I was emailing with John earlier today (No, I don’t have any other friends. Don’t bother asking) about feeling frustrated and disappointed with the lack of notable progress in our lives. I mean, I’m almost 20-something-older-than-I-am-now, and I don’t have a book or a script sold, I’m not done with my graduate degree, and as my mother will glumly point out, I’m neither married nor pregnant. Sometimes I just can’t stop that inner voice from getting too carried away with the self loathing (As Mama Lamott calls it, KFKD). I even tried taping an eviction notice to my forehead, but he stayed put. If he eats my Mint Brussels or messes with my TiVo lineup, though, heads will roll. Mine, in all probability, but I’m not letting little details like that get in the way of my threats.

I need to remind myself that things take time. That I am writing and making progress. I mean, I’ve written and co-produced 7 projects at work this year! That’s not too bad! I am 70% done with my MFA. I am still writing, even if it’s just for the sake of writing and not for any sort of publication or submission.  I’m still taking pictures and interacting with beauty and nature…

I need to remember that, as much as it would be pretty cool, the point of being an artist is not recognition or money, it’s to create. And as long as I continue doing that, I’m in pretty good shape.  And I need to remember that it’s OK to be gentle with myself, since the world is definitely not going to do it for me.

So the Boss is gone this week, as she was the week before last, but this time my Super Secret KGB Agent Assistant isn’t gone at the same time and I don’t have to put my hands over my ears each day and scream “la la la I can’t hear you la la la no I don’t have so-and-so’s phone number look it up your own damn self la la la.”

Now I can spend my days finishing reading Amalah’s archives (cuz I’m cool like that and appearently didn’t know what these weblog things on the interweb were and, also, did you know that Pretty In Pink is no longer considered a New Release?! The HELL?) and reading the latest credit card prank on Zug. There may be people down the hall who question my sanity, but hello, it’s not like I’ve ever tried to pass as normal at this place (seriously, my hair was still purple the day after I was Tonks). I also get to come in late and leave early which so totally kicks ass.

I would worry about my Super Secret KGB Agent Assistant getting mad at my shenanigans and, you know, taking care of the problem a la Irina Derevko, but I’m letting her take Friday off beacuse I am the BEST! SUPERVISOR! EVER! and also beacuse she just wants to go to DisneyLand, and who I am to deny such a natural and necessary request? I think I’ve gone to DisneyLand 10 times in the last 6 months, and only one of those times was on a weekend.  

But I still have to deal with the fucking PhD’s who have no common sense but lots of ego and oh so often say things like “I’m so lofty and intelligent, I can’t be expected to be bothered with the mundane aspects of life. You, secretary girl, do it for me. I’ve got to go and ponder some deep things now…like HOW TO GET LAID, ASS WIPE.”

(OK, so that last part might have been me).

These are the same people, though, who are convinced that me working on my MFA is not REALLY all that hard, because if it were, wouldn’t I be getting a PhD just like them? So it’s not like I really need to take them at all seriously.

148.

148. One hundred forty eight.

As in pounds. ONE HUNDRED AND FORTY EIGHT POUNDS. I’m barely 5′3″. OK, so I’m not. I’m 5′2″ and some odd. Where am I storing all of this weight? Did I accidentally wear my lead underpants tonight? Is that what happened? Are my earlobes hanging down to my shoulders? Did I suddenly become Wolverine and my bones are made of titanium? Am I magically pregnant, cause, dude, I may not know much, but I’m pretty sure that having a period negates that concept.

I hate to be That Girl who obsesses about her weight. I’m normally not. I mean, sure, I like my clothes to fit me, but I’m not coveting the figures of the Olsen Twins or anything.  I haven’t gone up a pants size recently. Sure, I’ve noticed a little more tightness than usual, but I just figured….well, frankly, I ignored it. Sheesh.

148.

If I start smoking again, will I suddenly drop 30 pounds? PLEASE? Cause I’ll totally do it. Black lungs be damned.

Over a year ago I had a trainer…and I was in better shape before him than I apparently am now. I’m eating healthier than I ever have. Organic veggies, whole grains, fish and chicken, very little red meat….I don’t drink beer (eww). I love cookies and ice-cream, but those are treats, not regular parts of my life. Even my Frapuccino’s are light and infrequent! Dude, I stopped cooking with cream, the staple of the delicious Goldy Cook Book! I play tennis; I go for hikes; sure, I have a desk job now instead of working at Camp where I never stopped moving (also, never stopped. Read: 120+ work weeks. Not kidding.), but I’m not a complete couch potato!

The only thing I can think of is the medication I’m on. I started on 10mg, and now am on 20. The last time I gained weight like this is when I took Remeron, a different type of the same sort of med.  Luckily, I already knew that I didn’t want to be on Lexapro long term this time, but this is ridiculous! No, I’m not crazy, I’m not going to go off of medication simply because of weight gain, but I’m doing well and have been for some time, and my doctor and I have already discussed me coming off of it, so no need to worry about being impulsive about coming off of medication unsupervised.

148? No. Way. No freaking way.

In another discussion I’ll go more into my love/hate relationship with anti-depressants and other psychopharmapsueticals, but not tonight. Tonight I need to focus on not hyperventilating and remind myself that I have a realistic plan to get back to a normal weight for my size.

Back to your normal programing soon.

I know I run the risk of alienating or upsetting some with this post, but there’s just no getting around it for me.

I wrote a little while ago about the conversation I had with John about a question that forms one of the foundations of our faith: Do people who do not accept Jesus as their Savior go to heaven? 

It’s not that I’ve never questioned my upbringing or beliefs before, I mean, c’mon. John and I used to sell our chapel seats in college. I got kicked out of a theology class for asking whether or not it was possible that God chose not to know the future in definitive terms. As my mother likes to say, I’m a contrary person. It took going to a Christian College to turn me into any sort of rebel.

But this is no mere rebellion against conformity. This question has many deep implications to something that defines who I am as a person.

Anyway, back to the question: can people who don’t know Jesus still go to heaven?

In some obvious cases, I think it’s a pretty easy “yes”. Infants, for example. Mentally handicapped individuals. These “groups” never have the chance to make a decision for themselves, and if ours is a God of compassion, I cannot possibly accept that he will penalize them. The same goes for people who lived before Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection – how could they have believed in something that didn’t exist for them?

But there are some cases that don’t have easy answers for me. (Just an aside, take all of this with a grain of salt; I do not claim to think I’m the definitive answer on all things spiritual or theological, this is all purely my own personal thoughts, opinions, and reflections. Also an aside, albeit a different one, should I watch High School Musical 2? I keep hearing about it everywhere!) What about Jewish people living today, who DO believe in Jesus, but don’t think he was the Messiah? What about Muslims? Buddhists? Atheists?

I used to think that it was very clear cut: these people are going to hell. They didn’t accept the gift of God’s grace and are unfit to be in His presence. I didn’t rejoice in that fact; it killed me inside. But now? I’ve had some sort of crisis, or just an epiphany, or I’m hungry and delusional. I believe that God is a God of love and forgiveness, who has NO darkness in Him (I Peter). I believe that love, especially God’s love, can transcend everything, even death. Romans 8:38-39 says just that: “For I am convinced, that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons….will be able to separate us from the love of God.” And again in I Peter it says that The Good News (the Gospel) has been preached to the dead, so that their spirits can live with God. Hebrews states that we die once, and then we’re judged. To me, these verses demonstrate, pretty clearly, that there will be a chance for those who die without Christ to go to Heaven.

And what about bad people? Murderers, rapists, animal abusers? Well, I do think that the Bible is definitive about the fact that God judges everyone in the end, and in Romans 2 it says that the conscience is like a law written in the human heart, and it will show whether we are forgiven or condemned. So “saved” or not, people can be judged by the content of their heart and soul. Also. I think that even if these sorts of people are handed, outright, a second chance after death, they will not take it because those that love evil hate the light, lest their deeds be uncovered (John 3:20). 

And that, dear readers, is my two cents on salvation.

There are movies that I will always watch when they come on TV, no matter how many times I’ve seen it or even if I own it on DVD. They’re always very classy, high-brow films, though, ones that any BA in Film Studies holder would be proud to view…you know, like Bring It On, While You Were Sleeping,  Tommy Boy, and tonight’s wonder: Saved! Seriously, I LOVE this movie. It’s hilarious, it’s self depricating, and, shockingly, still respectful of Christianity.

No, I’m serious! Yes, it pokes fun at the Christian Pop Culture (of which I was a once a proud member), of the culture that tends to breed judgementalism, homophobia, and self righteousness. The “popular Christian” leader is, quite frankly, a bitch. BUT, the pastor’s son is the first one to befriend Mary when she becomes pregnant. Mary never denounces her faith; she questions it, and denounces the blindly-following groupie mentality. And as horribly as Hilary Faye is, she is redeemed at the end. She shows remorse…nearly too late, of course, but that’s Cinematic, Baby!

Plus, the movie is freaking hilarious! Where else can you get quotes like this?

“I mean, you’re not born a gay, you’re born again!”

“Most of the boys in school look like NASA employees.”

“There are only two reasons Christian girls come down to the Planned Parenthood.”   “She’s planting a pipe bomb?!”  “OK, two reasons”

 Gold. Absolute gold.

So, yeah, the movie cracks me up, but it also demonstrates true friendship, questioning convention, forvigeness, and acceptance. The Christian outcasts (gays, teenage mothers, etc…), are the ones who change the school, and accept everyone for who they are. And, irreverant or not, those are great lessons to learn.