authenticity

“You know, I made some bad decisions that I’ve actually written about. You know, got into drinking. I experimented with drugs,” he said. “There was a whole stretch of time that I didn’t really apply myself a lot. It wasn’t until I got out of high school and went to college that I started realizing, ‘Man, I wasted a lot of time.‘” – Barack Obama

Politics aside, my respect goes up for anyone with a public profile who admits to being human and owns up to their mistakes. We’ve had more than our share of deceit from “I didn’t inhale” to “I had no idea about the Valerie Plame leak“. I’m sick of the nonsense that says, “I have to be seen as above reproach, devoid of weakness.” We’re plagued with this attitude from the church pulpit to the White House. When will we accept people as they are and let them own up to their past without having to undergo our judgment?

I’m not sure how open I would be in politics. Sure I value honesty and authenticity and so does the American public. Somehow we expect our politicians to be honest about their mistakes. But at the same time, when someone ‘fesses up, their political opponents and disgruntled constituents crucify them! We hold people to a double standard: Be authentic. But don’t have skeletons in your closet. We can’t have it both ways.

So, I’m impressed with Obama. Three cheers for him admitting his past drug and alcohol abuse. Mitt Romney should be ashamed of his comments denigrating Obama’s confession. I like a lot about Romney, but this is ridiculous. If everyone who has ever done anything remotely wrong is regarded as unfit for the Presidency (or any other office), we could have no President.

That includes Mitt Romney.

Sign the Petition “On the Record”

If you aren’t aware of the One Campaign, it’s about time you become acquainted.  To learn more, visit One.

ONE members are stepping up our game by launching a petition urging all the presidential candidates to go “On The Record” by submitting, in writing and on video to ONE, their plans on the following five issues:

* Eradicating malaria;
* Improving child and maternal health;
* Reversing the spread of HIV/AIDS and tuberculosis;
* Achieving universal primary education; and
* Providing access to food and clean water for all.

ONE will then build an online tool so that everyone can compare the candidates’ answers before heading out to vote in the primaries.

Please sign ONE’s “On The Record” petition and encourage your friends and family to sign on as well.

http://www.one.org/ontherecord

my favorite singer

 You’ve got them.  Everyone does.  Your favorite singer.  Or musician.  Maybe you’re of the country persuasion; perhaps you prefer the Beatles, Alicia Keys, or Coldplay.  I like U2 and Rich Mullins and Patty Griffin.

But by far, my favorite singer is a mentally handicapped 12-year old girl.  You know her.  She’s the one in church singing her loudest a melody recognizable only to herself.  She’s the one at whom people try to not stare, of whom they whisper warnings in their giggling children’s ears; the one whom parents patiently calm and teach to sing along, which is all she really wants to do at that moment.

I get to see her from the stage.  I have the honor of each week hearing her over all others (which really isn’t as difficult as it sounds; our church is not a loud-singing church).  She sits on the third row and she is beautiful.  When the music softens, she somewhat quietens; when it picks up, she sings with everything inside.  Every time I hear her, I think that God hears her above every other singer, amplified or otherwise.  I think he hears her in the most perfect of voices, that of perfect authenticity, of reckless abandon.  She has nothing to prove.  No one to impress.  No expectations to fulfill.

And so she sings.  My favorite singer sings.

all the saints

Lately I’ve been thinking about saints.  Mostly because, in the Church calendar, November 1 is All Saints Day.  And we’re to remember those who have “gone before us.”  I’m thinking a whole lot more about it right now.

My aunt died sometime early yesterday morning.  My mother’s oldest sister.  And she was just getting better, they said.

She really experienced life, though I’m not sure she knew how special she was.  She had two wonderful and intelligent daughters who have a host of beautiful kids.  She lived in some of the world’s most beautiful places:  two islands, on the beach, nestled in the mountains.

She wasn’t perfect.  Not by any stretch of the imagination.  Like any of us, she was kind as well as edgy.  “Southern Proper”, but often still down to earth.  And she died relatively young.  But she died over the night of All Saints Day.  And she was a saint.

She wasn’t a saint in the way we unfairly characterize saints.  We expect saints to be perfect, remembered for their lifelong acts of holiness and supernatural visions.  She’ll never be canonized.  She didn’t do any miracles, and she was Episcopal, as far as I know.

But I’m convinced she’s a saint.  And she’s joined the witnesses who are waiting for us, cheering us on, wearing our jersey numbers in their stadium stands.  She’s counted a saint in the only way possible – in that most wonderful of ways:  because she trusted Jesus.  Somehow in all the mess that we all experience, she knew that Jesus loved her, and she loved Him for that very reason.  She knew that all she was, had done, and ever would be was washed clean.  And in all the sadness, the emptiness and loneliness, we are assured – by One who is greater than all our sin – that she is finally home.