I am a believer in reincarnation. Now my particular brand of this belief has little to do with what happens to an animals, vegetables or minerals after they die, but rather what happens to a being (me in this case) throughout the course of their life. I have, in the course of my relatively brief time on this planet, already undergone a number of incarnations. I have been a missionary kid, a radical feminist, a touchy-feely artist, and an analytical scholar (to name a few). Fortunately, the freckles have remained consistent.

This last weekend, I had the chance to revisit one of my previous incarnations. I must admit to some trepidation as the weekend approached. I wasn't sure how my new incarnation as post-modern liberal would fit within the social context of my previous evangelical self, surrounded by the faces of those I had worked along side of seven years ago at a Young Life camp. But I needn't have worried. With alcohol as social lubricant, I learned a little lesson about Karma.

As surprising as it may seem, I am far from perfect. I didn't have everything right or together seven years ago, and I would hazard a guess that the same situation persists in this present moment. Thank God for that, perfection is an unbearable weight. But the karma of this weekend lay not in right ideology and action, but in authenticity and engagement. As I slowly learn not to devalue my past, I see that the genuine friendships of the past continue in their heartfelt authenticity, that there is a continuity in character despite ideological shifts, that past life experiences are a gift, but most of all, that beer and wine are fabulous stimulants for great theological discussions.