It's nearly midnight. We mark time at midnight, acknowledging the passing of another year. A milestone. Time passes. We stop once in a while to notice.
Meanwhile, the days are once again getting longer as the earth travels around the sun. Vacation ends for the school kids, and they begin another grading period. Time passes, slowly or quickly, depending on your age and perception. 'Big wheels keep on turnin'..."
Koheleth, in Ecclesiastes, remarks rather jadedly, 'to everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven,' and observes 'it's all chasing after wind.' Vanity. Foolishness. Meaningless. After all, you're born, you die, and what good is it? Perhaps, I've often thought, Ecclesiastes is there for those in the slump of a midlife crisis!
"Time passes. Will you?" declared a sign on my teacher's wall in high school. Yes, I will too. I'm not exempt from the cycles, the vanity, the season to be born, the season to die. Jesus has taught me, though, that there is more than this enslavement to time. His coming means, in part, that the cycle is far from meaningless, indeed, it is hallowed, sacred, deeply a part of a larger thing which remains outside our ken. In Jesus, God who made time became subject to its limits, and somehow filled it full of himself.
I'm part of it, the earth and its marking of time. So I'll make a toast and kiss my husband when the clock strikes twelve. I'll laugh at my exhaustedly silly children, and wonder what the year will hold. But I will also thank God that when the time He created has served its purpose, it too will be swallowed up in the glory of an everlasting life.
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Monday, December 22, 2008
Where ox and ass are feeding
Not sure whether to own up to this or not, but we had an e-discussion amongst the church staff about the words 'ox and ass' in the carol What Child Is This. We wondered if we should change them, given that 'ass' doesn't communicate 'donkey' to anyone under the age of 10. To most younger children, 'ass' is a 'bad word,' one they get in trouble for saying in school, no matter how vehemently they insist they meant 'donkey'.
As a parent of a 6-year-old, I was all for changing it: "ox and lamb" was the perfectly good variation proposed by our director of music. After a few emails though, we finally decided, on this carol at least, to use the words as they are in our denominational hymnal. We changed other words in other songs during the services, but "ass" remained.
I'm glad. As I sung it, I got to thinking about oxen: big, hard to steer, able to throw their weight around. And asses - stubborn, not-so-bright, sturdy but not beautiful. I'm glad the oxen and asses were there with Christ when he was born. Maybe William Dix, who wrote the words back in 1865, knew exactly what he meant. I figure he was probably acquainted with both kinds of ox and ass (the animals AND the people), and might very well have intended both meanings.
If there were oxen and asses there with Jesus (we don't know it for sure, but it's not a big leap to think so), there might be room for me too. Even in my oxish and ass-like moments.
As a parent of a 6-year-old, I was all for changing it: "ox and lamb" was the perfectly good variation proposed by our director of music. After a few emails though, we finally decided, on this carol at least, to use the words as they are in our denominational hymnal. We changed other words in other songs during the services, but "ass" remained.
I'm glad. As I sung it, I got to thinking about oxen: big, hard to steer, able to throw their weight around. And asses - stubborn, not-so-bright, sturdy but not beautiful. I'm glad the oxen and asses were there with Christ when he was born. Maybe William Dix, who wrote the words back in 1865, knew exactly what he meant. I figure he was probably acquainted with both kinds of ox and ass (the animals AND the people), and might very well have intended both meanings.
If there were oxen and asses there with Jesus (we don't know it for sure, but it's not a big leap to think so), there might be room for me too. Even in my oxish and ass-like moments.
Saturday, December 20, 2008
My family loves to watch 'Survivorman' and 'Man vs. Wild' on Discovery. Each Friday evening, we get pizza and gather around to watch what these two guys do as they survive in various parts of the globe. I've learned some interesting things. 1. If you're lost, get shelter, water, fire and food - in various orders depending on where you are surviving. 2. Go slow. 3. Keep working toward survival, because work itself gives you hope. I also learned to cook grasshoppers before you eat them, because they can carry tapeworms, and that brightly-colored insects will usually make you sick.
The big lesson, though, was one my mom taught me and the survivalists only confirmed: after you cut the head off (a chicken, an insect, a snake...) the rest of the body will continue to move around for awhile.
I don't want the Church to succumb to that fate. We can move for a long time without connection to Christ, our head. But our movements are the movements of a dying creature, futile and leading nowhere. Our primary goal as the Church is to be connected to Christ through prayer, worship, holy communion, Scripture study and discussion, fasting, giving alms... These are the tasks we focus on as we live on earth. Everything else flows from them. We can't change ourselves - to center our lives on changing ourselves or others leads only to futility and frustration.
When we stay connected to Christ, our head, when we abide in the true Vine, then blessings flow, life flows through us into the world. We are transformed in the process, and so is everyone and everything we touch.
I'm glad I know how to boil water in a plastic bottle, how to build a fire, how to make a simple shelter in this good creation of God's. I'm more convicted to turn off the TV, and this computer, and spend some time with the Source of Life.
The big lesson, though, was one my mom taught me and the survivalists only confirmed: after you cut the head off (a chicken, an insect, a snake...) the rest of the body will continue to move around for awhile.
I don't want the Church to succumb to that fate. We can move for a long time without connection to Christ, our head. But our movements are the movements of a dying creature, futile and leading nowhere. Our primary goal as the Church is to be connected to Christ through prayer, worship, holy communion, Scripture study and discussion, fasting, giving alms... These are the tasks we focus on as we live on earth. Everything else flows from them. We can't change ourselves - to center our lives on changing ourselves or others leads only to futility and frustration.
When we stay connected to Christ, our head, when we abide in the true Vine, then blessings flow, life flows through us into the world. We are transformed in the process, and so is everyone and everything we touch.
I'm glad I know how to boil water in a plastic bottle, how to build a fire, how to make a simple shelter in this good creation of God's. I'm more convicted to turn off the TV, and this computer, and spend some time with the Source of Life.
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Magnificat mullings
Do you think Mary really meant it when she said God would send the rich away empty?
Do you think that would make her happy?
Do the rich need to be sent away empty? Is it good for them?
Or is the Magnificat just the song of a poor girl, shaped by poverty to think that all the problems of their world would be righted if only the rich would get their comeuppance?
Do you think she really hoped that princes would be toppled from their thrones? Did she have any idea of the political upheaval that would cause?
Would the world be better if the poor were suddenly to become rich, or the powerless would suddenly have power?
I don't think so. It would just be the same thing all over again. Power corrupts, and all that.
Maybe Mary's vision is bigger than she is. Maybe the Kingdom is when God comes near to everyone, regardless of their station. Maybe being in God's presence shows the haves what they have not, and the have nots what they have. Maybe having been sent away empty would cause the rich to turn to God. Maybe having their bellies filled will enable the hungry to know God.
I wonder. I wonder what she saw when she sang, and what she hoped for. I wonder how she hoped we would live, we who still call her blessed, generations later.
Do you think that would make her happy?
Do the rich need to be sent away empty? Is it good for them?
Or is the Magnificat just the song of a poor girl, shaped by poverty to think that all the problems of their world would be righted if only the rich would get their comeuppance?
Do you think she really hoped that princes would be toppled from their thrones? Did she have any idea of the political upheaval that would cause?
Would the world be better if the poor were suddenly to become rich, or the powerless would suddenly have power?
I don't think so. It would just be the same thing all over again. Power corrupts, and all that.
Maybe Mary's vision is bigger than she is. Maybe the Kingdom is when God comes near to everyone, regardless of their station. Maybe being in God's presence shows the haves what they have not, and the have nots what they have. Maybe having been sent away empty would cause the rich to turn to God. Maybe having their bellies filled will enable the hungry to know God.
I wonder. I wonder what she saw when she sang, and what she hoped for. I wonder how she hoped we would live, we who still call her blessed, generations later.
Sunday, December 14, 2008
What I want for Christmas
Everyone asks me what I want for Christmas. After some thought, I've determined that I want less stuff, but more time. I want less waste, and more beauty. I want less surface, and more depth. I want joy for those I love, and the privilege of being in their lives. I want more Jesus, and less me.
None of this can be wrapped and put under a tree. All of it will require a certain amount of letting go.
What do you want for Christmas?
None of this can be wrapped and put under a tree. All of it will require a certain amount of letting go.
What do you want for Christmas?
Monday, December 1, 2008
rain in the desert
Every time we go to Arizona it rains. No kidding. We are considering a proposal to the Arizona government - they pay our airfare, and we will come out anytime they need relief from drought.
Of course, it might not be us. The rain in Arizona might happen when we are there because we usually go in their winter (such as it is there).
In Arizona, they bless the rain. Cloudy days are a rare treat to be savored. They build fires, snuggle up on the couch with a book and a blanket, and even forego golf (while all the tourists are out in their tank tops and shorts). Or, like one valet we met, they dance in the rain, enjoying every drop of what they know will disappear all too soon.
I'm pretty sure the rain wasn't our fault (or our gift, for that matter). Hopefully I will remember not to take the snow, or the many other inconviences of winter, so personally. Life happens. I hope I can snuggle or read or dance. I hope you can, too.
Of course, it might not be us. The rain in Arizona might happen when we are there because we usually go in their winter (such as it is there).
In Arizona, they bless the rain. Cloudy days are a rare treat to be savored. They build fires, snuggle up on the couch with a book and a blanket, and even forego golf (while all the tourists are out in their tank tops and shorts). Or, like one valet we met, they dance in the rain, enjoying every drop of what they know will disappear all too soon.
I'm pretty sure the rain wasn't our fault (or our gift, for that matter). Hopefully I will remember not to take the snow, or the many other inconviences of winter, so personally. Life happens. I hope I can snuggle or read or dance. I hope you can, too.
Monday, November 10, 2008
The Roundabout Way
Exodus 13: 17-18a When Pharoah let the people go, God did not lead them by way of the land of the Philistines, although that was nearer; for God thought, “If the people face war, they may change their minds and return to Egypt.” So God led the people by the roundabout way…
In geometry, math students learn that the shortest path from point A to point B is a straight line. As a task-oriented individual, I am prone to view life that way. Efficient and concise, the straight line is very appealing. Shouldn’t life follow a similar line? It works in geometry!
Our geometry doesn’t always work for God. Much to my dismay, the best path is not always the most efficient. Like the children of Israel, there are reasons God leads me along ‘the roundabout way.’ There are lessons to be learned, character to be built, a life to be developed in the wilderness.
And, like the Israelites, there are worse things to be spared, sometimes, by the roundabout way. God doesn’t see fit to answer to me. Often I have no idea why I am taken through an experience. Wilderness feels, well, wild and uncontrolled, not logical and not efficient. Yet if I am honest, it is those wilderness times that draw me closer to him. I let go of the mindsets and ways of being that enslaved me. I learn to trust God for more and more of my life.
Because God leads me, the roundabout way is not so desolate as it might have been. When the time there is done, I am more prepared for what comes next than I would have been otherwise. The roundabout way is not NO way, it is the way where God leads. God has blessed the roundabout way with his presence, and I am learning to be grateful for the inefficiency of the path.
In geometry, math students learn that the shortest path from point A to point B is a straight line. As a task-oriented individual, I am prone to view life that way. Efficient and concise, the straight line is very appealing. Shouldn’t life follow a similar line? It works in geometry!
Our geometry doesn’t always work for God. Much to my dismay, the best path is not always the most efficient. Like the children of Israel, there are reasons God leads me along ‘the roundabout way.’ There are lessons to be learned, character to be built, a life to be developed in the wilderness.
And, like the Israelites, there are worse things to be spared, sometimes, by the roundabout way. God doesn’t see fit to answer to me. Often I have no idea why I am taken through an experience. Wilderness feels, well, wild and uncontrolled, not logical and not efficient. Yet if I am honest, it is those wilderness times that draw me closer to him. I let go of the mindsets and ways of being that enslaved me. I learn to trust God for more and more of my life.
Because God leads me, the roundabout way is not so desolate as it might have been. When the time there is done, I am more prepared for what comes next than I would have been otherwise. The roundabout way is not NO way, it is the way where God leads. God has blessed the roundabout way with his presence, and I am learning to be grateful for the inefficiency of the path.
Monday, November 3, 2008
The Sacrament of the Barbecue Sauce
Sometimes the greatest gift we give others is remembering.
Last year in a Stewardship meeting, we were planning our annual hog roast. Mike Miles, an amazing cook, commented that we'd use Sweet Baby Ray's barbecue sauce because everyone liked it. In a probably overly-opinionated way, I said, "Everyone but me. I prefer the eastern North Carolina-style sauce." Vinegary, peppery, not so sweet. Having spent time at Duke, and having sampled many types of sauce in my stay there, I was quite adamant. Mike revised his statement with a chuckle.
This year, I didn't have much to do with planning the hog roast. Mike and his small group spent hours creating the side dishes from scratch, planning and preparing and serving. They sacrificed time and energy to bless their entire church family. When I slipped in the kitchen to thank them, I was told that Mike had made a special sauce, just for me: eastern North Carolina-style, with his own signature tweaking. In all his doing for the whole church, he had done this one thing for me alone.
A year and a half later, Mike remembered our conversation. He recalled what I liked, and he did something about it. How incredibly kind! I felt so honored and humbled by that gesture. He couldn't have blessed me more if his gift had cost a mint of money. Mike remembered, and he acted, and his action showed his care. What's more, in a way I can't explain, that barbecue sauce was more than delicious (which it certainly was). It was a means of grace, a way that God communicated his infinite love and care for me, personally.
Sometimes, all it takes to bring life and joy and blessing to someone else is to remember and act. We think about doing big things for the glory of God, when often what communicates God the best is something rather simple. Mother Teresa said it: "We can do no great things, only small things with great love." I would simply add that small things done with love are indeed great things in the Kingdom of God.
Last year in a Stewardship meeting, we were planning our annual hog roast. Mike Miles, an amazing cook, commented that we'd use Sweet Baby Ray's barbecue sauce because everyone liked it. In a probably overly-opinionated way, I said, "Everyone but me. I prefer the eastern North Carolina-style sauce." Vinegary, peppery, not so sweet. Having spent time at Duke, and having sampled many types of sauce in my stay there, I was quite adamant. Mike revised his statement with a chuckle.
This year, I didn't have much to do with planning the hog roast. Mike and his small group spent hours creating the side dishes from scratch, planning and preparing and serving. They sacrificed time and energy to bless their entire church family. When I slipped in the kitchen to thank them, I was told that Mike had made a special sauce, just for me: eastern North Carolina-style, with his own signature tweaking. In all his doing for the whole church, he had done this one thing for me alone.
A year and a half later, Mike remembered our conversation. He recalled what I liked, and he did something about it. How incredibly kind! I felt so honored and humbled by that gesture. He couldn't have blessed me more if his gift had cost a mint of money. Mike remembered, and he acted, and his action showed his care. What's more, in a way I can't explain, that barbecue sauce was more than delicious (which it certainly was). It was a means of grace, a way that God communicated his infinite love and care for me, personally.
Sometimes, all it takes to bring life and joy and blessing to someone else is to remember and act. We think about doing big things for the glory of God, when often what communicates God the best is something rather simple. Mother Teresa said it: "We can do no great things, only small things with great love." I would simply add that small things done with love are indeed great things in the Kingdom of God.
Monday, October 27, 2008
Faith in the in-between
Someone loaned me the book, 'The Secret,' recently. It is based on the idea that if we envision what we want (instead of focusing on what we don't), then what we want will come to us. The Universe, supposedly, works that way. The author claims that this positive thinking is the secret in all major world religions, a secret 'they' don't want you to know.
It is seductive to think that if we imagine checks in the mail, they will appear.
Let me quote Mondi Bridges as she lay dying from cancer, talking with her husband, William. "This positive thinking stuff is crap," she said to me one evening as I sat on her hospital bed. "But then, so is negative thinking. They both cover up reality -- which is that we just don't know what is going to happen. That's the reality we have to live with. But it is easy to see why people take refuge in optimism or pessimism. They both give you and answer. But the truth is that we just don't know. What a hard truth that is!" (The Way of Transition, William Bridges, Da Capo Press, 2001)
Positive thinking aside, God does not promise us an easy road. Jesus's invitation is not to 'think positively' but to take up our cross daily, living as those who know that death is inevitable. Inevitable, but not final. We take up our cross daily, knowing that God is with us in the Valley of the Shadow as well as on the mountain of Transfiguration. Change will occur, whether we like it or not. Life will be filled with joy and pain, as well as many ordinary days somewhere between extremes. Thinking positively or negatively are quite beside the point.
Will we hang on with God, regardless? Isn't that faith? Continuing the conversation with God, even when it is a cry of agony or anger or blame? Walking with God, humbly, on high days and low roads, and every boring day in between. Noticing God's presence, learning, learning, always learning that God's grace is sufficient. Choosing to trust that, somehow, God is in the midst of it - with us - is not a secret. It is life.
All of these words don't make the valley easier, do they?
It is seductive to think that if we imagine checks in the mail, they will appear.
Let me quote Mondi Bridges as she lay dying from cancer, talking with her husband, William. "This positive thinking stuff is crap," she said to me one evening as I sat on her hospital bed. "But then, so is negative thinking. They both cover up reality -- which is that we just don't know what is going to happen. That's the reality we have to live with. But it is easy to see why people take refuge in optimism or pessimism. They both give you and answer. But the truth is that we just don't know. What a hard truth that is!" (The Way of Transition, William Bridges, Da Capo Press, 2001)
Positive thinking aside, God does not promise us an easy road. Jesus's invitation is not to 'think positively' but to take up our cross daily, living as those who know that death is inevitable. Inevitable, but not final. We take up our cross daily, knowing that God is with us in the Valley of the Shadow as well as on the mountain of Transfiguration. Change will occur, whether we like it or not. Life will be filled with joy and pain, as well as many ordinary days somewhere between extremes. Thinking positively or negatively are quite beside the point.
Will we hang on with God, regardless? Isn't that faith? Continuing the conversation with God, even when it is a cry of agony or anger or blame? Walking with God, humbly, on high days and low roads, and every boring day in between. Noticing God's presence, learning, learning, always learning that God's grace is sufficient. Choosing to trust that, somehow, God is in the midst of it - with us - is not a secret. It is life.
All of these words don't make the valley easier, do they?
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Joying the Day
Have you noticed today how blue the sky is? Have you taken into your soul the flaming autumn trees as they brush against that infinite blue? Have you felt the brush of the fresh breeze on your skin? Have you allowed the sunshine to saturate your soul?
Have you turned off every human-made sound and let the silence have its way? Have you let what or whomever is around you convey God's presence?
Have you heard the voice of someone you love, the bark of a dog, the rush of traffic?
Have you smelled cinnamon or burning leaves?
Have you tasted something delicious and savored every bite?
Why not?
Have you turned off every human-made sound and let the silence have its way? Have you let what or whomever is around you convey God's presence?
Have you heard the voice of someone you love, the bark of a dog, the rush of traffic?
Have you smelled cinnamon or burning leaves?
Have you tasted something delicious and savored every bite?
Why not?
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Thoughts and Change
Last night in our Bible Study, God Views, we read this advice to perfectionists: Anything worth doing is worth doing poorly.
It made me laugh. Just try something, anything. Don't wait until you can do it perfectly, or exactly, just do something. That's is the polar opposite of my usual train of thought.
Our thoughts are powerful. It's no wonder Kathleen Norris, in her newest book Acedia and Me notes that the seven deadly sins used to be called the eight bad (or tempting, perhaps) thoughts. The earliest Christians who wrote about their lives spoke often of how to overcome these thoughts. Their writings describe internal struggle, and what treasure they had found in learning to marshall their thought-life toward God.
Today I was feeling very 'beaten' by a sinus infection, Randy being gone, some bad news from friends and a busy week to come. Sitting in my class at the hospital, I was challenged to think about what I want to be, instead of what I am not. Ponder that for a moment. The leader reminded us we need more time to think than we usually allow ourselves. "So sit in your chair, take deep, wonderful breaths, and think," she invited.
I thought of all things I want to be, and it was incredible to note the amount of energy that simply flooded through me when I stopped focusing on what I wasn't (feeling well, to start with) and started thinking about what I want (to be healthy, to start with). I honestly felt more awake, less sick, more hopeful.
While we don't control which thoughts float in and out of our consciousness, we do control which ones we allow to live there. That, I think, is where the power of Christ comes in. There is, quite simply, no way to send those thoughts packing without the power of Christ through the Holy Spirit. In Christ, however, we find it possible to simply notice all that is going on in our mind, and allow only what is Christly to stick around.
It's a pretty frightening time in our nation's economic history. All around us, people are losing their jobs, at least here in Elkhart. Older folks are putting off retirement out of necessity. Younger ones feel insecure. The election has brought out the usual nasty rhetoric. There is not a lot of hope amongst the masses.
I could focus on that. Or I could remember the value of Philippians 4:8 - 'Whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable -- if anything is excellent or praiseworthy -- think about these things.'
How about this? From now on, I pray only positive. Instead of what I don't want, I will ask for what I do. Instead of noticing the failures, the stupidity, the negative, I'll give thanks for those things that lead me to my goal. A free country (isn't it awesome that we can have dialogs in public?); a prosperous community (isn't it so cool that we all have food on our table and there are so many generous people sharing their wealth?); a bright future (God promises when we pray he'll give us good things - bread, not stones).
Ok, it might sound corny to you. Still, why not? What is there, really, to lose? After all, anything worth doing is worth doing poorly! I want to be a person who works for God's good, bringing Christ near to others. I will let him train me to think and live in his Way. Who knows what he will make of me?
It made me laugh. Just try something, anything. Don't wait until you can do it perfectly, or exactly, just do something. That's is the polar opposite of my usual train of thought.
Our thoughts are powerful. It's no wonder Kathleen Norris, in her newest book Acedia and Me notes that the seven deadly sins used to be called the eight bad (or tempting, perhaps) thoughts. The earliest Christians who wrote about their lives spoke often of how to overcome these thoughts. Their writings describe internal struggle, and what treasure they had found in learning to marshall their thought-life toward God.
Today I was feeling very 'beaten' by a sinus infection, Randy being gone, some bad news from friends and a busy week to come. Sitting in my class at the hospital, I was challenged to think about what I want to be, instead of what I am not. Ponder that for a moment. The leader reminded us we need more time to think than we usually allow ourselves. "So sit in your chair, take deep, wonderful breaths, and think," she invited.
I thought of all things I want to be, and it was incredible to note the amount of energy that simply flooded through me when I stopped focusing on what I wasn't (feeling well, to start with) and started thinking about what I want (to be healthy, to start with). I honestly felt more awake, less sick, more hopeful.
While we don't control which thoughts float in and out of our consciousness, we do control which ones we allow to live there. That, I think, is where the power of Christ comes in. There is, quite simply, no way to send those thoughts packing without the power of Christ through the Holy Spirit. In Christ, however, we find it possible to simply notice all that is going on in our mind, and allow only what is Christly to stick around.
It's a pretty frightening time in our nation's economic history. All around us, people are losing their jobs, at least here in Elkhart. Older folks are putting off retirement out of necessity. Younger ones feel insecure. The election has brought out the usual nasty rhetoric. There is not a lot of hope amongst the masses.
I could focus on that. Or I could remember the value of Philippians 4:8 - 'Whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable -- if anything is excellent or praiseworthy -- think about these things.'
How about this? From now on, I pray only positive. Instead of what I don't want, I will ask for what I do. Instead of noticing the failures, the stupidity, the negative, I'll give thanks for those things that lead me to my goal. A free country (isn't it awesome that we can have dialogs in public?); a prosperous community (isn't it so cool that we all have food on our table and there are so many generous people sharing their wealth?); a bright future (God promises when we pray he'll give us good things - bread, not stones).
Ok, it might sound corny to you. Still, why not? What is there, really, to lose? After all, anything worth doing is worth doing poorly! I want to be a person who works for God's good, bringing Christ near to others. I will let him train me to think and live in his Way. Who knows what he will make of me?
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
Question and Answer
Answers. I like them. According to all tests, I'm a J on the Myers-Briggs, so I like decisions to be clear (and preferrably made quickly). I like to be right. I like to know the answers.
Only I don't think life is conducive to that, very often. One of my wise friends says to assume God is sending what we ask for or something better. My optimistic self wants to believe that, but then I think about the Jews and the Holocaust, and I wonder. No answers. Job didn't really get answers to his questions either. All he wanted was to have his day in God's court, I suppose to accuse God. What he got was God accusing him, nailing him with questions. Not answers.
Moses asks God how to tell the Israelites who God is. God just says "I am that I am." Not really an answer. We have turned that cryptic response into a name - Yahweh or Jehovah - but it's still not really clear, is it?
Why did the Levite chop his concubine into pieces? What were you thinking then, God? Were you behind that grisly effort? What was the reasoning behind Lot sending his daughters out to be raped instead of the heavenly visitor? Were you there with them?
How do I help the couple who comes to me, on disability, addicted to tobacco, $2000 behind in their rent? How do we work for the improved economy of Elkhart, what can you say to the thousands of people here who have no work and no prospects? What will happen when the unemployment runs out?
That doesn't even include cancer (something God created? a mutation? what purpose does it serve?) and child abuse.
My Jewish friend asks, "If Jesus was really the Messiah, why are people still dying? Don't you Christians think he conquered death?"
I don't have an answer - I am sure there is a theologically sound one, but it won't really answer him. He wants to SEE the resurrection, and I am no different. We both want answers. All we ever get is faith. All the Jews in the Holocaust got was faith. God just doesn't give us the answers we crave.
Jesus didn't answer a lot of questions; in fact, he asked more than he answered, just like God in Job. Jesus didn't solve his disciples' problems or end poverty in their lifetime, though some commentators say the Devil gave him a chance. A lot of Jesus's friends ended up with many more problems because they followed him. Some of them died for it. Answering questions, making it all make sense, doesn't seem very important to God.
Not trying to be depressing. It's just life. Sometimes, there aren't answers. Jesus just gave us himself, without answering a single question. Maybe that's the way to live without answers. Maybe that's the way God intends it to be.
I have no answer for that, either.
Only I don't think life is conducive to that, very often. One of my wise friends says to assume God is sending what we ask for or something better. My optimistic self wants to believe that, but then I think about the Jews and the Holocaust, and I wonder. No answers. Job didn't really get answers to his questions either. All he wanted was to have his day in God's court, I suppose to accuse God. What he got was God accusing him, nailing him with questions. Not answers.
Moses asks God how to tell the Israelites who God is. God just says "I am that I am." Not really an answer. We have turned that cryptic response into a name - Yahweh or Jehovah - but it's still not really clear, is it?
Why did the Levite chop his concubine into pieces? What were you thinking then, God? Were you behind that grisly effort? What was the reasoning behind Lot sending his daughters out to be raped instead of the heavenly visitor? Were you there with them?
How do I help the couple who comes to me, on disability, addicted to tobacco, $2000 behind in their rent? How do we work for the improved economy of Elkhart, what can you say to the thousands of people here who have no work and no prospects? What will happen when the unemployment runs out?
That doesn't even include cancer (something God created? a mutation? what purpose does it serve?) and child abuse.
My Jewish friend asks, "If Jesus was really the Messiah, why are people still dying? Don't you Christians think he conquered death?"
I don't have an answer - I am sure there is a theologically sound one, but it won't really answer him. He wants to SEE the resurrection, and I am no different. We both want answers. All we ever get is faith. All the Jews in the Holocaust got was faith. God just doesn't give us the answers we crave.
Jesus didn't answer a lot of questions; in fact, he asked more than he answered, just like God in Job. Jesus didn't solve his disciples' problems or end poverty in their lifetime, though some commentators say the Devil gave him a chance. A lot of Jesus's friends ended up with many more problems because they followed him. Some of them died for it. Answering questions, making it all make sense, doesn't seem very important to God.
Not trying to be depressing. It's just life. Sometimes, there aren't answers. Jesus just gave us himself, without answering a single question. Maybe that's the way to live without answers. Maybe that's the way God intends it to be.
I have no answer for that, either.
Friday, October 10, 2008
You Who Never Bore a Child
Sometimes, the old prophecies come true, right before our very eyes. Isaiah wrote millennia ago: "'Sing barren woman, you who never bore a child; burst into song, shout for joy, you who were never in labor; because more are the children of the desolate woman than of her who has a husband,' says the LORD." (Isaiah 54:1).
I have 2 children to raise. Much of my time and energy goes to training, influencing, shaping, loving these 2. My friends who have no biological or adopted children, in contrast, have hundreds of children. One friend, a pastor, I have watched struggle with the reality that she would never bear a child. She wanted very much to marry, to raise a family. She wanted even more to please God, and his call on her life moved her in directions away from marriage and parenthood. It broke her heart for a time, and I grieved with her, even while I watched her pour out her life to help the youth in the church we served together.
Another, a missionary, is married but she and her husband have made a conscious choice not to have children. She has never shared with me those discussions. I don't know her heart. But I do know that hundreds of families are stronger, more secure, and more aware of God's love because of her work. She is able to serve in her mission with unreserved passion, because she does not have to hold some back for those who wait at home.
In Old Testament times, these women would have been considered cursed. Children were social security, they were future, they were signs of status and bonds to cement marriages. In many ways, they are all those things today. Some women so yearn for children that they do not feel whole without them. Others find marriages breaking under the weight of unrequited hope. I have counseled 'barren' women so sure that God has somehow cursed them for past mistakes and decisions that they feel utterly abandoned by God.
Yet Isaiah proclaims the opposite as he reassures the people of God and offers hope of a Messiah who will offer God's forgiveness, mercy and blessing. This may not be reassuring to the woman who sorrows for a child that never comes. Syncing our lives to what happens when it is not what we asked for is a surrender that doesn't come easily to anyone, let alone the woman who has convinced herself that God or her own past has cursed her life.
Isaiah's prophecy is an invitation to see things through the eyes of a Messiah yet to come, to envision a world turned on its head by the arrival of God's Chosen One. When I look through Jesus, I see my women friends have many more children than I could ever hope to raise. Nieces and nephews receive their love, grace and attention. Youth and adults where they serve are trained and influenced, enveloped in love and given a future.
To be sure, my so-called barren friends do not take children home with them at night (very often). No infant kicks them from the inside, or calls them 'Mama.' There is grief in that for those who long for it. I don't mean to belittle the desires and hopes that life sometimes dashes for us, though I pray that those who bear heavy senses of cursedness will find their hearts and minds lifted by truth.
As Christians, let's celebrate these 'barren' women of God! Let's thank them for their ministries, let's be sure they don't lack for thanks and hugs and smiles and friends. Though Isaiah's words are metaphor, they are also very real and true. Children do not make women blessed. God does, and all too often, his blessings flow through women who offer God their desires, their present and future, their time and energy to bless the world.
I have 2 children to raise. Much of my time and energy goes to training, influencing, shaping, loving these 2. My friends who have no biological or adopted children, in contrast, have hundreds of children. One friend, a pastor, I have watched struggle with the reality that she would never bear a child. She wanted very much to marry, to raise a family. She wanted even more to please God, and his call on her life moved her in directions away from marriage and parenthood. It broke her heart for a time, and I grieved with her, even while I watched her pour out her life to help the youth in the church we served together.
Another, a missionary, is married but she and her husband have made a conscious choice not to have children. She has never shared with me those discussions. I don't know her heart. But I do know that hundreds of families are stronger, more secure, and more aware of God's love because of her work. She is able to serve in her mission with unreserved passion, because she does not have to hold some back for those who wait at home.
In Old Testament times, these women would have been considered cursed. Children were social security, they were future, they were signs of status and bonds to cement marriages. In many ways, they are all those things today. Some women so yearn for children that they do not feel whole without them. Others find marriages breaking under the weight of unrequited hope. I have counseled 'barren' women so sure that God has somehow cursed them for past mistakes and decisions that they feel utterly abandoned by God.
Yet Isaiah proclaims the opposite as he reassures the people of God and offers hope of a Messiah who will offer God's forgiveness, mercy and blessing. This may not be reassuring to the woman who sorrows for a child that never comes. Syncing our lives to what happens when it is not what we asked for is a surrender that doesn't come easily to anyone, let alone the woman who has convinced herself that God or her own past has cursed her life.
Isaiah's prophecy is an invitation to see things through the eyes of a Messiah yet to come, to envision a world turned on its head by the arrival of God's Chosen One. When I look through Jesus, I see my women friends have many more children than I could ever hope to raise. Nieces and nephews receive their love, grace and attention. Youth and adults where they serve are trained and influenced, enveloped in love and given a future.
To be sure, my so-called barren friends do not take children home with them at night (very often). No infant kicks them from the inside, or calls them 'Mama.' There is grief in that for those who long for it. I don't mean to belittle the desires and hopes that life sometimes dashes for us, though I pray that those who bear heavy senses of cursedness will find their hearts and minds lifted by truth.
As Christians, let's celebrate these 'barren' women of God! Let's thank them for their ministries, let's be sure they don't lack for thanks and hugs and smiles and friends. Though Isaiah's words are metaphor, they are also very real and true. Children do not make women blessed. God does, and all too often, his blessings flow through women who offer God their desires, their present and future, their time and energy to bless the world.
Saturday, October 4, 2008
Good Day
These are the golden days, I know. Quiet Saturdays, sleeping in. First frost sparkling in the morning sun. Maia up early to watch TV, James asleep on the bedroom floor (that's another story!). Kitty curled up in her place. Randy stretched out in blissful unawareness.
These are the golden days. It won't be long before band contests and sports and school activities wake us early for long days on the run or the road. All too soon, friends and social events trump family most of the time. My friend Kim reminds me, as she sends her oldest off to college, that the day of separation comes sooner than later.
We are all four healthy, and we are here. So this morning, I'm delighting in the gift of a golden day.
These are the golden days. It won't be long before band contests and sports and school activities wake us early for long days on the run or the road. All too soon, friends and social events trump family most of the time. My friend Kim reminds me, as she sends her oldest off to college, that the day of separation comes sooner than later.
We are all four healthy, and we are here. So this morning, I'm delighting in the gift of a golden day.
Thursday, October 2, 2008
I've been thinking a lot about church. Well, duh, I work in a church. But seriously, someone asked me this week if I thought someone can be a Christian without being part of a church.
That is hard for me to answer. I could go all theological, I suppose. I'd rather tell you a story.
When I was 3 weeks old, my parents brought me to Star City Methodist Church to be baptized. Throughout my childhood, we were there almost every Sunday. Sunday School, Vacation Bible School, youth ministry, camping, music - all that made up a huge part of my life. Now, there were weeks, as a teenager, when my friends and I would skip Sunday School and go down to Groom's Drugstore for a vanilla coke. For me, that was church too, slipping past our parents, hanging with my friends. We knew we'd only get away with it for a week or so before our dads pulled in the reigns, but the week was glorious.
At Star City, I played guitar and organ, I sang, I helped with the little kids. There, I learned that part of being Christian is loving some pretty nutty people, and that you don't just walk away from people because you don't like them. My gifts, imperfect and unformed, were welcomed. My time was useful. I mattered, but no more nor less than anyone else.
In many places in my life, I did not feel that same message. Awkward, stubborn, overweight, introverted, mostly scared most of the time, posturing to cover how awful I felt - that was my life. But church? They loved me, they corrected me, they treated me like someone. They were Jesus to me, and they helped me become less awkward, less stubborn, more whole, definitely loved.
Christ, through his church, saved me. When I was an anxious single schoolteacher, the church became my haven and provided me a motley crew of friends. When our daughters died, it was the church that brought us meals and let us cry on their shoulders. The church has brought Jesus closer to me at more times than any other single thing. The church has made me who I am, helped me become more than I ever would have been without it.
So, how could I not believe Church is crucial (pun intended) to being a Christian? I know that some people have negative experiences at church, heart-breaking events that push them farther from God. Their experience of Christ's body has led them to hope and pray that being part of the Church is not necessary for them to follow Jesus. I don't judge that. I can only say what I know. For me, the Church - the people of God - has been Jesus in significant ways.
Now, we may want to debate the necessity of attending worship. Or serving. Or learning. But the church? Jesus saved me through his People. How could I want any less for anyone else?
That is hard for me to answer. I could go all theological, I suppose. I'd rather tell you a story.
When I was 3 weeks old, my parents brought me to Star City Methodist Church to be baptized. Throughout my childhood, we were there almost every Sunday. Sunday School, Vacation Bible School, youth ministry, camping, music - all that made up a huge part of my life. Now, there were weeks, as a teenager, when my friends and I would skip Sunday School and go down to Groom's Drugstore for a vanilla coke. For me, that was church too, slipping past our parents, hanging with my friends. We knew we'd only get away with it for a week or so before our dads pulled in the reigns, but the week was glorious.
At Star City, I played guitar and organ, I sang, I helped with the little kids. There, I learned that part of being Christian is loving some pretty nutty people, and that you don't just walk away from people because you don't like them. My gifts, imperfect and unformed, were welcomed. My time was useful. I mattered, but no more nor less than anyone else.
In many places in my life, I did not feel that same message. Awkward, stubborn, overweight, introverted, mostly scared most of the time, posturing to cover how awful I felt - that was my life. But church? They loved me, they corrected me, they treated me like someone. They were Jesus to me, and they helped me become less awkward, less stubborn, more whole, definitely loved.
Christ, through his church, saved me. When I was an anxious single schoolteacher, the church became my haven and provided me a motley crew of friends. When our daughters died, it was the church that brought us meals and let us cry on their shoulders. The church has brought Jesus closer to me at more times than any other single thing. The church has made me who I am, helped me become more than I ever would have been without it.
So, how could I not believe Church is crucial (pun intended) to being a Christian? I know that some people have negative experiences at church, heart-breaking events that push them farther from God. Their experience of Christ's body has led them to hope and pray that being part of the Church is not necessary for them to follow Jesus. I don't judge that. I can only say what I know. For me, the Church - the people of God - has been Jesus in significant ways.
Now, we may want to debate the necessity of attending worship. Or serving. Or learning. But the church? Jesus saved me through his People. How could I want any less for anyone else?
Monday, September 29, 2008
Food Pantry Lessons
Our church, Trinity, rallied this weekend to provide food for our local food pantry. Kids collected food on Saturday at a party. The church gathered for worship and brought boxes and boxes of goods. The Focus Adult Sunday School class wrapped up a month of their Bucket Brigade to collect money (the food pantry can generally get four times the purchasing power from money than we can). Last night, the junior high youth, with assistance from parents and Dave the truck driver, unloaded all those cans and boxes and bags at the food pantry, and began to stock the shelves.
150 families a day are using the food pantry. They can select 15 items (2 damaged cans count as 1 item) each month, equaling about $100. 15 items. As Shari, one of the parent drivers said, it's like going through the express lane. Once a month.
What 15 items would you choose? If you only had 15 things to last you a month, would you get the bag of dried beans, or the baby cereal, or the diapers, or the deodorant? What would your priorities be, if you found yourself in this situation?
I wondered. Would I get a boxed brownie mix, so my kids could have a treat in the otherwise bleak situation? Or would I be practical and get oatmeal, peanut butter, a large bag of noodles? Would a decision to use conditioner on my hair deprive my family of food? Can we squeeze a little more out of the tube of toothpaste so we can have some boxed cereal?
I don't have to make such choices, but many people do. I have other choices to make. How will I respond to the need that is in the world? If we really believe Jesus, then whatever we do to these 'little ones,' we do to Jesus. My choice is to decide how to respond.
God, grant me generosity to make the choices that are mine, to bring what I can to the collection site, even when no one is sponsoring a drive to encourage me. Have compassion on those who find themselves walking the aisle of the food pantry, trying to figure out how to feed a family on 15 things. Have compassion through me.
150 families a day are using the food pantry. They can select 15 items (2 damaged cans count as 1 item) each month, equaling about $100. 15 items. As Shari, one of the parent drivers said, it's like going through the express lane. Once a month.
What 15 items would you choose? If you only had 15 things to last you a month, would you get the bag of dried beans, or the baby cereal, or the diapers, or the deodorant? What would your priorities be, if you found yourself in this situation?
I wondered. Would I get a boxed brownie mix, so my kids could have a treat in the otherwise bleak situation? Or would I be practical and get oatmeal, peanut butter, a large bag of noodles? Would a decision to use conditioner on my hair deprive my family of food? Can we squeeze a little more out of the tube of toothpaste so we can have some boxed cereal?
I don't have to make such choices, but many people do. I have other choices to make. How will I respond to the need that is in the world? If we really believe Jesus, then whatever we do to these 'little ones,' we do to Jesus. My choice is to decide how to respond.
God, grant me generosity to make the choices that are mine, to bring what I can to the collection site, even when no one is sponsoring a drive to encourage me. Have compassion on those who find themselves walking the aisle of the food pantry, trying to figure out how to feed a family on 15 things. Have compassion through me.
Friday, September 26, 2008
Sabbath-keeping
It's Friday, at the end of a week filled with work, church, kids' activities, homework, allergies, and assorted other normal daily things. Friday is my day off, sometimes it's Sabbath, sometimes it's Preparation Day for a Sabbath that runs from Friday evening to Saturday evening worship. This week, Friday is Sabbath because we have to be at church in the morning. Randy is off work today. The sun is shining. Kitty the slightly odd-looking bullish dog is napping beside me.
Nowhere we have to go. Nowhere we have to be. Nothing we have to do. It feels like heaven.
That's exactly what Sabbath is supposed to be - a foretaste of heaven. A day to live on God's time, to purposefully live at God's beck and call so that it seeps into the other six days and all of life becomes God-directed. A day of peace that spills over and makes us people of peace the rest of the time.
I looked forward all week to it, but the temptation to fill the day with shopping, errands, work is huge! There is always more to do. Stopping has to be a choice. No wonder God had to make Sabbath-keeping a commandment! Otherwise, we'll just do one more thing, try one more thing, slip in an activity or two, and before long we aren't stopping at all.
God commands me - us - to Sabbath. A rabbi Randy knows sent us a recipe for cholent, a traditional Sabbath dish. For Orthodox Jews, it is breaking the Sabbath to turn on a stove or light a fire. A fire kindled or a stove turned on before the Sabbath is allowable. So they have a dish called 'Cholent' which is started before the sun sets on Friday and cooks until Saturday mealtime. Crockpots are Sabbath-friendly, to the Orthodox Jew.
I joked about this last weekend. How much energy does it really take to plug in a crockpot or turn on a stove? Is that work? For the Jew, yes. Because even the family cook, be it Mother or Father or you yourself, should have the taste of heavenly peace. Since they also don't want to cause work for others, ordering pizza is not an option. So they put together the cholent on Friday, and let it simmer away.
We aren't going to make it as Orthodox Jews, and yet I want everyone I know to receive the blessings of deliberately choosing Sabbath. It is indeed a blessing, a joy, to cease from work and to not put work onto others. Choosing Sabbath takes planning and thought, it is a decision that doesn't happen by itself. And it does form me into a more tolerable and kind person the rest of the week. Why am I blogging on a Friday then? Probably because I like to! Still, after I finish this, I'm even turning off the computer, unplugging the phone, and simply being in the day. God is in control, and the world will survive without me.
If someone is actually reading this, I am going to pray that you find the strength in yourself to choose to keep a Sabbath. Stay home, cease from your work and fret, allow others the freedom to do the same, and rest in God's care and provision. It will be easier and even more blessed if we do it together.
You have to love a God who puts resting in the top 10 things he wants you to do with your life!
Rabbi Tovia's Cholent recipe
Boil one package of parley and some red beans and lima beans in water to cover for 10 minutes. Drain. Cover again with water, boil 10 minutes, drain. Do the same thing one more time. This will help with the gas, or so he says!
Fry some onions and place them with some olive oil in the bottom of a crock put. Put the barley and beans in the crock pot. Pour a can of vegetarian baked beans over the top. Add salt, ketchup, pepper and a few cloves of garlic to your taste. Mix it all thoroughly. Add some flank steak or stew meat. Add some sliced potatoes. Pour boiling water over the whole dish until the water comes to the top of the food.
Let it simmer away in the crockpot on low. Given how the Sabbath works in Israel, I'm guessing it cooks for 12-15 hours before they even attempt to eat it, but the recipe doesn't say. Leave the dishes until morning!
Nowhere we have to go. Nowhere we have to be. Nothing we have to do. It feels like heaven.
That's exactly what Sabbath is supposed to be - a foretaste of heaven. A day to live on God's time, to purposefully live at God's beck and call so that it seeps into the other six days and all of life becomes God-directed. A day of peace that spills over and makes us people of peace the rest of the time.
I looked forward all week to it, but the temptation to fill the day with shopping, errands, work is huge! There is always more to do. Stopping has to be a choice. No wonder God had to make Sabbath-keeping a commandment! Otherwise, we'll just do one more thing, try one more thing, slip in an activity or two, and before long we aren't stopping at all.
God commands me - us - to Sabbath. A rabbi Randy knows sent us a recipe for cholent, a traditional Sabbath dish. For Orthodox Jews, it is breaking the Sabbath to turn on a stove or light a fire. A fire kindled or a stove turned on before the Sabbath is allowable. So they have a dish called 'Cholent' which is started before the sun sets on Friday and cooks until Saturday mealtime. Crockpots are Sabbath-friendly, to the Orthodox Jew.
I joked about this last weekend. How much energy does it really take to plug in a crockpot or turn on a stove? Is that work? For the Jew, yes. Because even the family cook, be it Mother or Father or you yourself, should have the taste of heavenly peace. Since they also don't want to cause work for others, ordering pizza is not an option. So they put together the cholent on Friday, and let it simmer away.
We aren't going to make it as Orthodox Jews, and yet I want everyone I know to receive the blessings of deliberately choosing Sabbath. It is indeed a blessing, a joy, to cease from work and to not put work onto others. Choosing Sabbath takes planning and thought, it is a decision that doesn't happen by itself. And it does form me into a more tolerable and kind person the rest of the week. Why am I blogging on a Friday then? Probably because I like to! Still, after I finish this, I'm even turning off the computer, unplugging the phone, and simply being in the day. God is in control, and the world will survive without me.
If someone is actually reading this, I am going to pray that you find the strength in yourself to choose to keep a Sabbath. Stay home, cease from your work and fret, allow others the freedom to do the same, and rest in God's care and provision. It will be easier and even more blessed if we do it together.
You have to love a God who puts resting in the top 10 things he wants you to do with your life!
Rabbi Tovia's Cholent recipe
Boil one package of parley and some red beans and lima beans in water to cover for 10 minutes. Drain. Cover again with water, boil 10 minutes, drain. Do the same thing one more time. This will help with the gas, or so he says!
Fry some onions and place them with some olive oil in the bottom of a crock put. Put the barley and beans in the crock pot. Pour a can of vegetarian baked beans over the top. Add salt, ketchup, pepper and a few cloves of garlic to your taste. Mix it all thoroughly. Add some flank steak or stew meat. Add some sliced potatoes. Pour boiling water over the whole dish until the water comes to the top of the food.
Let it simmer away in the crockpot on low. Given how the Sabbath works in Israel, I'm guessing it cooks for 12-15 hours before they even attempt to eat it, but the recipe doesn't say. Leave the dishes until morning!
Thursday, September 18, 2008
I get a present from the Verizon Guy
The Verizon guy came today (his name is Phil). Our phone has been buzzing for some time. Phil showed me the outside box, and having determined it was a problem somewhere down the line, told me he was off to fix it.
I said something like, “Really?” and he looked at me strangely. “Don’t people you call to repair something usually repair it?”
Not always.
So I am sitting, watching Phil go from phone box to phone box in the neighborhood, trying to figure out where the problem is. He’s extremely diligent at his work. I want him to be right about fixing the phone, for his sake, as well as mine. His optimism and taking-for-granted-the integrity-of-repair-personnel attitude appeals to me. And it is, after all, a Friday afternoon. I’m probably his last stop. It would be good for this nice, positive guy to end the week on a success.
On the other hand, people I call to repair things don’t always repair them. Sometimes because they don’t try too hard. Sometimes because it’s just not repairable. Often because they can’t figure it out that day. They call in someone else, or forget about it. Sometimes they make us wait (which is why we do not do business with Comcast).
I really appreciate Phil the Verizon guy’s attitude and persistence. I intend to thank him and report his great attitude to his supervisor. As soon as he fixes my phone.
I said something like, “Really?” and he looked at me strangely. “Don’t people you call to repair something usually repair it?”
Not always.
So I am sitting, watching Phil go from phone box to phone box in the neighborhood, trying to figure out where the problem is. He’s extremely diligent at his work. I want him to be right about fixing the phone, for his sake, as well as mine. His optimism and taking-for-granted-the integrity-of-repair-personnel attitude appeals to me. And it is, after all, a Friday afternoon. I’m probably his last stop. It would be good for this nice, positive guy to end the week on a success.
On the other hand, people I call to repair things don’t always repair them. Sometimes because they don’t try too hard. Sometimes because it’s just not repairable. Often because they can’t figure it out that day. They call in someone else, or forget about it. Sometimes they make us wait (which is why we do not do business with Comcast).
I really appreciate Phil the Verizon guy’s attitude and persistence. I intend to thank him and report his great attitude to his supervisor. As soon as he fixes my phone.
You might get stuck
Kids make faces at each other. They make faces for no particular reason. My mom used to say, "Be careful what face you are making; it might get stuck that way."
Faces are not the only things that get stuck. I realized this week that if we react to life with complaints, bitterness, anger, and blame, we get stuck that way too. How we act and react when we are young become habits, patterns, that imprison us as we get old. If I'm grumpy and whiny now, how much more will I be when I'm older and have less energy to fight it off?
Someday, I'll be stuck. I used to think it was never too late to change, or at least that it wasn't too late until death. Now I am not so sure.
There's a poem by Jenny Joseph that a lot of senior women find inspiring. It's called 'Warning', and it begins: "When I am an Old Woman, I shall wear purple with a red hat that doesn't go, and doesn't suit me." Many of those senior sisters have formed red hat clubs, where they get together for the joy of friendship, wearing red hats and purple tops and crazy, gaudy jewelry. http://labyrinth_3.tripod.com/page59.html if you want to check it out for yourself.
Well, I doubt I'll wear purple, and I never did like hats. Instead, I am going to wear laughter and gratitude. I want my face to get stuck in a smile . I want to be thoughtful and caring. I want to be strong and opinionated, but also loving and gentle with both my strength and my opinions.
If I'm going to be stuck that way, I want to start now.
Faces are not the only things that get stuck. I realized this week that if we react to life with complaints, bitterness, anger, and blame, we get stuck that way too. How we act and react when we are young become habits, patterns, that imprison us as we get old. If I'm grumpy and whiny now, how much more will I be when I'm older and have less energy to fight it off?
Someday, I'll be stuck. I used to think it was never too late to change, or at least that it wasn't too late until death. Now I am not so sure.
There's a poem by Jenny Joseph that a lot of senior women find inspiring. It's called 'Warning', and it begins: "When I am an Old Woman, I shall wear purple with a red hat that doesn't go, and doesn't suit me." Many of those senior sisters have formed red hat clubs, where they get together for the joy of friendship, wearing red hats and purple tops and crazy, gaudy jewelry. http://labyrinth_3.tripod.com/page59.html if you want to check it out for yourself.
Well, I doubt I'll wear purple, and I never did like hats. Instead, I am going to wear laughter and gratitude. I want my face to get stuck in a smile . I want to be thoughtful and caring. I want to be strong and opinionated, but also loving and gentle with both my strength and my opinions.
If I'm going to be stuck that way, I want to start now.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Fire from Heaven, and other stories that I've never actually seen happen
I want it to be exciting.
Tonight, James and I were reading the story of Elijah, how, when Elijah asked God to send fire from heaven on the wet wood of an altar, God sent fire. James just looked at me. He has become a skeptic where God stories are concerned. James understands that God did a whole lot of stuff that's really cool, dramatic, fiery, BIG, exciting, but he doesn't believe God really does that stuff now. I want him to believe, I want him to be excited.
If I'm honest, I want to be excited, too. Passionate. All-consumed. On fire. Sometimes it is that way with God. Remember church camp? That was big! Remember the first time you knew, just knew, that a prayer you prayed was truly answered? Or the confirmation of a call? I do.
Passion is what we're preaching about at Trinity these days. Yet even as I hope for passion, I remember that all those exciting times, for Elijah, were preceded by many, many days of simply walking with God, not to mention some persecution and extreme loneliness. Before the fire rained down, he had to gather wood, after all, and tote the water for the whole production. The writer doesn't really tell us about all that.
I remember that my own 'passionate' moments were preceded and followed by a whole lot of ordinary days when little old church ladies were praying for me. They were surrounded by huge stretches of time when I put one foot or one word or one action in front of the other and did my best to stay open to the ever undramatic nudging of the Holy Spirit. Passion is big moments, sure, but it's also coming to God daily, reading his word and looking for him in it regularly, doing something for someone else often, listening to the wisdom of the Body, and being ready for the big stuff when it's time.
Dailiness doesn't make a good story, I suppose. Maybe the parts of the Bible that talk about fire from heaven and crazed wicked queens are for the child in us. We need them. They remind us there is such a thing as faith that risks death. God is so much bigger than most of our puny prayers. We're kept on our toes, turning the pages day after day, never knowing just where or how the Wind of God will blow. As we do the daily work, as we keep returning our attention to God, the altar is built for the time when fire rains down.
I've never been good at manufacturing adventure or passion or excitement. All I can do is keep returning to Jesus, walking with him, doing what I can do to build the altar. He took care of the fire for Elijah. I suppose he just might do the same for me, and James.
Tonight, James and I were reading the story of Elijah, how, when Elijah asked God to send fire from heaven on the wet wood of an altar, God sent fire. James just looked at me. He has become a skeptic where God stories are concerned. James understands that God did a whole lot of stuff that's really cool, dramatic, fiery, BIG, exciting, but he doesn't believe God really does that stuff now. I want him to believe, I want him to be excited.
If I'm honest, I want to be excited, too. Passionate. All-consumed. On fire. Sometimes it is that way with God. Remember church camp? That was big! Remember the first time you knew, just knew, that a prayer you prayed was truly answered? Or the confirmation of a call? I do.
Passion is what we're preaching about at Trinity these days. Yet even as I hope for passion, I remember that all those exciting times, for Elijah, were preceded by many, many days of simply walking with God, not to mention some persecution and extreme loneliness. Before the fire rained down, he had to gather wood, after all, and tote the water for the whole production. The writer doesn't really tell us about all that.
I remember that my own 'passionate' moments were preceded and followed by a whole lot of ordinary days when little old church ladies were praying for me. They were surrounded by huge stretches of time when I put one foot or one word or one action in front of the other and did my best to stay open to the ever undramatic nudging of the Holy Spirit. Passion is big moments, sure, but it's also coming to God daily, reading his word and looking for him in it regularly, doing something for someone else often, listening to the wisdom of the Body, and being ready for the big stuff when it's time.
Dailiness doesn't make a good story, I suppose. Maybe the parts of the Bible that talk about fire from heaven and crazed wicked queens are for the child in us. We need them. They remind us there is such a thing as faith that risks death. God is so much bigger than most of our puny prayers. We're kept on our toes, turning the pages day after day, never knowing just where or how the Wind of God will blow. As we do the daily work, as we keep returning our attention to God, the altar is built for the time when fire rains down.
I've never been good at manufacturing adventure or passion or excitement. All I can do is keep returning to Jesus, walking with him, doing what I can do to build the altar. He took care of the fire for Elijah. I suppose he just might do the same for me, and James.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Antonio and the amazing presence
Antonio came to see me a few weeks ago. He was born and raised in Aguas Calientes, Mexico. Grew up, raised a family, and ran a printing business there. One day, back in the 90s, he went to bed one night and when he woke up, the peso was worth 3 times less than it had been the day before. Everything cost three times as much, but pay did not increase at all. His business went bust. He picked up and moved to Elkhart, finding work in one of the many RV-related businesses here.
When he walked in our church, he was 63, and his plant had joined many others in closing their doors. Once again, he watches as the bottom drops out of his life. Antonio came to see if we had a Spanish Bible. We talked for a long time, his great Spanish and broken English, my Hoosier English and pitiful Spanish. We managed to connect. He wanted a Bible and a job, in that order. Not a hand out. He needs money desperately, but won't take anything. He wants to learn English, but wants work most of all. At 63, with little English, even his printing and computer skills don't mean a lot.
I want to help Antonio. Antonio helps me with my Spanish. I'm afraid all I have had to offer him was the Bible, some supper one night, and a warm welcome. I can't fix the economy.
Whenever I hear someone make a disparaging comment about Hispanics, or 'those Mexicans,' I cringe and think of Antonio. He doesn't give up, you see. He calls. He comes back. He checks in. Though he worked in an office in Mexico, hear he has only known hard factory work. At 63, most US Americans contemplate retirement. Antonio wants to learn English and work.
I hope, when I am 63, I am still so hopeful, still stretching my mind around new things, still able to get around and long to give what I can to the world. Antonio is my inspiration. I haven't helped him all that much. But Antonio, he has helped me.
When he walked in our church, he was 63, and his plant had joined many others in closing their doors. Once again, he watches as the bottom drops out of his life. Antonio came to see if we had a Spanish Bible. We talked for a long time, his great Spanish and broken English, my Hoosier English and pitiful Spanish. We managed to connect. He wanted a Bible and a job, in that order. Not a hand out. He needs money desperately, but won't take anything. He wants to learn English, but wants work most of all. At 63, with little English, even his printing and computer skills don't mean a lot.
I want to help Antonio. Antonio helps me with my Spanish. I'm afraid all I have had to offer him was the Bible, some supper one night, and a warm welcome. I can't fix the economy.
Whenever I hear someone make a disparaging comment about Hispanics, or 'those Mexicans,' I cringe and think of Antonio. He doesn't give up, you see. He calls. He comes back. He checks in. Though he worked in an office in Mexico, hear he has only known hard factory work. At 63, most US Americans contemplate retirement. Antonio wants to learn English and work.
I hope, when I am 63, I am still so hopeful, still stretching my mind around new things, still able to get around and long to give what I can to the world. Antonio is my inspiration. I haven't helped him all that much. But Antonio, he has helped me.
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Just grazing my life away
All my life, I've struggled with my weight. I remember being 4 and thinking I was fat, that my tummy was bigger than most people. Self-fulfilling prophecy or not, by the time a few years had passed, food was my solace, my friend, my god. Not just food, really. Eating it.
I have had no real idea, no true concept, of how little I really need to thrive. Large portions, lots of choices, and grazing combined with a dislike of movement led to the expected outcome. How many diets have I been on? I can't remember all of them.
When prayer didn't magically take away my desire for mass quantities of food, I felt pretty angry at God. Why would he leave me with this, what was the point? Why not take it away, why no sudden healing, no instant growth? The oxymoronic nature of it didn't really sink in until the latest attempt at curbing my desire to fill myself with food, food, food.
Instant growth. No such thing, is there? Most healing isn't sudden. Given the nature of our bodies, healing probably isn't meant to be sudden. The healings Jesus did, like the turning of water into wine, were 'hurry ups' of what normally takes a long time. Signs. Pointing to the one in charge of time and processes.
So, what has healed? I don't know the answer, but I can spot growth. Less judgment, more mercy. Less perfectionism. Less all-or-nothing, more grace.
I still struggle with coming home, wanting to fill myself up with food, having spent the day expending all the energy I have. Not knowing what to do with myself, I turn to food too often even now. Only now, instead of being angry at myself, I look back at what I've learned. I wouldn't wish this road on anyone, but I wouldn't trade it for anyone else's, either. In that knowledge is some measure of fullness. For now, it is enough.
I have had no real idea, no true concept, of how little I really need to thrive. Large portions, lots of choices, and grazing combined with a dislike of movement led to the expected outcome. How many diets have I been on? I can't remember all of them.
When prayer didn't magically take away my desire for mass quantities of food, I felt pretty angry at God. Why would he leave me with this, what was the point? Why not take it away, why no sudden healing, no instant growth? The oxymoronic nature of it didn't really sink in until the latest attempt at curbing my desire to fill myself with food, food, food.
Instant growth. No such thing, is there? Most healing isn't sudden. Given the nature of our bodies, healing probably isn't meant to be sudden. The healings Jesus did, like the turning of water into wine, were 'hurry ups' of what normally takes a long time. Signs. Pointing to the one in charge of time and processes.
So, what has healed? I don't know the answer, but I can spot growth. Less judgment, more mercy. Less perfectionism. Less all-or-nothing, more grace.
I still struggle with coming home, wanting to fill myself up with food, having spent the day expending all the energy I have. Not knowing what to do with myself, I turn to food too often even now. Only now, instead of being angry at myself, I look back at what I've learned. I wouldn't wish this road on anyone, but I wouldn't trade it for anyone else's, either. In that knowledge is some measure of fullness. For now, it is enough.
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Pray for the children
James finished his 5th day of kindergarten today, with the expected exhaustion resulting in a tantrum of massive proportion. Thank you, Jesus, for once I responded with grace and calm. After a tussle in the shower, we curled up on my bed for a story and a snuggle.
He wanted to tell me a story (which means it didn't really happen but he has been thinking about it). In his story, a bully pushed him in the gravel of the playground. "Why do kids push other kids?" he asked at the end of the story. We had just finished a book with a word about God's protection, and he said, "It's not true. God doesn't protect me from bullies."
I listened to him spinning more of the story, and responded that God is not like a Power Ranger, blowing up bad guys, because he hopes that the bad guys will become good guys, and they can't if they are dead. He looked at me with his big brown eyes and asked, "Mom, are bombs real?"
How I wished I didn't have to answer that, but I said that they are. He began to cry. "Why do people drop bombs on each other?" I tried to explain that they do it when they are at war, and he asked, "Do they drop them on children?" "Yes, where the war is, sometimes."
Tears were really flowing by this time. "Do kids get apart from their parents in war?" "Where is the war?" "Does the Devil get in people's brains, is that why they do it?" "Why doesn't God stop them?"
By this time, my heart had broken wide open. I tried to think what to say, wanting so much to ease his obvious pain. "God doesn't stop them. He hopes they will listen to him but they don't want to. He stays close to the hurt people." Out of my mouth poured all the things that we Christians say to try to make it better when God seems so far away. Not enough to explain it away. We talked for a while longer, but finally all I could do was reassure him that there is no war in Elkhart and that I am going to stick to him like white on rice, that if he listens to God in his mind, he won't be one of the ones who hurts people. "We should pray war doesn't come here," he said.
Yes, we should, and for the children where the war is. For the children who maybe might grow up to hurt others because somehow 'the Devil got in their brains.'
God have mercy on us all. God help James, and Maia, and the children of their generation grow up to make peace, to be as passionate about nonviolence as so many are about violence.
He wanted to tell me a story (which means it didn't really happen but he has been thinking about it). In his story, a bully pushed him in the gravel of the playground. "Why do kids push other kids?" he asked at the end of the story. We had just finished a book with a word about God's protection, and he said, "It's not true. God doesn't protect me from bullies."
I listened to him spinning more of the story, and responded that God is not like a Power Ranger, blowing up bad guys, because he hopes that the bad guys will become good guys, and they can't if they are dead. He looked at me with his big brown eyes and asked, "Mom, are bombs real?"
How I wished I didn't have to answer that, but I said that they are. He began to cry. "Why do people drop bombs on each other?" I tried to explain that they do it when they are at war, and he asked, "Do they drop them on children?" "Yes, where the war is, sometimes."
Tears were really flowing by this time. "Do kids get apart from their parents in war?" "Where is the war?" "Does the Devil get in people's brains, is that why they do it?" "Why doesn't God stop them?"
By this time, my heart had broken wide open. I tried to think what to say, wanting so much to ease his obvious pain. "God doesn't stop them. He hopes they will listen to him but they don't want to. He stays close to the hurt people." Out of my mouth poured all the things that we Christians say to try to make it better when God seems so far away. Not enough to explain it away. We talked for a while longer, but finally all I could do was reassure him that there is no war in Elkhart and that I am going to stick to him like white on rice, that if he listens to God in his mind, he won't be one of the ones who hurts people. "We should pray war doesn't come here," he said.
Yes, we should, and for the children where the war is. For the children who maybe might grow up to hurt others because somehow 'the Devil got in their brains.'
God have mercy on us all. God help James, and Maia, and the children of their generation grow up to make peace, to be as passionate about nonviolence as so many are about violence.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
My children fight over me. For a moment of peace, I went to the front room and sat on the couch. Our son came in and sat on the edge, momentarily preoccupied with a plastic bag. His sister slipped in behind him, taking his spot next to me. A tussle ensued, all over who got to sit next to me. Finally, I expressed my displeasure of their fighting and they stomped away, united in their anger at me.
When they left, the dog came in and sat down in the place they both wanted. She doesn't fight, she just waits for an empty space.
I'm sure there's a lesson in there somewhere, but for the moment I am just sad that my children are in competition for my attention, or for their place, or for anything, really. Sure, my mothering could use improvement. Maybe I'm not handling it well.
So I pray, asking God to make them friends, to give them enough good memories to overcome the bad, to provide enough in common so that they can enjoy being together when they are older.
And then, Maia slips in quietly and deposits herself at the other end of the couch. Her brother dances in, a torn plastic bag making a laurel wreath around his buzzed head. His comic pratfalls elicit a giggle from his sister. Maybe there's hope. That's lesson enough for today.
When they left, the dog came in and sat down in the place they both wanted. She doesn't fight, she just waits for an empty space.
I'm sure there's a lesson in there somewhere, but for the moment I am just sad that my children are in competition for my attention, or for their place, or for anything, really. Sure, my mothering could use improvement. Maybe I'm not handling it well.
So I pray, asking God to make them friends, to give them enough good memories to overcome the bad, to provide enough in common so that they can enjoy being together when they are older.
And then, Maia slips in quietly and deposits herself at the other end of the couch. Her brother dances in, a torn plastic bag making a laurel wreath around his buzzed head. His comic pratfalls elicit a giggle from his sister. Maybe there's hope. That's lesson enough for today.
Saturday, August 2, 2008
Randy Gibson, Ph.D.
Today, my husband, Randy, receives his Ph.D. from Purdue University. When I think back over the last decade (really!), I feel a rush of pride in his achievement and gratitude to all who supported him. According to statistics, he shouldn't have finished. He did everything wrong, from leaving the area (for my work) to working full time in another profession to having kids. I'm sure there were many times he was ready to pack it in. There were certainly times I was ready for him to admit defeat. After all, his dissertation took him away from us, his family, on a regular basis as he read and typed in the basement office after work.
Despite the challenges, his dissertation turned out to be a blessing. There were pieces of it that blew me away, and one philosopher's thought in particular ('death is not a problem to be solved') and Randy's way of working that out brought some rather dramatic healing to my thought processes.
So thank you, Jesus! Thank you, family. Thank you, Purdue profs. Thank you. Where we go from here, only God knows. That's ok. Here is a wonderful place to be.
Despite the challenges, his dissertation turned out to be a blessing. There were pieces of it that blew me away, and one philosopher's thought in particular ('death is not a problem to be solved') and Randy's way of working that out brought some rather dramatic healing to my thought processes.
So thank you, Jesus! Thank you, family. Thank you, Purdue profs. Thank you. Where we go from here, only God knows. That's ok. Here is a wonderful place to be.
Friday, July 25, 2008
Hush My Mouth
I was reading James 4: 11-12 in The Message paraphrase of the Bible this morning. Eugene Peterson sees James as connecting how we speak of others with their destiny. Somehow, our 'bad mouthing each other' affects our future, where we're headed, what we're able to become: our destiny, as I said.
All the little comments we make about co-workers, friends, enemies, whomever, affect their destiny? Destiny is God's job, James believes. Who are we to mess with it by our mean words?
For me, this puts all kinds of things in a new light, from 'closing the door and hocking up a hairball,' what my co-worker calls venting, to the snide comments we make about the way someone else is living their lives. When I complain about someone, or criticize them to another, somehow that shapes who they become. It's as if, even for a few minutes, their path is blurred, or they are truly hurt, even if they don't know it's happening.
One of my co-workers, Kristen, proposed that everything we say should meet three criteria. It should be true. It should also be kind. Finally, it should be necessary. We'd certainly talk a lot less, and do a lot less harm, if we followed that advice.
No wonder James says the tongue is the most powerful thing! Now, dear God, today hush my mouth, until I can process what I say through your ears and heart. You are in charge of others, be in charge of me.
All the little comments we make about co-workers, friends, enemies, whomever, affect their destiny? Destiny is God's job, James believes. Who are we to mess with it by our mean words?
For me, this puts all kinds of things in a new light, from 'closing the door and hocking up a hairball,' what my co-worker calls venting, to the snide comments we make about the way someone else is living their lives. When I complain about someone, or criticize them to another, somehow that shapes who they become. It's as if, even for a few minutes, their path is blurred, or they are truly hurt, even if they don't know it's happening.
One of my co-workers, Kristen, proposed that everything we say should meet three criteria. It should be true. It should also be kind. Finally, it should be necessary. We'd certainly talk a lot less, and do a lot less harm, if we followed that advice.
No wonder James says the tongue is the most powerful thing! Now, dear God, today hush my mouth, until I can process what I say through your ears and heart. You are in charge of others, be in charge of me.
Monday, July 7, 2008
Summering in Indiana
There are far sweeter places, some say, than Indiana. It's true we have more than our share of flat in this part of the world. The winter's gray skies sour our spirits by February, and there's not much lovely to see unless Lake Michigan gives us another snow storm to cover the slush.
Summer in Indiana, though, treats us to glory. This morning I awoke to the ringing of the phone and my friend Mary Ann inviting me to pick blueberries. Throwing on some shorts and a t-shirt, I hurried into her van and off we went to the Blueberry Ranch, hoping to beat the thunderstorms and the birds. 40 pounds of berries and some great conversation later, Mary Ann dropped me off at home in time for lunch. Maia invited Kenzie, James invited Patrick, and Randy and I drove the crew to Ideal Beach.
Randy says it's not a real beach, it's only a lakeshore. On a warm summer day, the difference isn't all that significant. The kids played in the shallow, sandy water, dug for shells and rocks, and retreated to the play area occasionally. Randy and I waded too, for a while, then we walked and talked and watched.
Hot dogs and hamburgers on the grill were our supper, followed by the first blueberry pie of the season. Not the last, I hope. Most of the berries are nestled in the freezer for winter, but I have enough for one more pie stashed in the fridge. Weather permitting, I'll pick again this week or next, or both. Somehow, picking and preserving feeds my soul as well as my body and my family.
Could I give it today, I would offer to anyone and everyone the taste of Indiana blueberry pie, made with berries still warm from the bush. Savor it, let the berries burst open and fill your mouth with their sweetness. Taste the soil and the sun and the grace of God. If you can, eat it outside, in the equal sweetness of an Indiana summer evening, accompanied by lightening bugs, skeeters, and a gentle breeze. Hide this day in your heart, for those gray February nights when, light-starved, we long for a taste of joy.
Summer in Indiana, though, treats us to glory. This morning I awoke to the ringing of the phone and my friend Mary Ann inviting me to pick blueberries. Throwing on some shorts and a t-shirt, I hurried into her van and off we went to the Blueberry Ranch, hoping to beat the thunderstorms and the birds. 40 pounds of berries and some great conversation later, Mary Ann dropped me off at home in time for lunch. Maia invited Kenzie, James invited Patrick, and Randy and I drove the crew to Ideal Beach.
Randy says it's not a real beach, it's only a lakeshore. On a warm summer day, the difference isn't all that significant. The kids played in the shallow, sandy water, dug for shells and rocks, and retreated to the play area occasionally. Randy and I waded too, for a while, then we walked and talked and watched.
Hot dogs and hamburgers on the grill were our supper, followed by the first blueberry pie of the season. Not the last, I hope. Most of the berries are nestled in the freezer for winter, but I have enough for one more pie stashed in the fridge. Weather permitting, I'll pick again this week or next, or both. Somehow, picking and preserving feeds my soul as well as my body and my family.
Could I give it today, I would offer to anyone and everyone the taste of Indiana blueberry pie, made with berries still warm from the bush. Savor it, let the berries burst open and fill your mouth with their sweetness. Taste the soil and the sun and the grace of God. If you can, eat it outside, in the equal sweetness of an Indiana summer evening, accompanied by lightening bugs, skeeters, and a gentle breeze. Hide this day in your heart, for those gray February nights when, light-starved, we long for a taste of joy.
Monday, June 30, 2008
To a louse
As usual when preparing for a sermon, I find nuggets of wisdom completely out of context. I found myself face to face with Rabbie Burns this week.
"O wad some power the giftie gie us
To see oursels as others see us.
It wad frae monie a blunder free us
An foolish notion:"
It became a prayer, really. "Help me see myself, clearly and honestly." So many problems come from a lack of self-knowledge. I've watched many a person cause pain and suffering in those they love, simply because they are clueless about their own feelings, their own strength, their own ego.
Then I googled the first line, and discovered that the title of the poem is 'To a louse.'
A LOUSE!
Ach, Rabbie - wisdom in a louse. Wisdom for me, trying not to cause pain and suffering in those I love. Lice of all things. Maybe the world would be a far better place if we not only knew ourselves, but if we also took time to contemplate with such devotion small and ordinary things.
I'll put it on my to-do list: meditate on a louse.
Holy Spirit, you crack me up!
(Here it is, if you want to read the entire poem for yourself)
http://quotations.about.com/cs/poemlyrics/a/To_A_Louse.htm
"O wad some power the giftie gie us
To see oursels as others see us.
It wad frae monie a blunder free us
An foolish notion:"
It became a prayer, really. "Help me see myself, clearly and honestly." So many problems come from a lack of self-knowledge. I've watched many a person cause pain and suffering in those they love, simply because they are clueless about their own feelings, their own strength, their own ego.
Then I googled the first line, and discovered that the title of the poem is 'To a louse.'
A LOUSE!
Ach, Rabbie - wisdom in a louse. Wisdom for me, trying not to cause pain and suffering in those I love. Lice of all things. Maybe the world would be a far better place if we not only knew ourselves, but if we also took time to contemplate with such devotion small and ordinary things.
I'll put it on my to-do list: meditate on a louse.
Holy Spirit, you crack me up!
(Here it is, if you want to read the entire poem for yourself)
http://quotations.about.com/cs/poemlyrics/a/To_A_Louse.htm
Friday, June 27, 2008
Losing my temper, finding grace
Maybe it's the weather, or the stress of a long stretch of too much work, but my temper has really been short at home lately. Ask my kids, and they will tell you how crabby I've been. Then I wonder how much damage I'm doing by just losing it. Now we are just loud, all three of us. I have trained them to be loud.
In the midst of it, though, has come strange grace as Maia learned to sew buttons on scrap pieces of fabric and James proudly made basket after basket at basketball camp. They are really smart kids. perhaps that's part of the problem - I don't help them plan enough of their days, and then they go a little nuts and so do I, in a different way.
I prayed. Then today on my bikeride, a family from our church was outside in their drive. Mom and her two preschoolers played in a small plastic pool. Splashing and pouring and throwing water, they were all getting blessedly wet in the hot, humid afternoon. Mom. Playing with them. God shone a light on them, highlighting that particular parenting model so clearly it almost blinded me.
What a concept. Playing with the kids. Interaction. This is not me. I'm always in my own world, following my own agenda, self-centered to the core. Tomorrow (at least until I have to work in the afternoon), we are going to 1. buy fabric squares so Maia can sew 2. Play with bubbles 3. go on a bikeride 4. pack a couple more boxes from Maia's room 5. Get out some sidewalk chalk.
I'll be tired, but I can always sleep at night. Then Monday, I'm giving some thought to vacation planning. I'll have time to myself. But I'll also have times to give myself away.
In the midst of it, though, has come strange grace as Maia learned to sew buttons on scrap pieces of fabric and James proudly made basket after basket at basketball camp. They are really smart kids. perhaps that's part of the problem - I don't help them plan enough of their days, and then they go a little nuts and so do I, in a different way.
I prayed. Then today on my bikeride, a family from our church was outside in their drive. Mom and her two preschoolers played in a small plastic pool. Splashing and pouring and throwing water, they were all getting blessedly wet in the hot, humid afternoon. Mom. Playing with them. God shone a light on them, highlighting that particular parenting model so clearly it almost blinded me.
What a concept. Playing with the kids. Interaction. This is not me. I'm always in my own world, following my own agenda, self-centered to the core. Tomorrow (at least until I have to work in the afternoon), we are going to 1. buy fabric squares so Maia can sew 2. Play with bubbles 3. go on a bikeride 4. pack a couple more boxes from Maia's room 5. Get out some sidewalk chalk.
I'll be tired, but I can always sleep at night. Then Monday, I'm giving some thought to vacation planning. I'll have time to myself. But I'll also have times to give myself away.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Picking berries in the summer sun
We have three service berry bushes in our backyard. When a friend who landscapes told us that they were edible, even 'good on your cereal,' the kids and I would pick a few and eat them. They are tender, a little seedy, quite sweet and mild. Last year, we even picked enough to have berries and sweet milk one evening.
This year, James has been fascinated by them. I've caught him a couple of times in the evening, standing outside in his pjs, picking them for a 'bedtime snack.' I challenged him and Maia to pick enough to make berry crisp, and looked up service berries on the internet. Now we know they are also shadberries, juneberries and wild plums. We learned that the original people in this part of the world made pemmican out of them. I figured that must mean we could do something with them that would taste decent. The kids picked 5 cups worth, I adapted a fruit crisp recipe, and slapped those puppies in the oven.
Oh my! Heaven. It tasted very much like cherry crisp, only requiring much less sugar and with a few tiny seeds to crunch on. That didn't bother us. We gobbled it up. Today, we picked even more. Enough for two pies or desserts are in the freezer. We'll pick tomorrow evening as well. I expect to have enough for at least 8 desserts when all is said and done. They are ripening fast and within a week they will be gone. I experienced a deep satisfaction at 'living off the land' as my grandparents and great-grandparents did, making use of what is at hand and putting the harvest by for the winter to come.
There was regret, however. All this time, growing there in our backyard, was this bounty of berries free for the taking! I was thinking as I picked about scarcity and abundance. In these difficult economic times, it's easy to think that there is not enough to go around. Desperation and selfishness, fear and anxiety all follow on the heels of a mindset of scarcity.
We are used to having so much that when anything big or small is threatened or removed, we think there's not enough. But the berries reminded me there is enough to go around, the whole world over. We don't share well. We take more than we need. I'm so guilty of spending money on things that don't matter while others starve or struggle half a world or half a street away. I don't even notice the berries in my own backyard, as I hurry on earning money to somehow make ends meet.
God intended abundance, provided lavishly. Small graces especially abound. What will I do with this abundant life I've been given? Will I share? Hoard? Be greedy for more?
I do know that I will make serviceberry crisp again tomorrow, and I will prayerfully and gratefully relish each and every bite. Maybe it will taste better if I make enough to share.
This year, James has been fascinated by them. I've caught him a couple of times in the evening, standing outside in his pjs, picking them for a 'bedtime snack.' I challenged him and Maia to pick enough to make berry crisp, and looked up service berries on the internet. Now we know they are also shadberries, juneberries and wild plums. We learned that the original people in this part of the world made pemmican out of them. I figured that must mean we could do something with them that would taste decent. The kids picked 5 cups worth, I adapted a fruit crisp recipe, and slapped those puppies in the oven.
Oh my! Heaven. It tasted very much like cherry crisp, only requiring much less sugar and with a few tiny seeds to crunch on. That didn't bother us. We gobbled it up. Today, we picked even more. Enough for two pies or desserts are in the freezer. We'll pick tomorrow evening as well. I expect to have enough for at least 8 desserts when all is said and done. They are ripening fast and within a week they will be gone. I experienced a deep satisfaction at 'living off the land' as my grandparents and great-grandparents did, making use of what is at hand and putting the harvest by for the winter to come.
There was regret, however. All this time, growing there in our backyard, was this bounty of berries free for the taking! I was thinking as I picked about scarcity and abundance. In these difficult economic times, it's easy to think that there is not enough to go around. Desperation and selfishness, fear and anxiety all follow on the heels of a mindset of scarcity.
We are used to having so much that when anything big or small is threatened or removed, we think there's not enough. But the berries reminded me there is enough to go around, the whole world over. We don't share well. We take more than we need. I'm so guilty of spending money on things that don't matter while others starve or struggle half a world or half a street away. I don't even notice the berries in my own backyard, as I hurry on earning money to somehow make ends meet.
God intended abundance, provided lavishly. Small graces especially abound. What will I do with this abundant life I've been given? Will I share? Hoard? Be greedy for more?
I do know that I will make serviceberry crisp again tomorrow, and I will prayerfully and gratefully relish each and every bite. Maybe it will taste better if I make enough to share.
Saturday, June 21, 2008
My friend and I are always discussing the people who bug us. "Idiots," one of us will observe. After all, everyone should think like us! Usually the idiots think everyone should think like them. We know it doesn't help the world - it just helps us cope with people who challenge our determination to love.
I've found, though, that an hour on my bike in the warm summer sun, and it doesn't matter so much. Something strange comes over me. Not well-being, exactly. It's more like my body is praying while my mind is looking for potholes and shards of glass. By the time I turn the corner toward home, I am free of the worry and the stress. God is in his heaven and I am willing to let him do his job.
No other exercise has done this for me, to this point. What I'll do this winter, I don't know. Perhaps there are snow tires for bicycles?
I've found, though, that an hour on my bike in the warm summer sun, and it doesn't matter so much. Something strange comes over me. Not well-being, exactly. It's more like my body is praying while my mind is looking for potholes and shards of glass. By the time I turn the corner toward home, I am free of the worry and the stress. God is in his heaven and I am willing to let him do his job.
No other exercise has done this for me, to this point. What I'll do this winter, I don't know. Perhaps there are snow tires for bicycles?
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Healing Prayer
Writing a sermon on healing prayer challenges me. I am reading Philip Yancey's book "Prayer." He has good and interesting things to say and is, I'd judge, biblically and theologically sound. It's good to hear stories of people who've waited their whole lives for an experience of God, praying faithfully all that time, and only really 'connected' once. Good also to hear stories of people who weren't healed in the way they thought.
I prayed for years to be released from appetite for overeating, and for the polycystic ovarian syndrome that either arose from or caused that appetite (no one knows). Never happened. Still hasn't. But what I've learned is that I play a role, smaller some days than others, in releasing the raging appetite that plagued me for years. Perhaps that's an answer to my prayer for healing. Knowing that sugar sets me up for the desire to binge is helpful. Knowledge alone, though, hasn't proved enough.
What I've learned, I suppose, is that one never stops needing to pray for healing. For me, for the chronic nature of my dis-eases, healing comes with constant contact, with connecting to others who share the struggle, with honesty and with self-denial. It's not a sudden thing, but a constant thing.
The other thing is that, after a while, you get tired of praying for your own healing. It's boring listening to yourself beg over and over again. Pretty soon, I turn to praying for others, those I perceive as worse off (who but God can judge that), those whose faces or names come to mind. Strange, but that brings more relief, more wholeness than anything else I do in prayer.
I am not sure what it changes. Prayer isn't really about problem solving (as much as I wish it were). Prayer doesn't solve anything. It is more like entering a different world, and letting yourself become enculturated to that other place.
Whatever else can be said, James is pretty clear that if we're in need, we pray (and not alone). Jesus tells us 'When you pray' not 'If you pray.' So we keep at it, and try to ask faithfully, and once again fall on the merciful Spirit to translate our prayers into something intelligible to God. We are promised that when we pray, we will receive something good (Luke has Jesus telling us we'll receive the Holy Spirit,r regardless).
Nothing to lose, then, is there? Which doesn't make it easy, but that's another day.
I prayed for years to be released from appetite for overeating, and for the polycystic ovarian syndrome that either arose from or caused that appetite (no one knows). Never happened. Still hasn't. But what I've learned is that I play a role, smaller some days than others, in releasing the raging appetite that plagued me for years. Perhaps that's an answer to my prayer for healing. Knowing that sugar sets me up for the desire to binge is helpful. Knowledge alone, though, hasn't proved enough.
What I've learned, I suppose, is that one never stops needing to pray for healing. For me, for the chronic nature of my dis-eases, healing comes with constant contact, with connecting to others who share the struggle, with honesty and with self-denial. It's not a sudden thing, but a constant thing.
The other thing is that, after a while, you get tired of praying for your own healing. It's boring listening to yourself beg over and over again. Pretty soon, I turn to praying for others, those I perceive as worse off (who but God can judge that), those whose faces or names come to mind. Strange, but that brings more relief, more wholeness than anything else I do in prayer.
I am not sure what it changes. Prayer isn't really about problem solving (as much as I wish it were). Prayer doesn't solve anything. It is more like entering a different world, and letting yourself become enculturated to that other place.
Whatever else can be said, James is pretty clear that if we're in need, we pray (and not alone). Jesus tells us 'When you pray' not 'If you pray.' So we keep at it, and try to ask faithfully, and once again fall on the merciful Spirit to translate our prayers into something intelligible to God. We are promised that when we pray, we will receive something good (Luke has Jesus telling us we'll receive the Holy Spirit,r regardless).
Nothing to lose, then, is there? Which doesn't make it easy, but that's another day.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
What if it's all prayer?
Saturday afternoon, I went for a long (for me) bike ride. Hot sun burned my arms, warm wind kept the sweat at bay. I rode between fields of soybeans and corn, under the cooling shade of roadside trees, past farm houses and barns. Killdeers, the little fakers, called my attention to themselves so I wouldn't notice their nests. Passing me carefully, a few cars and pickup trucks went on their hurried way. I enjoyed the scenery.
Toward the end of the trip, as I relished the easy speed coming down from an overpass, I realized that I hadn't thought a single thing for some time. I, who so often lives in my head, had not one thought for at least 10 minutes. I just rode. As that thought crossed my mind, another was on its heels: what if this is prayer? What if this bicycle ride, this joying in the golden sun and the warm wind, is wordless prayer? At that moment, I was absolutely sure that the entire experience connected me to God.
What if it's all prayer? All that we do, all is connected to God? What if the good, the bad, and the ugly are all done in his presence, and it is OUR presence that is missing? Our absence of mind, our absence of attention, our absence of desire - these don't prevent prayer, but rather prevent us from realizing our prayer, God's presence? Prayer is always without ceasing, we just don't know it.
Toward the end of the trip, as I relished the easy speed coming down from an overpass, I realized that I hadn't thought a single thing for some time. I, who so often lives in my head, had not one thought for at least 10 minutes. I just rode. As that thought crossed my mind, another was on its heels: what if this is prayer? What if this bicycle ride, this joying in the golden sun and the warm wind, is wordless prayer? At that moment, I was absolutely sure that the entire experience connected me to God.
What if it's all prayer? All that we do, all is connected to God? What if the good, the bad, and the ugly are all done in his presence, and it is OUR presence that is missing? Our absence of mind, our absence of attention, our absence of desire - these don't prevent prayer, but rather prevent us from realizing our prayer, God's presence? Prayer is always without ceasing, we just don't know it.
Friday, June 13, 2008
A Beginning Commentary
Oh, the ego of it! That I might have something to say that the whole world has yet to hear is rather funny. Yet I am also reminded that if God doesn't use the broken, there is no one God can use.
Which means, of course, that you who read this might be in just the position to be an angel, a messenger of God, today. Do it! Bless someone, put good into the universe, bring a gift, offer encouragement, live.
Which means, of course, that you who read this might be in just the position to be an angel, a messenger of God, today. Do it! Bless someone, put good into the universe, bring a gift, offer encouragement, live.
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