When the American Dream Isn't Enough

I just came to this beautiful conclusion. God has brought me to this most perfect place.

It's so good that I smiled- LAUGHED- in the shower. I wanted to get out, with shampoo still in my hair, and write it all down before I forgot. But I don't think I'll be forgetting this anytime soon.

You see, I can no longer contain this fire that has been shut up in my bones.

I realized that I'm done with passive Christianity. I'm done caring about what others think of me. I'm done laughing at things that aren't funny. I'm done trying to fit God into a box, a book, a part of my life. I'm done with being just good enough. I'm done pretending that I have all the answers. And I'm done pretending like it's all about the American dream.

Because it's not.

I don't want the American dream- if it means I have to water down my "Christianity".
I don't want the 9 to 5 job- if it means I'll be chained to it, like a hamster on a wheel.
I don't want the 2 car garage, house in the suburbs- if it means I won't be able to find the time and money to extravagantly bless someone.
I don't want some puffy status- if it means I'll have to gossip and pretend to be something I'm not.
I don't just want to wake up, rush to work, rush home, eat, watch my favorite show, go to bed and repeat, repeat, repeat- if I never leave room for God to shake me up.

I don't want that life. I don't want to be a passive Christian, filling up a pew, saying my "Amen," but never radically committing to following Christ.

There's the word I've been looking for: RADICAL.

When someone says radical, I get a little scared. 
If you're anything like me, you may think it sounds kind of dangerous.

That's because it is.

Radical faith is the kind that changes things. It's the faith that martyrs die for. It's the messy, give-thanks-in-all-circumstances-faith.

I'm naturally pretty introverted and shy. I'd use the excuse "Oh, God made me this way so He understands if I'm not radical." Yeah, I said that sorta thing a lot.

But He has called me, yes even me, to be radical. And He has called you too.

Allow me to digress for a minute...

Have you ever painted a preschooler's hands? More specifically, have you ever cleaned the paint off of a preschooler's hands?

I have. It's messy and goes like this:

"Okay now *insert preschoolers name* I'm going to move this chair by the sink and help you up. DON'T TOUCH ANYTHING. Here's some soap. Let's rub a little. Don't splash. Let's get all that yellow paint off!"

But it never fails. There will still be paint on something before you're done! On their clothes, on the counter, on the sink, on you. They leave a little evidence of their painted hands everywhere.

And I've been thinking that the messy trail of paint is really how we're supposed to be living our lives. We're supposed to leave evidence of God's radical love everywhere we go- on anyone and anything that we touch.

We speak to our neighbor, they should see the evidence of your Christian life.
We go to the bank, they should see the paint splatter.
We go to our jobs, our parties, our churches, our schools, our grocery stores- they should all see the love-trail that we're leaving, like the bright yellow paint.

If we lived, loved, like that, radically, then wouldn't all those we come in contact with know where to find God?!

Couldn't they see the trail, follow the tracks of bright yellow paint, and find that they were led right to the love of God, living and burning radically on the inside of us?

The American dream isn't enough for me anymore. I'm living radically.