All posts tagged hope

anarchyofthemind:

Religious, political, existential… whatever it is you find important, what do you believe in?

Undercover Nun believes that good will always triumph over evil.

I believe that redemption is possible for all persons, no matter how badly they’ve messed up.  I also believe that the opportunity for redemption does not end with our physical death.

I believe that there is something waiting for us beyond death, though we cannot know for certain what that is within this world.

I believe that the commandment to love all persons is absolute, universal, radical, and profoundly difficult.  I also believe that choosing to live a life of this kind of love has made it amazingly easy.

I believe that kindness is always the best answer.

I believe that violence is never necessary, in thought, word, or deed.  I also believe that violence is often easy, and that choosing another path is almost super-humanly difficult.

I believe that humans were created with incredible potential for love, hope, faith, and joy.  I believe that our natural state is one where we fully embrace these.  I also believe that most of us turn away from them, because they run counter to 21st century western culture.

I believe that there is a Music of the Spheres, that all of Creation dances, and that God delights when we express wonder, joy, admiration, and awe.

I believe that the Divine One is present within every part of Creation, even the parts that humans have reformed into new and different things.

I believe that religion itself is neither a force for good nor a force for evil.  As with anything else, its fruits depend on how religion is used by persons.

I believe that we are imperfect, flawed, incomplete.  I’m not sure I believe in the doctrine of Original Sin.

I believe that Christianity — like Judaism — is not about right belief or even right behavior, but about right relationship.  God lives in relationship with us, enabling us to live in relationship with each other.

I believe that the more love a person pours out for others, the more love is poured into that person, until he or she overflows with kindness, patience, and mercy.

I believe that loving-kindness is a worthy goal for all persons.

I believe that what is true and eternal and good is what we cannot see, touch, or understand.

I believe that love, faith, hope, and joy are actions — we are able to choose these orientations to the world, deliberately and intentionally, based on our whole selves, heart and mind and soul and body.

I believe that pain, hurt, anger, tragedy, death, and disaster are not part of God’s plan, that they do not happen for a reason.  I believe that, basically, shit happens, and shit happens because we have free will.  Most of all, I believe that God can — and does! — bring redemption to every situation that occurs, no matter how shitty it is.

I believe that prayer has effects, but that we cannot know what those effects are.  I believe that prayer changes the one who prays, and just might change the world around him or her.

I believe that every single prayer is answered.  I believe that God’s answers to prayer are yes, no, and not yet.  And I believe that what we vainly call an “unanswered prayer” is merely a prayer that we didn’t like the answer to.

I believe that people generally want to be good, generally try to do the right thing, and generally don’t intend to be destructive.  I believe that we all make flawed choices that can seem bad, wrong, destructive, or evil. 

I believe that believing the best of others gives them the opportunity to be the best.  I believe that people live up to — or down to — our expectations of them.

I believe.

(Source: absurdreasoning)

Read this story.  Take time to weep if you need it.  Undercover Nun did.

Then go follow newfilosofee.  You won’t regret it.

jasencomstock:

newfilosofee:

First off, I’d like to say I have never shared this story to this extent before. So many parts of this may make you angry, upset or sad. And I’d also like to make it clear that this story cannot be told to it’s full effect online or even if written in a book so imagine that we are in a little house on the mountains of Kabul overlooking the city and I have just poured you a cup of tea. 

With a few months to my high school graduation date, I was approached by my mother and a family friend in regards to a guy in Afghanistan who was seeking my hand in marriage. He wasn’t the first guy to ask but he was the first one my parents approved of. It may sound strange but in the Afghan culture, people marry young. Also, I was a different person back then. I was very religious and I just wanted to make my parents happy. They gave me two photos of him and I told them I’d think about it. I had enough on my mind already with school and graduating. Some days I’d tell my mom that I just wasn’t ready for marriage but she told me that I should think about it more. After a few months, the guy’s family called and told me that I had to make up my mind. They said “Marry him or risk never being married.” I was so frustrated at the amount of pressure they were putting on me. I began praying to see what God wanted and what was best. I spoke to a Mullah about the situation. He told me that it would be in my best interest to marry the guy and it would make my parents as well as God happy with me.

So after a few months, with the intention of making others happy I said yes. I would sit in my room, holding his picture in my hand and wonder what was going to happen. He was very stunning. Tall, handsome and strong. He had the bluest eyes I had ever seen. I still wanted to know more about him though. After a few conversations on the phone I had learned that he worked at the United Nations, knew three or four languages and many other things. He seemed wonderful. 

I had a beautiful engagement party. I wore a blue gown and felt like a princess. My mother was so happy and seeing her happy made me happy. 

Months later I graduated from High School. And one month after that, I was on an airplane to Afghanistan with my mother for the wedding. My father was already in Afghanistan. It would be my first time back after 15 years.

Once I arrived there was at least fourty people waitingg for me at the Kabul Airport. My entourage exceeded Karzais. I met uncles and aunts that I didn’t recognize, I met cousins for the first time and family friends and then I met him. I wasn’t that nervous because I didn’t like him that much. I mean, I barely knew him. But he took my hand and it’s a strange feeling to hold hands with a person you’ve never had a conversation with in person. I kept letting go of his hand and pretending it was an accident. Like I had to fix my scarf or get my suitcase or something. 

I was staying at an aunt’s house and didn’t see him often before the wedding. The Wedding was ten days after my arrival in Kabul. But I wasn’t ready. Things moved too fast and I was just getting to know my family that I hadn’t seen in forever. We went to choose a wedding gown and they were all sleeveless. In an “Islamic” country, where women cannot leave the house unless covered from head to toe, they didn’t have one wedding dress with sleeves. Back then I wore hijab so I wanted a dress with sleeves. They later made sleeves for a dress but even then, you could see right through them. I was also told by everybody that I couldn’t wear my hijab for my wedding. That it was ridiculous and nobody covers their hair on their wedding day. I was so upset. It’s funny that in America I could wear what I wanted but in Afghanistan I was told I couldn’t wear my scarf during my wedding because it wasn’t the “norm”.

The morning of the wedding I was ever so afraid. I begged my mom to stop the wedding. I didn’t want to get married anymore. I realized what I had gotten into. Everybody got angry at me. It was only my cousins who were my age that felt bad for me. My cousin Abidah hugged me and told me it’d be okay. She said “If he lays a hand on you, I’ll break his hand off.” I thought how violent yet kind of her. I wanted to get a taxi and go see my father who was in a different city at the time. But it would be too dangerous to get a taxi alone specially when I’ve got an American accent when I speak farsi. But I knew if I could get to my father, he would help me. He’d be by my side. I was always “daddy’s little girl” and he always loved me so much. He always called me his flower. I asked if I could at least call him and they told me to stop being ridiculous and acting like a child. But that’s just the thing, I was a child.

There was no use in trying anymore. There were 500 guests invited to the wedding. The Hotel was one of the finest in Kabul and the wedding singer was one of the best. Everything was ready from the people to the food to the music. Everything and everyone was ready except for me.

After many arguments and lectures, I started cooperating. I arrived at the salon and got my hair and make-up done. I put on the dress and looked like a princess, I just didn’t feel like one. He arrived to pick me up and he was more nervous than I. His palms were sweaty and he breathed so heavily I almost asked if he needed an inhaler. We didn’t talk at all in the car. I took off the fake eyelashes and blended in my lipstick with the lip liner. I then just sat in the car opposite of him and looked out the window. When we arrived at the Hotel’s Ball room and it was crazy. There were so many people, mostly people I didn’t know and the place looked like a palace. We sat down and everyone just stared. I felt so awkward and out of place but the shoes were too difficult to run in for me to run away. There was a bubble machine and these children kept trying to pop all the bubbles. I looked at them and smiled. Just as I smiled, I got ten different people running up to me telling me not to look so happy. My reply was “If a woman can’t smile on her own wedding day, when can she smile? At her funeral?” He laughed at my joke. I was starting to like him. Some Mullahs took him into a room and they discussed the marriage contract, they were there for about an hour and they brought the contract for me to sign and I looked at it, it was all in Farsi so I just signed it. I didn’t know what the hell it said but I just wanted for it to end.

When the wedding ceremony was over, the party was barely over. We arrived at his house and there were still people dancing. Before we walked through the door, they brought a chicken and cut it’s throat then put the blood underneath my shoe. I screamed. I didn’t know what the heck they were doing but it’s some sort of tradition. I asked if the chicken was going to be okay and everybody laughed at me. 

Now the night of my wedding is one I will never forget, but not in the sense you’d think. I changed into my sleeping attire and walked into my bedroom. He was waiting for me and asked why I had taken so long. I didn’t reply, I just looked down. He walked closer to me and my heart raced. But not in the way it races when you see your crush walking down the hallway or at their locker in school, not the way your heart races when you’re meeting your favorite singer or the way your heart races when you are on a roller coaster. My heart raced out of fear. I was so scared of him and what he wanted from me. I didn’t feel comfortable at all. He brushed my hair off my shoulder and said “Tonight it will be something new but soon it will be routine.” He kissed me and I didn’t feel anything. Nothing happy at least. I asked him if we could just talk and get to know each other. He laughed. But I wasn’t joking at all. I then told him that I was super sleepy but that didn’t work either. I made so many excuses but he had that look in his eyes and I knew what he wanted. He was persistent and unkind.

It was in that moment that I realized I meant nothing. I wasn’t important or beautiful or special to him, I was just an object to satisfy his sexual needs. I fought and yelled and told him not to lay a hand on me. He gave up after a while and he went to sleep but I, I didn’t sleep that night at all. I sat at the edge of the bed, looked out the window towards the moon and I cried. I asked God, “How could you let this happen? I trusted you. I did this to get closer to you.” It was that moment in my life where my respect and love for Religion, God and Marriage all went out the window. It would take the next few years to get it back if not longer. 

I slowly began getting used to this stranger that I had to start calling my husband. I became very fond of his family. I missed mine more. I missed America. I was having to adapt to being in a completely different country and the new lifestyle of being married. I wasn’t your average Afghan Bride though and for that I got in lots of trouble. I never wore make up or gold which is tradition if you are a newly wed. You have to wear almost every piece of gold you posses everywhere you go. I thought it was an insane idea so I just wore two or three. I would soon fall in love but not with him, with my country and the people of Afghanistan.

I will be writing about part 2 and 3 soon.