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“Why me, God?”

I almost came close to asking that question myself that today. Actually, I pretty much did.

It's a long story why I began to ask that, but I had to stop myself after I did. The reason why is because of something that one of my heroes once said. Arthur Ashe was a phenomenal human being in my book. No, it's not because he was a magnificent tennis player. When I say phenomenal human being, I'm talking about what mattered: his character. Ashe contracted HIV. It wasn't because he was immoral by being promiscuous or using drugs. He acquired it from a simple blood transfusion after a surgery. He did nothing to bring this disease down upon him, and neither did numerous others who have contracted it. Still, Ashe had AIDS. A fan asked him why God had selected him to have AIDS. Essentially, a fan was asking him if he ever asked: “God, why me?” Ashe's answer is perhaps one of the most profound statements that I have ever heard:

The world over, fifty million children start playing tennis, five million learn to play tennis, five-hundred thousand learn professional tennis, fifty thousand come to the circuit, five thousand reach the grand slam, fifty reach Wimbledon, four to the semi-finals and two to the finals. When I was holding a cup, I never asked God, “Why me?”, and today, in pain, I should not be asking God, “Why me?”

Today, I went through a period of pain, but it would be an insult to Ashe and HIV-positive people worldwide if I compared my pain to theirs. Regardless, I started to ask myself that question: “Why me, God?” Then, I thought of Ashe. My attitude immediately shifted to an attitude of reflection. God has blessed me for all of these years. Did I ever complain to God that he gave me the life that he did? Did I ever complain to God that he blessed me with wonderful people in my life? Did I ever complain to God that he gave me a live of comparative wealth compared to most of the world? No. Then, why should I complain to God about a minor pain that was my own fault that I brought upon myself?

Immediately, I was reminded of a line of Hebrew that I knew: “ברוך שם כבוד מלכותו לעולם ועד׃” — “Blessed be the name of His kingdom forever.” In our times of blessing, it can be very easy praise God. However, in those times of pain, it can be harder to do. I truly found it to be a blessing when I could still bring myself to praise God in spite of pain.

Almighty God, the fountain of all wisdom, you know our necessities before we ask and our ignorance in asking: Have compassion on our weakness, and mercifully give us those things which for our unworthiness we dare not, and for our blindness we cannot ask; through the worthiness of your Son Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen.

So, this summer, I made a little tour of the Midwest. I went from Arkansas to Colorado to North Dakota to Kansas back to North Dakota back to Colorado and back to Arkansas. Needless to say, I was able to see a lot of the country. Wrong! One of the main criticisms (if not the only) of the Interstate Highway System is that it gets you from point A to point B as quickly as possible while missing all of the parts of the country that lie between. Well, whatever! I'll live. Still, I saw a lot of the Interstate. Pretty much, it was just a lot of cars.

It was the bumper stickers that really did it for me. When you see some of them, you can't help but react to the bumper stickers that you see. I cannot tell you how awesome it is to be in the middle of Nebraska and see a car with a Broncos bumper sticker on it… especially when it has Nebraska plates. The sight of that just made my little heart race with joy… for no reason.

However, let's look at the bad side: here comes that car with the Raiders sticker. The complete opposite feelings come to mind. I just want to get out of my car and go on a murderous rampage. Sure, I'm feeling awful, and my entire day is ruined, but look at the bright side: if the owner of the car knew how bad I feel, it would make his day.

So, I figure, I have to get some myself. After all, I want to know that people have murderous thoughts about me. It's even more comforting to know that many of these people also carry firearms. I just have to figure out what bumper sticker that I could get could offend the most people per cent used to purchase it.

Christian college has taught me that a true community living in harmony is derived from intentional communal misery. Hey, at least I can dance.

Tonight, I did something that I have never in my life done before. I fired a gun. I know, it's odd that I'm twenty-one, and I'm just now loosing my shooting virginity. I was excited, but I didn't really know what the hell I was doing, and some way, one way or another, it was over too fast.

I have so much to talk about, but I really think that writing about it here would be pointless. Who reads this anyway?

I seem to have different groups of friends. There are my college friends who I see a lot these days. There are my high-school friends who I never see anymore. There are my Germany friends who I also rarely see anymore, but we actually make efforts to get together occasionally. There are my SIL friends that I just made and may or may not see again. There's still one more important group of friends that I have. At first thought, I might just be tempted to throw them into a “miscellaneous” category, but I wouldn't do that. Besides, they all have something in common: they're like family.

Okay, some of these people are family… literally. They're blood related. Other people are just so interconnected with my family that they might as well be family even if they aren't related by blood. This past week, it's been great to just have the opportunity to hang out with some of these people even if it is only briefly. Whether it's going to watch a film, taking a walk by a lake or… going out for “coffee”, there's something to be said for the group of friends who have either literally been your friend since the day that you were born or been your friend since the day that they were born. In these days of shifting back and forth between various places around the globe and meeting various people, I find it ironic that the group of friends that I want to hang out the most with are the friends that were my friends back when I was still in kindergarten.

I wish that I had pictures, but let's just say that I can do awesome things with a torch and a bottle of Everclear. It's just one more thing to add to my résumé.

There is a simple truth that I've discovered: Christian colleges don't treat their students like adults. I'd elaborate, but I'd rather elaborate in a medium that's more prestigious than… well… my weblog.

Each and every one of us is unique. Each and every one of us has something different to offer to the world. Difference itself is not evil. More often than not, it's the oppression of difference that is evil. Even though each and every one of us is unique, we are still alike in more ways than any of us will admit. We all share commonalities with one another. Obviously, some more than others, but we are all more alike than we are different.

There was talk at the university Wednesday night of going to the Blue Moose over in East Grand Forks. Usually, we'll take trips over there after 9:00 PM throughout the week, but those are normally four to six people. Wednesday, we must have had twenty-five people joining us. I cannot tell you how awesome it was to have that many people there at one time.

As we crowded around the table, I ended up sitting across the table from a woman who was also a student here. I can't tell you what her name is because her name can't be typed; her name is a symbol that she makes with her hand. However, we call her Christina when the situation warrants it. The reason for this is simple: Christina doesn't speak English. For that matter, she doesn't speak; she signs, for Christina is deaf.

I don't know what it was about her, but there was just something that wanted me to keep her at arm's distance. No, it wasn't that she was deaf. It was probably the nose ring that she has. There's something about nose rings that… scare me. It's too bad because it was such a minor issue… such a minor difference among a sea of commonality.

Like I said, I was sitting across the table from Christina. She asked me about the significance of my shirt (through an interpreter, of course). I responded back that it was from my university, and I also explained my intense displeasure for it. I began to explain the reason why I dislike my school and just Christian colleges in general. When I had to tell the interpreter that she needed to speak up because I was deaf in one ear, Christina thought that that was awesome. I have to admit that I would have never expected someone to tell me that my being deaf is awesome, but somehow, I had to just believe, if even only for that evening, that it was awesome. After all, it was something that we both had in common.

I could go on about all of the other similarities that we had in common, but it is very early in the morning, and I don't want to. Needless to say, we were both very different people. She is deaf, and I can hear. Hearing is such a big part of my life. Music is one of my greatest passions, but, while most deaf people can at least grasp the concept of music, most of them don't care about it. I would say that that's a huge difference between us. However, we cannot concentrate on the differences; we must focus on the similarities. Christina and I had so much in common from writing provocative features in our respective campus newspapers (which I hope to continue) to shaving our heads during our sophomore year.

I found myself wishing that I could keep talking to this woman after the various weeks that I had spent politely avoiding her. It's a shame that we can keep people at arms length just over small differences: how a person speaks, where a person's from, whether or not they have a piece of metal in their nose. It's a shame because if it's only minor things that separate the entire human race, then we might as well just give up if we can't ignore those. If we as humanity were just willing to connect with each other on our commonalities, then there is still hope. The beauty of it all is that with the information age, we can do all of this with a laptop from the comfort of our own bed. Speaking of which…

This weekend I had the opportunity to travel to Kansas to watch two of my very dear friends get married. Despite the fact that it was a twelve hour drive, it was well worth it. Still, it was a twelve hour drive, and on a twelve hour drive, your mind is bound to wonder and think about various things. I mean, when you drive through the flat Midwest, there's really nothing to look at, so you have to look at other things in life.

Recently, I've been taking up the role as a family historian. I don't really know why I did it. I mean, I don't place any value in my ancestry. Why does it matter who my ancestors were back then? What matters is who I am now. What value do I gain from knowing about slave owners two hundred years ago who happen to be my forefathers? Despite that, I simply find it fun to research… even though I found out that my great-great-grandparents were first cousins.

As I was travelling on my way from Kansas to North Dakota, I thought about the genealogical records that I was keeping. I thought to myself that I needed to speak with my Great-aunt Tootie about what she knew of the family history. My mother had encouraged me to go over to her house and talk to her. I had fully intended to do it, but time caught up with me, and I had to leave for North Dakota.

Once I arrived back in Grand Forks, I called my parents to let them know that I had safely arrived. That done, my mother broke the news to me: Great-aunt Tootie died earlier the day before. I can't describe the feeling that I felt. It was just so unusual to think that she died the one day that I was thinking about her. I shouldn't feel bad for her because I know where her heart was, and I believe in the resurrection. I shouldn't feel bad, but I have a hard time with the fact that I didn't talk with her while I had the opportunity.

It's a cliché, and I hate clichés, but it's true nonetheless: seize the day. I hear the phrase uttered so much that I stop listening when it's said. That can't be good to do that. Clichés are clichés for a reason: if it's worth saying, it's worth saying again and again. We really do need to make the most of every moment that God has blessed us with on this earth. There's stuff that we do, and there's stuff that we do that matters. I find it odd that I keep wasting my time with the stuff that I do (work, school, etc.) instead of the stuff that matters (friends and family, AIDS activism, music, art).

I was once helping out a friend of mine at his job. This man would be the biggest workaholic that I know, but a piece of advise of his struck a chord with me: “Don't worry too much about your job; I've been working at mine for years, and all it gave me was headaches.”

Life sucks for all of us sometimes. Life sucks for me occasionally, and when it does, there's a certain cabal of people who I go to for no other reason than just to have someone listen. It's a huge blessing for me to have people like that. Still, there's this feeling of guilt that I'm somehow talking and talking but not listening. It truly is a blessing for me when people come to me and allow me to listen to their problems and concerns when life starts to suck. However, I just have always felt that people don't want me to listen to them.

Honestly, there's nothing that I would love better than to be woken up in the middle of the night by a friend with a need. I will leave my mobile phone on, my computer logged in and door unlocked at night so that if I am ever needed, I can be called upon. Now, no one's ever bothered to take advantage of that, but it doesn't hurt to allow for the possibility. I've been keeping in touch with another friend over the summer who feels the same way and would also love if people came to her for help. I can completely understand why. It is such a blessing when I can listen to someone. Still, I feel like people don't take me seriously. I can remember times when people would avoid telling me things when they were going through serious life problems. Now, I can't knock myself a schmuck when I don't help someone when they don't tell me about their problems, but it hurts to know when close friends don't consider you worth telling about their problems.

I just realised tonight how blessed I am that I actually do have people that consider me close enough to confide in me with their personal issues from having financial troubles to having relationship issues with a loved one to getting someone pregnant out of wedlock. I never realised how many opportunities that I have had to listen to people in need until tonight when I just realised that this entire time that I've been praying to God that I could feel useful, I've been helping others all along.

Still, while I love to help others, I should rather be studying for a final tomorrow than writing about how great it is to help others on my weblog.