The Gift of Roadkill

It's times like these that I feel I could make a killing off of a little something I invented. I call it the "WWTJD?" bracelet and, yes, as you might imagine, that stands for "What Would Thomas Jefferson Do?". I feel like, with the proper marketing and design (blue and orange string, of course), something like this would sell like PBR at an indie rock show.

I say this because I feel like at least once a week someone or some group at UVA tells me to join their side of an issue because "Thomas Jefferson would agree with me/us!" Take, for example, both sides in the current Single Sanction/Sanction Reform debate at the University. Everybody here seems to assume that they are a champion of Jeffersonian ideals, and, while that's a noble and romantic notion, truth be told, that argument makes me really uncomfortable. Like any other human being Thomas Jefferson said a lot of things in his life, most of which were contradictory. If you look hard enough you can probably find quotes from him that could be inferred to support everything from socialism to tyranny. And while I have mad respect for my man TJ, or at least the one I think I know, let's remember what the immortal Capt. Malcolm Reynolds once said: "I figure anybody who ever got a statue made of himself was one kind of a**hole or another".

Lindsay File was gracious enough to give me her copy of a book that has played a major role in shaping her spirituality: Blue Like Jazz by Donald Miller. The author totes it as a nonreligious discussion of Christian ethic, and I've spent about half of my time reading this book trying to decide if this statement is supposed to be ironic. Judging by Don, an artsy, humorous Portlander who seemingly found God among the haze of marijuana, miracles and conflicted dogma, I'd say it has to be. But I really like Don's writing style, and I'm surprised at how personally engaging this book has been for my spirituality.

I actually strongly considered attending Reed College, where many of Don's personal stories take place, and I can't help but feel like I would have been one of the students that made Christians on campus like him so scared to be who they are. It's not because I'm opposed to Christianity. Far from it. I feel like if everybody followed the ideals of Jesus (love your neighbor, blessed are the meek, etc.) the world would be a wonderful place. The problem, like with Jefferson, is that it's so easy for Jesus' "real" opinions to be misconstrued. I mean, there are Christians like Mother Theresa and there are Christians like Fred Phelps (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fred_Phelps). There are Christians like Gandhi (or actually people who like Christ but not Christians like Gandhi. Thanks for pointing out the mistake, Nick) who support civil unrest and Christians like some choice teachers at my Catholic high school who almost kicked me out for my hair length and let the guys who cheated on the PSAT go with a slap on the wrist. Christians of the latter persuasion make me feel apprehensive toward self-identified Christians as a whole, but I'm beginning to learn, or rather relearn, that this is ultimately a problem of mine, not a problem of the actual faith.

There is a passage in the book when Don and his fellow Christian students set up a confession booth, but of a different kind. In this booth these guys apologize for the negative actions of the church, like the Crusades and televangelism. They apologize to these Reed students, folks who typically have never taken interest in or have been pushed away by the Christian church, and I found this extremely moving. So did they. Don recalls lots of tears and hugs. It's quite beautiful, and it completely turned around the intellectual frustration I experienced in reading the first hundred or so pages.

One of the wisest things I've ever heard was something my grandmother once told my mom, and that's that people always try to do the best they can. I wish I could remember this because as much as I ultimately love people there are pockets of humanity that often frustrate me. But, again, it's ultimately my problem, not theirs. I need to be the change that I want to see in the world. Nothing about life will begin to change until I change my own heart.

I tried to reflect on these thoughts this weekend during project when I was picking up cigarette butts and other assorted treasures off the side of South 29. It frustrates me that no mater how many times I go the side of that road is filthy all over again whenever I come back. So many people don't seem to care about what they're doing to the planet, our planet. But, at the same time, I remember that this is exactly why I try to be a good person. If the world were a perfect place there wouldn't be a need for service, but then there wouldn't be an opportunity to better ourselves and really connect with people. And people are awesome.

I hung out with some especially awesome people for Valentines Day (Hilary, Matt, Elena and Julian)! Instead of being struck by Cupid's arrow we were instead struck by the more instinctual (and, in my experience, satisfying) thirst to explore. I've been stunneling now more times than I can count, and almost every time I go I see the same message in bastardized Greek over the Stadium Gate. Hilary and I got to talking about it and decided we were going to find out just what it said and just what it would lead us to. So, as a team, we went stunneling and I copied that message and a much larger (and more important, as I later found out) message about halfway between the Stadium Gate and Graffiti Jesus. That night I was up until 4 trying to crack the code, and to my extreme satisfaction I succeeded and was very intrigued by the Message. In the interest of not spoiling the surprise for others (especially Hilary, who still doesn't know what the Message translates to) I'll refrain from posting what I've found here. After we copied the Message we saw Jesus, visited the Pipe, strolled down Poet's Row and popped out at Physics Portal. All I can say is if you haven't gone stunneling, make an effort. There are more treasures than one student could ever uncover down there, and it's the part of UVA that makes it most seem like Hogwarts to me.

Earlier that day I also found a dead 'possum on the side of the road. It may have been nasty, it may have been smelly, it may have been heavy and drippy when I picked it up, but it would be easy to complain. That 'possum was a gift.