Padd Solutions

Jason Berggren wrote a book called "10 Things I Hate About Christianity." I've owned the book for quite a while with the intention of reading it, but haven't picked it up until recently.

Unfortunately - because of my schedule and our baby girl - I don't expect to finish it very soon, although it's been difficult to put down.

The premise is simple: Jason is a pastor and former singer in a Christian heavy metal band. Like me, he has a family, considers himself politically conservative, writes a blog, and has a strong belief in what Jesus stands for.

But like all of us, he has frustrations with his faith, and he discusses them in the book. Contrary to what the title may lead you to believe, the book is designed to elevate Christianity by discussing different aspects of the faith, and some of the challenges they can present.

You can find out more about the book, including reviews, from Amazon.com.

Personally, it's added another perspective to my spiritual journey, and continuously challenges me to think. In the first chapter, Jason talks about conversations he had with a friend - also named Jason - who brings up using faith as a crutch. The book reads:

Jason later admitted he often viewed faith as a crutch. I'd heard this many times and found it insulting, but I didn't know how to respond. Was there no way faith could find a home in the heart of the truly strong-minded, independent, freethinking person?

I came back the next Thursday and confessed I agreed with Jason. I even took it one step further. For me, faith was more like a wheelchair or one of those motorized things old people drive around in the grocery store. I was beginning to gain a little life experience, and to realize that when I'm down-and-out, beaten up emotionally, or at my wits' end, faith is the only reason I can press on.

I also submitted the idea that those who live by their sincere faith are in fact quite strong and resolute, maybe even the strongest of individuals. Faith can propel people forward against all odds and carry them through the storms of failure and discouragement. They may act against practical thinking and pragmatic theories, but they don't care. They have a drive in them that's amazing, like Rocky Balboa in the boxing ring. And no matter what they're facing, they see each situation as an opportunity.

I've spent my life creating a mental toughness for myself, that when I felt down-and-out or beaten up emotionally, I powered on because it was the right thing to do. No one was going to feel sorry for me, and too many people were counting on me that I needed to learn to deal with life.

When I dig deeper to find the root of my belief, I remember a time I had to make a choice: either I believe God has a plan, or God created free will. I do not believe both exist.

If God has a plan, then everything we do is part of that plan; our path has been laid. However, if you believe in free will, you must take responsibility for your actions, including responsibility to your creator.

I always believed in free will. When I'm down for the count, God isn't going to pick me up. Thankfully, however, because of what I've learned about Jesus, I pick myself up.

I do believe that strength comes from God, but I believe it indirectly comes from God. More importantly, I believe it comes from the lessons I've learned about God and Jesus.

When a person expects to derive their strength from God, I believe it can create a resentment toward God. If you're in a very dark place asking God for strength and you're unable to find it, I don't believe it's God's fault.

I've never believed that God will magically lift you up, and believe teaching the faithful that God will do so is wrong.

Maybe we've learned to get up because of God, but I have a hard time believing we've been lifted up by God.

When I try to teach someone about faith, I believe it's important to teach someone that they'll learned strength through the experiences of others, which will inherently make them stronger. But placing unrealistic expectations that God will make things 'all better' creates a frustration of faith when God doesn't come through.

"Where was God when I needed him?"

I don't believe it's God's job to pick you up. I believe it's our job to learn why it's important to pick ourselves up.

Is faith a crutch? I'm not necessarily sure. When I think of the term 'crutch', I view it as something that helps keep me upright. I prefer to view my faith as a solid foundation that I've built with the help of friends, family, and my Maker. I proudly stand on top, but continuously add layers as I grow.

I don't need my faith to stand, but it's because of my faith that I am able to stand.

Mom's in town - so you know what that means: pictures... and lots of 'em. Here are a few.

If you wanna see more from the album, click here.

From Olivia-Grace Ann Davis

It's been a rough morning for my little girl. After her morning feeding and diaper change, she might have a long day ahead of her.

Rest while you can... and please note the sarcasm.

So it looks like my blog was sitting in an injured state for the last few days. Since my most recent post, I didn't close a tag properly, sending the site into a tizzy.

I own a Mac and use both Firefox and Safari as my web browser, and both have the glitch under control. Internet Explorer, however, does not.

Thanks to my mother for pointing it out.

But it's all fixed... at least, it appears to be.

Secretly, I'd love to write music. Unfortunately, I don't have skills near those of Aaron Barker or Erv Woolsey, who wrote George Strait's hit, "I Can Still Make Cheyenne."

Damn, this is a good song... one of the best, actually.

George's voice is so tender, and the lyrics tell a story about a the relationship between a cowboy and his love, assumed to be his wife.

Listen to the song - as a matter of fact, listen to George Strait. There are very few musicians on his level as an artist.

We need to find a church.

It'd be nice if we could begin with finding a denomination.

Rebecca was raised exclusively Catholic, which included Catholic school when she was young. I was raised Lutheran, spent some time in the Baptist church, and have attended Catholic mass from time to time.

With the birth of our daughter, it's become important that we find a church we're comfortable in, and pass along our faith.

Unfortunately, the path of my spiritual journey has taken me to a place where it's difficult to re-acclimate myself to organized religion.

But since my marriage - and now the birth of my daughter - I've come to realize that it's no longer about me.

While we're responsible for giving her proper nutrition, teaching her how to behave in public, and providing her a good education, we're also responsible for the eternity of her soul.

We will raise her in a home where she can come to know God, understand his teachings and philosophy, know their origins, and respect that others might feel differently.

Thankfully, because she'll grow up in my house, I can sit her down and teach her.

As far as getting the word out to others, I've never been comfortable trying to bring someone to God unsolicited.

Respectfully, I am not someone who will march into the streets like a good Christian soldier and begin telling everyone what my faith in Christianity has done for my life, and in return, what it can do for yours.

I do not believe it's a very effective way of bringing people to God.

While I do not like using bible verses to support an argument (I believe they're often taken way out of context), bear with me. Recently, I was reminded of one of the more popular verses, Matthew 28:19. Here's the entire paragraph:

Matthew 28:18-20 - ¹⁸Then Jesus came to them and said, "All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. ¹⁹Therefore go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, ²⁰and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you. And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age."

Reading the passage, I do not believe it's my job to hand out literature door to door, or sit a person down and begin telling them why their life needs to change, or tell them how Christianity has changed my life.

I interpret this passage to mean showing God within myself... showing people that I believe, and letting that do the work.

Once it becomes evident, that's when the real work begins: showing people what Christianity can do for one's life.

But isn't that what it's all about: showing the existence of God through yourself, which proves to others that lives can be changed?

Here's a moment between Olivia-Grace and myself, where I'm fitting her into the new car seat. We talk to her as much as we can, and thankfully she listens.

I'm happy to show off her smile for the world to see. It melts her daddy's heart, and I live for it.

Sorry about the bad camera work, but I can't take my eyes off her, and that means sometimes the picture isn't very well centered.

These are the moments that make me happy to be a parent, and these are the moments everyone says you get to experience - the moments you hear about from friends, or on television, or from your parents reminiscing about raising their own children.

But in reality, there's an entirely different side to parenting that is rarely discussed.

Don't misunderstand what you're about to read - I love my little girl more than I thought I could ever love someone. I laugh when she laughs, and I hurt when she feels pain.

But no one talks about sleepless nights or the strain that a baby can put on a marriage. A marriage is hard work - and with a baby, it becomes that much more difficult.

You don't hear about how your life stops because you can't find 20 minutes to mow the yard because the baby won't let you lay them down long enough, and both you and your partner have a job with opposite work hours so you don't have to spend $200 a week on a babysitter.

Consequently, you rarely hear that it can cost $200 or more per week for a babysitter.

You never hear that when a mother breastfeeds, it's a job in itself - and it can be painful.

When your baby hurts - you hurt. Rational people understand that crying is a part of raising a child and can handle it - but when she gets gas pains and cries in what appears to be utter agony, or receives shots while in your arms and you can't take the pain away, there's no worse feeling in the world.

And there's the concern about her future. Everyone believes their children can be President some day; or a doctor. But the reality is, they can become alcoholics, deal with mental illness, or make bad decisions that affect them for the rest of their lives.

But every decision we make can affect the person she becomes. While there's certainly a scary side to every decision, I trust the decisions my wife and I make will be in the best interest of our daughter.

Thankfully, there's a rewarding side.

You leave work as early as possible to speed home and look into your baby's eyes. Each day, she does something else that impresses me and offers hope for what she can become.

You live with a camera to catch every moment so you'll have something to show anyone who's willing to look.

You watch her sleep because you can't take your eyes off her. And watching my wife get joy from my daughter is priceless and makes me love them both more and more.

And also, because of late-night feedings, you learn to love late-night TV; Roseanne is on all night.

We're trying our very best, which is probably why it can be so exhausting.

Recently, on a plane to Texas, Olivia-Grace cried while in the air. We did everything we could to stop her, hoping not to disturb the other passengers, but for a bit, she was inconsolable. While we were walking off the plane, a man put his hand on my shoulder and said, "It'll get better."

That calmed me. After feeling like we were disturbing every passenger on the plane, someone else understood - and he wasn't upset that our baby's crying made it difficult to watch his movie or read his book.

Then I remembered a conversation I had with a lady who was checking us in for that flight, just before leaving town. I mentioned my concerns and she said, "You can't worry about that. If they get upset, they probably don't have kids."

Touché.

I told Rebecca that I feel like we joined a new club where only parents are members. We've certainly noticed a difference in the world.

Some friends have disappeared.

Conversations with others who have kids of their own seem different, and it's unexplainable. People with kids - specifically complete strangers - seem to offer a nostalgic smile or compassionate gesture, while others who have yet to have children of their own appear sincerely happy for us, but understandably do not comprehend the life-altering experience parents go through.

I can't expect they would.

But that's what makes having children worth every second - and the positives far outweigh the negatives, but for some reason, the dark side is never discussed. Maybe people are worried they'll be perceived as bad parents, but in reality, it's no walk in the park.

If I'm the only father who's felt this way, so be it - I'm still gonna raise my daughter the best I can, and pray that when I look back, we have a person we can be proud of.