Recently, I purchased an album for my iPod. A fairly large collection of music, I had been waiting for quite some time to buy it, so I was excited about getting it downloaded.
The next day, I was driving and decided it was a prime time to listen. The music was not there! Nothing, nada, zip.
Returning home, I emailed the Apple people and got a very kind reply. The instructions were simple: all I had to do was click a few times in the right places, and there was my music, just waiting for me. It had been there all the time.
And that is the way it is with me and God, all too often. Everything I need is already there. I wonder why I don't have what I need, when what's really going on is he has to wait for me to be ready, to step out in trust, to surrender.
It's already there. What is preventing me from receiving what God has for me today?
Monday, November 16, 2009
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Mercy, Mercy, Mercy
This week, there has been a significant amount of heartbreak in the larger circle of people where I live. I can't go into details without breaking confidentiality, but some of the heartbreak requires me to be a little bit 'harder-edged' than I am by nature. I watch people I care about fall apart, or lose what they had, or hurt someone, and my own heart yearns for things to be made right. "Fix it, God!" I want to yell. Isn't it justice I yearn for?
Maybe. In dealing with the difficulties, I discovered something hard to swallow. When I am trying hardest to be merciful, sometimes it is experienced as unfair or mean. I offer kindness, and it is received as judgment. I try to help, and it is interpreted in the most negative way. If a wrong throws the scales of justice off balance, then justice is to set them right. But sometimes mercy accomplishes the same balance, the same renewal and restoration.
What if justice and mercy are really the same thing experienced from two different points-of-view? The gavel bangs down and passes sentence on a criminal, and his life is shattered. Maybe it's a mercy to the people who might have been his victims. Perhaps it's even a mercy that he is not free to continue the life he was leading. When someone decides to bear with me instead of holding every mistake against me, that's certainly mercy. But isn't it justice too? If I show mercy, I'm still acknowledging a wrong, trying to re-set the balance that was lost when the wrong was done.
Sometimes when God seems harshest, or hardest-of-hearing - is that mercy but I just can't see it? Is he always offering mercy, even when the judgment seems unfair to me? Like my friend, who receives a merciful offer of healing thinks she is being judged, do I interpret what God sends as harsh judgment, when he is really trying to make me whole?
I do wonder. I believe the world would be better off with more mercy. If the cruel would show more mercy, justice would be done. If the unkind would show more mercy, their victims would be set free. If the perfectionists would show more mercy, they would find their own lives closer to perfection. Balance is restored in either case, isn't it?
I want to think about this some more. In the meantime, I want to be known as merciful, long to live out Micah 6:8. Something to work on, pray for.
Maybe. In dealing with the difficulties, I discovered something hard to swallow. When I am trying hardest to be merciful, sometimes it is experienced as unfair or mean. I offer kindness, and it is received as judgment. I try to help, and it is interpreted in the most negative way. If a wrong throws the scales of justice off balance, then justice is to set them right. But sometimes mercy accomplishes the same balance, the same renewal and restoration.
What if justice and mercy are really the same thing experienced from two different points-of-view? The gavel bangs down and passes sentence on a criminal, and his life is shattered. Maybe it's a mercy to the people who might have been his victims. Perhaps it's even a mercy that he is not free to continue the life he was leading. When someone decides to bear with me instead of holding every mistake against me, that's certainly mercy. But isn't it justice too? If I show mercy, I'm still acknowledging a wrong, trying to re-set the balance that was lost when the wrong was done.
Sometimes when God seems harshest, or hardest-of-hearing - is that mercy but I just can't see it? Is he always offering mercy, even when the judgment seems unfair to me? Like my friend, who receives a merciful offer of healing thinks she is being judged, do I interpret what God sends as harsh judgment, when he is really trying to make me whole?
I do wonder. I believe the world would be better off with more mercy. If the cruel would show more mercy, justice would be done. If the unkind would show more mercy, their victims would be set free. If the perfectionists would show more mercy, they would find their own lives closer to perfection. Balance is restored in either case, isn't it?
I want to think about this some more. In the meantime, I want to be known as merciful, long to live out Micah 6:8. Something to work on, pray for.
Friday, September 4, 2009
Kitty and the Inner Terrier
Go back as far as you can in the genealogy of Dog, and you will find chasing. Ours in particular, mostly terrier with a little bull dog thrown in, has a lot of chasing bred into her DNA. When we walk, if she spies a rabbit or a squirrel, something in her clicks, she connects with her inner terrier, and she pursues. That would be fine, but I want her to walk with me. When she is in 'terrier mode' walking with me is not possible! Sometimes, the prey she spies is that growling behemoth we call a Harley Davidson, and if she went after one of those, she'd be toast.
So when I walk with Kitty, she is on a leash. Her 'yoke of obedience,' I call it. Collar and lead allow me to help Kitty the Dog learn when to listen to the inner hunter. For her, it's pretty much only when the object of her desire is a toy that I've thrown for her. Most of the time, the leash keeps her safe, and it keeps us together. The leash, her 'yoke' is not the point. Being with me and alive is the point. The leash is just the tool I use to accomplish the goal.
I've had other dogs. One in particular, mostly cockapoo, was meek and gentle. He got to the point where he did not even need the leash. Being with me was more important than anything else very quickly in his little life. Kitty, however, is stubborn. She wants to be with me, but she wants to go her own way too. When 'terrier' in charge, she does not even notice me at all. I am there, hand on the leash, ready to pull her in if she does something dangerous. I seriously doubt if there will ever be a time when I can remove the leash completely and trust her to stay with me.
Some would say dogs would be better off in their natural state, if I didn't try to curb her, if I let her 'be herself.' But in this world, that won't work in her favor. She can't tell the difference between a Harley and a hare, and if she learned that lesson, it might well be her last. Besides, most of the time we enjoy eachother's company a lot. So we keep on walking, working, and learning together. Many miles of our walking now, the leash is slack and unnecessary. When my children argue about whose dog Kitty is, I point out to them that dogs always belong to the ones who walk with them.
The Laws God has given us are like a leash, I think. The point of them is to get us to walk with God. Some of us need more of a leash than others. The 'inner terrier' is so strong that we have trouble discerning which desires are worth pursuing and which lead to destruction.
Some of us get to enjoy the Master so much we need less of a 'yoke.' We just walk the way we are meant to walk. It takes time, but we come to belong to the One who walks with us and have no desire at all to leave.
Still in most of us is that 'inner terrier' ready to bolt. When we do run, it's time once again to submit to a little leash time, remind ourselves of the boundaries, feel the tug of the One who loves us and wants to be with us. Leash time for me is an accountability partner. It's 'rules' like 'Kitchen is closed after supper,' and 'do a good turn every day.' It's Law like 'Honor your parents' and 'Remember the Sabbath.' Then, after a while of keeping them, sometimes the leash goes slack and for a while, I'm able just to walk.
But not all the time, not yet. So for now I thank God for his Law and the rule of my life. And I thank God for holding the leash when my inner terrier goes wild after something that might hurt me or someone else. Walking with God is the point. He is the One I belong to.
So when I walk with Kitty, she is on a leash. Her 'yoke of obedience,' I call it. Collar and lead allow me to help Kitty the Dog learn when to listen to the inner hunter. For her, it's pretty much only when the object of her desire is a toy that I've thrown for her. Most of the time, the leash keeps her safe, and it keeps us together. The leash, her 'yoke' is not the point. Being with me and alive is the point. The leash is just the tool I use to accomplish the goal.
I've had other dogs. One in particular, mostly cockapoo, was meek and gentle. He got to the point where he did not even need the leash. Being with me was more important than anything else very quickly in his little life. Kitty, however, is stubborn. She wants to be with me, but she wants to go her own way too. When 'terrier' in charge, she does not even notice me at all. I am there, hand on the leash, ready to pull her in if she does something dangerous. I seriously doubt if there will ever be a time when I can remove the leash completely and trust her to stay with me.
Some would say dogs would be better off in their natural state, if I didn't try to curb her, if I let her 'be herself.' But in this world, that won't work in her favor. She can't tell the difference between a Harley and a hare, and if she learned that lesson, it might well be her last. Besides, most of the time we enjoy eachother's company a lot. So we keep on walking, working, and learning together. Many miles of our walking now, the leash is slack and unnecessary. When my children argue about whose dog Kitty is, I point out to them that dogs always belong to the ones who walk with them.
The Laws God has given us are like a leash, I think. The point of them is to get us to walk with God. Some of us need more of a leash than others. The 'inner terrier' is so strong that we have trouble discerning which desires are worth pursuing and which lead to destruction.
Some of us get to enjoy the Master so much we need less of a 'yoke.' We just walk the way we are meant to walk. It takes time, but we come to belong to the One who walks with us and have no desire at all to leave.
Still in most of us is that 'inner terrier' ready to bolt. When we do run, it's time once again to submit to a little leash time, remind ourselves of the boundaries, feel the tug of the One who loves us and wants to be with us. Leash time for me is an accountability partner. It's 'rules' like 'Kitchen is closed after supper,' and 'do a good turn every day.' It's Law like 'Honor your parents' and 'Remember the Sabbath.' Then, after a while of keeping them, sometimes the leash goes slack and for a while, I'm able just to walk.
But not all the time, not yet. So for now I thank God for his Law and the rule of my life. And I thank God for holding the leash when my inner terrier goes wild after something that might hurt me or someone else. Walking with God is the point. He is the One I belong to.
Monday, August 31, 2009
Things I've learned from my 'older brother.'
I've been reading a lot of Jewish books lately. Here is some of what I've learned:
Soul mates are made, not born.
Don't date someone who isn't interested in a serious relationship. There is no hope in it and much heartache.
If you think marriage is going to make you happy, you will be disappointed. If you think marriage is about blessing your spouse, you will never be disappointed and you will find joy.
The reason to pray at certain times each day and in certain ways is so that you will get in the habit of praying whether you feel like it or not. Anybody can be nice when they feel like it. Praying when you don't feel like it makes God smile.
The reason to eat kosher is not because it's healthier or better-tasting, but because it teaches you that you are not the Master. If you can recognize you are not the master of what you eat, you may just accept God is God of other things that really matter.
By the way, you are not the Master. A lot of the Law has been given to teach us that we have a Lord (he loves us, but he's still the boss). We may not understand every command, but even if we don't, that He is Lord is a lesson we can learn.
Wash your hands before you eat. Wash your hands after you eat. There is blessing in beginning, and a blessing in being finished.
Most of what I've read is pretty squarely in line with Christian orthodoxy. It's obvious we have some family resemblance. The words of the rabbis shed blazing light on the gospels, on Jesus, on his teachings, even though they don't see him as I do.
We have a lot to learn from our 'older brother.' I am grateful.
Soul mates are made, not born.
Don't date someone who isn't interested in a serious relationship. There is no hope in it and much heartache.
If you think marriage is going to make you happy, you will be disappointed. If you think marriage is about blessing your spouse, you will never be disappointed and you will find joy.
The reason to pray at certain times each day and in certain ways is so that you will get in the habit of praying whether you feel like it or not. Anybody can be nice when they feel like it. Praying when you don't feel like it makes God smile.
The reason to eat kosher is not because it's healthier or better-tasting, but because it teaches you that you are not the Master. If you can recognize you are not the master of what you eat, you may just accept God is God of other things that really matter.
By the way, you are not the Master. A lot of the Law has been given to teach us that we have a Lord (he loves us, but he's still the boss). We may not understand every command, but even if we don't, that He is Lord is a lesson we can learn.
Wash your hands before you eat. Wash your hands after you eat. There is blessing in beginning, and a blessing in being finished.
Most of what I've read is pretty squarely in line with Christian orthodoxy. It's obvious we have some family resemblance. The words of the rabbis shed blazing light on the gospels, on Jesus, on his teachings, even though they don't see him as I do.
We have a lot to learn from our 'older brother.' I am grateful.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
One choice
Thanks to my daughter, Maia, I've been listening to Toby Mac. A new release, something about a City on our knees (can't wait to get it, use it in worship, etc.) has these words: We are all just one choice away from together.
That phrase lingers with me, edging out other thoughts. One choice away from together.
Now, I don't think 'anything goes.' I have opinions and some of them are strong. There is evil and injustice in the world. We must not take it all lying down. I wouldn't want to be part of a church that accepted evil, or a nation that didn't try to do best by all the citizens of the world.
And yet, I would say that in our nation we have forgotten together. We have forgotten in our nation how to disagree and still care for one another. We have forgotten how to debate with civil tongues and orderly logic. We have forgotten that most of us love our nation, want what is best, and seek good.
Someone sent me an email today criticizing our President, and while it disturbed my peace, I was glad he sent it. I don't agree with everything the President does. For me, it's too soon to tell. My mother's experience with Medicare does not give me much hope for a government-run healthcare system, even though I want everyone to have healthcare when they need it.
Does that mean the President is my enemy? Hardly. I don't agree with everything my husband does, either. We disagree. We debate. Sometimes we argue and whine, kvetch and complain. We are not always on the same side and we don't always see things the same way. We don't attack each other, either, and we treat each other with respect. I still love him when we disagree because we are together in our marriage seeking what is best for our family and the world. Sometimes, his debating or disagreeing has led me into a much better way of thinking. Sometimes, I've brought him grace he didn't see coming. We are facing the same direction, committed to each other and to going forward as partners.
To our nation, I want to say, Let's TALK, for heaven's sake, rather than yelling and labeling and name-calling. People who disagree with us might turn out to be doing us a great favor. We can debate, and disagree, but can we please do it with respect for each other? Can we please remember we are in this boat together, and pushing and shoving is only going to jeopardize everyone's health, safety, and life?
Then, I think, maybe I need to say the same to the Church. Not so much my local church, but our denomination and the Church as a whole. If Christians yell and call each other names, label opponents with dismissing names, treat those who disagree as enemies, what hope is there for eveyrone else?
We are one step from together. Together is a choice. It doesn't mean we all agree, but I think it must mean that we treat those on opposite, or other, sides of the fence with basic human dignity. Sometimes, together might mean keeping a distance. Sometimes, it might mean confronting with a hard truth. But let those of us who follow Jesus, at least, choose 'together' over polarizing, name-calling, vicious attacks on our co-countrymen and women.
Randy often tells James to 'act like somebody.' I would challenge us who follow Jesus to do the same, only let that somebody be our Lord, and let us treat ALL who disagree as he has treated us.
We are all one choice from together - let it begin with me.
That phrase lingers with me, edging out other thoughts. One choice away from together.
Now, I don't think 'anything goes.' I have opinions and some of them are strong. There is evil and injustice in the world. We must not take it all lying down. I wouldn't want to be part of a church that accepted evil, or a nation that didn't try to do best by all the citizens of the world.
And yet, I would say that in our nation we have forgotten together. We have forgotten in our nation how to disagree and still care for one another. We have forgotten how to debate with civil tongues and orderly logic. We have forgotten that most of us love our nation, want what is best, and seek good.
Someone sent me an email today criticizing our President, and while it disturbed my peace, I was glad he sent it. I don't agree with everything the President does. For me, it's too soon to tell. My mother's experience with Medicare does not give me much hope for a government-run healthcare system, even though I want everyone to have healthcare when they need it.
Does that mean the President is my enemy? Hardly. I don't agree with everything my husband does, either. We disagree. We debate. Sometimes we argue and whine, kvetch and complain. We are not always on the same side and we don't always see things the same way. We don't attack each other, either, and we treat each other with respect. I still love him when we disagree because we are together in our marriage seeking what is best for our family and the world. Sometimes, his debating or disagreeing has led me into a much better way of thinking. Sometimes, I've brought him grace he didn't see coming. We are facing the same direction, committed to each other and to going forward as partners.
To our nation, I want to say, Let's TALK, for heaven's sake, rather than yelling and labeling and name-calling. People who disagree with us might turn out to be doing us a great favor. We can debate, and disagree, but can we please do it with respect for each other? Can we please remember we are in this boat together, and pushing and shoving is only going to jeopardize everyone's health, safety, and life?
Then, I think, maybe I need to say the same to the Church. Not so much my local church, but our denomination and the Church as a whole. If Christians yell and call each other names, label opponents with dismissing names, treat those who disagree as enemies, what hope is there for eveyrone else?
We are one step from together. Together is a choice. It doesn't mean we all agree, but I think it must mean that we treat those on opposite, or other, sides of the fence with basic human dignity. Sometimes, together might mean keeping a distance. Sometimes, it might mean confronting with a hard truth. But let those of us who follow Jesus, at least, choose 'together' over polarizing, name-calling, vicious attacks on our co-countrymen and women.
Randy often tells James to 'act like somebody.' I would challenge us who follow Jesus to do the same, only let that somebody be our Lord, and let us treat ALL who disagree as he has treated us.
We are all one choice from together - let it begin with me.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
God on a Train, the second day
On the second day of my 29 Days of Giving, the kids and I were scheduled to travel to Chicago. Randy was attending a conference; we would join him for a family weekend of museums and new experiences. Carefully, thoughtfully, we packed for Chicago.
After our suitcases were filled, we packed for the dog. Bedding, dish, food and treats... check. All ready. The guinea pig was watered, her hay strewn around and her food bowl filled to the brim.
Finally, there was the train. A long train ride requires something for children to do so we hatched a plan. The cookies we baked on the first day of the challenge would become the snack, and the gift, for the second. We made so many. Surely we could give them away to strangers, bring a little sweetness to the day. That would be an activity, along with books and Gameboy and a few small toys.
All loaded down, we drove away, dropped off the dog, and made our way onto the train. We felt lucky to secure a seat for for 4, with 2 seats facing the other 2. We settled in for the long journey. Maia buried herself in her book. James and I talked and watched for the time when we could give our cookies.
Half a dozen people rode in the car with us. We'd only traveled about 20 minutes when James was ready to get up and walk around. He took the bag of cookies and approached a couple, but they were fast asleep. Looking back for approval, he went to a middle-aged gentleman reading a newspaper. "Would you like a cookie?" His offer was declined. No one in our car wanted the cookies we had made!
James came back and sat down, defeated, and we went on with our activities until Michigan City. A the station, a woman boarded our car. Cafe' au lait skin, hair curled close to her head, she leaned on a cane as she moved slowly down the aisle. She sat just behind Maia. Then suddenly, she stood and limped back toward the train doors. By the time she got there, however, the bell rang and the doors slammed shut. The train pulled out of the station.
She looked so distressed as she inched back to her seat, mumbling and shaking her head. I wanted to offer her a cookie right then, but felt shy about intruding. When she got up to use the rest room, I decided to offer the cookie as she returned to her seat.
She gratefully accepted and sat down with a sigh, closing her eyes as she bit into the cookie. Looking up, she smiled at me, then got up again to sit next to Maia. The story came pouring out. She was on her way to take care of her mother in Chicago, who has Alzheimers. She had forgotten her cell phone, and in it was the name and number of the young man who would pick her up at the station to take her to her mother's home. She didn't know him, didn't know what to do. As upset as she was, she still chuckled at the irony of needing a cell phone when for most of her life, she had no phone at all.
Munching another cookie, she told of her siblings taking turns caring for their mother, of her son who had died and left boys for her to raise, of her daughter who joined her aunts and uncles in caring for a woman who needed attention 24/7. She sighed. She didn't know what to do.
It was simple to offer her my phone to call her daughter. Within 2 minutes, her daughter had given her the young man's name and phone number, my new friend contacted him, and it was all handled. Easy as pie. Or a cookie. She settled down and we talked more, about growing up in a 2 bedroom apartment with 12 siblings sharing one bedroom, about having nothing, and yet being blessed beyond measure.
That was the second day, the second gift. Only it wasn't a gift I gave, but a gift I received. A cookie is nothing, really. Some sugar, a little flour, a bit of chocolate. Seeing God at work on a train to Chicago, now that is a gift.
After our suitcases were filled, we packed for the dog. Bedding, dish, food and treats... check. All ready. The guinea pig was watered, her hay strewn around and her food bowl filled to the brim.
Finally, there was the train. A long train ride requires something for children to do so we hatched a plan. The cookies we baked on the first day of the challenge would become the snack, and the gift, for the second. We made so many. Surely we could give them away to strangers, bring a little sweetness to the day. That would be an activity, along with books and Gameboy and a few small toys.
All loaded down, we drove away, dropped off the dog, and made our way onto the train. We felt lucky to secure a seat for for 4, with 2 seats facing the other 2. We settled in for the long journey. Maia buried herself in her book. James and I talked and watched for the time when we could give our cookies.
Half a dozen people rode in the car with us. We'd only traveled about 20 minutes when James was ready to get up and walk around. He took the bag of cookies and approached a couple, but they were fast asleep. Looking back for approval, he went to a middle-aged gentleman reading a newspaper. "Would you like a cookie?" His offer was declined. No one in our car wanted the cookies we had made!
James came back and sat down, defeated, and we went on with our activities until Michigan City. A the station, a woman boarded our car. Cafe' au lait skin, hair curled close to her head, she leaned on a cane as she moved slowly down the aisle. She sat just behind Maia. Then suddenly, she stood and limped back toward the train doors. By the time she got there, however, the bell rang and the doors slammed shut. The train pulled out of the station.
She looked so distressed as she inched back to her seat, mumbling and shaking her head. I wanted to offer her a cookie right then, but felt shy about intruding. When she got up to use the rest room, I decided to offer the cookie as she returned to her seat.
She gratefully accepted and sat down with a sigh, closing her eyes as she bit into the cookie. Looking up, she smiled at me, then got up again to sit next to Maia. The story came pouring out. She was on her way to take care of her mother in Chicago, who has Alzheimers. She had forgotten her cell phone, and in it was the name and number of the young man who would pick her up at the station to take her to her mother's home. She didn't know him, didn't know what to do. As upset as she was, she still chuckled at the irony of needing a cell phone when for most of her life, she had no phone at all.
Munching another cookie, she told of her siblings taking turns caring for their mother, of her son who had died and left boys for her to raise, of her daughter who joined her aunts and uncles in caring for a woman who needed attention 24/7. She sighed. She didn't know what to do.
It was simple to offer her my phone to call her daughter. Within 2 minutes, her daughter had given her the young man's name and phone number, my new friend contacted him, and it was all handled. Easy as pie. Or a cookie. She settled down and we talked more, about growing up in a 2 bedroom apartment with 12 siblings sharing one bedroom, about having nothing, and yet being blessed beyond measure.
That was the second day, the second gift. Only it wasn't a gift I gave, but a gift I received. A cookie is nothing, really. Some sugar, a little flour, a bit of chocolate. Seeing God at work on a train to Chicago, now that is a gift.
Monday, July 27, 2009
29 Gifts
My friend sent me link to a page about 29 Gifts. Go to givingchallenge.ning.com which is my personal part of the site, but it will direct you to more information. The challenge is to give a gift a day for 29 days. It doesn't have to be cost money, or be a present per se. Just give of yourself.
My friend inspires me because I think this is how she lives every day. So in honor of her, I signed up and started my own 29 days of giving. I think this is a worthy challenge, capable of changing my attitude at the very least. Perhaps the world will also be blessed, and I think that's why we are here.
My first day was simple: I agreed to bake chocolate chip cookies with the kids. For me, that is truly giving from the heart. I don't like to bake with kids, even mine. They are messy and I am task-oriented. They argue, I lose patience, and it's not fun. Ever.
This time, I gave the baking of cookies as a gift to them. I made a little plan ahead of time, Maia with her jobs and James with his. It worked better than I feared. The cookies were baked and tasted (yum). The kids were tired of the activity long before I finished baking the last cookie and putting them all in Ziploc bags.
It was evening and it was morning, the first day. Only the first day. Big deal, you say. It's not like the first day of creation. It's not that huge. Well, let me say it was also the first day I baked with my kids and didn't get upset even once about the mess. The first day I went with the flow when they got tired of baking and simply finished the job myself with great joy. The first day I didn't complain about not being able to eat them because they have sugar in them. The first day I washed dishes after a baking episode and felt like singing instead of cursing.
One day. One gift. I was the one who received it, however.
I challenge you to give a gift a day for 29 days. I will write more of these. My friend is blogging on the 29 Gifts site. You can read hers, too.
Whatever our politics, whatever our personalities, there's not one of us without the possibility of bringing light into darkness or chocolate chip cookies into a sometimes sour world. Maybe the only ones who are changed will be ourselves. In my case, that's not so bad.
My friend inspires me because I think this is how she lives every day. So in honor of her, I signed up and started my own 29 days of giving. I think this is a worthy challenge, capable of changing my attitude at the very least. Perhaps the world will also be blessed, and I think that's why we are here.
My first day was simple: I agreed to bake chocolate chip cookies with the kids. For me, that is truly giving from the heart. I don't like to bake with kids, even mine. They are messy and I am task-oriented. They argue, I lose patience, and it's not fun. Ever.
This time, I gave the baking of cookies as a gift to them. I made a little plan ahead of time, Maia with her jobs and James with his. It worked better than I feared. The cookies were baked and tasted (yum). The kids were tired of the activity long before I finished baking the last cookie and putting them all in Ziploc bags.
It was evening and it was morning, the first day. Only the first day. Big deal, you say. It's not like the first day of creation. It's not that huge. Well, let me say it was also the first day I baked with my kids and didn't get upset even once about the mess. The first day I went with the flow when they got tired of baking and simply finished the job myself with great joy. The first day I didn't complain about not being able to eat them because they have sugar in them. The first day I washed dishes after a baking episode and felt like singing instead of cursing.
One day. One gift. I was the one who received it, however.
I challenge you to give a gift a day for 29 days. I will write more of these. My friend is blogging on the 29 Gifts site. You can read hers, too.
Whatever our politics, whatever our personalities, there's not one of us without the possibility of bringing light into darkness or chocolate chip cookies into a sometimes sour world. Maybe the only ones who are changed will be ourselves. In my case, that's not so bad.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Getting Organized
One of my goals for my leave, which I am gradually achieving, is organization. Doing a better, more faithful job, of organizing my time. Which also means having some systems in place to deal with all that starts coming our way with the beginning of school. I have the closet organized, the filing cabinet and several kitchen cabinets. I still have the play room, but that is a huge and all day project. In the meantime, I am also looking ahead to organize my days, to make sure I have plans to refuel in place, a system of re-creation that will fill me as life drains me.
As part of my leave, we attended a different church Sunday. Not a big deal to most people, surely, but to a pastor's family, it's definitely not a regular occurrence! Worshiping, learning, sitting 'at the feet' of another pastor - all were graces that took some adjustment to receive. God slipped a Word into my heart like a splinter. I didn't immediately feel it, but I have wrestled with its presence continually over the passage of time. It wasn't even the pastor's main point, just a transitional question. But I offer it to you, because perhaps it will give you something to think about - and it's always more fun to think together on something than just to chew on it yourself.
So here is the question: What system do you have to bless people?
I do believe one of our purposes as people who worship God is to share his blessings with the world. As human beings, we 'tend the Garden' of creation. As Abraham's faith descendants, we are to be a blessing to all the families of the earth. OK. So far so good. Our church makes a point of this, inviting the congregation to bless others through concrete acts of love and kindness. I make a point of it. I think I do. But systematically? A plan? Me PERSONALLY?
That I don't think I have one. I sort of bless others as it comes along, but I'm not terribly proactive about it.
The whole idea of blessing people dovetails with the organization of other aspects of my life. I've been receiving insights from flylady.net, a website designed to help 'sidetracked home executives' order their lives and their homes. "Flyladies" consider cleaning a 'home blessing' and invite others to look at their own tasks that way. Cleaning out my closet blesses my family. Having a shiny sink contributes to the good of the world because I feel better about life. Lack of clutter brings peace which naturally seeps out into our interactions outside the home. Flylady offers systems to make the blessings flow, so to speak.
OK, if you're into the traditionally more masculine side of things, the illustration may not hit you. Or maybe it just needs some tweaking to make the point. When I mow the yard, am I doing it to bless creation? What would it mean to do that? A neater job? A less polluting mower? When I cook supper, am I doing it to bless people? What would that look like? More nutritious food? Simpler, less expensive food that will allow me to share the bounty with others? Prettier place settings? What is my plan for blessing people? Is it giving money? Is it spending time serving somewhere? Is it creating something or recycling something or just being a little more patient with people?
I'm not sure what the details are matters as much as having a plan and carrying it out. Putting some attention in our ADD world into directing our ordinary life toward blessing others. My shopping - a blessing. My work a blessing. My rest a blessing.
What system do I have to bless people? Before I end my leave, that is a goal. I suspect it will help me say 'no' to some very good but beside the point things, and say 'yes' to God in new and adventurous ways.
As part of my leave, we attended a different church Sunday. Not a big deal to most people, surely, but to a pastor's family, it's definitely not a regular occurrence! Worshiping, learning, sitting 'at the feet' of another pastor - all were graces that took some adjustment to receive. God slipped a Word into my heart like a splinter. I didn't immediately feel it, but I have wrestled with its presence continually over the passage of time. It wasn't even the pastor's main point, just a transitional question. But I offer it to you, because perhaps it will give you something to think about - and it's always more fun to think together on something than just to chew on it yourself.
So here is the question: What system do you have to bless people?
I do believe one of our purposes as people who worship God is to share his blessings with the world. As human beings, we 'tend the Garden' of creation. As Abraham's faith descendants, we are to be a blessing to all the families of the earth. OK. So far so good. Our church makes a point of this, inviting the congregation to bless others through concrete acts of love and kindness. I make a point of it. I think I do. But systematically? A plan? Me PERSONALLY?
That I don't think I have one. I sort of bless others as it comes along, but I'm not terribly proactive about it.
The whole idea of blessing people dovetails with the organization of other aspects of my life. I've been receiving insights from flylady.net, a website designed to help 'sidetracked home executives' order their lives and their homes. "Flyladies" consider cleaning a 'home blessing' and invite others to look at their own tasks that way. Cleaning out my closet blesses my family. Having a shiny sink contributes to the good of the world because I feel better about life. Lack of clutter brings peace which naturally seeps out into our interactions outside the home. Flylady offers systems to make the blessings flow, so to speak.
OK, if you're into the traditionally more masculine side of things, the illustration may not hit you. Or maybe it just needs some tweaking to make the point. When I mow the yard, am I doing it to bless creation? What would it mean to do that? A neater job? A less polluting mower? When I cook supper, am I doing it to bless people? What would that look like? More nutritious food? Simpler, less expensive food that will allow me to share the bounty with others? Prettier place settings? What is my plan for blessing people? Is it giving money? Is it spending time serving somewhere? Is it creating something or recycling something or just being a little more patient with people?
I'm not sure what the details are matters as much as having a plan and carrying it out. Putting some attention in our ADD world into directing our ordinary life toward blessing others. My shopping - a blessing. My work a blessing. My rest a blessing.
What system do I have to bless people? Before I end my leave, that is a goal. I suspect it will help me say 'no' to some very good but beside the point things, and say 'yes' to God in new and adventurous ways.
Friday, July 3, 2009
Don't Try This At Home
"Why haven't you blogged in a while?" several friends have asked. Thank you, I didn't really think so many were reading it! My answer has varied from "Too busy" to "Nothing to say."
There is more to it, though, than that. This will be a long one. You might want to go get a glass of iced tea.
When I was in my early 30s, I was diagnosed with chronic depression. There's another name for it, which I've forgotten, but I was given the medication of the day and told to see a counselor. Because I was ashamed to be a pastor and have this problem, I found a counselor in a small city an hour away. I did not want anyone to see how weak I was. I did not want to be dependent on medication.
After all, my grandmothers were certainly depressed, and they survived, right? The counselor asked how they had coped. I told the story of my mom's mom, how she had been directed by the doctor to get up, get dressed and put on lipstick. That was all he had for her. I told the story of my grandpa, her husband, who had been raised by an alcoholic father and refused all alcohol because of it. When he suffered from depression later in life, the doctor prescribed (actually wrote it down) a beer every night so Grandpa could sleep. I told about uncles who drank too much, and my dad's extreme temper in the darker months of the year.
"If you could give them something to help them, wouldn't you?" she asked. "If you could provide just a simple pill that would allow them to function better, feel better, wouldn't you do it? If it was heart disease or diabetes, wouldn't you allow them the medical advancements we have made since they were alive? How is it different to take medication for depression now?" I couldn't answer. She was right. So I took the pill.
That particular medication didn't do very much that was healing and gave me a voracious appetite. I gained 40 pounds in a couple of months, but rather than go back and try something else, I just quit. I was convinced if I could just do the right things - eat better, exercise, pray more - I would be ok. Surely I, the pastor, the Christian, could solve this on my own.
There is more to it, though, than that. This will be a long one. You might want to go get a glass of iced tea.
When I was in my early 30s, I was diagnosed with chronic depression. There's another name for it, which I've forgotten, but I was given the medication of the day and told to see a counselor. Because I was ashamed to be a pastor and have this problem, I found a counselor in a small city an hour away. I did not want anyone to see how weak I was. I did not want to be dependent on medication.
After all, my grandmothers were certainly depressed, and they survived, right? The counselor asked how they had coped. I told the story of my mom's mom, how she had been directed by the doctor to get up, get dressed and put on lipstick. That was all he had for her. I told the story of my grandpa, her husband, who had been raised by an alcoholic father and refused all alcohol because of it. When he suffered from depression later in life, the doctor prescribed (actually wrote it down) a beer every night so Grandpa could sleep. I told about uncles who drank too much, and my dad's extreme temper in the darker months of the year.
"If you could give them something to help them, wouldn't you?" she asked. "If you could provide just a simple pill that would allow them to function better, feel better, wouldn't you do it? If it was heart disease or diabetes, wouldn't you allow them the medical advancements we have made since they were alive? How is it different to take medication for depression now?" I couldn't answer. She was right. So I took the pill.
That particular medication didn't do very much that was healing and gave me a voracious appetite. I gained 40 pounds in a couple of months, but rather than go back and try something else, I just quit. I was convinced if I could just do the right things - eat better, exercise, pray more - I would be ok. Surely I, the pastor, the Christian, could solve this on my own.
All I can say is, don't try this at home.
For the next several years, I wobbled along. Sometimes I got medication (different, more helpful ones) and sometimes I gave into the idea that I didn't want to be dependent. Sometimes I saw a counselor, and sometimes I didn't. It was a struggle. What's worse, Randy and then the kids struggled along with me.
I could hold it together for most of the day, but at home, where I could be myself, it wasn't pretty. Every small thing resulted in my getting angry, sometimes enraged. I never hit, but I certainly yelled a lot. I couldn't figure out where such deep rage came from, but it was certainly there a lot of the time. I grouched. I couldn't think well, my memory blew out the window. I lost my car keys, forgot to close the car door before I backed out of the garage, couldn't recall names and faces. It was as if I was living in a fog all the time, fighting my way through a thick, sticky mess just to be alive. I blamed Randy. Or the kids. Or my job. Or God.
When we moved to Elkhart, it all came to a head. The grief of leaving close friends and a church we had come to love sent me downward. I was desperate and went to a new doctor. I told the story, gave a list of the meds that had worked and those that hadn't, and recieved the same advice my first doctor had given 12 years before: take this medication, and see a counselor.
This time, it felt like life or death. Within a week, the fog in my head began to clear. Within six months, with an increased dosage, I felt like a new person. Thyroid medicine accented the improvement a year or so later. The things I knew I needed to do - eat well, exercise, hold my temper, pray - became possible again.
Fast forward to December 2008. A new medication was released, similar to what I was taking, but with fewer side effects. My doctor tranferred me to the new one, at a lower dosage, urging me to call if it wasn't enough. I'd lost 60+ pounds by then, was riding my bike and walking for an hour a day. Surely now I would be ok, I reasoned. The old temptation to 'do it on my own' came sneaking in the corners of my mind. Call it pride, or the Evil One, or just human nature, but instead of taking the new meds, I went off them all.
Don't try this at home.
January was hell for me and everyone else. I gave up that fight pretty quickly. I filled the prescription and took the new medication, but by April, I was feeling the fog, again. My memory was gone. I was scared to leave town, it was too hard to cope with the simplest stresses. Randy asked me to turn off the coffeepot, and I couldn't remember by the time I made it to the kitchen. It wasn't just that I'd forgotten. I really didn't remember him saying it at all. I started thinking I might have Alzheimers or some other disease. My work was affected, I had to write every detail down. When my PDA phone dumped my calendar a couple of times, I was genuinely lost. What's more, I had stopped exercising and craved the sweets that only made the cycle worse.
My doctor said, "Double the dose." I resisted, once again. Another doctor said, "It's just your age." Still another offered a neurological workup. It didn't make sense to me. If the dose I was taking was making me crazy, how could a double dose help? I remember having a conversation to that effect when I admitted to co-workers that my doc was adjusting the meds.
Finally, though, in desperation, I doubled the dose. 4 days later, I could think again. I could focus on a conversation without having to doodle. I could solve a problem. I could move myself off the couch and onto the seat of my bicycle. I could avoid snapping at my kids, instead listening to them before I formulated an answer. In other words, I felt like I could be myself again.
Why am I telling you this? Because it might be you. Millions of people suffer from depression and either don't know it or refuse to get help. My ancestors, and many today, deal with it by abusing alcohol, drugs, food, sex. Anything to get the fog to clear for a moment, or to numb the pain of having to constantly swim through a sea of goo just to do the most normal things. People deal with it, but the side effects of illegal drugs and alcohol far outweigh the benefits of being able to escape from the depression for a while. Relationships continue to suffer, because alcohol and meth and 100 other things don't quite cut it.
Others just keep grouching, yelling, blaming their situation or their spouse. I am not judging, I am just saying that it's true. I see it, every day.
You can think worse of me if you want. I don't care. I thank God for the research scientists and the doctors every day when I take my little square pills. My medication helps me be a better person, not in a magic way, but in giving me the ability to think through consequences and choose the path of Christ I've decided to follow. My medication helps me be a better parent, not in a magic way, but in giving me the energy to think through responses to my kids instead of just reacting.
Far be it from me to give advice, but I do pray as I write this. If you reading this are one of those people who think it's better not to be dependent on drugs, if you are wondering if this is you, ask your family or close friends what they think. And ask yourself if you would really deny anyone all the advancements in medical science we have made over the last century?
When it all comes down to it, for me, it is a spiritual issue. It is pride that makes me think I should be exempt from the need for assistance. God have mercy on me, and make me humble enough to receive help when it is offered.
I really mean it when I say, don't try this at home.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Unexpected Blessing
We have just about adjusted to the new way of life dictated by the building of a new Six Span Bridge. Construction requires us to go about 3 miles out of our way and it doubles our travel time to work. The first few days of the change found us trying for short cuts, forgetting to leave the house early enough, and experimenting with different ways to get 'there' from 'here.' Slightly annoying and inconvenient, we comforted ourselves with the knowledge that it is for the common good.
Then I noticed something else. The stretch of road between County Road 17 and County Road 19 is almost completely without traffic. Before construction, it would have been considered one of the main ways from Bristol to Elkhart, I suppose. A good number of vehicles sped along, particularly during what passes for rush hour in this neck of the woods.
Not now. The only traffic would be from a small line of houses along the river and our small subdivision. Just beyond us, Pheasant Ridge residents that once exited south onto our road now head north out of their enclave. A whole mile of road, once too busy to walk, now invites the intrepid Kitty and me to stroll along without a care. We even have a fine view of the river for a bit, just across from a burned down barn surrounded by volunteer daffodils and crocus.
It's all ours for the enjoying, while traffic buzzes along elsewhere. It's temporary, of course. Sooner or later the bridge will be done, a new roadway cut, and cars will again speed along the fresh black asphalt. Nothing lasts forever.
So now it's up to me. Will I be inconvenienced by the perpetual detour and extra time required for travel to and from almost anywhere? Or will I be thankful for what is mine today - sparkling water, spring flowers, a safe path? When I am in the middle of a life that seems detoured, or inconvenient, or just plain not what I want, what will I choose?
Is God's will the detour? Or is God's will the unexpected blessing? Or both?
Or maybe it's this: Give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus. (1 Thessalonians 5:18).
Then I noticed something else. The stretch of road between County Road 17 and County Road 19 is almost completely without traffic. Before construction, it would have been considered one of the main ways from Bristol to Elkhart, I suppose. A good number of vehicles sped along, particularly during what passes for rush hour in this neck of the woods.
Not now. The only traffic would be from a small line of houses along the river and our small subdivision. Just beyond us, Pheasant Ridge residents that once exited south onto our road now head north out of their enclave. A whole mile of road, once too busy to walk, now invites the intrepid Kitty and me to stroll along without a care. We even have a fine view of the river for a bit, just across from a burned down barn surrounded by volunteer daffodils and crocus.
It's all ours for the enjoying, while traffic buzzes along elsewhere. It's temporary, of course. Sooner or later the bridge will be done, a new roadway cut, and cars will again speed along the fresh black asphalt. Nothing lasts forever.
So now it's up to me. Will I be inconvenienced by the perpetual detour and extra time required for travel to and from almost anywhere? Or will I be thankful for what is mine today - sparkling water, spring flowers, a safe path? When I am in the middle of a life that seems detoured, or inconvenient, or just plain not what I want, what will I choose?
Is God's will the detour? Or is God's will the unexpected blessing? Or both?
Or maybe it's this: Give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus. (1 Thessalonians 5:18).
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Jerusalem, Jerusalem
God surprised me. If there is anything that should NOT surprise me, it's that God continues to surprise me. I'm always amazed, however. I just can't see Him coming.
When your plane lands in Israel, you are greeted with, "Welcome home." Home? I did not think it would feel that way. Oh, I expected to love Galilee again, with its tropical breezes, palm trees, and glittering water. It did not disappoint, though it felt much more like Florida than home.
Last time we visited, Jerusalem was a letdown after lovely Galilee. Too many people, too much chaos and traffic and noise to ever be 'home.' I went to Jerusalem expecting to feel like an alien, homesick for familiar comforts. Instead, I fell in love.
The souk (market) in the Old City should have been intimidating. Talk about chaos and noise! Narrow walkways defined by hole-in-the-wall shops. Merchants addressed the tourists, 'Welcome, American lady!' Meat hung unrefrigerated, whole animals skinned with the tail still attached to prove what kind of beast it was (goat, I think). Nike and Adidas sweatshirts hung all over the front of one stall. Just next door, open bins of every kind of candy tempted the passersby, but no one stole even a jelly bean. People jostled to get to wherever they are going. Prices in the souk are not fixed; haggling is expected. Cups of tea or coffee were offered to potential customers. "Looking is free, we love you anyway," we were told when we declined to buy.
The pervasive smell of cumin filled the air. We delighted in one merchant's two-foot-tall pyramid sculpted entirely of herbs and spices. A friendly seller promised 'everything a dollar' because he was soon to move to 'Texas, Houston' where he hoped business would be better.
Apple, one of the waiters at our hotel, greeted us like an old friend as we walked a street over from his shop, then invited us to come and see the beautiful silver-work of his father. When we got there, Apple's jewelry store was guarded only by a wooden bar indicating he was closed. Anyone could have walked in and taken everything. We asked him about his trust. Apple explained sincerely, 'When you are good to people, God is good to you.'
How could you not love a place like that, people like that?
We went every chance we got, buying silver jewelry for loved ones, finding treats like Nestle's chocolate and Kinder eggs, trying the Arabic version of funnel cakes (like ours, only so saturated with sugar that they are hard, like candy, on the outside). Slipping over into the Jewish Quarter to look at beautiful art and eat falafel. Mostly, the joy came in meeting interesting people who wanted very much to be kind, to be acknowledged, to live well in peace. It felt like home.
God surprised me in Jerusalem, showing me glimmers of grace where I expected only anxiety and discomfort. I learned that home is people who care about you, and I found them on the other side of the world.
How could you not love a God like that?
When your plane lands in Israel, you are greeted with, "Welcome home." Home? I did not think it would feel that way. Oh, I expected to love Galilee again, with its tropical breezes, palm trees, and glittering water. It did not disappoint, though it felt much more like Florida than home.
Last time we visited, Jerusalem was a letdown after lovely Galilee. Too many people, too much chaos and traffic and noise to ever be 'home.' I went to Jerusalem expecting to feel like an alien, homesick for familiar comforts. Instead, I fell in love.
The souk (market) in the Old City should have been intimidating. Talk about chaos and noise! Narrow walkways defined by hole-in-the-wall shops. Merchants addressed the tourists, 'Welcome, American lady!' Meat hung unrefrigerated, whole animals skinned with the tail still attached to prove what kind of beast it was (goat, I think). Nike and Adidas sweatshirts hung all over the front of one stall. Just next door, open bins of every kind of candy tempted the passersby, but no one stole even a jelly bean. People jostled to get to wherever they are going. Prices in the souk are not fixed; haggling is expected. Cups of tea or coffee were offered to potential customers. "Looking is free, we love you anyway," we were told when we declined to buy.
The pervasive smell of cumin filled the air. We delighted in one merchant's two-foot-tall pyramid sculpted entirely of herbs and spices. A friendly seller promised 'everything a dollar' because he was soon to move to 'Texas, Houston' where he hoped business would be better.
Apple, one of the waiters at our hotel, greeted us like an old friend as we walked a street over from his shop, then invited us to come and see the beautiful silver-work of his father. When we got there, Apple's jewelry store was guarded only by a wooden bar indicating he was closed. Anyone could have walked in and taken everything. We asked him about his trust. Apple explained sincerely, 'When you are good to people, God is good to you.'
How could you not love a place like that, people like that?
We went every chance we got, buying silver jewelry for loved ones, finding treats like Nestle's chocolate and Kinder eggs, trying the Arabic version of funnel cakes (like ours, only so saturated with sugar that they are hard, like candy, on the outside). Slipping over into the Jewish Quarter to look at beautiful art and eat falafel. Mostly, the joy came in meeting interesting people who wanted very much to be kind, to be acknowledged, to live well in peace. It felt like home.
God surprised me in Jerusalem, showing me glimmers of grace where I expected only anxiety and discomfort. I learned that home is people who care about you, and I found them on the other side of the world.
How could you not love a God like that?
Sunday, March 8, 2009
We are in the Holy Land this week for a whirlwind tour of every site we can possibly fit into our trip. It's exhausting and exhilarating, all at once. Galilee's warm sun, palm trees, and rippling water remind us of Florida. Because it is a resort and agricultural area, the pace is slow and the people laid back. Even the holy places there simply feel warm and rich and welcoming. You can see how people might argue with him over a cup of strong black coffee. You can't really imagine Jesus getting crucified in Galilee.
Today, however, we moved on to Judea. A trip to Bethlehem meant going through the Israeli/Palestinian checkpoints several times. The new wall being erected divides the city of Jerusalem (oddly, since the whole country is filled with crumbling ancient walls that didn't really protect people). Houses are crammed in like a creamy white lego city. People of all different stripes, cars, and tourist buses crowd the streets. Hawkers aggressively approach to sell their wares as you leave the holy sites, where churches are built on top of churches to mark certain spots in Christ's life. Palestinian soldiers with guns stand guard as the groups leave the Church, the store, the parking lot. The concierge in the hotel packs a weapon with her business suit.
Here, they might kill you. Here, you are aware that in the great wide world, little has changed since Christ walked the streets of Zion. Violence is still the method of choice for solving problems. Power still corrupts. The meek have not yet inherited the earth.
Sitting on a stone in the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem, one of my traveling companions wondered aloud, "What do you think Christ would think of all this?"
I don't know. I do know that the places you will find him here might not be the places on your tour itinerary. I saw him outside the church on Zion, where an Israeli mom taught her pre-schooler to count to 3 in English. I saw him in the French nun whose face lit up when Randy spoke French to her. I saw him in the way David, another pastor on our bus, always lags behind to offer an arm to one of the elderly women who has trouble walking.
The Church buildings are interesting and historical. Many still have congregations of laity or religious orders worshiping there. One thing, though, I leave convinced of: The Church of Jesus Christ is his people.
Today, however, we moved on to Judea. A trip to Bethlehem meant going through the Israeli/Palestinian checkpoints several times. The new wall being erected divides the city of Jerusalem (oddly, since the whole country is filled with crumbling ancient walls that didn't really protect people). Houses are crammed in like a creamy white lego city. People of all different stripes, cars, and tourist buses crowd the streets. Hawkers aggressively approach to sell their wares as you leave the holy sites, where churches are built on top of churches to mark certain spots in Christ's life. Palestinian soldiers with guns stand guard as the groups leave the Church, the store, the parking lot. The concierge in the hotel packs a weapon with her business suit.
Here, they might kill you. Here, you are aware that in the great wide world, little has changed since Christ walked the streets of Zion. Violence is still the method of choice for solving problems. Power still corrupts. The meek have not yet inherited the earth.
Sitting on a stone in the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem, one of my traveling companions wondered aloud, "What do you think Christ would think of all this?"
I don't know. I do know that the places you will find him here might not be the places on your tour itinerary. I saw him outside the church on Zion, where an Israeli mom taught her pre-schooler to count to 3 in English. I saw him in the French nun whose face lit up when Randy spoke French to her. I saw him in the way David, another pastor on our bus, always lags behind to offer an arm to one of the elderly women who has trouble walking.
The Church buildings are interesting and historical. Many still have congregations of laity or religious orders worshiping there. One thing, though, I leave convinced of: The Church of Jesus Christ is his people.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
I really enjoyed that.
'Enjoy' is a word Randy says we Hoosiers use more than anyone else. We enjoy everything, from worship to a good meal to a TV show. "I enjoyed that" is what we say.
Count how many times you say 'enjoy' in a day and let me know. Here's what I enjoy these days.
My son's laugh. My daughter's dancing around the house when she's feeling happy. My husband's dry humor and thoughtfulness. The kindness of my mom coming to spend two weeks with my kids so Randy and I can go to Israel.
Gordon Ramsay, a foul-mouthed British chef/TV star. I enjoy watching him solve problems each week, even though he does it with more bleeps than I can count. I also enjoy watching him with his kids, loving them and teaching them. How Clean Is Your House and Kim and Aggie, the hosts. Watching Survivorman and Man vs. Wild on Friday nights with my family. The Dog Whisperer. Our dog, Kitty, rolling on her back trying to kill a small basketball.
The exercise ball my friend, Marie, gave me.
My laptop computer. A little sun after days of gray. Lake-effect snow that covers the gray/black slush. A cup of warm vanilla cafe when I'm freezing. The little space heater Shirley gave me for my office.
Typing. I really enjoy typing. It's very satisfying.
Peach Fresca.
Sleeping.
You know, it's pretty funny how many good things there are to enjoy. I get so grumpy and out-of-sorts sometimes I don't even notice. Other than Randy and the kids, and possibly the sleeping, I could live without all these things. But I am going to savor every one of them. Enjoy them. I guess there are worse things to say than 'I enjoyed that.'
Count how many times you say 'enjoy' in a day and let me know. Here's what I enjoy these days.
My son's laugh. My daughter's dancing around the house when she's feeling happy. My husband's dry humor and thoughtfulness. The kindness of my mom coming to spend two weeks with my kids so Randy and I can go to Israel.
Gordon Ramsay, a foul-mouthed British chef/TV star. I enjoy watching him solve problems each week, even though he does it with more bleeps than I can count. I also enjoy watching him with his kids, loving them and teaching them. How Clean Is Your House and Kim and Aggie, the hosts. Watching Survivorman and Man vs. Wild on Friday nights with my family. The Dog Whisperer. Our dog, Kitty, rolling on her back trying to kill a small basketball.
The exercise ball my friend, Marie, gave me.
My laptop computer. A little sun after days of gray. Lake-effect snow that covers the gray/black slush. A cup of warm vanilla cafe when I'm freezing. The little space heater Shirley gave me for my office.
Typing. I really enjoy typing. It's very satisfying.
Peach Fresca.
Sleeping.
You know, it's pretty funny how many good things there are to enjoy. I get so grumpy and out-of-sorts sometimes I don't even notice. Other than Randy and the kids, and possibly the sleeping, I could live without all these things. But I am going to savor every one of them. Enjoy them. I guess there are worse things to say than 'I enjoyed that.'
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Get Up Off Your Butt
Kim, a sister of mine from different parents but the same Parent, sat in church looking at the brochure that invited her to commit to a place of service for the coming year. Many churches do this - prepare a list of all the opportunities for the members to use their spiritual gifts and talents to a the glory of God. It's why we're here, after all.
Kim scanned the list. She does a lot already. Her paying job serves those who want to learn to read. She co-leads a Sunday School Bible study. She is a lay speaker who leads in worship and preaches occasionally in her own and other churches.
All those are good. But her main ministry is acts of kindness, most often, cakes of kindness. Kim is someone who doesn't just have good intentions; she gets up and does the things she thinks about. When it's her turn to bake a birthday cake for a co-worker, Kim prepares delicious and time-consuming works of art out of a desire to bring delight and joy to another. Once, she baked a chocolate mint cake for a neighbor, because the Spirit led her to do that. When the neighbor, Kathy, wasn't home, Kim colluded with her family to stash it in the fridge so it wouldn't melt. Upon discovering it, Kathy said with tears in her eyes, 'No one ever baked a whole cake for me before.'
That's Kim's ministry. Others might look at a gorgeous cake in a magazine and think, "Wow, so-and-So would really love that." Kim bakes it and takes it to the person. Sometimes for a birthday. Sometimes just because some whisper of the Spirit moved her.
Kim does a lot for the church, but she is open to God changing her direction. As she prayed over the brochure, she realized that if she said 'yes' to another official church ministry, she would not have as much openness to the wild Spirit saying, 'Bake that.' It suddenly occurred to her, if I'm telling it right, that the ministry of getting up and baking the cakes was exactly where God needed her to be.
I think about that a lot. Not because I'm called to bake cakes - that's Kim, not me. I do realize, however, that a lot of what God calls me to do involves the willingness to get up and just do what it is in my heart to do.
We invite people to ministry at Trinity in many of the same ways other churchs do: brochures, announcements, visuals, nominating calls. We have important positions that must be filled: ushers, greeters, Welcome Center hosts, children's and youth leaders, tech team - I could fill a brochure myself with the list. But just as we need greeters at the doors, we need every single solitary one of us to greet each other. Just as we need Welcome Center hosts, we need every single solitary one of us to welcome the stranger and help them feel at home. The children need leaders, but they also need everyone who was there at their infant baptism to guide and encourage them, sit and eat supper with them at TNT, ask them about their day.
I'd like to nominate everyone, myself included, for the ministry of 'Getting Up Off Our Butts." I know it's crude, but it's how I think of it. I have a lot of good intentions. Most people do. Most people don't sit in church determined to be unfriendly, or want to trip the children who dance down the hall. Most of us aren't stingy on purpose, with our time or our possessions. We just don't act on the good intentions of our hearts. It's so much more comfortable to observe. It's a lot harder to get in the mix. But in the mix is, usually, where God is waiting.
I will if you will. Will I, even if you won't? I learned from 12-step ministries to do one thing for someone else every day, even if and especially if I don't want to. Do one thing you don't have to. Do one thing to bless someone, to grace the world with love instead of hate, with kindness instead of meanness. Not because it will make a difference, because that might not be readily apparent. But because God is for us, with us, every single day regardless of our deserving. How can I be so 'sit back and watch' about that?
Hey, Kim. If you are reading this, thank you for being such an inspiration. I can't eat cake, but your caring feeds my soul.
Kim scanned the list. She does a lot already. Her paying job serves those who want to learn to read. She co-leads a Sunday School Bible study. She is a lay speaker who leads in worship and preaches occasionally in her own and other churches.
All those are good. But her main ministry is acts of kindness, most often, cakes of kindness. Kim is someone who doesn't just have good intentions; she gets up and does the things she thinks about. When it's her turn to bake a birthday cake for a co-worker, Kim prepares delicious and time-consuming works of art out of a desire to bring delight and joy to another. Once, she baked a chocolate mint cake for a neighbor, because the Spirit led her to do that. When the neighbor, Kathy, wasn't home, Kim colluded with her family to stash it in the fridge so it wouldn't melt. Upon discovering it, Kathy said with tears in her eyes, 'No one ever baked a whole cake for me before.'
That's Kim's ministry. Others might look at a gorgeous cake in a magazine and think, "Wow, so-and-So would really love that." Kim bakes it and takes it to the person. Sometimes for a birthday. Sometimes just because some whisper of the Spirit moved her.
Kim does a lot for the church, but she is open to God changing her direction. As she prayed over the brochure, she realized that if she said 'yes' to another official church ministry, she would not have as much openness to the wild Spirit saying, 'Bake that.' It suddenly occurred to her, if I'm telling it right, that the ministry of getting up and baking the cakes was exactly where God needed her to be.
I think about that a lot. Not because I'm called to bake cakes - that's Kim, not me. I do realize, however, that a lot of what God calls me to do involves the willingness to get up and just do what it is in my heart to do.
We invite people to ministry at Trinity in many of the same ways other churchs do: brochures, announcements, visuals, nominating calls. We have important positions that must be filled: ushers, greeters, Welcome Center hosts, children's and youth leaders, tech team - I could fill a brochure myself with the list. But just as we need greeters at the doors, we need every single solitary one of us to greet each other. Just as we need Welcome Center hosts, we need every single solitary one of us to welcome the stranger and help them feel at home. The children need leaders, but they also need everyone who was there at their infant baptism to guide and encourage them, sit and eat supper with them at TNT, ask them about their day.
I'd like to nominate everyone, myself included, for the ministry of 'Getting Up Off Our Butts." I know it's crude, but it's how I think of it. I have a lot of good intentions. Most people do. Most people don't sit in church determined to be unfriendly, or want to trip the children who dance down the hall. Most of us aren't stingy on purpose, with our time or our possessions. We just don't act on the good intentions of our hearts. It's so much more comfortable to observe. It's a lot harder to get in the mix. But in the mix is, usually, where God is waiting.
I will if you will. Will I, even if you won't? I learned from 12-step ministries to do one thing for someone else every day, even if and especially if I don't want to. Do one thing you don't have to. Do one thing to bless someone, to grace the world with love instead of hate, with kindness instead of meanness. Not because it will make a difference, because that might not be readily apparent. But because God is for us, with us, every single day regardless of our deserving. How can I be so 'sit back and watch' about that?
Hey, Kim. If you are reading this, thank you for being such an inspiration. I can't eat cake, but your caring feeds my soul.
Friday, January 16, 2009
Not Lost After All
Sometimes, life feels like the wilderness. Something ends - a job, a relationship, a life - and we're left in a transition we did not choose. We're not sure where we are, with no clear sign where God is leading. I tend to feel anxious at such times. I envy Israel being able to see God's presence in the pillars of fire and cloud.
It reminded me, though, of one night last year. Maia and I had to go out to an area Christian school to rescue a friend whose car had broken down. I had seen the school dozens of times from the four-lane highway, but had never pondered how to actually get there. Maia looked up the address, which was sort of helpful but not clear. The computer was down so there was no Mapquest to give us directions to the door. With a mind set on prayer (desperation will do that to me), we got in the car.
We set out in the general direction of the school. I couldn't quite visualize which exit to take off the highway. Looking at the address again, I made a choice, and turned onto another highway. As we motored down the road, I second-guessed my decision. What if I should have turned right instead of left at the end of the exit ramp? What if I should have taken the 3rd exit rather than the 2nd?
Just then, a picture of the turn to an acquaintance's house flashed through my mind. I could see that turn-off, which I had only taken once. A road off to the right reminded me of that back way, and without thinking twice, I took it. We wound around in the dark, with no opportunities to turn off or turn around. Then a glow of light ahead in the night indicated we were coming close to something big. Was it a miracle that the road taken by chance led right to the school parking lot, where my friend waited for us to rescue her? I praised and thanked God for getting us there.
Some would say it was dumb luck. For all I know, they are right. Not every flash of insight leads us in the right direction. There were other ways we could have chosen to go. We might have had to stop and ask directions, or turn around. The moment I swerved to take that last road was not planned. I did not know when I turned that it was the exact path I needed to be on. In fact, as I looked ahead at first, it seemed it could have been a dead end or just lead in circles. I didn't know it was right until I got there.
Still, it turned out to be exactly the path we needed. It led to where we had to go, even though we didn't really know it would until we were almost in the parking lot.
"Trust the path," says Robert Morris in his book, Provocative Grace. In the midst of wilderness wandering, in transitional times when the future is unclear, it is possible to find peace in the assurance that the path will lead us where we are supposed to be. We had asked for God's direction before we even got in the car. Why was I so surprised that the Spirit gave us the gift of guidance?
I am sure I will doubt again. I seek to be a non-anxious presence, but sometimes I worry anyway. More often than not, though, I end up exactly where I am supposed to be.
It reminded me, though, of one night last year. Maia and I had to go out to an area Christian school to rescue a friend whose car had broken down. I had seen the school dozens of times from the four-lane highway, but had never pondered how to actually get there. Maia looked up the address, which was sort of helpful but not clear. The computer was down so there was no Mapquest to give us directions to the door. With a mind set on prayer (desperation will do that to me), we got in the car.
We set out in the general direction of the school. I couldn't quite visualize which exit to take off the highway. Looking at the address again, I made a choice, and turned onto another highway. As we motored down the road, I second-guessed my decision. What if I should have turned right instead of left at the end of the exit ramp? What if I should have taken the 3rd exit rather than the 2nd?
Just then, a picture of the turn to an acquaintance's house flashed through my mind. I could see that turn-off, which I had only taken once. A road off to the right reminded me of that back way, and without thinking twice, I took it. We wound around in the dark, with no opportunities to turn off or turn around. Then a glow of light ahead in the night indicated we were coming close to something big. Was it a miracle that the road taken by chance led right to the school parking lot, where my friend waited for us to rescue her? I praised and thanked God for getting us there.
Some would say it was dumb luck. For all I know, they are right. Not every flash of insight leads us in the right direction. There were other ways we could have chosen to go. We might have had to stop and ask directions, or turn around. The moment I swerved to take that last road was not planned. I did not know when I turned that it was the exact path I needed to be on. In fact, as I looked ahead at first, it seemed it could have been a dead end or just lead in circles. I didn't know it was right until I got there.
Still, it turned out to be exactly the path we needed. It led to where we had to go, even though we didn't really know it would until we were almost in the parking lot.
"Trust the path," says Robert Morris in his book, Provocative Grace. In the midst of wilderness wandering, in transitional times when the future is unclear, it is possible to find peace in the assurance that the path will lead us where we are supposed to be. We had asked for God's direction before we even got in the car. Why was I so surprised that the Spirit gave us the gift of guidance?
I am sure I will doubt again. I seek to be a non-anxious presence, but sometimes I worry anyway. More often than not, though, I end up exactly where I am supposed to be.
Monday, January 12, 2009
The Circle of Affirmation
Upward Basketball is for kids, but it also trains parents. On the first night of practice, the coaches gathered us around and taught us about the 'Circle of Affirmation' as opposed to the 'Circle of Criticism.' In Upward, we cheer for everyone who does something well, regardless of whose team they are on. Refs and coaches all volunteer their time, so they are encouraged and lifted up, not yelled at and criticized. There's competition, but if one team has too few players, someone volunteers from the opposition to 'switch sides' for that one game, so everyone can play.
Bobby Knight would not be pleased, I am sure, but it seems to me a good way to do life (which, in my opinion, is the only real reason to have basketball in the church).
Upward parents are instructed to operate out of the Circle of Affirmation in games. Isn't that a great place to be in life? That doesn't mean being dishonest or dishing out false flattery. In fact, to avoid being critical, it would be important to go directly to the person I have a problem with and deal with any conflict, rather than criticize them (often to others).
Life in the Circle of Affirmation is not some fakey positive thinking that disregards the reality of the world. No matter how encouraging I am, or how I refrain from criticism, bad things will still happen and there will still be conflict. But really, how much criticism is really needed in the world? Most of the time, criticism is an attempt to control what's not really mine to control. Justice is good, but how often, really, do the words of judgment or criticism I offer actually do justice? Not very. This is a very light way to live, letting go of trying to control or manage others, trusting God to work and 'fix' things, rather than thinking I need to make it all well.
I'm living in the Circle of Affirmation. That will require extraordinary amounts of prayer, I am sure, both for strength to live there and to confess when I step outside the bounds. So I will pray, but not only for me. I want my home, the church I serve, the school where I tutor and my kids attend, all of it, to be in my Circle of Affirmation. Even if others live in a different circle.
I'm excited - it is a beautiful place to live.
Bobby Knight would not be pleased, I am sure, but it seems to me a good way to do life (which, in my opinion, is the only real reason to have basketball in the church).
Upward parents are instructed to operate out of the Circle of Affirmation in games. Isn't that a great place to be in life? That doesn't mean being dishonest or dishing out false flattery. In fact, to avoid being critical, it would be important to go directly to the person I have a problem with and deal with any conflict, rather than criticize them (often to others).
Life in the Circle of Affirmation is not some fakey positive thinking that disregards the reality of the world. No matter how encouraging I am, or how I refrain from criticism, bad things will still happen and there will still be conflict. But really, how much criticism is really needed in the world? Most of the time, criticism is an attempt to control what's not really mine to control. Justice is good, but how often, really, do the words of judgment or criticism I offer actually do justice? Not very. This is a very light way to live, letting go of trying to control or manage others, trusting God to work and 'fix' things, rather than thinking I need to make it all well.
I'm living in the Circle of Affirmation. That will require extraordinary amounts of prayer, I am sure, both for strength to live there and to confess when I step outside the bounds. So I will pray, but not only for me. I want my home, the church I serve, the school where I tutor and my kids attend, all of it, to be in my Circle of Affirmation. Even if others live in a different circle.
I'm excited - it is a beautiful place to live.
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
Pray for the peace of Jerusalem
I am praying for peace in Gaza. Not just for the violence to end, but for peace. Salaam. Shalom. Wholeness, fulfillment. For peace to break out, to just completely confound those whose lives are benefited by the continuing violence. For people to seek peace with the same willingness to die that they seek war.
O God, beat the damned swords into plowshares, melt down the unholy mortars into cymbals and gongs, end destruction and teach the people to seek truth, beauty, you.
Anger and rage, power and unforgiveness are destroying not only the people, but the land itself. Evil wins too often, there. Rightness, righteousness, justice - words get thrown around like weapons, pre-weapons, protoweapons.
I am praying for peace in Jerusalem, the home of our faith, the place where our Lord worshiped, ate, taught, lived, died, rose. For people there, and here, to understand that righteousness is love lived out in care for others. There is no other righteousness. Justice is love - there is no other justice.
I am praying for peace in Israel, in the West Bank and the Gaza Strip. In Iraq and Iran, in Afghanistan and the million other places where violence is the power of the day. I am praying for children trained in hatred and violence, and deep down, trained to fear. I am praying for the church, there and here, to be the Body of Christ, willing to be crucified rather than give up on love.
I am praying for my own mind to be a mind of peace, for my words to be words of healing and hope and mercy, for my actions to bring blessings to others. I am praying to be a force for peace, here in Elkhart. Here in my office, my home, my church.
Pray for peace. Be peace where I am.
O God, beat the damned swords into plowshares, melt down the unholy mortars into cymbals and gongs, end destruction and teach the people to seek truth, beauty, you.
Anger and rage, power and unforgiveness are destroying not only the people, but the land itself. Evil wins too often, there. Rightness, righteousness, justice - words get thrown around like weapons, pre-weapons, protoweapons.
I am praying for peace in Jerusalem, the home of our faith, the place where our Lord worshiped, ate, taught, lived, died, rose. For people there, and here, to understand that righteousness is love lived out in care for others. There is no other righteousness. Justice is love - there is no other justice.
I am praying for peace in Israel, in the West Bank and the Gaza Strip. In Iraq and Iran, in Afghanistan and the million other places where violence is the power of the day. I am praying for children trained in hatred and violence, and deep down, trained to fear. I am praying for the church, there and here, to be the Body of Christ, willing to be crucified rather than give up on love.
I am praying for my own mind to be a mind of peace, for my words to be words of healing and hope and mercy, for my actions to bring blessings to others. I am praying to be a force for peace, here in Elkhart. Here in my office, my home, my church.
Pray for peace. Be peace where I am.
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