Thinking today about how different people are. [I mean my Bible school classmates.] We think differently, we feel differently, we love and hope and trust differently. We're all God's kids, precious and radiant and deserving of love in our own ways, but we're all different.

I'll warn you now: this is a test, but not a fair one. I have formed a conclusion based on highly questionable data. On the one side I have the people mentioned above, plus myself and the other Christians I know. On the other I have Douglas Coupland, as I understand him from reading Life After God. It seems to me that we, the Christians, (though none of us are perfect, and few of us are good) all have hope. Douglas, it seems, does not. And while I'm wary, even cynical about this kind of ill-informed, over-generalized and perhaps arrogant statement, while I have deep doubts about whether God really does anything tangible whatsoever in our lives, it seems to me, so far, that this is true: Christians tend to have more hope than non-Christians. To me, this is somehow very comforting.

Of course I'd have to know a lot more non-Christians (and Christians) for this comparison to have any validity. Theoretically, I suppose it makes sense that people with firm religious beliefs would have more hope for the future. I'm not sure why I found this comforting.

Sitting in room 5, upstairs in the staff building. It's 3:00 and I'm newly awakened from a lazy reader's nap, lying the wrong way around in my jeans on top of the mess of sheets. Douglas Coupland's infectious gloom is heightened in me by my recent re-entry into consciousness, by the rooms sparse and hopelessly out-dated furnishings, and by the feeble half-light that filters through the drapes. I feel as if I'm not doing my job, which is silly because there's probably nothing for me to do [I was a chore boy], but I am hiding away from them to be lazy and gloomy and read a non-Christian book. I wonder if I'm depressed. Probably not, but maybe melancholy. I wish my friends were here to hold me, to speak softly to me, to look into my eyes as if searching for my soul, or just to laugh, making sunshine out of half-light and give me hope and life.

But none of my friends can come to me here. I suppose I should just go back down and be with the camp people - good and godly people. And maybe they'll be singing. Maybe they'll be smiling.

(Later)

Sitting in the empty dining hall. It's 9:20 and I can't sit still. I've got that restless feeling - the kind I had in Vancouver, and just before Christmas. In Vancouver maybe it was different because it was mainly about trying to figure out my feeling toward a girl, but it was the same kind of restlessness, the same confusion and impulsiveness and tiredness, the same slightly nauseous feeling in my stomach and in my soul.

My feelings before Christmas were easier to nail down. I was frustrated because I had this vague yet nagging feeling that Bible school could be better, deeper. I wanted to yell at people and say "We can do better than this! Throw away your preconceptions about the limits of commitment and intimacy, and let's see how deep we can go!" Honestly, I didn't have a clue what I was talking about. I just felt like we were settling for something that could have been better, and I wasn't satisfied. Now that I think of it, maybe I usually feel like this (I don't have a very good memory for feelings), but it seems to be coming to the surface now. Basically, I'm feeling really discontented with myself. I don't know what I'm seeking, I'm just really loathing my current existence. I'm trying to convince myself that all I'm expected to do and all I can do is just live a normal life, be good, and try to love people. There's no such thing as radical faith for me. There's no such thing as "Barbarian Christian". I will never wear a Camelskin and scream at people. I will never heal the sick or cast out demons or be hated or beaten or killed. I must be content with this: be normal, be good, try to love people. I hate that.

If anyone has any genuine, workable ideas about how to be a "Barbarian Christian" I'd love to hear them. I've more or less resigned myself to normalcy, but I'd be delighted to try for something more.

So that's the end of my Bible School journal. I feel like I should wrap it up somehow, but I'm not really sure what to say. I guess I'd just like to thank you for reading this blog, if indeed you have. I really have no grasp of how interesting or useful this is to anyone else. Hopefully you could relate to my journey at certain points. Hopefully I said something you needed to hear. If nothing else, I feel like I've benefited from re-reading and re-thinking my experiences.

The Bible School I attended (which for some reason I've cryptically referred to as just "Bible School") was Mount Carmel in Edmonton, Canada. I'm not sure what impression you've formed of the place, but I loved it. As this journal indicates, Carmel is a big part of why I am who I am today. (But don't let that scare you off - I think I'm an anomaly.) If you're considering attending Bible School, if you want to discuss anything I've written here, or if you just want to chat, you can e-mail me by clicking the "My Profile" link in the sidebar. (If you know me and we haven't talked in a while you should definitely e-mail me.)

I think that's all I have to say.

Goodnight, you princes of Maine, you kings of New England.