I think I want to go to seminary and work in the Church."

She smiled. "You've changed."

"I know."

"Do what you feel you need to do," she said to me. "I think it fits well."

Opportunities came and went. I realized the limitations of my capacity in a ministerial position. I also realized some of the reasons why I might've considered it in the first place, and came to have second thoughts about the extent of my calling. I knew youth work was a passion I had, but I wasn't so sure if that passion carried over to a pastoral office. At any rate, and with the advent of university, I needed something to study. I don't think it took very long to figure it out, and I told my parents one September night at the dinner table.

"I want to study philosophy for my undergrad."

My dad stopped eating and looked at me. "It's a hard subject to study, you know -- I found medicine easier to learn about than philosophy."

"I know."

"Well," he said, "I respect you for that. It's a good idea."

University came, soon enough, and brought with it a new revelation of some of the traits and flaws in my character that'd gone previously unnoticed. As my identity took on more definitive shape, I began to get a clearer idea of what the future held in store. Consequently, I began to entertain an idea that'd started out as a joke since the early days with Val, and had since blossomed, as do so many jokes that initially look harmless, into a viable and legitimate course of action. And so it came to pass that, less than a week ago, as I was eating butter crisps, drinking tea and reading science journals with my dad, a thought came to mind:

"I think I want to go to law school when I'm done my philosophy degree."

He nodded, and in a familiar voice said to me, "It's a good idea. You'll have to work for it."

"I know."

A while later as I was leaving the table, I hesitated at the doorway.

"Dad -- do you think it'd fit me well?"

"Mhmm."

I smiled to myself and went upstairs.