Or is it ‘Ear Worm’?

Anyhoo.

I’m horrible at listening to new music.  I don’t like to learn new songs.  I prefer a cover band over one that performs their own music any. day. of. the. week.  And try as I might,  my radio button pushing finger is constantly compelled to change from the local Christian station to the classic rock or R& B station, even when my heart is fervently desiring to spend some praise time with God.  So, most mornings, I’m raising my hand with Beyonce and telling you that your things are located in a box to the left or I’m beating on my steering wheel while Faith No More sing-raps and torments a fish (Sorry PETA!).

So imagine my sheer delight to find myself at just the right balance of not paying attention (enough not to change the station at the song I’d never heard before) and paying attention (enough to hear the lyrics) to hear this dandy tune:

“Break my heart ’til it moves my hands and feet.”

Did you catch that?  Oh man, I’ve been chewing on that little doozy one all morning.

Also, someone please give me a gold star for “discovering” a song in the same year it was recorded.

{Please, for the love, forgive the cheesy, Jesus-jukedness of the title.  I’m doing good to get a post cranked out, people!}

I could write a full-on dissertation on why I think that Facebook will ultimately lead to the undoing of mankind.

Only then, I’d be a hypocrite.  Because I use the heck out of Facebook.  {Affirmation plea masked as a status update, party of one!}

I don’t mean to pick on Facebook.  I really do realize some of the benefits of keeping up with far away friends and family (or not-so-far-away friends and family that you really don’t care to chat with).  I have noticed, though, that for me, it shines a bright spotlight on my struggle with insecurity and envy.  Mostly, though, it has enhanced my level of  judginess (obviously not a word but oh-so-real) to super power strength.

I know this.  I own this.  I self-loathe over this.  And it is with full self-knowledge and disclosure of this that I broach my topic.

This thing:

Perhaps you haven’t seen this particular image.  But I imagine you’ve seen something that echos the same sentiment.

Maybe you even “liked” it or shared it.

I’ve spent months just kind of shrugging it off.  After all, people are entitled to their opinions and for the most this is a political stance, not a spiritual stance.  I can’t even say with certainty that I disagree with the principle.  Honestly, there was a time, not terribly long ago, that I would’ve made it my profile picture.  People should not be knowingly allowed to misuse a system.  There should be rules and safeguards in place to prevent it.  Should it be drug-testing?  I don’t know that answer.  And, really, I’m not terribly concerned with the answer.  Really, it’s not the point of this post.

My point is all to often, though, I’ve seen this sandwiched between scripture status updates on someone’s profile.

God is love.
Hey buddy, I earn what I get.  You earn what you get.
Thank Jesus he died for me!

Is this the spirit of a person of faith?

Do I earn the miracle of the cross?

Is this what we want to say to the world about who we are?

Maybe it is.  I’m sure there is a scripture verse or two, maybe even a whole parable that backs up that line of thought.  But to me it’s missing the story– the big one made up of Genesis, Psalms, Isaiah, John, Corinthians, Revelations, and all of the books in between.

I really am struggling with this.  And, while I’d love for comments to flood in telling me that I’m one hundred percent on the money and I should probably write a book, I’m curious…am  I overthinking an innocent Facebook meme?

A brother embraces his sister.

Perhaps too hard.

“Stop!  You’re hurting me.”

“But I just love you too much!”

It’s a moment, a sweet moment, that will end in tears from both.  My instinct is to intervene immediately.  Prevent tears.

This time, though, I refrain.

He’s not hurting her.  She just woke up and needs her space.  He should be respectful of that, but I’m not sure any six year-old understands personal space.  He just knows that he’s compelled to hug his sister.  His impulse control is that of a six year old boy.

While his frontal lobe isn’t developed enough to dissect the moment and think through the implications of his actions, mine is.

I choose to dissect the moment.

Risk the tears.

For all of my failures (mostly resulting from my quickness to act, to resolve), I am raising a boy that loves.  He’s far away from fully comprehending the greatest of these.  But I see a glimmer.

Within seconds there will be tears, whines… perhaps a full-on altercation.

But now, I dissect.  I extract the beauty of the glimmer and take it with me.

Perhaps it will carry me through the day that is most certain to contain ugly.