So in class today, I think one girl totally missed the point of the entire class. She wanted to know what was right and what was wrong. Not in reference to any specific issue, but she wanted to know. Now in uderstanding this girl you must realize that she has never been nice to me. In a class with eight guys and two girls, hers has been the most ardent anti-male voice. I just get the distinct vibe from her that she has a real hatred for men, and a dislike for me. Why she dislikes me? Well I could attribute that to her general dislike of all males, but to put it bluntly, I think it's just me.

So anyway, it got me thinking. Has there ever been a time in life where you just wanted to know the simple truth, but it just escapes you?

I'm talking in broad terms here. I began to think about what this meant to me, in my life. For me right now, I want to know the simple truth about what happened between me and Kim. My problem with that is that it is not subjective or unknowable. It is, if she could or would talk to me. So that doesn't really fit the situation.

But I continued thinking if there was anything in life that you could know the simple truth about. If there was anything that was universally true, no gray areas or strings attached. Then it dawned on me that there is that one thing, that for many of you I know is huge in your life, just like it is in my life, and that is your faith. No matter what, what I do, what I say, no matter how wrong I am, God's love is still going to be there. That is the simple truth for me.

Then I began thinking about the girl and how truly confused she must feel. Not about faith, I am not one to judge that, but in regards to her question. She seemed very much disturbed by the fact that there was not a clear answer. She kept asking questions, almost pleading with the professor to give her somekind of insight into what was right. It bordered on fear. That things weren't set a certain way. That life could turn, and that, for an instant, she couldn't trust anything. "Just give me the answer," was what I heard her saying without actually saying it. As if the answer would give her some piece of mind, some safety in this new world that she was scared of.

Really, that is why I don't talk about my faith. It comes from my mother. This last Christmas, I recieved from my parents a set of religious books, including a Bible. Nevermind that I already had several, have been a Christian for many years. But I tried so hard to hide the fact from them. When I started going to church alone, as oppossed to when I was going with Kim (for some reason it was a more effective cover for my faith if it was seen as her dragging me to church rather than me going willingly), I would hide it by saying that I was going out. And I would get very upset if I was questioned further. But what really strikes me, and to get back to the original intent, is that when my mom asked me about it, the question was "Does it give you comfort?" That question is what I had avoided. What was I to say to that? "Yes, it gives me great comfort to know that everyday when I wake up that God has created this day for me, and just by virute of being alive I know that God loves me." No, I couldn't say that. Her analytic boy couldn't profess that he needed a crutch to help him through everyday life. Not that I didn't want to say what I should have. Not that ever fiber of my being feels that way. But for her it was the simple truth. My faith was the simple truth that's sole function would be as if the professor had made up an answer to set that girl at ease. It's not the way it is, but continue believing that it is. Yes, my faith is a comfort, but it is so much more. So much more. That's my longing, to express that freely, not for it to be the simple truth that I fall back into because the world is too complex and doesn't make sense anymore. That's not what my faith is, nor do I wish it to ever be.

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