Schizophrenic Christian

Ever wonder who you are? For me, I have several different roles, I am a daughter, a wife, a mother, a sister, and a friend. But who am I... really?

In the 1980's, David Meece sang the song Mother, Muffler, Mozart and the Beatles, unfortunately I cannot find a youtube version but to hear a snippet of it, go to his website, go to Discography, click on the "Front Row" CD cover and listen to track 3. He tells the story of growing up with a mother who didn't like anything but classical music in her house. She went so far as to say she didn't like 'country & western garbage' and for years he thought that's what it was called. And after hearing someone exclaim they liked country & western, he replies 'oh you like garbage'. So one day while practising Mozart on the piano he hears his mother driving off {because of her loud muffler he is able to hear her leave and return}. The moment she's gone he switches from Mozart to the Beatles with very little effort. As he hears the loud muffler announcing the return of his mother he quickly switches back to Mozart. He goes on to say that alot of people live their lives like the way he and his brother played the piano. Switching from one style to another depending on who you're with. He goes on to imply that some Christians even do that. It's when you act and talk one way when you're with one group of people, but when you get with a different group of people, you become someone else. It's like there are alot of Schizophrenic Christians running around loose all over the place. The quote "Be who you are and say what you feel because those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind.” by Dr. Seuss is a great reminder to me. While I need to be sensitive to others around me, I also must be who God created me to be.

Just think - I am not here by chance but by God's own choosing; His hand formed me and made me the person I am, I am one of a kind; I lack nothing that His grace cannot give me; He has allowed me to be here in this time in history to fulfill His purpose. {a paraphrase of the poem by Roy Lessin}

Blessings