Lore Blinn Gibson

2011-09-30T08:04:00.000-07:00

People do change. I know a lot of people who don't think so, but Trevor the lizard is proof.

Well, he's really a bearded dragon and he's hanging out on my chest while I type this blog. James has wanted a reptile for a long, long time. I always said no. Lots of reasons: 9-year-old boys' pets usually become Mom's pet, lizards are ugly and not cuddly, lizards eat live bugs, I am just not a lizard person, etc.

Well, the first one is probably going to be true, and he does eat live bugs. The other opinions I held turned out to be different. So I have revised my statement. Now, I might be a lizard person.

Trevor is fascinating to watch, and he is cute in his scaly, dragon-ish way. He loves to cuddle, if by cuddle you mean he hangs around on your warm skin. He chomps crickets and kale with great relish.

John Wesley talked in one of his sermons about 'invincable ignorance.' As he builds a logical argument to the 'if your heart is as my heart, give me your hand' quote, he says: “Perhaps some cannot know. For who can tell how far invincible ignorance may extend? Or (what comes to the same thing) invincible prejudice; which is often so fixed in tender minds that it is afterwards impossible to tear up what has taken so deep a root.”

There are undoubtedly some things that can't be changed about ourselves. I'll stop at saying people can't change, though. They can, and do, all the time.

Whenever I'm tempted to label people as this or that, I'm going to remember Trevor and maybe, just maybe, I'll be a little more open to who people are instead of who I always thought they were.

All in the Family

2011-09-02T14:42:00.000-07:00

Maia is into watching reruns of Archie and Edith, Meathead and Gloria. It makes me laugh to watch it again. I was about her age when it was on the first time. I couldn't believe some of what Archie said.

Now I see truth in there, behind the rough exterior and the bigotry. I see his heart. Meanwhile, I've learned to question some of the things that Mike says. And Edith, of all of them, she is like the Christ figure in the TV show. She is love, always, for everyone. And she just gets put down, picked on, 'stifled.'

It's great to have this to share with my smart, witty daughter!

It's All Spiritual

2011-06-19T11:35:00.000-07:00

We are getting settled in our new home in Lafayette, starting the process of meeting our 'people' and the community. What's been weird is that the 1st floor of our new house is laid out very like our old one. On the one hand, that has helped us feel at home rather quickly.

On the other hand, I keep going to the 'old' locations for things like light switches and plates. I laugh at myself about 10 times a day as I reach for a switch or item that is not in the same spot in this house as it was in Elkhart.

One thing I am holding on to (besides God and friends) is that change forces my brain to make new cells! Plus, we now live in the woods. All that oxygen being generated by the trees ought to make me alert and on top of things.

It's not been without struggle, I admit. I do miss my Trinity family and the co-workers I've shared life with. Yet being where God calls you is an amazing place to be. I highly recommend it, even if it does disorient us for a while.

Lloyd

2011-05-23T18:03:00.000-07:00

My friend and coworker. Lloyd, is sick. Not just kind of sick. Really sick. In the hospital in Indy sick. Scared everybody sick.

Someone asked me today if he is out of the woods. I wanted to say yes.

I didn't think I could. I think we are all 'in the woods.'. This week some crazy guy got all worked up and convinced a few people that the Rapture was going to happen on Saturday. A lot of people joked about it ithe circles I inhabit. A few kids got anxious.

Saturday came and went, and we are still here. Well, most of us are. Some people did die that day, and others on Sunday, more tomorrow. We each have our own personal Raptures. None of us is out of the woods.

That is what makes Christ's death and resurrectdion such good news, isn't it? We are going to go through it, and we will be fine. Death is not the end of the world, it is not even the end of our lives. We can trust this. The more we spend time with God, the morer the Spirit is able to reassure us. The more assured we are, the less we fear. The less we fear, the freer we are to love and risk and try.

Lloyd is improving daily, and I am glad. His life is stronger than the illness.

And when the woods beckons, when our bodies can't quite make it anymore, God is still good. Love never ends.

100 Years from Now

2011-05-17T18:34:00.000-07:00

As a youth, my mom, font of wisdom that she is, always used to tell me: "100 years from now, no one will know the difference." It was usually when I was upset about something, or hadn't been able to meet someone's expectations. Since then, Mom's voice has echoed in my thoughts many times. What will this current situation mean 100 years from now?

Last week, a friend and I argued. I rarely lose my temper outside my family (that's a whole other subject), but in our conversation I could hear my voice raise in pitch. Neither of us said particularly hurtful words. We simply drove each other crazy, pushed one too many buttons. We ended with apologies, hopes for future, but our voices were still tight with anger. My stomach in knots, I simply went home.

On Sunday evening, we met accidentally at church. Maybe accidentally; it turned out to be a gift. We looked at each other, she hugged me. We didn't solve any problems, but we acknowledged we're on the same team. Reconciliation. Peace.

100 years from now, the conflict will be forgotten. We'll both be alive and well in the world to come. Jesus told us that whatever we bind, will be bound in the world to come, and whatever we loose will be loosed.

I'm going for loose. An eternity of loose sounds pretty good to me.

Moving Thoughts

2011-05-06T13:36:00.000-07:00

Why do I hang on to all this stuff? This is my constant question as I pack boxes to move.

Memory. If I throw away the geegaw that James made in Kindergarten, will he think I don't love him? Will I forget the feeling of his little arm around my neck as we looked at his treasure together?

Frugality. If I need it again, I'll have to go buy it. Better to keep it and save money.

Confusion. I don't know what to do with this, but it's easier to pack it than to decide.

Truth is, though, all this stuff weighs me down. Do I want to feel light and free more than I want to hold on to memories? Is it really more frugal to keep things? How do I break through the confusion?

Moving is an evaluation. Not a bad thing, but sometimes not an easy thing.

Persistence (or insanity)

2011-05-02T19:35:00.000-07:00

I put my garage door up early each morning as I go out to get the paper and give Kitty a little outdoor time. It remains open until I leave for work or to take James to school - maybe 30 minutes.

That's the way it was last week. I hustled James out to the car when a bird flew out of our garage. Following her flight path, I saw that she had built a nest. On the garage door opener motor above my car.

Perfectly sensible place for a nest, if you're a bird. Outside, it poured rain. The garage was nice and dry, protected from the wind. The location of the nest was isolated - no predator could climb to that box suspended from the ceiling. It was probably even a little warm from the light that glowed beneath it. I decided to leave the door up while I drove James to school.

Arriving home 10 minutes later, she had added significantly to her home. Long shreds of what was once blue and white rope hung down, brushing the top of my car. She flew out as I pulled in.

Randy investigated a bit later. No eggs, so the nest came down. He generously put it in the tree by the garage, in case she came looking. Problem solved, if you're a human.

But that bird would have none of it. Three days later, I again left the door up as I got the morning paper and ate breakfast. Once again, by the time I left for work, she had constructed a bit of a sloppy nest with long strings hanging down, pillaging the old nest in the tree for materials. She flew out, I closed the door.

Hours later, when I opened the door, in she streaked to the nest.

Randy removed it all once again this morning. Time will tell if she gives up or he does.

I marveled at her persistence. Door open, door closed, she waited somewhere nearby to get in and continue what she had begun. Her entire morning's work brushed away by a guy on a ladder didn't even deter her. I prayed that I might have that kind of dogged determination to work for good.

Then I smiled. Maybe it's not so much persistence as inexperience. Maybe she was one of those baby birds who fell out of the nest and landed on her head. After all, sometimes it's not a good thing to keep doing the same thing over and over, especially when the door keeps shutting in your face.

Maybe it's better if we learn from our failed efforts and try something new.

That was my philosophizing thought. The reality is, new is a little frightening and sometimes I'd rather repeat and repeat and repeat those things that get me nowhere rather than try something else. Insanity, someone said, is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result.

Persistence? That's a good thing. Insanity, not so much.

Wonder which lesson I need from the bird?

What I do know is that while Randy is quick to sweep the nest away, I'm secretly rooting for her to succeed.

Now, do I leave the door up a little longer tomorrow?

Summer again

2010-05-27T06:16:00.000-07:00

Wasn't it only yesterday it was summer? Wow, the last year passed in a blur. Summer came again suddenly, early, hot. Overnight, it seems, everyone was back in their yards working up a sweat. We closed our windows to the weather again, succumbing to the temptation of humidity-free air.

It's bittersweet for me. Last summer I was lighter, physically. Clothes I liked fit well. Last summer, I biked to the ballpark and felt confident in front of people. Thanks to a lethargic winter, I've gained part of the weight back that I was so proud to lose. Not all, but enough to be unhappy with myself.

That's not the real loss, though. If I'm not careful, I can see I will lose this summer in looking back at the last one.

It's a humbling lesson, just when I thought (proudly) I had made such strides in humility. Back to the beginning, to learn the same lessons, the lessons of taking up the cross, of admitting I've failed, of baby steps and turning my thoughts toward Jesus. Of laughing at myself and carrying on, trusting that this, this, this is the day that the Lord has made.

Blue Hair

2010-05-10T19:14:00.000-07:00

I have blue hair, thanks to a challenge to the kids and youth of our church. We said, 'Raise $600 for camp and Pastor Lore will dye her hair a crazy color.' They raised over $1000. What else could I do?

With deep thanks to Craig, my hair stylist and fellow Christ-follower, who donated time and hair dye to the cause, I can only describe what happened after the goo was rinsed out. It came out sort of black with bright blue and purple highlights. Definitely not the most attractive look. To me, I look like an Osborne. Or a goth with brown roots. My son said, "Mommy, don't come to my class and volunteer this week."

I wonder if other people look at me differently. Do they think I'm wilder, crazier, or just a sad middle-aged woman trying to recapture her youth?

On a walk with the dog, coming through an opening in the trees onto the busy road, it occurred to me that I might be a little more threatening. Would someone call the cops on me for trespassing? I didn't worry about it at all when my hair was brown.

At the restaurant on Mothers' Day, the young hostess complimented me sincerely. But the father of my son's friend looked at me oddly when he stopped to help me with a flat tire. Another friend asked, 'Did you lose a bet?' and took my picture with her cell phone.

Funny. All I did was dye my hair blue. I'm the same person, right? It's only hair, right? It doesn't reflect what's inside, right?

So why the sudden urge to go buy a motorcycle and sing 'Born to Be Wild' at the top of my lungs?

Some things mystify me, even about myself.

A Message from God?

2010-04-25T04:20:00.001-07:00

My mom used to singsong a rhyme to us whenever there was a rainbow.
"Rainbow in the morning, sailors take warning.
Rainbow at night, sailors delight."

I know now that my farmer family probably got the rhyme wrong. It had more to do with red skies. It's the rainbow rhyme that stuck, though, because it was my mom who taught it to me.

We saw lots of afternoon rainbows growing up, the result of breaks in afternoon thunderstorms so common in our part of the world. Never, not one time, did I see a rainbow in the morning. They were always in the east, always after lunch, always after a storm. Once I learned the science behind it, the possibility of a morning rainbow seemed slim. Red skies before breakfast, sure. Rainbows, hardly.

This morning, there was a rainbow. 6:55 a.m. High in the western sky, almost overhead, a bright and clear arc of color glowed against the steel-gray clouds. My ancestors would have tried to read meaning into it. It is a portent, an omen, a thing to make warning rhymes about. We moderns are less personal about such things. It was merely a break in morning storms, the pale eastern sun beaming enough light through thin clouds to create the phenomenon.

I'd rather have an ancient mind today. It is my daughter's Confirmation Day. She will make her public profession of faith in Jesus, receive the oil on her forehead, be sealed for the kingdom of good and light. Did God send it just for her, so on this morning of mornings she would wake to a reminder of his promise? I want that personal message, that bright and glorious word to be for her, for us.

I am not ancient-minded, though. If we interpret the rainbow as a blessing, would we have to interpret the rain as a bad sign? In parts of Africa, rain on the day of an event is looked on as a sign of God's blessing, but not here. I am not likely to attribute disasters in Creation to God's wrath. Why would I see a personal message in a rainbow?

We can look for curses or blessings in the created order. People do it all the time. We can attribute to God things like earthquakes and floods, equally to him the lovely signs like rainbows and sunny skies. Or we can know that earth itself is a gift, and it is full of opportunities to connect with the Creator, if we are paying attention.

For today, at least, a rainbow blessed our morning. I believe it is a sign that behind all things, there is Someone who loves beauty and surprises and a girl who is being confirmed and her friends and their parents. Perhaps the real miracle is that I noticed, in the early morning at the beginning of a busy day. I wonder what else I've been missing by not paying attention?

2010-04-22T19:31:00.000-07:00

It was just yesterday. We handed our daughter, Maia, to my mentor and pastor for baptism. Inside, I was quaking with fear. Old images of God came pouring back, images of a harsh and demanding judge, someone who might harm my little one. I let go, and as I watched my friend gently trickle the water on her little brown head, I allowed the new images of God to rise to the surface. This God was the God I chose to worship, the God who was a kind Father, the God who was my companion, the God who revealed himself in Jesus. His strong love enveloped us all that morning, and the fear disappeared.

It was just yesterday. This weekend, that brown-eyed girl will kneel and let another mentor pastor of mine lay his hand on her head, confirming her and sealing the baptism God gave her almost 13 years ago. She makes her own decision this time. It's' her life and her faith. It's not up to me to let her go; she's walking into his arms of her own free will.

I know she will wrestle with her own understanding of who God is. She will have to learn to let the real, good God be her guide. She will have her own crosses to bear. I'm thankful, though, to be here to see what our kind Father has done with that little bundle of joy.

Blessed Birds

2010-04-12T04:52:00.000-07:00

"Why are you up so early, baby, it's Spring Break!?"
"The birds woke me up, Mommy."
"They woke me up too!"

The birds are downright loud around our house. I don't know all their names, but I do know the male cardinals, the sparrows, the finches, the killdeer and redwings. Their songs echo in the woods every morning, rousing me from sleep better than any alarm. It's not a symphony, it's a cacophony, like the tuning before the music begins.

How can I complain? After winter's gray, muffling blanket silenced them or sent them away, how can I be upset that the birds are singing as loud as they can possibly sing? So they wake me up? Why would I want to sleep through spring?

True blessings seem to be those that wake me up a little. The peace they bring is beyond understanding, because it is peace that pushes and entices me into a new place. It's not the peace of complacency, it is the peace of growing things.

It's already there

2009-11-16T16:48:00.001-08:00

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?

Mercy, Mercy, Mercy

2009-09-17T18:54:00.001-07:00

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.

Kitty and the Inner Terrier

2009-09-04T06:05:00.000-07:00

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.

Things I've learned from my 'older brother.'

2009-08-31T17:19:00.000-07:00

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.

One choice

2009-08-12T17:56:00.000-07:00

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.

God on a Train, the second day

2009-08-05T17:19:00.001-07:00

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.

29 Gifts

2009-07-27T13:49:00.000-07:00

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.

Getting Organized

2009-07-21T10:51:00.000-07:00

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.

Don't Try This At Home

2009-07-03T10:30:00.000-07:00

"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.

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.

Unexpected Blessing

2009-03-26T17:36:00.001-07:00

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).

Jerusalem, Jerusalem

2009-03-14T15:52:00.000-07:00

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?

2009-03-08T05:19:00.000-07:00

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.

I really enjoyed that.

2009-02-04T18:01:00.000-08:00

'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.'

Get Up Off Your Butt

2009-01-29T08:48:00.000-08:00

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.

Not Lost After All

2009-01-16T17:40:00.000-08:00

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.

The Circle of Affirmation

2009-01-12T17:41:00.000-08:00

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.

Pray for the peace of Jerusalem

2009-01-06T17:46:00.000-08:00

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.

New Years Eve

2008-12-31T20:12:00.000-08:00

It's nearly midnight. We mark time at midnight, acknowledging the passing of another year. A milestone. Time passes. We stop once in a while to notice.

Meanwhile, the days are once again getting longer as the earth travels around the sun. Vacation ends for the school kids, and they begin another grading period. Time passes, slowly or quickly, depending on your age and perception. 'Big wheels keep on turnin'..."

Koheleth, in Ecclesiastes, remarks rather jadedly, 'to everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven,' and observes 'it's all chasing after wind.' Vanity. Foolishness. Meaningless. After all, you're born, you die, and what good is it? Perhaps, I've often thought, Ecclesiastes is there for those in the slump of a midlife crisis!

"Time passes. Will you?" declared a sign on my teacher's wall in high school. Yes, I will too. I'm not exempt from the cycles, the vanity, the season to be born, the season to die. Jesus has taught me, though, that there is more than this enslavement to time. His coming means, in part, that the cycle is far from meaningless, indeed, it is hallowed, sacred, deeply a part of a larger thing which remains outside our ken. In Jesus, God who made time became subject to its limits, and somehow filled it full of himself.

I'm part of it, the earth and its marking of time. So I'll make a toast and kiss my husband when the clock strikes twelve. I'll laugh at my exhaustedly silly children, and wonder what the year will hold. But I will also thank God that when the time He created has served its purpose, it too will be swallowed up in the glory of an everlasting life.

Where ox and ass are feeding

2008-12-22T18:05:00.000-08:00

Not sure whether to own up to this or not, but we had an e-discussion amongst the church staff about the words 'ox and ass' in the carol What Child Is This. We wondered if we should change them, given that 'ass' doesn't communicate 'donkey' to anyone under the age of 10. To most younger children, 'ass' is a 'bad word,' one they get in trouble for saying in school, no matter how vehemently they insist they meant 'donkey'.

As a parent of a 6-year-old, I was all for changing it: "ox and lamb" was the perfectly good variation proposed by our director of music. After a few emails though, we finally decided, on this carol at least, to use the words as they are in our denominational hymnal. We changed other words in other songs during the services, but "ass" remained.

I'm glad. As I sung it, I got to thinking about oxen: big, hard to steer, able to throw their weight around. And asses - stubborn, not-so-bright, sturdy but not beautiful. I'm glad the oxen and asses were there with Christ when he was born. Maybe William Dix, who wrote the words back in 1865, knew exactly what he meant. I figure he was probably acquainted with both kinds of ox and ass (the animals AND the people), and might very well have intended both meanings.

If there were oxen and asses there with Jesus (we don't know it for sure, but it's not a big leap to think so), there might be room for me too. Even in my oxish and ass-like moments.

2008-12-20T06:49:00.000-08:00

My family loves to watch 'Survivorman' and 'Man vs. Wild' on Discovery. Each Friday evening, we get pizza and gather around to watch what these two guys do as they survive in various parts of the globe. I've learned some interesting things. 1. If you're lost, get shelter, water, fire and food - in various orders depending on where you are surviving. 2. Go slow. 3. Keep working toward survival, because work itself gives you hope. I also learned to cook grasshoppers before you eat them, because they can carry tapeworms, and that brightly-colored insects will usually make you sick.

The big lesson, though, was one my mom taught me and the survivalists only confirmed: after you cut the head off (a chicken, an insect, a snake...) the rest of the body will continue to move around for awhile.

I don't want the Church to succumb to that fate. We can move for a long time without connection to Christ, our head. But our movements are the movements of a dying creature, futile and leading nowhere. Our primary goal as the Church is to be connected to Christ through prayer, worship, holy communion, Scripture study and discussion, fasting, giving alms... These are the tasks we focus on as we live on earth. Everything else flows from them. We can't change ourselves - to center our lives on changing ourselves or others leads only to futility and frustration.

When we stay connected to Christ, our head, when we abide in the true Vine, then blessings flow, life flows through us into the world. We are transformed in the process, and so is everyone and everything we touch.

I'm glad I know how to boil water in a plastic bottle, how to build a fire, how to make a simple shelter in this good creation of God's. I'm more convicted to turn off the TV, and this computer, and spend some time with the Source of Life.

Magnificat mullings

2008-12-16T17:30:00.000-08:00

Do you think Mary really meant it when she said God would send the rich away empty?
Do you think that would make her happy?
Do the rich need to be sent away empty? Is it good for them?
Or is the Magnificat just the song of a poor girl, shaped by poverty to think that all the problems of their world would be righted if only the rich would get their comeuppance?

Do you think she really hoped that princes would be toppled from their thrones? Did she have any idea of the political upheaval that would cause?

Would the world be better if the poor were suddenly to become rich, or the powerless would suddenly have power?

I don't think so. It would just be the same thing all over again. Power corrupts, and all that.

Maybe Mary's vision is bigger than she is. Maybe the Kingdom is when God comes near to everyone, regardless of their station. Maybe being in God's presence shows the haves what they have not, and the have nots what they have. Maybe having been sent away empty would cause the rich to turn to God. Maybe having their bellies filled will enable the hungry to know God.

I wonder. I wonder what she saw when she sang, and what she hoped for. I wonder how she hoped we would live, we who still call her blessed, generations later.

What I want for Christmas

2008-12-14T17:49:00.000-08:00

Everyone asks me what I want for Christmas. After some thought, I've determined that I want less stuff, but more time. I want less waste, and more beauty. I want less surface, and more depth. I want joy for those I love, and the privilege of being in their lives. I want more Jesus, and less me.

None of this can be wrapped and put under a tree. All of it will require a certain amount of letting go.

What do you want for Christmas?

rain in the desert

2008-12-01T18:25:00.000-08:00

Every time we go to Arizona it rains. No kidding. We are considering a proposal to the Arizona government - they pay our airfare, and we will come out anytime they need relief from drought.

Of course, it might not be us. The rain in Arizona might happen when we are there because we usually go in their winter (such as it is there).

In Arizona, they bless the rain. Cloudy days are a rare treat to be savored. They build fires, snuggle up on the couch with a book and a blanket, and even forego golf (while all the tourists are out in their tank tops and shorts). Or, like one valet we met, they dance in the rain, enjoying every drop of what they know will disappear all too soon.

I'm pretty sure the rain wasn't our fault (or our gift, for that matter). Hopefully I will remember not to take the snow, or the many other inconviences of winter, so personally. Life happens. I hope I can snuggle or read or dance. I hope you can, too.

The Roundabout Way

2008-11-10T12:35:00.001-08:00

Exodus 13: 17-18a When Pharoah let the people go, God did not lead them by way of the land of the Philistines, although that was nearer; for God thought, “If the people face war, they may change their minds and return to Egypt.” So God led the people by the roundabout way…

In geometry, math students learn that the shortest path from point A to point B is a straight line. As a task-oriented individual, I am prone to view life that way. Efficient and concise, the straight line is very appealing. Shouldn’t life follow a similar line? It works in geometry!

Our geometry doesn’t always work for God. Much to my dismay, the best path is not always the most efficient. Like the children of Israel, there are reasons God leads me along ‘the roundabout way.’ There are lessons to be learned, character to be built, a life to be developed in the wilderness.

And, like the Israelites, there are worse things to be spared, sometimes, by the roundabout way. God doesn’t see fit to answer to me. Often I have no idea why I am taken through an experience. Wilderness feels, well, wild and uncontrolled, not logical and not efficient. Yet if I am honest, it is those wilderness times that draw me closer to him. I let go of the mindsets and ways of being that enslaved me. I learn to trust God for more and more of my life.

Because God leads me, the roundabout way is not so desolate as it might have been. When the time there is done, I am more prepared for what comes next than I would have been otherwise. The roundabout way is not NO way, it is the way where God leads. God has blessed the roundabout way with his presence, and I am learning to be grateful for the inefficiency of the path.

The Sacrament of the Barbecue Sauce

2008-11-03T09:21:00.000-08:00

Sometimes the greatest gift we give others is remembering.

Last year in a Stewardship meeting, we were planning our annual hog roast. Mike Miles, an amazing cook, commented that we'd use Sweet Baby Ray's barbecue sauce because everyone liked it. In a probably overly-opinionated way, I said, "Everyone but me. I prefer the eastern North Carolina-style sauce." Vinegary, peppery, not so sweet. Having spent time at Duke, and having sampled many types of sauce in my stay there, I was quite adamant. Mike revised his statement with a chuckle.

This year, I didn't have much to do with planning the hog roast. Mike and his small group spent hours creating the side dishes from scratch, planning and preparing and serving. They sacrificed time and energy to bless their entire church family. When I slipped in the kitchen to thank them, I was told that Mike had made a special sauce, just for me: eastern North Carolina-style, with his own signature tweaking. In all his doing for the whole church, he had done this one thing for me alone.

A year and a half later, Mike remembered our conversation. He recalled what I liked, and he did something about it. How incredibly kind! I felt so honored and humbled by that gesture. He couldn't have blessed me more if his gift had cost a mint of money. Mike remembered, and he acted, and his action showed his care. What's more, in a way I can't explain, that barbecue sauce was more than delicious (which it certainly was). It was a means of grace, a way that God communicated his infinite love and care for me, personally.

Sometimes, all it takes to bring life and joy and blessing to someone else is to remember and act. We think about doing big things for the glory of God, when often what communicates God the best is something rather simple. Mother Teresa said it: "We can do no great things, only small things with great love." I would simply add that small things done with love are indeed great things in the Kingdom of God.

Faith in the in-between

2008-10-27T04:15:00.000-07:00

Someone loaned me the book, 'The Secret,' recently. It is based on the idea that if we envision what we want (instead of focusing on what we don't), then what we want will come to us. The Universe, supposedly, works that way. The author claims that this positive thinking is the secret in all major world religions, a secret 'they' don't want you to know.

It is seductive to think that if we imagine checks in the mail, they will appear.

Let me quote Mondi Bridges as she lay dying from cancer, talking with her husband, William. "This positive thinking stuff is crap," she said to me one evening as I sat on her hospital bed. "But then, so is negative thinking. They both cover up reality -- which is that we just don't know what is going to happen. That's the reality we have to live with. But it is easy to see why people take refuge in optimism or pessimism. They both give you and answer. But the truth is that we just don't know. What a hard truth that is!" (The Way of Transition, William Bridges, Da Capo Press, 2001)

Positive thinking aside, God does not promise us an easy road. Jesus's invitation is not to 'think positively' but to take up our cross daily, living as those who know that death is inevitable. Inevitable, but not final. We take up our cross daily, knowing that God is with us in the Valley of the Shadow as well as on the mountain of Transfiguration. Change will occur, whether we like it or not. Life will be filled with joy and pain, as well as many ordinary days somewhere between extremes. Thinking positively or negatively are quite beside the point.

Will we hang on with God, regardless? Isn't that faith? Continuing the conversation with God, even when it is a cry of agony or anger or blame? Walking with God, humbly, on high days and low roads, and every boring day in between. Noticing God's presence, learning, learning, always learning that God's grace is sufficient. Choosing to trust that, somehow, God is in the midst of it - with us - is not a secret. It is life.

All of these words don't make the valley easier, do they?

Joying the Day

2008-10-23T11:58:00.000-07:00

Have you noticed today how blue the sky is? Have you taken into your soul the flaming autumn trees as they brush against that infinite blue? Have you felt the brush of the fresh breeze on your skin? Have you allowed the sunshine to saturate your soul?

Have you turned off every human-made sound and let the silence have its way? Have you let what or whomever is around you convey God's presence?

Have you heard the voice of someone you love, the bark of a dog, the rush of traffic?

Have you smelled cinnamon or burning leaves?

Have you tasted something delicious and savored every bite?

Why not?

Thoughts and Change

2008-10-16T15:32:00.000-07:00

Last night in our Bible Study, God Views, we read this advice to perfectionists: Anything worth doing is worth doing poorly.

It made me laugh. Just try something, anything. Don't wait until you can do it perfectly, or exactly, just do something. That's is the polar opposite of my usual train of thought.

Our thoughts are powerful. It's no wonder Kathleen Norris, in her newest book Acedia and Me notes that the seven deadly sins used to be called the eight bad (or tempting, perhaps) thoughts. The earliest Christians who wrote about their lives spoke often of how to overcome these thoughts. Their writings describe internal struggle, and what treasure they had found in learning to marshall their thought-life toward God.

Today I was feeling very 'beaten' by a sinus infection, Randy being gone, some bad news from friends and a busy week to come. Sitting in my class at the hospital, I was challenged to think about what I want to be, instead of what I am not. Ponder that for a moment. The leader reminded us we need more time to think than we usually allow ourselves. "So sit in your chair, take deep, wonderful breaths, and think," she invited.

I thought of all things I want to be, and it was incredible to note the amount of energy that simply flooded through me when I stopped focusing on what I wasn't (feeling well, to start with) and started thinking about what I want (to be healthy, to start with). I honestly felt more awake, less sick, more hopeful.

While we don't control which thoughts float in and out of our consciousness, we do control which ones we allow to live there. That, I think, is where the power of Christ comes in. There is, quite simply, no way to send those thoughts packing without the power of Christ through the Holy Spirit. In Christ, however, we find it possible to simply notice all that is going on in our mind, and allow only what is Christly to stick around.

It's a pretty frightening time in our nation's economic history. All around us, people are losing their jobs, at least here in Elkhart. Older folks are putting off retirement out of necessity. Younger ones feel insecure. The election has brought out the usual nasty rhetoric. There is not a lot of hope amongst the masses.

I could focus on that. Or I could remember the value of Philippians 4:8 - 'Whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable -- if anything is excellent or praiseworthy -- think about these things.'

How about this? From now on, I pray only positive. Instead of what I don't want, I will ask for what I do. Instead of noticing the failures, the stupidity, the negative, I'll give thanks for those things that lead me to my goal. A free country (isn't it awesome that we can have dialogs in public?); a prosperous community (isn't it so cool that we all have food on our table and there are so many generous people sharing their wealth?); a bright future (God promises when we pray he'll give us good things - bread, not stones).

Ok, it might sound corny to you. Still, why not? What is there, really, to lose? After all, anything worth doing is worth doing poorly! I want to be a person who works for God's good, bringing Christ near to others. I will let him train me to think and live in his Way. Who knows what he will make of me?

Question and Answer

2008-10-14T17:26:00.000-07:00

Answers. I like them. According to all tests, I'm a J on the Myers-Briggs, so I like decisions to be clear (and preferrably made quickly). I like to be right. I like to know the answers.

Only I don't think life is conducive to that, very often. One of my wise friends says to assume God is sending what we ask for or something better. My optimistic self wants to believe that, but then I think about the Jews and the Holocaust, and I wonder. No answers. Job didn't really get answers to his questions either. All he wanted was to have his day in God's court, I suppose to accuse God. What he got was God accusing him, nailing him with questions. Not answers.

Moses asks God how to tell the Israelites who God is. God just says "I am that I am." Not really an answer. We have turned that cryptic response into a name - Yahweh or Jehovah - but it's still not really clear, is it?

Why did the Levite chop his concubine into pieces? What were you thinking then, God? Were you behind that grisly effort? What was the reasoning behind Lot sending his daughters out to be raped instead of the heavenly visitor? Were you there with them?

How do I help the couple who comes to me, on disability, addicted to tobacco, $2000 behind in their rent? How do we work for the improved economy of Elkhart, what can you say to the thousands of people here who have no work and no prospects? What will happen when the unemployment runs out?

That doesn't even include cancer (something God created? a mutation? what purpose does it serve?) and child abuse.

My Jewish friend asks, "If Jesus was really the Messiah, why are people still dying? Don't you Christians think he conquered death?"

I don't have an answer - I am sure there is a theologically sound one, but it won't really answer him. He wants to SEE the resurrection, and I am no different. We both want answers. All we ever get is faith. All the Jews in the Holocaust got was faith. God just doesn't give us the answers we crave.

Jesus didn't answer a lot of questions; in fact, he asked more than he answered, just like God in Job. Jesus didn't solve his disciples' problems or end poverty in their lifetime, though some commentators say the Devil gave him a chance. A lot of Jesus's friends ended up with many more problems because they followed him. Some of them died for it. Answering questions, making it all make sense, doesn't seem very important to God.

Not trying to be depressing. It's just life. Sometimes, there aren't answers. Jesus just gave us himself, without answering a single question. Maybe that's the way to live without answers. Maybe that's the way God intends it to be.

I have no answer for that, either.

You Who Never Bore a Child

2008-10-10T06:07:00.000-07:00

Sometimes, the old prophecies come true, right before our very eyes. Isaiah wrote millennia ago: "'Sing barren woman, you who never bore a child; burst into song, shout for joy, you who were never in labor; because more are the children of the desolate woman than of her who has a husband,' says the LORD." (Isaiah 54:1).

I have 2 children to raise. Much of my time and energy goes to training, influencing, shaping, loving these 2. My friends who have no biological or adopted children, in contrast, have hundreds of children. One friend, a pastor, I have watched struggle with the reality that she would never bear a child. She wanted very much to marry, to raise a family. She wanted even more to please God, and his call on her life moved her in directions away from marriage and parenthood. It broke her heart for a time, and I grieved with her, even while I watched her pour out her life to help the youth in the church we served together.

Another, a missionary, is married but she and her husband have made a conscious choice not to have children. She has never shared with me those discussions. I don't know her heart. But I do know that hundreds of families are stronger, more secure, and more aware of God's love because of her work. She is able to serve in her mission with unreserved passion, because she does not have to hold some back for those who wait at home.

In Old Testament times, these women would have been considered cursed. Children were social security, they were future, they were signs of status and bonds to cement marriages. In many ways, they are all those things today. Some women so yearn for children that they do not feel whole without them. Others find marriages breaking under the weight of unrequited hope. I have counseled 'barren' women so sure that God has somehow cursed them for past mistakes and decisions that they feel utterly abandoned by God.

Yet Isaiah proclaims the opposite as he reassures the people of God and offers hope of a Messiah who will offer God's forgiveness, mercy and blessing. This may not be reassuring to the woman who sorrows for a child that never comes. Syncing our lives to what happens when it is not what we asked for is a surrender that doesn't come easily to anyone, let alone the woman who has convinced herself that God or her own past has cursed her life.

Isaiah's prophecy is an invitation to see things through the eyes of a Messiah yet to come, to envision a world turned on its head by the arrival of God's Chosen One. When I look through Jesus, I see my women friends have many more children than I could ever hope to raise. Nieces and nephews receive their love, grace and attention. Youth and adults where they serve are trained and influenced, enveloped in love and given a future.

To be sure, my so-called barren friends do not take children home with them at night (very often). No infant kicks them from the inside, or calls them 'Mama.' There is grief in that for those who long for it. I don't mean to belittle the desires and hopes that life sometimes dashes for us, though I pray that those who bear heavy senses of cursedness will find their hearts and minds lifted by truth.

As Christians, let's celebrate these 'barren' women of God! Let's thank them for their ministries, let's be sure they don't lack for thanks and hugs and smiles and friends. Though Isaiah's words are metaphor, they are also very real and true. Children do not make women blessed. God does, and all too often, his blessings flow through women who offer God their desires, their present and future, their time and energy to bless the world.

Good Day

2008-10-04T05:06:00.000-07:00

These are the golden days, I know. Quiet Saturdays, sleeping in. First frost sparkling in the morning sun. Maia up early to watch TV, James asleep on the bedroom floor (that's another story!). Kitty curled up in her place. Randy stretched out in blissful unawareness.

These are the golden days. It won't be long before band contests and sports and school activities wake us early for long days on the run or the road. All too soon, friends and social events trump family most of the time. My friend Kim reminds me, as she sends her oldest off to college, that the day of separation comes sooner than later.

We are all four healthy, and we are here. So this morning, I'm delighting in the gift of a golden day.

2008-10-02T10:44:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking a lot about church. Well, duh, I work in a church. But seriously, someone asked me this week if I thought someone can be a Christian without being part of a church.

That is hard for me to answer. I could go all theological, I suppose. I'd rather tell you a story.

When I was 3 weeks old, my parents brought me to Star City Methodist Church to be baptized. Throughout my childhood, we were there almost every Sunday. Sunday School, Vacation Bible School, youth ministry, camping, music - all that made up a huge part of my life. Now, there were weeks, as a teenager, when my friends and I would skip Sunday School and go down to Groom's Drugstore for a vanilla coke. For me, that was church too, slipping past our parents, hanging with my friends. We knew we'd only get away with it for a week or so before our dads pulled in the reigns, but the week was glorious.

At Star City, I played guitar and organ, I sang, I helped with the little kids. There, I learned that part of being Christian is loving some pretty nutty people, and that you don't just walk away from people because you don't like them. My gifts, imperfect and unformed, were welcomed. My time was useful. I mattered, but no more nor less than anyone else.

In many places in my life, I did not feel that same message. Awkward, stubborn, overweight, introverted, mostly scared most of the time, posturing to cover how awful I felt - that was my life. But church? They loved me, they corrected me, they treated me like someone. They were Jesus to me, and they helped me become less awkward, less stubborn, more whole, definitely loved.

Christ, through his church, saved me. When I was an anxious single schoolteacher, the church became my haven and provided me a motley crew of friends. When our daughters died, it was the church that brought us meals and let us cry on their shoulders. The church has brought Jesus closer to me at more times than any other single thing. The church has made me who I am, helped me become more than I ever would have been without it.

So, how could I not believe Church is crucial (pun intended) to being a Christian? I know that some people have negative experiences at church, heart-breaking events that push them farther from God. Their experience of Christ's body has led them to hope and pray that being part of the Church is not necessary for them to follow Jesus. I don't judge that. I can only say what I know. For me, the Church - the people of God - has been Jesus in significant ways.

Now, we may want to debate the necessity of attending worship. Or serving. Or learning. But the church? Jesus saved me through his People. How could I want any less for anyone else?

Food Pantry Lessons

2008-09-29T05:55:00.000-07:00

Our church, Trinity, rallied this weekend to provide food for our local food pantry. Kids collected food on Saturday at a party. The church gathered for worship and brought boxes and boxes of goods. The Focus Adult Sunday School class wrapped up a month of their Bucket Brigade to collect money (the food pantry can generally get four times the purchasing power from money than we can). Last night, the junior high youth, with assistance from parents and Dave the truck driver, unloaded all those cans and boxes and bags at the food pantry, and began to stock the shelves.

150 families a day are using the food pantry. They can select 15 items (2 damaged cans count as 1 item) each month, equaling about $100. 15 items. As Shari, one of the parent drivers said, it's like going through the express lane. Once a month.

What 15 items would you choose? If you only had 15 things to last you a month, would you get the bag of dried beans, or the baby cereal, or the diapers, or the deodorant? What would your priorities be, if you found yourself in this situation?

I wondered. Would I get a boxed brownie mix, so my kids could have a treat in the otherwise bleak situation? Or would I be practical and get oatmeal, peanut butter, a large bag of noodles? Would a decision to use conditioner on my hair deprive my family of food? Can we squeeze a little more out of the tube of toothpaste so we can have some boxed cereal?

I don't have to make such choices, but many people do. I have other choices to make. How will I respond to the need that is in the world? If we really believe Jesus, then whatever we do to these 'little ones,' we do to Jesus. My choice is to decide how to respond.

God, grant me generosity to make the choices that are mine, to bring what I can to the collection site, even when no one is sponsoring a drive to encourage me. Have compassion on those who find themselves walking the aisle of the food pantry, trying to figure out how to feed a family on 15 things. Have compassion through me.

Sabbath-keeping

2008-09-26T09:11:00.000-07:00

It's Friday, at the end of a week filled with work, church, kids' activities, homework, allergies, and assorted other normal daily things. Friday is my day off, sometimes it's Sabbath, sometimes it's Preparation Day for a Sabbath that runs from Friday evening to Saturday evening worship. This week, Friday is Sabbath because we have to be at church in the morning. Randy is off work today. The sun is shining. Kitty the slightly odd-looking bullish dog is napping beside me.

Nowhere we have to go. Nowhere we have to be. Nothing we have to do. It feels like heaven.

That's exactly what Sabbath is supposed to be - a foretaste of heaven. A day to live on God's time, to purposefully live at God's beck and call so that it seeps into the other six days and all of life becomes God-directed. A day of peace that spills over and makes us people of peace the rest of the time.

I looked forward all week to it, but the temptation to fill the day with shopping, errands, work is huge! There is always more to do. Stopping has to be a choice. No wonder God had to make Sabbath-keeping a commandment! Otherwise, we'll just do one more thing, try one more thing, slip in an activity or two, and before long we aren't stopping at all.

God commands me - us - to Sabbath. A rabbi Randy knows sent us a recipe for cholent, a traditional Sabbath dish. For Orthodox Jews, it is breaking the Sabbath to turn on a stove or light a fire. A fire kindled or a stove turned on before the Sabbath is allowable. So they have a dish called 'Cholent' which is started before the sun sets on Friday and cooks until Saturday mealtime. Crockpots are Sabbath-friendly, to the Orthodox Jew.

I joked about this last weekend. How much energy does it really take to plug in a crockpot or turn on a stove? Is that work? For the Jew, yes. Because even the family cook, be it Mother or Father or you yourself, should have the taste of heavenly peace. Since they also don't want to cause work for others, ordering pizza is not an option. So they put together the cholent on Friday, and let it simmer away.

We aren't going to make it as Orthodox Jews, and yet I want everyone I know to receive the blessings of deliberately choosing Sabbath. It is indeed a blessing, a joy, to cease from work and to not put work onto others. Choosing Sabbath takes planning and thought, it is a decision that doesn't happen by itself. And it does form me into a more tolerable and kind person the rest of the week. Why am I blogging on a Friday then? Probably because I like to! Still, after I finish this, I'm even turning off the computer, unplugging the phone, and simply being in the day. God is in control, and the world will survive without me.

If someone is actually reading this, I am going to pray that you find the strength in yourself to choose to keep a Sabbath. Stay home, cease from your work and fret, allow others the freedom to do the same, and rest in God's care and provision. It will be easier and even more blessed if we do it together.

You have to love a God who puts resting in the top 10 things he wants you to do with your life!

Rabbi Tovia's Cholent recipe
Boil one package of parley and some red beans and lima beans in water to cover for 10 minutes. Drain. Cover again with water, boil 10 minutes, drain. Do the same thing one more time. This will help with the gas, or so he says!

Fry some onions and place them with some olive oil in the bottom of a crock put. Put the barley and beans in the crock pot. Pour a can of vegetarian baked beans over the top. Add salt, ketchup, pepper and a few cloves of garlic to your taste. Mix it all thoroughly. Add some flank steak or stew meat. Add some sliced potatoes. Pour boiling water over the whole dish until the water comes to the top of the food.

Let it simmer away in the crockpot on low. Given how the Sabbath works in Israel, I'm guessing it cooks for 12-15 hours before they even attempt to eat it, but the recipe doesn't say. Leave the dishes until morning!

I get a present from the Verizon Guy

2008-09-18T19:08:00.001-07:00

The Verizon guy came today (his name is Phil). Our phone has been buzzing for some time. Phil showed me the outside box, and having determined it was a problem somewhere down the line, told me he was off to fix it.

I said something like, “Really?” and he looked at me strangely. “Don’t people you call to repair something usually repair it?”

Not always.

So I am sitting, watching Phil go from phone box to phone box in the neighborhood, trying to figure out where the problem is. He’s extremely diligent at his work. I want him to be right about fixing the phone, for his sake, as well as mine. His optimism and taking-for-granted-the integrity-of-repair-personnel attitude appeals to me. And it is, after all, a Friday afternoon. I’m probably his last stop. It would be good for this nice, positive guy to end the week on a success.

On the other hand, people I call to repair things don’t always repair them. Sometimes because they don’t try too hard. Sometimes because it’s just not repairable. Often because they can’t figure it out that day. They call in someone else, or forget about it. Sometimes they make us wait (which is why we do not do business with Comcast).

I really appreciate Phil the Verizon guy’s attitude and persistence. I intend to thank him and report his great attitude to his supervisor. As soon as he fixes my phone.

You might get stuck

2008-09-18T19:08:00.000-07:00

Kids make faces at each other. They make faces for no particular reason. My mom used to say, "Be careful what face you are making; it might get stuck that way."

Faces are not the only things that get stuck. I realized this week that if we react to life with complaints, bitterness, anger, and blame, we get stuck that way too. How we act and react when we are young become habits, patterns, that imprison us as we get old. If I'm grumpy and whiny now, how much more will I be when I'm older and have less energy to fight it off?

Someday, I'll be stuck. I used to think it was never too late to change, or at least that it wasn't too late until death. Now I am not so sure.

There's a poem by Jenny Joseph that a lot of senior women find inspiring. It's called 'Warning', and it begins: "When I am an Old Woman, I shall wear purple with a red hat that doesn't go, and doesn't suit me." Many of those senior sisters have formed red hat clubs, where they get together for the joy of friendship, wearing red hats and purple tops and crazy, gaudy jewelry. http://labyrinth_3.tripod.com/page59.html if you want to check it out for yourself.

Well, I doubt I'll wear purple, and I never did like hats. Instead, I am going to wear laughter and gratitude. I want my face to get stuck in a smile . I want to be thoughtful and caring. I want to be strong and opinionated, but also loving and gentle with both my strength and my opinions.

If I'm going to be stuck that way, I want to start now.

Fire from Heaven, and other stories that I've never actually seen happen

2008-09-16T18:51:00.001-07:00

I want it to be exciting.

Tonight, James and I were reading the story of Elijah, how, when Elijah asked God to send fire from heaven on the wet wood of an altar, God sent fire. James just looked at me. He has become a skeptic where God stories are concerned. James understands that God did a whole lot of stuff that's really cool, dramatic, fiery, BIG, exciting, but he doesn't believe God really does that stuff now. I want him to believe, I want him to be excited.

If I'm honest, I want to be excited, too. Passionate. All-consumed. On fire. Sometimes it is that way with God. Remember church camp? That was big! Remember the first time you knew, just knew, that a prayer you prayed was truly answered? Or the confirmation of a call? I do.

Passion is what we're preaching about at Trinity these days. Yet even as I hope for passion, I remember that all those exciting times, for Elijah, were preceded by many, many days of simply walking with God, not to mention some persecution and extreme loneliness. Before the fire rained down, he had to gather wood, after all, and tote the water for the whole production. The writer doesn't really tell us about all that.

I remember that my own 'passionate' moments were preceded and followed by a whole lot of ordinary days when little old church ladies were praying for me. They were surrounded by huge stretches of time when I put one foot or one word or one action in front of the other and did my best to stay open to the ever undramatic nudging of the Holy Spirit. Passion is big moments, sure, but it's also coming to God daily, reading his word and looking for him in it regularly, doing something for someone else often, listening to the wisdom of the Body, and being ready for the big stuff when it's time.

Dailiness doesn't make a good story, I suppose. Maybe the parts of the Bible that talk about fire from heaven and crazed wicked queens are for the child in us. We need them. They remind us there is such a thing as faith that risks death. God is so much bigger than most of our puny prayers. We're kept on our toes, turning the pages day after day, never knowing just where or how the Wind of God will blow. As we do the daily work, as we keep returning our attention to God, the altar is built for the time when fire rains down.

I've never been good at manufacturing adventure or passion or excitement. All I can do is keep returning to Jesus, walking with him, doing what I can do to build the altar. He took care of the fire for Elijah. I suppose he just might do the same for me, and James.

Antonio and the amazing presence

2008-09-11T18:04:00.000-07:00

Antonio came to see me a few weeks ago. He was born and raised in Aguas Calientes, Mexico. Grew up, raised a family, and ran a printing business there. One day, back in the 90s, he went to bed one night and when he woke up, the peso was worth 3 times less than it had been the day before. Everything cost three times as much, but pay did not increase at all. His business went bust. He picked up and moved to Elkhart, finding work in one of the many RV-related businesses here.

When he walked in our church, he was 63, and his plant had joined many others in closing their doors. Once again, he watches as the bottom drops out of his life. Antonio came to see if we had a Spanish Bible. We talked for a long time, his great Spanish and broken English, my Hoosier English and pitiful Spanish. We managed to connect. He wanted a Bible and a job, in that order. Not a hand out. He needs money desperately, but won't take anything. He wants to learn English, but wants work most of all. At 63, with little English, even his printing and computer skills don't mean a lot.

I want to help Antonio. Antonio helps me with my Spanish. I'm afraid all I have had to offer him was the Bible, some supper one night, and a warm welcome. I can't fix the economy.

Whenever I hear someone make a disparaging comment about Hispanics, or 'those Mexicans,' I cringe and think of Antonio. He doesn't give up, you see. He calls. He comes back. He checks in. Though he worked in an office in Mexico, hear he has only known hard factory work. At 63, most US Americans contemplate retirement. Antonio wants to learn English and work.

I hope, when I am 63, I am still so hopeful, still stretching my mind around new things, still able to get around and long to give what I can to the world. Antonio is my inspiration. I haven't helped him all that much. But Antonio, he has helped me.

Just grazing my life away

2008-08-28T17:26:00.000-07:00

All my life, I've struggled with my weight. I remember being 4 and thinking I was fat, that my tummy was bigger than most people. Self-fulfilling prophecy or not, by the time a few years had passed, food was my solace, my friend, my god. Not just food, really. Eating it.

I have had no real idea, no true concept, of how little I really need to thrive. Large portions, lots of choices, and grazing combined with a dislike of movement led to the expected outcome. How many diets have I been on? I can't remember all of them.

When prayer didn't magically take away my desire for mass quantities of food, I felt pretty angry at God. Why would he leave me with this, what was the point? Why not take it away, why no sudden healing, no instant growth? The oxymoronic nature of it didn't really sink in until the latest attempt at curbing my desire to fill myself with food, food, food.

Instant growth. No such thing, is there? Most healing isn't sudden. Given the nature of our bodies, healing probably isn't meant to be sudden. The healings Jesus did, like the turning of water into wine, were 'hurry ups' of what normally takes a long time. Signs. Pointing to the one in charge of time and processes.

So, what has healed? I don't know the answer, but I can spot growth. Less judgment, more mercy. Less perfectionism. Less all-or-nothing, more grace.

I still struggle with coming home, wanting to fill myself up with food, having spent the day expending all the energy I have. Not knowing what to do with myself, I turn to food too often even now. Only now, instead of being angry at myself, I look back at what I've learned. I wouldn't wish this road on anyone, but I wouldn't trade it for anyone else's, either. In that knowledge is some measure of fullness. For now, it is enough.

Pray for the children

2008-08-19T17:24:00.000-07:00

James finished his 5th day of kindergarten today, with the expected exhaustion resulting in a tantrum of massive proportion. Thank you, Jesus, for once I responded with grace and calm. After a tussle in the shower, we curled up on my bed for a story and a snuggle.

He wanted to tell me a story (which means it didn't really happen but he has been thinking about it). In his story, a bully pushed him in the gravel of the playground. "Why do kids push other kids?" he asked at the end of the story. We had just finished a book with a word about God's protection, and he said, "It's not true. God doesn't protect me from bullies."

I listened to him spinning more of the story, and responded that God is not like a Power Ranger, blowing up bad guys, because he hopes that the bad guys will become good guys, and they can't if they are dead. He looked at me with his big brown eyes and asked, "Mom, are bombs real?"

How I wished I didn't have to answer that, but I said that they are. He began to cry. "Why do people drop bombs on each other?" I tried to explain that they do it when they are at war, and he asked, "Do they drop them on children?" "Yes, where the war is, sometimes."

Tears were really flowing by this time. "Do kids get apart from their parents in war?" "Where is the war?" "Does the Devil get in people's brains, is that why they do it?" "Why doesn't God stop them?"

By this time, my heart had broken wide open. I tried to think what to say, wanting so much to ease his obvious pain. "God doesn't stop them. He hopes they will listen to him but they don't want to. He stays close to the hurt people." Out of my mouth poured all the things that we Christians say to try to make it better when God seems so far away. Not enough to explain it away. We talked for a while longer, but finally all I could do was reassure him that there is no war in Elkhart and that I am going to stick to him like white on rice, that if he listens to God in his mind, he won't be one of the ones who hurts people. "We should pray war doesn't come here," he said.

Yes, we should, and for the children where the war is. For the children who maybe might grow up to hurt others because somehow 'the Devil got in their brains.'

God have mercy on us all. God help James, and Maia, and the children of their generation grow up to make peace, to be as passionate about nonviolence as so many are about violence.

2008-08-13T14:38:00.000-07:00

My children fight over me. For a moment of peace, I went to the front room and sat on the couch. Our son came in and sat on the edge, momentarily preoccupied with a plastic bag. His sister slipped in behind him, taking his spot next to me. A tussle ensued, all over who got to sit next to me. Finally, I expressed my displeasure of their fighting and they stomped away, united in their anger at me.

When they left, the dog came in and sat down in the place they both wanted. She doesn't fight, she just waits for an empty space.

I'm sure there's a lesson in there somewhere, but for the moment I am just sad that my children are in competition for my attention, or for their place, or for anything, really. Sure, my mothering could use improvement. Maybe I'm not handling it well.

So I pray, asking God to make them friends, to give them enough good memories to overcome the bad, to provide enough in common so that they can enjoy being together when they are older.

And then, Maia slips in quietly and deposits herself at the other end of the couch. Her brother dances in, a torn plastic bag making a laurel wreath around his buzzed head. His comic pratfalls elicit a giggle from his sister. Maybe there's hope. That's lesson enough for today.

Randy Gibson, Ph.D.

2008-08-02T03:54:00.000-07:00

Today, my husband, Randy, receives his Ph.D. from Purdue University. When I think back over the last decade (really!), I feel a rush of pride in his achievement and gratitude to all who supported him. According to statistics, he shouldn't have finished. He did everything wrong, from leaving the area (for my work) to working full time in another profession to having kids. I'm sure there were many times he was ready to pack it in. There were certainly times I was ready for him to admit defeat. After all, his dissertation took him away from us, his family, on a regular basis as he read and typed in the basement office after work.

Despite the challenges, his dissertation turned out to be a blessing. There were pieces of it that blew me away, and one philosopher's thought in particular ('death is not a problem to be solved') and Randy's way of working that out brought some rather dramatic healing to my thought processes.

So thank you, Jesus! Thank you, family. Thank you, Purdue profs. Thank you. Where we go from here, only God knows. That's ok. Here is a wonderful place to be.

Hush My Mouth

2008-07-25T03:45:00.000-07:00

I was reading James 4: 11-12 in The Message paraphrase of the Bible this morning. Eugene Peterson sees James as connecting how we speak of others with their destiny. Somehow, our 'bad mouthing each other' affects our future, where we're headed, what we're able to become: our destiny, as I said.

All the little comments we make about co-workers, friends, enemies, whomever, affect their destiny? Destiny is God's job, James believes. Who are we to mess with it by our mean words?

For me, this puts all kinds of things in a new light, from 'closing the door and hocking up a hairball,' what my co-worker calls venting, to the snide comments we make about the way someone else is living their lives. When I complain about someone, or criticize them to another, somehow that shapes who they become. It's as if, even for a few minutes, their path is blurred, or they are truly hurt, even if they don't know it's happening.

One of my co-workers, Kristen, proposed that everything we say should meet three criteria. It should be true. It should also be kind. Finally, it should be necessary. We'd certainly talk a lot less, and do a lot less harm, if we followed that advice.

No wonder James says the tongue is the most powerful thing! Now, dear God, today hush my mouth, until I can process what I say through your ears and heart. You are in charge of others, be in charge of me.

Summering in Indiana

2008-07-07T18:21:00.000-07:00

There are far sweeter places, some say, than Indiana. It's true we have more than our share of flat in this part of the world. The winter's gray skies sour our spirits by February, and there's not much lovely to see unless Lake Michigan gives us another snow storm to cover the slush.

Summer in Indiana, though, treats us to glory. This morning I awoke to the ringing of the phone and my friend Mary Ann inviting me to pick blueberries. Throwing on some shorts and a t-shirt, I hurried into her van and off we went to the Blueberry Ranch, hoping to beat the thunderstorms and the birds. 40 pounds of berries and some great conversation later, Mary Ann dropped me off at home in time for lunch. Maia invited Kenzie, James invited Patrick, and Randy and I drove the crew to Ideal Beach.

Randy says it's not a real beach, it's only a lakeshore. On a warm summer day, the difference isn't all that significant. The kids played in the shallow, sandy water, dug for shells and rocks, and retreated to the play area occasionally. Randy and I waded too, for a while, then we walked and talked and watched.

Hot dogs and hamburgers on the grill were our supper, followed by the first blueberry pie of the season. Not the last, I hope. Most of the berries are nestled in the freezer for winter, but I have enough for one more pie stashed in the fridge. Weather permitting, I'll pick again this week or next, or both. Somehow, picking and preserving feeds my soul as well as my body and my family.

Could I give it today, I would offer to anyone and everyone the taste of Indiana blueberry pie, made with berries still warm from the bush. Savor it, let the berries burst open and fill your mouth with their sweetness. Taste the soil and the sun and the grace of God. If you can, eat it outside, in the equal sweetness of an Indiana summer evening, accompanied by lightening bugs, skeeters, and a gentle breeze. Hide this day in your heart, for those gray February nights when, light-starved, we long for a taste of joy.

To a louse

2008-06-30T16:48:00.001-07:00

As usual when preparing for a sermon, I find nuggets of wisdom completely out of context. I found myself face to face with Rabbie Burns this week.

"O wad some power the giftie gie us
To see oursels as others see us.
It wad frae monie a blunder free us
An foolish notion:"

It became a prayer, really. "Help me see myself, clearly and honestly." So many problems come from a lack of self-knowledge. I've watched many a person cause pain and suffering in those they love, simply because they are clueless about their own feelings, their own strength, their own ego.

Then I googled the first line, and discovered that the title of the poem is 'To a louse.'

A LOUSE!

Ach, Rabbie - wisdom in a louse. Wisdom for me, trying not to cause pain and suffering in those I love. Lice of all things. Maybe the world would be a far better place if we not only knew ourselves, but if we also took time to contemplate with such devotion small and ordinary things.

I'll put it on my to-do list: meditate on a louse.
Holy Spirit, you crack me up!

(Here it is, if you want to read the entire poem for yourself)
http://quotations.about.com/cs/poemlyrics/a/To_A_Louse.htm

Losing my temper, finding grace

2008-06-27T17:09:00.000-07:00

Maybe it's the weather, or the stress of a long stretch of too much work, but my temper has really been short at home lately. Ask my kids, and they will tell you how crabby I've been. Then I wonder how much damage I'm doing by just losing it. Now we are just loud, all three of us. I have trained them to be loud.

In the midst of it, though, has come strange grace as Maia learned to sew buttons on scrap pieces of fabric and James proudly made basket after basket at basketball camp. They are really smart kids. perhaps that's part of the problem - I don't help them plan enough of their days, and then they go a little nuts and so do I, in a different way.

I prayed. Then today on my bikeride, a family from our church was outside in their drive. Mom and her two preschoolers played in a small plastic pool. Splashing and pouring and throwing water, they were all getting blessedly wet in the hot, humid afternoon. Mom. Playing with them. God shone a light on them, highlighting that particular parenting model so clearly it almost blinded me.

What a concept. Playing with the kids. Interaction. This is not me. I'm always in my own world, following my own agenda, self-centered to the core. Tomorrow (at least until I have to work in the afternoon), we are going to 1. buy fabric squares so Maia can sew 2. Play with bubbles 3. go on a bikeride 4. pack a couple more boxes from Maia's room 5. Get out some sidewalk chalk.

I'll be tired, but I can always sleep at night. Then Monday, I'm giving some thought to vacation planning. I'll have time to myself. But I'll also have times to give myself away.

Picking berries in the summer sun

2008-06-24T18:40:00.000-07:00

We have three service berry bushes in our backyard. When a friend who landscapes told us that they were edible, even 'good on your cereal,' the kids and I would pick a few and eat them. They are tender, a little seedy, quite sweet and mild. Last year, we even picked enough to have berries and sweet milk one evening.

This year, James has been fascinated by them. I've caught him a couple of times in the evening, standing outside in his pjs, picking them for a 'bedtime snack.' I challenged him and Maia to pick enough to make berry crisp, and looked up service berries on the internet. Now we know they are also shadberries, juneberries and wild plums. We learned that the original people in this part of the world made pemmican out of them. I figured that must mean we could do something with them that would taste decent. The kids picked 5 cups worth, I adapted a fruit crisp recipe, and slapped those puppies in the oven.

Oh my! Heaven. It tasted very much like cherry crisp, only requiring much less sugar and with a few tiny seeds to crunch on. That didn't bother us. We gobbled it up. Today, we picked even more. Enough for two pies or desserts are in the freezer. We'll pick tomorrow evening as well. I expect to have enough for at least 8 desserts when all is said and done. They are ripening fast and within a week they will be gone. I experienced a deep satisfaction at 'living off the land' as my grandparents and great-grandparents did, making use of what is at hand and putting the harvest by for the winter to come.

There was regret, however. All this time, growing there in our backyard, was this bounty of berries free for the taking! I was thinking as I picked about scarcity and abundance. In these difficult economic times, it's easy to think that there is not enough to go around. Desperation and selfishness, fear and anxiety all follow on the heels of a mindset of scarcity.

We are used to having so much that when anything big or small is threatened or removed, we think there's not enough. But the berries reminded me there is enough to go around, the whole world over. We don't share well. We take more than we need. I'm so guilty of spending money on things that don't matter while others starve or struggle half a world or half a street away. I don't even notice the berries in my own backyard, as I hurry on earning money to somehow make ends meet.

God intended abundance, provided lavishly. Small graces especially abound. What will I do with this abundant life I've been given? Will I share? Hoard? Be greedy for more?

I do know that I will make serviceberry crisp again tomorrow, and I will prayerfully and gratefully relish each and every bite. Maybe it will taste better if I make enough to share.

2008-06-21T10:07:00.000-07:00

My friend and I are always discussing the people who bug us. "Idiots," one of us will observe. After all, everyone should think like us! Usually the idiots think everyone should think like them. We know it doesn't help the world - it just helps us cope with people who challenge our determination to love.

I've found, though, that an hour on my bike in the warm summer sun, and it doesn't matter so much. Something strange comes over me. Not well-being, exactly. It's more like my body is praying while my mind is looking for potholes and shards of glass. By the time I turn the corner toward home, I am free of the worry and the stress. God is in his heaven and I am willing to let him do his job.

No other exercise has done this for me, to this point. What I'll do this winter, I don't know. Perhaps there are snow tires for bicycles?

Healing Prayer

2008-06-19T17:12:00.001-07:00

Writing a sermon on healing prayer challenges me. I am reading Philip Yancey's book "Prayer." He has good and interesting things to say and is, I'd judge, biblically and theologically sound. It's good to hear stories of people who've waited their whole lives for an experience of God, praying faithfully all that time, and only really 'connected' once. Good also to hear stories of people who weren't healed in the way they thought.

I prayed for years to be released from appetite for overeating, and for the polycystic ovarian syndrome that either arose from or caused that appetite (no one knows). Never happened. Still hasn't. But what I've learned is that I play a role, smaller some days than others, in releasing the raging appetite that plagued me for years. Perhaps that's an answer to my prayer for healing. Knowing that sugar sets me up for the desire to binge is helpful. Knowledge alone, though, hasn't proved enough.

What I've learned, I suppose, is that one never stops needing to pray for healing. For me, for the chronic nature of my dis-eases, healing comes with constant contact, with connecting to others who share the struggle, with honesty and with self-denial. It's not a sudden thing, but a constant thing.

The other thing is that, after a while, you get tired of praying for your own healing. It's boring listening to yourself beg over and over again. Pretty soon, I turn to praying for others, those I perceive as worse off (who but God can judge that), those whose faces or names come to mind. Strange, but that brings more relief, more wholeness than anything else I do in prayer.

I am not sure what it changes. Prayer isn't really about problem solving (as much as I wish it were). Prayer doesn't solve anything. It is more like entering a different world, and letting yourself become enculturated to that other place.

Whatever else can be said, James is pretty clear that if we're in need, we pray (and not alone). Jesus tells us 'When you pray' not 'If you pray.' So we keep at it, and try to ask faithfully, and once again fall on the merciful Spirit to translate our prayers into something intelligible to God. We are promised that when we pray, we will receive something good (Luke has Jesus telling us we'll receive the Holy Spirit,r regardless).

Nothing to lose, then, is there? Which doesn't make it easy, but that's another day.

What if it's all prayer?

2008-06-18T17:15:00.000-07:00

Saturday afternoon, I went for a long (for me) bike ride. Hot sun burned my arms, warm wind kept the sweat at bay. I rode between fields of soybeans and corn, under the cooling shade of roadside trees, past farm houses and barns. Killdeers, the little fakers, called my attention to themselves so I wouldn't notice their nests. Passing me carefully, a few cars and pickup trucks went on their hurried way. I enjoyed the scenery.

Toward the end of the trip, as I relished the easy speed coming down from an overpass, I realized that I hadn't thought a single thing for some time. I, who so often lives in my head, had not one thought for at least 10 minutes. I just rode. As that thought crossed my mind, another was on its heels: what if this is prayer? What if this bicycle ride, this joying in the golden sun and the warm wind, is wordless prayer? At that moment, I was absolutely sure that the entire experience connected me to God.

What if it's all prayer? All that we do, all is connected to God? What if the good, the bad, and the ugly are all done in his presence, and it is OUR presence that is missing? Our absence of mind, our absence of attention, our absence of desire - these don't prevent prayer, but rather prevent us from realizing our prayer, God's presence? Prayer is always without ceasing, we just don't know it.

A Beginning Commentary

2008-06-13T13:39:00.000-07:00

Oh, the ego of it! That I might have something to say that the whole world has yet to hear is rather funny. Yet I am also reminded that if God doesn't use the broken, there is no one God can use.

Which means, of course, that you who read this might be in just the position to be an angel, a messenger of God, today. Do it! Bless someone, put good into the universe, bring a gift, offer encouragement, live.