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.

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.

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.