The Battle Rages On

I had one of those weeks.  One of those weeks that is so common to the human experience that right now everyone's head is nodding, and their eyes are glazing over, and they are saying to themselves, me too buddy, me too.  I know that my 'those weeks' is no worse than anyone else's.  I am not even looking so much for sympathy as empathy.  Someone once told me, when I complained about never seeming to make my money and my month match, "Look around, honey.  You are bound to see people you know."  I think in your misery it helps to look around and realize you are in good company. 

Because it has been one of those weeks, I have gone back to the basics.  It has been a good thing for me.  I have forgotten to practice some of the things I preach.  I am not waking up in the morning and suiting up in the armor God has given me to battle against those forces Paul describes in Ephesians 6 as " the cosmic powers of this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places." 

I have failed to remember this journey with God is not always a delightful stroll through shady pathways, or breezy beaches, or even hiking up mountain trails.  Those are delightful times of rest for weary souls, or challenges to our spiritual muscles, or even times of remember who we are, and whose we are.  I like those times.  I might like them too much, so when I am returned to the battlefield, I am unprepared and ill equipped.  Much like attending a banquet to celebrate, staying far too long, and eating way too much, sometimes we just don't get that the party is not a way of life. 

I missed some early signs that the cosmic powers of this present darkness were advancing on my borders.  I was ill prepared and was taken by suprise when the attack was launched.  It did some damage honestly, and would have been much more effective had God not known already how ill equipped this little soldier had become.    What is so amazing about God is even when we know better, God provides for our ineptness.  Not only provides but uses it to show us how very precious we are to Him.  While I was snoozing on my watch, God called up prayer warriors to come to my aid, both in prayer and in presence.  I was reminded again that we are truly not battling flesh and blood, and we are certainly not battling in our own strength and ability.  So, though harm was intended, grace wins again, and I am back to the basics of suiting up to go to battle.  It isn't so bad really, we know God wins in the end.  The battle is ongoing but the victory is certain.

So suit up fellow soldiers.  We battle an enemy that is not flesh and blood, that is within our gates, that is hoping to cause misery since it cannot have victory.  Stand firm.  Pray without ceasing.  Look around, you are bound to see people you know doing battle right along side of you.  Somehow the battle is easier knowing you have good company!

Learning to Suffer Well

This summer I had the privilege of speaking at a CFO Camp.  It was an awesome experience, and I just love the whole organization and the amazing things God during these weeks.  Just spectacular stuff, all around, the people, the program, the location.  There was another speaker there who said this profound thing.  He said his entire presentation had been about learning how to suffer well.  I looked at those around me and thought...wow.  Who wants to know about that?

Henri Nouwen in The Selfless Way of Christ, states that  we like John must diminish and Christ must grow larger in us, evidenced as we walk as he walked.  How did Jesus walk?  Paul says Jesus emptied himself, thinking equality with God was not something that can be grasped, and God raised him up and gave him the position above all.  Not grasping, not pushing, not demanding, but waiting and believing that God will honor what God said he would do.  The end of that sounds good, but....the beginning sounds pretty humiliating.  Who wants to do that?

I am the child Paul ranted and raved at; quit craving milk!  It's time to move on to the meaty stuff, the stuff that requires chewing, that requires digestion, that might even cause some discomfort.  But the milk is good, and it requires little from me and being the baby is the best.  Someone else cares for my needs, someone else has to handle the tough stuff, someone else has to make it all right.  Come and grow is the repeated call, eat some meat, be a big girl.

Somehow sanctification sounds like it would be more fun.  I see a journey along a beautiful country lane, gorgeous array of colors from the lovely flowers and shrubs and trees that line my pathway.  Warm homey cottages that house happy, hospitable people who run out to offer me water, or rest, or even another glass of milk.  From time to time there is a delightful little stream, running clear cool water, gentle sunlight dancing, a comfortable bench here and there to allow me to put my feet in.  There may be a pebble or two along the way that cause me to gently swerve, every once in a great while a dragonfly buzzing past, even (in the far off distance) a small green snake, to remind me that I need to stick to the pathway. It's all very much like the House at Pooh Corners I used to read  with my kids .  Fun, sweet, gentle, joyful, and I become all those things too, just because I can.

This walk through learning to suffer well, emptying myself, becoming nothing,  implies an entirely different pathway.  It winds back and forth and I can't see where it is going to end up.  It climbs stiff hills that make me breathless. The bugs that dive bomb my head, and the massive rocks I fall over, and the short tempered people I meet, are not wearing big smiles or look warm or hospitable.  Instead of offering me water and rest, I am asked for all I have and a little more.  I become exhausted, and hopeless, and lost, and hurting.  Father Gus, from the monastery in  Conyers, GA, once told my friend Valerie that the way to humility was humiliation.  Ouch.  Rather than suffer well, becoming nothing, I am the baby on the side of that path, yelling angrily at God, "You are doing this wrong!"

But I am trying to be better.  I am not excited about this path, honestly.  It is completely petrifying to me, all this unknown twisting and turning.  I don't think I am up to the hiking, and the climbing, and the endurance this stuff takes.  I am fairly sure that I can't do it.  That's a lie, I know I can't.  I can't handle the pain, or do the work that is required.  If God doesn't do it, it wont happen.  Will God do what God says he will do?  Can I really put that kind of trust and confidence, my every hope, my very being?   If I can't, then all is lost.  Seconds drag on and I realize I am holding my breathe.  Is God up to the challenge?

That's the secret of course.  It isn't suffering when you are on the road home, its healing.  I know Who's waiting for me, I know that my arrival is anticipated and my journey will be made with God's strength.  I can't say I am without fear, or that my trust in God is so strong that I will never need to ask the question:  "Are you still in here with me, God? "  Isn't it amazing that God doesn't wait for me to have it all right before we start the journey.   These days God doesn't always hold my hand, or walk where I can see Him.  Sometimes when I look up, I don't see even the reflection of His glory.  I can walk much further than I once could without the constant reminder, but there are places when the path scares me, and the way is very challenging, and I am limping from a particularly tough climb.  Then I fall into a heap and I cry and I ask God again, are you here with me?  God's graciousness abounds and once again He fills me with his love. 

We can suffer well when we suffer in love.  Thanks be to God.

The Light of God's Love

I love to watch the sunlight dance on the water.  The water lies gently sloshing about, stirred by the wind, and the ducks, and the boats in the distance that send ripples out in all directions.  It is pleasant, and pretty, and just watching is often enough to soothe my soul, and invite peace into my troubled heart.  The sound is comforting too, and when I am still and no one else is around, I can hear the sound of the birds, and the bugs, and the water bumping up against drift wood.  I can feel the muscles in my shoulders relax, my heart rate slow down, and my self importance drift away.  Its a truly peaceful place and it makes me happy.  Then, from behind the clouds, the sun pops out and makes the water become alive.  Wherever the sunlight touches the water the movement becomes dance, the diamonds that light up the surface like a million stars.  The peace I am feeling moves over to make room for the joy that bubbles up in me.  I was here to see the water touched by God, and it makes me want to dance too.  The goofy grin is a given, the laughter that wells up in me escapes, and I am quite a sight for any unsuspecting fishermen. 

I have often experienced this feeling on the shores of Kentucky Lake, it is one of my favorite ways to renew.  Unlike the things I have to understand intuitively, or intellectually, or accept by faith,  that one is just experiential.  That one I get, not because I know what is happening, but because I have experienced it happening time and time again.  Every once in a great while God has blessed me with the opportunity to share this experience with others, and that has been even a deeper joy.  When joy is shared it multiplies.

Today, a long way from the water, and in a typically intellectual setting,  the light of God's love burst through and caught me entirely by surprise.  I was listening to a speaker, and enjoying the delivery and the message, relaxing and being so grateful for the time away.  Much like the water, I was listening to words, and calmed by their impact, when the Sonlight  peek from behind a cloud and made them alive.  It was a good message anyway, but when the light of God's love transformed them, I was filled with joy again and I wanted to dance. 

I like to be entertained, and I like to be entertaining.  I enjoy getting to speak or preach when invitations come, and I have always been glad when God has used me to speak to someone.  I am always happy when someone says they learned something new.  I am content if I have been able to hold some one's attention, or kept them awake.  Now I am less satisfied.   I want to share that life giving joy with others, while we watch the light of God's love make dazzling diamonds dance where there were once just words.  If we are given the opportunity to be agents of transformation, why would we settle for knowledge?  Why would we be content with attentiveness?  Why would we settle with entertainment?  I hunger to see the words I am given become alive and bring the light of God in waves of joy, and peace, and love.

I plan on watching the water dance more often.  It's such a blessing, it seems silly to allow busyness to keep me from peace and joy.   I am praying that God will allow the words I speak to reach others with the same life giving opportunity for transformation.  What fun to watch for big goofy grins and hear the laughter bubble up.  Oh Lord, even me.

The End is The Beginning

Yes, I did go to see the last Harry Potter movie.  No, I didn't see it at midnight, but I saw it within 24 hours of its grand opening.  I would like to state, with confidence and authority, that I am not a Harry Potter groupie.  However, I would be stretching the truth a good bit so I will confess my fascination and endure the assault on my reputation.  Oh wait, I keep forgetting, Harry Potter suits my reputation just fine.

I liked the movie.  I will confess that I am with all the purist who are a little put out with the short cuts and the modifications to the story line.  I will also acknowledge that that story line stays fairly true and it's unlikely that anyone would sit through a five hour movie...well, twice anyway.  It was nice to see Hogwarts again, I really enjoyed the dialogue between characters, and Miss McGonagall was delightful.  Neville didn't get as much credit as he deserved and I was sorry the scene between he and Harry was cut on Harry's way to meet Valdemort.  That was one of the tender moments in the book I really enjoyed.  I was also sorry that the duel with Valdemort was more action and less verbal, that was one of the best dialogues in the book.  I have often thought that you could write a "God in Literature" thesis based on the end of this series.

Okay, I am about to blow the movie for you, so stop reading here if you want to be surprised. 

The story of God seems to be stamped all over the conclusion of this series.  I don't know JK Rowling, I don't know a thing about her or her faith, but the Harry Potter series goes a long way towards creating a parable of sorts that explains Christianity to millions of people in the most interesting way.  Valdemort, who is the embodiment of evil, has done all that is possible to make himself immortal, to make evil win out in the end.  Harry fights valiantly only to realize, that having done all he could to by fighting, he is left to surrender, and die so others might live.  His death is the death of evil once and for all.   Only in dying to defeat evil, Harry  is 'resurrected' to complete the battle, when love triumphs in the end.  If this is all sounding vaguely familiar it is because, while a pale comparison, this is the Good News lived out in Jesus.  Jesus, fully man and fully God, dies in order that evil, sin, separation and death will be defeated, arises again providing, reconciliation, eternal life, and hope for all those who call on his name.  Love triumphs there too.  Isn't God amazing?  Do you know how many people have met Harry Potter thinking it was just good fantasy stuff who may one day say, "Whoa, Jesus did that?  For me?"

It is not just Harry, the story is told in various ways in all kinds of generations.  The truth of it is so fundamental that God's story pops up in a million ways.  I know that some Doubting Thomas is right now thinking, how can I be sure that stories about people who lay down their lives for others verify the Gospel?  Could it be that the Gospel picks up this common theme and is a variation on that? 

It may be that everyone has to wrestle with these kind of questions themselves.  I have had that battle and I am happy to tell you that I am sure.  I have worked out my salvation with fear and trembling, just as Paul advises, I expect I will go on working it out!  God is gracious though and some of these battles result in victories that lead to healing and wholeness. 

First, there is the historical data and eye witnesses, after all Luke seems to have done some in depth reporting naming people, locations and times.  Those early witnesses didn't just tell people, they lived their faith, and died for it as well.   Surely, if this was simply a fascinating story from the imagination of some monk or another, someone would have said so by now.  You know what gossips we are!

Second, for several thousands of years, we stiff necked, argumentative, wacky, opinionated, knuckle headed people have done all that we can to push, pull, strain, regulate, impose, and intellectualize God right out of existence, and yet God is unfazed.  In fact, God is still God and takes all of the incredible nonsense we concoct and still reaches people every day in spite of the great help we try to give Him.   People who have had some of the worst examples of what following God is supposed to be like, somehow still choose to follow God.  This is nothing short of miraculous.

Finally, God has loved me faithfully.  I have no doubt that God,revealed in Jesus, loves me enough to make the sacrifice of everything in order to give me everything.  Not at all because I am so worth while, because by no real worldly measurement do I have much value, but because having known me since my mother's womb and called me His own, God hungered to have me know Him as my own.  I can't tell you how I know, though I can point to a hundred stories, episodes, wonders over the years.  I can tell you that sometimes the battles have been fierce, but in the end I have been called to come and die, so I might truly live.  I can point to the same things in those I have been blessed to journey with.  God's love triumphs and evil is defeated, both at the end and in the present.  If God is for us, who can be against us?!

So Harry Potter has come to a conclusion, but a new story begins.  It is the same in the Kingdom of God.  We welcome home a new soul and the celebration is loud and the party is fun.  Now one more light illuminates the path for the next traveler seeking the way home   The end is truly the beginning.  It's so good, I just may have to read it again.  Good God stories are just that way!

Genetic Connections

The family has just gathered again.  This time we did so to celebrate the mother's birthday, having attained the eight decade this year.  We were gathered at the home of the baby in the family, now greying like those who are foolish enough not to take the necessary measures to ensure this does not happen.  I believe we call them pigment impaired, but I am not sure of the correct terminology there. 

We started off the day with a rousing game of corn hole.  I must confess that up until now, I have been in a corn hole free zone.  The title alone has been enough to keep this 'been made perfect, being made holy' being on the sidelines.  That, and no ability to throw with any kind of precision.  Okay maybe the throwing thing has precedence, but regardless, let's just say I haven't played.  However, I am confident that even if I was wonderful at this game, the family would mercilessly make fun of me so there was no risk involved, and I tossed my first corn bag.  Turns out I was hideous, but I enjoyed it tremendously anyway.  Those who were not bad then took over and the games became more cutthroat, also typical family behavior. 

There is something about my family that makes the relation unique.  It is not a Walton family kind of connection.  We are fiercely independent, and none of us are alike, but there is no doubt we are a family.  The years we spend growing up together were more often in Nerf wars than in holding hands and singing "Let there be peace on earth".  Someone in my house was yelling often enough that we were never intimidated by this behavior.  Mostly we were checking out the direction, and weighing the potential personal impact.  We didn't mind picking on each other, but we didn't let others participate.

While we celebrated together, I watched my children, now adults themselves, play with my siblings.  Though we have never been close enough to be together often geographically, my family circle is still connected.  It is hard to fathom how that can be, but it just is.  There is something in the genetics that makes us a family even if months have gone by and there has been little contact.   In a crisis, everyone responds.  When there is a party we all try to come. If there is a need someone will fill it, often with a sigh.   It's not Norman Rockwell after all.

I can't help wondering if this is what is missing in the local church today.  This connection that has little to do with shared interest, fun programming, inspired worship, though all of that plays a part.  I wonder if we need more of the connection that comes from belonging, as brothers and sisters, that has nothing to do with us and everything to do with our Father.  I know we are working hard on making God gender neutral, but really God is not genderless.  God is gender full.  God is both male and female, both mother and father, and the key to the spiritual genetics that make us family members.  As children of God, we belong to this family.  We may be in conflict, we may be nothing alike, we have a variety of tastes, but we are related and the relation means that we are safe because we belong. 

I don't think it will be hard to attract people to a family get together, particularly when the family is enjoying each other, and is happy to welcome new kinfolk.  That feeling of belonging, of having a connection that might be stretched, bent, ignored, and still be connected is contagious.  Dysfunctional families, as most are, are hardly the stuff of those darling Currier and Ives greeting cards.  The local church isn't either and probably functions best when we remember that.  It looks good for the pictures, but it isn't real life.  There are characters in most families, after all. 

So, what if worship became a family get together each week?  I wonder if that would change how we feel about gathering, how we might behave while we were there, and who we might want to invite.  Somehow talking about God together each week would be different if we remembered we were talking about the Father/Mother we all share.   All kinds of possibilities exist in a family when the members know that they are loved, connected and valued.   Parties might spring up quite naturally!

My family is quirky, unique, frustrating, fabulous, creative, lazy, opinionated, hardworking, peace loving, argumentative, funny, sarcastic, talented, smart, goofy, uncoordinated, athletic, well read, liberal, conservative, generous, tall, short, couch potatoes, techno geeks, and so much more.  We are fun to be with, and exasperating almost at the same time.  Strange how that works!  Still, we have not had much difficulty in finding others who want to be a part, there seem to be new members all the time.  Must be the genetics!

The Patriotic Christian

I am one of those 'proud to be American' types that have been the negative focus of some of the politically correct movement inside the church.   Let me say that I do not think this is because I am naturally on the opposite side of any form of political correctness.  Or because I am oppositional defiant, as I have so often been accused.  And I don't think it is because I often choose the other side, just because I can be, though honesty forces me to admit that any of these reasons would probably be enough for me. 

'Get the American flag out of the Sanctuary', I hear a lot these days. 'The anti Christ is likely to be Lee Greenwood, and the military is already in his pocket'.  There has been such a wave of only anti patriotic religious stuff, that it makes my head hurt.  I wonder why on earth we think it is worth this kind of attention.  I mean honestly people, if Nero really did fiddle while Rome burned, has he become the patron saint of the mainline church?!

Do you really believe in a world where the influence of the church is at a historically low point, close to irrelevant, that what we should worry about is where we place the American flag?  Do you think this will be attractive to the Joe American we are hoping to welcome into God's Kingdom?  Hey, come on in, but check your love for you native land at the door.  We are above that sort of thing here.  Heck ya, sign me up!

All sarcasm aside for the time being, and this will be a brief respite, I like being an American.  I do not consider it higher than my status as being a child of God, and I do not think I am somehow superior to anyone else on the planet, but I like my heritage.  I like the country in which I live, I like the freedom I have to believe as I wish, work where I want, entertain myself in mostly whatever ways occur to me. (I say mostly only because some of the ideas that occur to me are neither safe or affordable. )  I do not think the country has been without flaw and failure.  I don't think we can claim our history has been without shame or horrors.  Even with all that, I can think of no where else in the world I would rather live.   I am willing to lay that down if it is a stumbling block to someone.  I do not have to say the pledge of allegiance, or sing God bless America, if someone is going to get all hot and bothered.  I am all about being sensitive to my brothers and sisters if this is a stumbling block for some. 

What I am not about is supporting the political posturings of some who seem to want the church to be an extension of their party affiliates, on either side.  I hope everyone votes and takes their rights and responsibilities as citizens seriously, we all are called to be faithful to the authorities over us.  But do not mix up preference politically with the call of the church.  We are not called to be conservative or liberal, we are called to be surrendered servants, who are faithful to God's calling, whether it suits us or not.  We serve all, we go anywhere and we do whatever, regardless of our likes, dislikes, personal agenda or political persuasions.  

Having ranted and raved, I must also confess, I have my own political opinions.  They are less absolute than they once were, as life has taught me there is no absolute except for the nature of God.  I am less likely to vote a party line or assume anything, but I have my own set of biases.  No one is exempt in carefully separating the revelation of God in the scripture and traditions of the church from the filters we carry, political, personal, cultural.   Before we open our mouths to speak an opinion, we might do well to consider if we are speaking for God or for us, and give or take credit as appropriate.

If you are a patriotic Christian, a very happy July 4th to you.  If you are not, well, enjoy the fireworks and the day off.  It's not hard to find a reason to be grateful, one way or the other.  I will move on to the next thing I can be opposed to.  So much to argue about, so little time.

Grace, Grace, God's Grace

Have you ever noticed that while we sing about grace, and we are so grateful for grace, and we talk about how fortunate we are that God gives us grace, we are just sick over needing it.  We are sick in ourselves, and we are sick about it in others.  Grace, sure.  Failure, not so much.  Stupid decisions, please get a life!  Use your head, people!  Can you believe what I did?  Can you believe what he/she/they/those guys did?  We say you are forgiven, but we remember.  We say there is grace but somethings are just not really redeemable by grace...are they?  Gosh, lets just say I hope not.  I am depending on God meaning exactly what God says. 

Today I received a very difficult phone call.  A precious person, so dear to my heart, made a very poor decision which could have resulted in injury to others and did result in some damage.   My precious person is still precious to me, maybe even more so, and the overwhelming need to tilt my head sideways and say, "what were you thinking" has very little impact on the love.  I am shamefully aware this has not been my reaction to everyone in the past, far and recent.  Some people do not get the same grace because I don't love them the same way.  How awful, no wonder I feel shame.

I am the man in the parable who has been forgiven a debt so large I could never have repaid it.  In fact, having been forgiven all that debt, I have gone on incurring debt that continues to be forgiven.  But those who have been in debt to me are required to meet certain standards before they can be forgiven.  They have to be people I love anyway.  They have to be trying to change whatever it was that caused the indebtedness to begin with.  They have to do things that make sense to me.  Who on earth do I think I am????

There is a place for accountability.  There is the need for brothers and sisters to come along side those who have caused an offense that requires grace to cover and lovingly help them make different choices in the future.  We might even be one of the places where they can turn when they need someone to stand with them, are in a bad place and need a way out.  There are times when we can lovingly speak truth into people or situations or even issues that are God given opportunities of light and life.  We do not hand alcohol to those who are far too susceptible.  We do not help people keep their blinders fully in place.  We do not aid and abet denial, avoidance, delusion.  But we never withhold grace, and the love of God.  Not if we want to take hold of that which Christ has already taken hold of for us.

Oh that today I might love as I have been loved, forgive as I have been forgiven, pour grace out on those who really need it today.  And God bless my precious person!

Never have so many said so much to so few....

You know the Internet has become truly a communication network.  Everyone knows what we are doing, why we are doing it, even what we think about the stuff we are doing.  If we don't put it in our status on facebook, or tweet it in twitter, we are blogging it here or in other spots just like this.  Blogging: the proof that we truly do believe that we are the center of the universe.  Yet, here I sit blogging myself, attempting to delude myself in to believing I am unique and different because I don't care if others read what I write or not.  Of course I do, I am writing with someone in mind...though now you mention it, it's probably still me.  To blog or not to blog, that is the question!   I am determined to settle this ongoing argument between my various personalities, once and for all.

One personality, the spiritual one, is aware that all gifts are graciously given by a God who loves us infinitely and expects us to use the gifts we are given.  They are given, not for our own entertainment, but for God's glory and they are used at their highest and best potential when one remembers this.  This personality is quite comfortable in the world of blogging as long as it seems like a Godly use of my time.  This would be like for the encouragement and edification of the Body of Christ, and is actively helping to making disciples (yes this personality does say edification). 

The cynic says this is nothing more than navel gazing and totally selfish in purpose, since I am mostly entertaining myself.  After all, do I really picture anyone else thinking I am as witty as I find myself to be?  I am using it as a spiritual discipline to focus on the moments when I have been aware of God's presence or activity in my life (the spiritual one interjects).   The cynic says, why don't I just keep track of it in a word document, is it important to have other eyes read it?  But what if others are encouraged by this? (mother teresa chimes in again) The cynic loves Demotivators and sends me back to the poster above (if you love these too, check out more at http://www.despair.com/).

Then Mary Poppins in the middle, the peacemaker who can see the middle ground of every argument, says what if it is both a gift and a selfish pursuit?  I don't like the peacemaker, all that much.  I like black and white, and Mary is always inviting me into the gray parts of life.  She is all the time suggesting compromises like, keep in mind this is a gift, but still write about things that honor God.  "Stay away from the dark side, Luke."  Remember that we are Christ bearers and our thoughts, words and actions need to reflect this.  Mary is a meddler. 

Finally Dr. Decisive, perhaps my favorite personality, says, "are we still talking about this ?"  This is the place of ' be wrong, just be something' in my life. At the end of the day, decide and move on.  Having considered all of the options, having weighed the pros and cons, you just have to say this is what I am doing.  Decide for goodness sake!  What are we running, a funny farm or something?!

So I am deciding.  I am going to go on writing.  I am going to try to stay God focused and I am going to remember this discipline maybe a blessing to many or few or one, but that would be God's job not mine.  I will be reminded that while there are people who write more efficiently, can even spell most of their words without the spell check feature, and have much deeper insights, they aren't me.   Perhaps I was put on this earth just to be an example to others, but in case there is the slightest chance there is more, I am going to keep going.

Now the rest of you get a grip, use it or lose it, baby.  And pipe down in here, I am trying to write!

The Fun of Father's Day

Its bad tie and barbecue day!  The day where we stop to think about our dads, give them gifts they mostly could have gotten for themselves if they had been so inclined.  Actually, in some cases my dad did get what he wanted for himself,  and we all signed the card.  And after all, he usually gave us the money to buy his gift so, why not cut out the middle man and call it square?!

I remember Father's Day many summers ago, when I was going to Camp Calvary with my friend Susie.  My dad drove me to her home, her brother unloaded my stuff into the van and he looked at me and whispered "Happy Father's Day".  I thought it was an odd thing to say to me, thinking "you look amazing" would have been so much more appropriate, when he gestured towards my dad and I finally had a light bulb moment.  I tried to make is sound like I thought it up myself but my dad was not convinced.  The knowing grin was a giveaway!   Hey, I was going to be gone for a whole week!  You would have thought that was the best gift ever!

My dad was the king of the wry grin.  He told us all kinds of nonsensical things that come to mind whenever I think of him.  Things like thunder was two clouds bumping together.  I know this is not true, but since I don't really know what thunder is, I like the two clouds theory.  In the days of the halter top, which was later replaced by the short shirt, he suggested I put a dime in my belly button so I could always call home.  Later the dime became a quarter but I never tried it.   I should have done it, it would have become a fashion statement, I am sure.

My dad also used to say "Don't let the door hit you on your way out", "Here's your hat, what's your hurry?" and "Come back when you can't stay so long".  I think that was a joke, but I was never completely sure.  He told me the entire time I was growing up that I should go to bed because he was tired.  I never understood that until I grew up and had kids.  Then I got it completely!

My dad used to correct us by making a buzzzz sound and then saying "X minus 2".  He taught us all how to drive because my mother didn't have enough courage.  My brother swears that he taught him how to parallel  park by letting him back up and then yelling crash in his ear.  All I remember from my driving instruction was when he would run his hand through his hair, sigh, and say my name with that exasperated tone.   My mother went with me for the test, I suppose by then my father had taken a medical leave.When the police officer told me to make a left hand turn from the right hand lane, and I did so, he very unkindly did not give me a license.  My father seemed of the opinion this man was well within his rights.  I disagreed, if you are the guy in the uniform, people are going to do what you tell them.  Another month later I passed but that officer told my mother I wasn't ready to solo.  I tell you, it was a conspiracy!

My father was very proud of his Scottish heritage.  When I dated a young man with a Mc last name, my father felt it important to advise me that Irish people lived in trees and tried to steal your livestock.  I don't think this is why this relationship didn't work out, but I am not sure.  We went to the Highland games each year and enjoyed the bagpipe bands and the Scottish dancers and the shortbread.  When my father knew he was dying he asked that a bagpiper play at his funeral.  When we arrived at the cemetery and the bagpiper was there, the floodgates opened for me.  That poor bagpiper, standing in the freezing cold wind playing Scotland the Brave.  What a glorious memory, to hear it played especially in honor of a man who found a sense of identity from the connection of his ancestors.  It was not easy to leave my father there in that cemetery on that cold November day, but it was a great comfort to picture him joining the family who had gone on to glory many years before.

My father was musically gifted.  It was a major part of his life and it shaped who he was, and who we all grew up to be.  I can remember listening to Peter and the Wolf and learning to identify musical instruments.  We learned all the major Broadway musicals and attended all the musical productions my father and his friends produced through the years.  He attended ours too, but with much grimacing and disapproval.  He said once in response to a talent show I had been a part of, about two young ladies who were not very talented, that there was a reason that Sears did not advertise wedding cakes.  Because they did not have wedding cakes, word to the wise.  He was a musical purist and had standards it was hard to achieve by the common choir director.

My father was King of the Television, Ruler of the Den, Keeper of the Car Keys.  He could be sound asleep and still know when you were about to turn the channel, he didn't want his chair occupied by anyone but himself.  If you were willing to sit still and be quiet you were allowed to stay.   He was not a sip sharer, he waited to take a bath until every member of the younger generation was asleep,  he liked to both watch the baseball game on the television and listen to it on the radio.  He liked dry humor, nice golf shirts, and witty puns.  He was always the last one to come to the table, he twirled his sideburns, and had a particular fondness for cashews. 

In the last month of my father's life, he received communion, rededicated his life, and made his peace with the church.  He shared his joys with me, precious memories of a life in music.  I have always been grateful for the week I spent with him before he died, and for God's graciousness in giving me the assurance that this death  was leading to life everlasting.  The goodbye was hard, but so much easier than it could have been had it been a permanent one.

So Happy Father's Day again, Dad.  I haven't forgotten "Buy low, sell high" or any of the other important advice you gave me through the years.  I am grateful that you were my dad, even if I did think that I was actually born a Carnegie, or a Mellon, or Batgirl.  I have learned to eat all my vegetables so I can grow "big and strong like Hopalong Cassidy".   I remember you with great appreciation and love, pretty good Father's Day gifts, the kind that go on giving.  

Worship by the Book

Worship direction is not for cowards.  Let me just say, for the record, if one goes off to direct worship for a venue larger than the local church, one must be prepared to patrol the boundaries and be willing to take prisoners as necessary.  I heard once of a lady running worship for a very large body, referred to as "She who must be obeyed".  I know why now.  All that sweetness, and kindness, and gentleness, that we are encouraged to value is a serious handicap in the behind the scenes world of corporate worship.  One must grow the skin  of a rhino, and the flexibility of a circus performer.  One must speak softly but carry a big stick.  One must smile a lot and say ridiculous things to your team on the head set or all of the joy in life might disappear.

Actually, I enjoyed myself mostly.  I also learned a great deal about worship, about playing nicely with others, about being overruled and realizing reason doesn't trump rank.  Its messy in the Body of Christ!  

Here's the summary:
1.  Good worship is both totally planned and totally spontaneous.  The planning is truly the container, the structure that allows the Holy Spirit to move in power.  Planning depends on the Spirit to bring the life into the liturgy.

2.  Sometimes the best idea will come from the most unlikely sources.  Its a good idea to listen for it.  The guy off stage with no church background and some serious ongoing issues probably has the idea needed.

3.  Its ego and pride that holds onto a plan that has been vetoed by the boss.  Give it up and trust God is still God.

4.  When it all is said and done, worship that is pleasing to God is worship with God at the center.  Doesn't leave a whole of lot room for a cast of characters to fight for the light.  If we remember that somehow amazing things happen.

I would do it again, a little smarter this time,  but I am also content to let others have their moments in the backstage wings.  I am fairly sure we have enough talent to share this wealth and let it grow because new ideas and creativity are invited in.  I hope we continue to press on to the place where worship is less about us and more about God.  I hope we continue to use music and art and liturgy and sacrament to lead people deeply into the presence of God.  I hope one day to be sitting in the worship space, celebrating God and giving thanks for the person in the headset making it all happen.  I believe that will be a moment of true victory, loving God and loving His people naturally.  Good place to be.

I am saving this worship book in the meantime.  You never know what God might have in store!

The End of the World, take two

We have been through another one of those times when there was an expectation, at least on the part of some people, that Jesus would return.  There were the typical snide and cynical responses; no one seemed to be overly concerned about whether this could be a reality, some thought it a good opportunity to get out of something they would rather not do.  I remember that feeling.  I remember walking around the days just prior to finals while I was in college and praying that if it was time for Jesus to return, I was okay with that. 

The thing is, we don't think Jesus is coming.  Oh yes, we say that we think Jesus is coming, but we don't think Jesus is coming.  We don't think we are going to die, that Jesus will return, that there will one day be a last day.  We have long lost that feeling of expectancy, that we might turn a corner and run into Jesus unawares.  We feel offended when death takes one that we love, as if there was ever a chance that one day it would not.  We believe we are immortal and when we come face to face with our mortality, we are shell shocked and outraged. 

Recently, I have the scary experience of being in the general vicinity of a tornado.  It did an amazing amount of damage to the area around me, there was a terrible loss of home and lives.  I was ashamed that I had been spared any suffering really, beside inconvenience.  Survivors guilt, I think we call it, is real.  When you see how much others have lost and you are safe and secure, it is deeply humbling.  But beyond the guilt response, it was the drive out of the area that has left the deepest impression.  I drove through some of the prettiest spring countryside, beautiful colors, brilliant sunshine peaking through brand new leaves.  Then, I would turn a corner and there would be uprooted trees, scattered bricks, roofless homes, naked foundations, vacant wandering people, gathering up possessions.  Then, another turn and the devastation was out of sight again and a darling home with a beautiful landscaped lawn moved into view.  How can that be even possible? Yet, this is the way life is, only mostly we can pretend it is not.

Last week I lost a friend to death.  His death was a relief as the diseased that riddled his body made breathing difficult and frightening and it was a blessing when he didn't have to draw a breath again.  He was a planner extraordinaire.  He continued planning while he was no longer able to talk by writing notes and asking questions.  He had more drive and more energy than anyone I have ever met, and had the unique gift of allowing people to retain their dignity when he offered help.  I sat during at his funeral, looking at a picture of him, his eyes sparking with life, and thought about how he had fought through heart surgery with indignant impatience knowing he had always taken care of himself.  How dare his heart behave so badly?!  By the time I knew he was sick this time, he had already taken months to deal with it and had come to some sort of understanding.  If he was to die, he would die as prepared as he could be.  He planned his funeral, he picked the music, he got his affairs in order, he no doubt left a detailed plan for his wife to follow.  Somehow he made death a part of his plan for life.  I can tell you that though I will miss him dreadfully, and I am sure that the hole he leaves behind will never be filled in quite the same way, I am confident that he is happy and content today.  He is at work in the eternal kingdom, getting the lay of the land, and figuring out what needs to be done.  I hope he met my dad, and they talked about me.  They would like each other, I am sure. 

One day one of the predictors will get it right, Jesus is coming back, you know.  I can't help but wonder if I lived with this reality as a part of my daily plan, as my friend Wendell lived with his death as a part of his, that my life would run on deeply different lines.  Would I really sweat the small stuff that keeps me tossing and turning these days...I think not.

I am thinking it's time to pack a bag.  I wish we would all get ready!

So, how much am I worth, anyway?!

Somewhere deep inside of all the grown ups I know, is a little child who never quite grew up.  Along the way, some of the injuries life inflicts seem to prevent us from being able to fully grow up as whole people, and that inner child keeps those wounded spots alive and kicking, I guess until God heals them up.  My inner child can be so darn rude, popping in at the most inconvenient moments, and helping me act just like a small child in a grown up body.  What a terrible combination.  The only reason I can still go out in public is that my inner child has many friends.  We all hang out together in the ashamed section.

Most of the people I know have moments when the small child within them comes out to play with the small child in me.  Sometimes this results in hysterical laughter until my eyes water and one of us needs to make a bathroom run.  Sometimes this results in dead silence when the inner child is asking those outrageous questions or making those uncomfortable statements that are hard to answer. Sadly there are times when the children throw horrible fits that cause even more damage.   They may be children, but they now have grown ups tools to make sticks and stones look puny when compared to the words they can use.

My inner child can certainly throw a fit, almost always over the same unresolved issue: do I have any value?   I wish I could remember a time when it was pointed out to me as a  wee small child, or an adolescent, or whenever it occurred,  that I have no intrinsic value.  I don't know where it comes from, but my inner little one is fairly sure even when counted together, we are not worth a nickle.  So sure that is true that there has been a full scale government conspiracy type of cover up to develop deep protective layers to keep that sneaky little truth from going public.  When those barriers are threatened, woe be unto anyone who walks into the crossfire.  Messy, messy, messy.

I remember learning  somewhere that the chemicals that make up the body were worth about $10.  I am hopeful with inflation it's more like...you know...$12.  But even without counting the $12, I am aware that I am a precious child of God, worth so much that Jesus laid down everything to establish a way for the love of God to flow through the sin and death to life and redemption.  I know this, I have taught it, and I stand by it with absolute conviction that, while I do not even know enough about the nature of God to fill a thimble, I know this.  I have had personal revelation, scriptural basis, affirmation from the community of believers, and two thousand years of tradition to back up this position.  John Wesley would be proud.

So the question remains, how can I know this so well intellectually,  and still have this renegade little monster inside of me yelling "man the cannons boys, this is war" at odd moments.  The ego says I am smart enough to figure this out, after all I can figure out all manner of things.  I have spent much too much time pondering, studying, contemplating, praying, poking, interviewing, and even googling and still nothing!  I don't have a clue.  I only know this, reason isn't the solution.  The fear is so deep seated that prune as I may, I cannot weed it out.   I do not have a white flag, but if I did, I would be waving it. I surrender, which I think was probably the smartest thing I have done yet.

Two years on a journey into spiritual formation is teaching me this: with God truly all things are possible.  God needs no help from me, but if I am able to adopt a daily rule of life that keeps me centered in God's presence, leaning on God's power ,and trusting in God's grace, the journey may be more fun and certainly more peaceful.   In the last two weeks I have mastered nothing, but become much more aware of the reactions when they occur.  I am finding that noticing helps!  It may even lead to anticipation, and who knows, one day to discovering where the sore spot used to be is just a little bruise.  Maybe that little one inside of me, still worried about discovery, might grow up.  You know, to an adolescent.  Then I could buy the convertible,  play rock, and roll real loud, and maybe get blond highlights. 

So how much am I worth?!  Priceless.

Good Friends

There is just not anything in the world as good as when you find someone who loves the stuff you love.  I don't mean who loves you, though that is just pretty cool too!  I mean those people who find the same things funny without having to explain why.   Who make eye contact with you, when something funny has just happened, and you both fall out laughing, or bite your lip to keep from doing something.  Isn't that delightful?

Or the people who love to go shopping with you, for the same things you like to go shopping for.  Who are happy wandering aimlessly, or love finding the bargain.  Who will notice you wearing, or carrying, or decorating with that one of a kind, on sale today only item and relive the joy of discover with you, over and over again.  Isn't that amazing?

Or the people who have read the same books you have read and have the same response or questions or articulate perfectly for you what you thought.  I think people who can summarize my thoughts are worth their weight in oil (if that is more precious than gold these days).  I want to applaud!  They always make me sound smarter than I am, and how wonderful is that!

Or how about those people who know how to brew the best coffee.  I love those people!  I love the first sip and the delightful surprise at how awesome this particular coffee tastes.  I think these people have some secret recipe or perhaps they have a brown thumb, but their coffee is worth driving to get and their conversation is always as good as their coffee.  I love these folks, aren't they remarkable?

I guess my favorite folks are those who are as comfortable as a old pair of shoes.   Who always seem to fit and who make me fit, who can talk for hours or not at all, who will always tell you if you have green stuff in your teeth or it you need to pull up your zipper, and some how not make you feel stupid.  I love that you can tell them the outrageous thing you have just done and they laugh with you, or cry with you, or just love you in your horror.  I believe these people belong in the beatitudes; as blessed are you who make others at home, for yours is the heart of God.  I know God dotes on them.

Since they are so delightful, I am left to wonder why it is there are not more of them.  Why are they as rare as diamonds and when you find one, it's all you can do not to  handcuff them to your side so you wont lose them ever again.  I am confused why the Body of Christ is not a vast sea of like-mindedness and shared vision and this kind of relationship that feeds the soul so much.  Surely this is what the Body ought to do for one another.  Paul says the same kind of thing in Philippians 2:

¹ Therefore if you have any encouragement from being united with Christ, if any comfort from his love, if any common sharing in the Spirit, if any tenderness and compassion, ² then make my joy complete by being like-minded, having the same love, being one in spirit and of one mind. ³ Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit. Rather, in humility value others above yourselves, ⁴ not looking to your own interests but each of you to the interests of the others.

I confess freely that I am not more like-minded than anyone else.  I like things my way, I am not always tender or compassionate, and I am not at all sure I value others above myself.  I try, really I do.  I walk into a conversation all gracious, and kind, and caring, and I walk out at times feeling frustrated, violated and fed up.  In those golden moments when the opportunity occurs for me to connect, as Paul calls me to do, it is always  a blessing, a gift and a life affirming moment, and I want more, more, more.  How is it that I forget all this so quickly when the environment isn't so conducive for fellowship?  Is it that I am called to create this for others, rather than worry if it is being created for me?  Is it that my pride keeps me from making the attempt to be like-minded?  Is it that when broken people collide, without the grace of God, injury occurs from the jagged edges? 

Maybe the secret is in delighting in being the kind of person others can laugh with, who can summarize thought well, who feels like a pair of comfortable old shoes to the world around them.  Wonder how letting Christ be Lord of my life, and letting others just be fellow pilgrims, would change how we interact.   Maybe it truly is in giving that we receive, in seeking that we find, in dying to self that we find life in Christ.  Having the same love, being in the same Spirit, having the same mind, all centered in Christ, sounds like the  Just maybe.

Coffee, anyone?

The Kingdom of God is like...

The Kingdom of God is like waking up one day, realizing you are completely naked and discovering so is everyone else.

The Kingdom of God is like going to get some Dove dark chocolate and having the joy of giving your piece away to the neighbor who looks like they need it.

The Kingdom of God is like picking up the biggest boulder you and find and because you are carrying it for a brother, finding it's weight can be managed.

The Kingdom of God is weeping with those who weep, questioning with those who question, searching with those who seek, finding peace is the tension.

The Kingdom of God is the moment when you realize all that you thought you should run from, you should be running toward.

The Kingdom of God is the middle of the Oreo, getting through the crusty edges to the sweet center.

The Kingdom of God is the outrageous laughter that wells up inside in the middle of the tears that later no one can explain.

The Kingdom of God is in the dark and the scary and the lonely and the broken just as much as it is in the sunlight and the joy and the laughter and the unity.  Both contain God but not all of God.

The Kingdom of God is in the moment when some one you love needs something, and you discover you have it.  And you realize you have it because some one you love would need it.

The Kingdom of God is in the silence, and in the breaking of the silence.

The Kingdom of God is in the redemption, in my life time and beyond it.

The Kingdom of God is in the annoyance of the big fat wood bee, and all of the imperfections that insert themselves into my world.  Oh that I might conquer the fear and learn to stand still with them.

The Kingdom of God is under the umbrella of a imperfect stranger, in the ridiculous sunglasses of companion, in the repetition of a story. 

The Kingdom of God is in the small circle of friends who love deeply, and in the large crowd who loves not at all.

The Kingdom of God is in the release of those I love, into the Hands who love better.

The Kingdom of God is the moment that God sweeps me up into His arms and we dance.

Thy Kingdom come, Thy will be done. 

Amen, and Amen

Saying Goodbye

I am not good at saying goodbye.  Ask anyone you like.  They will all say the same thing...I talk too long at the door, I have one more thing to say, I say I will be in touch, we will see each other again, yadda yadda yadda.  The act of 'this is the end' is very hard for me. 

Strangely enough, being in 'the end' is less hard for me.  Once the goodbye is over and the initial wave of grief hits me, living the goodbye is easier.  I don't mean I am not connected with friends and don't miss loved ones who have moved, graduated into eternity, or have just stopped communicating.  I just mean when the door closes, the door closes.  I don't typically stand on the outside beating on it, or checking back to see if it is open now, or it the lock is wobbly, or try to slide stuff under the door.  I just move on, sometimes with anger, frustration, resentment, or relief, joy, gratitude.  Why do you suppose I can't close the door all that well, but once it is closed, that baby is closed?!

I am at the end of my journey in the Spiritual Formation Academy.  I am looking around the room thinking some of these people will never cross my path again.  I am wondering how it will be in a few days when I drive away for the last time, what the last communion service will be like, how I will say goodbye to the darling people who have moved into my heart.  I am also wondering what it will be like when I no longer think of these folks all that often, or at all.  When the relationship changes, we lose touch and I am no longer current in their lives.  Will the place that they held remain?  And if it does not, why do you suppose that is?

Many seasons in my life have come to a close.  High school, college, neighborhood groups, navy  communities, church communities, small groups, classes.  I enjoyed them fully when they were active and on going.  I would have said I was fully invested in these communities; I can still name many of the participants, tell the stories, remember the significant moments. I believe my life and my heart were touched and yet, the season passes and I am not pining for those folks, or that place or even a do over of the time.
Is this a good thing, or a bad one?

I am inclined to see it as good, after all I am living in the present moment, looking ahead to what lies next.  No looking back, pressing on.  I am pretty sure this is scriptural and that of course settles the matter.   I hope it is not that I dislike pain and so avoid it at all cost.  I hope it is not that I am too shallow to let things impact me deeply.  I sure hope it is not that my attention span is so short, I can't focus on anything long enough to get broken up.  Surely it is not that I am an experience junkie, having drawn out of an experience all that I could, I drop that one off and look for a new one.  I am pretty sure none of those negative things could be true of such a deep, nurturing, bonding, fully focused being such as my self.  It is the hand to the plow thing, it is the taken hold of that which Christ took hold of kind of thing, I am sure.  Almost completely.

But just in case, just in case, I am praying about those other things.  Just in case I am afraid of suffering and sacrifice, I am  going to ask about that.   Just in case I am too eager to move on to the next thing, when a moment spent reflecting on this one, I am going to ask about that too.  I am willing to ask the questions, the jury remains out about my ability to hear the answers.

In this moment, all that matters is that God is God, I am not, and God is up to the challenged of opening the eyes of the blind, even the blind like me.  Saying goodbye this time could be a new experience.  It might become a hello of an entirely different kind.

PUSH

The story is told of a man who is visited by God.  God takes him outside his cabin and points to a large bolder.  God tells the man to push against the boulder until God passes his way again.  The man is puzzled but obedient and each morning he rises early and he heads outside to push against the boulder.  He takes a small break for lunch and returns to push the boulder until sunset.  Day after day after day the man pushes the boulder until months go by, finally a year, then two.  One day, God returns and he finds the man exhausted, feeling defeated, sitting in the shade of the boulder.  God inquires why he has stopped pushing the boulder,  "Day after day," the man replies, "I have pushed against this boulder.  I pushed the boulder in the sunshine, in the rain.  I pushed when people came to visit and when I was alone.  Faithfully, I have pushed this boulder and in all this time, the boulder has not moved.  Today I have given up.  I cannot move this boulder."  God inquires gently, "Who asked you to move the boulder?" 

I just need to say that I am not fond of this story.  I know it is a parable of sorts, and of course it makes a good point.  We often assume that when we are given a job to do, some results ought to occur.  After all, what kind of a job is it to stand and push against a boulder.  Surely one must expect that with time the boulder would move and we would see the results of all that hard work.  Who could expect us to find great fulfillment simply in pushing? 

Who asked you to move the boulder?  A very good question, of course, just an infuriating one.  I know that when God asks us to do something, God is not required to explain the request,  God is God after all and we are not.  It is just hard for me, really close to impossible, to do a job I have been asked to do that seems to make no sense.  No logical, practical, measurable, valuable, even intangibly rewarding sense.  Push the boulder, push the boulder, push the boulder.  Why, why, why?

Since it seems that I am often given jobs like pushing against boulders and see little or no results of this labor, I am re-examining this little parable to figure out how I might push with more joy and less frustration.   First thing I note is that God comes to see me.  This is pretty astounding, and well worth pondering.  After all, who am I that God would come to visit?  I am no one, except for the identity I have in God.  I am His child and for no reason, God loves me abundantly and unconditionally. He entrusts me with His presence and is willing to give me a job.  This is just pretty awesome, actually. 

Then I think about what it means to be assigned a responsibility by God, or called into service, as we like to say in steeple speech.  I like to think I am called into mission and ministry, I am just not always clear that I know how.  I am often confused because I thought I was called to make disciples and further God's kingdom.  Maybe  I was called to keep trying to make disciples and further God's kingdom.  The difference is small but important: I keep pushing, God covers the movement part. 

Finally, I think about how tired I get sometimes.  I don't get a little weary, or that really satisfied tired.  I get empty tired, like when you have been sick for a little while and you begin to wonder if you will ever feel good again.  Its an ugly tired and it leaves me wondering if I made up the whole call thing.  Why is that?  Why do I get that tired, and build up resentment ,and focus on the minor annoyances instead of the major joys.   I think I forget about being faithful and obedient, and instead focus on the results of all that pushing that tell me I am doing a good job.  My attention span is limited, God seems to be slow in returning, and I wonder if it matters at all that I go on pushing this ridiculous boulder.  Faithfulness and obedience are not really qualities that are prized in the world I am surrounded by.   I am burning up and out because I am trying to make my culture fit into my relationship with  God.  It cannot work that way, I know that.  Yet, still I repeat the same mistake over and over again. 

Then God stops by to see me again. " Dear one", God says to me, "why are you heart sick and defeated?"  "It's this darn boulder God, it wont move, it just sits there day after day.  I have read all the right books, I have worked long hours, I have pushed with creativity, and intelligence, and passion and vision.  I am your most reliable pusher.  I don't take made up holidays off, I am always looking for ways to push better.  And nothing, it isn't budging!"  "Yes, I see that", God responds to me.  "But honey, who asked you to move the boulder?"

Dawn's Early Light

Darkness had fallen almost completely. The world slumbers on, except for those pockets of nocturnal life. I am glad for the silence and stillness, glad for the quiet and peace and wondering how long it will last. It is my moment for reflection, thinking about the day, thinking about tomorrow, thinking about nothing really. The silence has become a great friend to me; I enjoy it so much I cannot bring myself to keep much noise going. I have not grown so that the activity and fast pace of life are not appealing, they are and continue to keep me rolling out of bed with joy, and yet this quiet, non-efficient time when I am just zoning out, allowing my mind to wander over things that pop in and pop out of my head, is becoming equally appealing.



Tonight I am pondering priorities and wondering how one chooses which things will take precedence over a world of options. I love to feel special, loved, cherished; I wonder how often I extend these precious gifts to others. I love to write, recording random rabbits that hop through my thoughts. I am disturbed at how seldom I do any writing. I love to read, to enter into imagination and solve mysteries and fall in love and make new friends in the adventures of life. I am surprised at how little fluff I am reading these days - it's all reading for class and teaching. I love the stuff I love! But somehow, even though I know I love the stuff I love, I do not do the stuff I love as much as I once did. Why on earth is that?



It is not that the stuff I love is bad. I will admit there are things that I love which belong on the bad list, but not even half of it would fall under a questionable column. It is not that I am much too important, and much too busy, and much too elite to be above my favorite things. It is not that there aren't opportunities, or all the words have dried up, or the books have all been read. It’s not that I no longer value them as important; after all, in the scheme of things, who doesn't want to be lost in a sea of words the lure you away to the place of adventure, and love, and fantasy, and issues that are not yours to solve. Sounds a little like heaven, doesn't it?



So why am I not doing those things I love so much? Perhaps because the people who want me to do productive work carry more authority in my mind. Keeping them happy, and thinking warm fuzzy thoughts about me is so much more important than me having warm fuzzy thoughts. Or worse, maybe I like the warm, fuzzy feeling from others thinking warm and fuzzy thoughts. As Charlie Brown would say, "Good Grief"! This is so far from any kind of reality, how on earth could this be a reason for giving up doing some of things that I love? Everyone knows that you cannot keep the world around you warm and fuzzy. The same people who yelled "Hosanna, Hosanna" on Sunday were back on Friday yelling "Crucify, Crucify". If you find that hard to believe, just look around you. Have you noticed how the same boss that loves you today can fire you tomorrow? The people who are you friends, and think you are amazing; who one week later think you are hard to get along with? Without sounding whiny, the reality is, it is foolish to spend my valuable time that could be spent in Wonderland working two more hours to make someone happy, who I can't really make happy after all.



Maybe that isn't the only reason. Perhaps I do not do the things I love so much because I lose perspective. I don't realize in my business how many opportunities to love someone else slip through my fingers. As I run onto the next item on the list I don't notice that Sally is having a bad day, Howard’s son is doing poorly in school, and Linda is still sick and lonely. It is only when I stop and think 'hey, no one has loved me today' do I realize how many days it has been since I have loved someone else. Yet, when someone asks me what is new, I find it hard to answer the question. If I am so busy, so productive, so important, shouldn't I have something to account for my time?



A third possibility might be that I do not always like the things I discover when I stop to enjoy the silence, read a book, write a thought, love someone else. It's then that I wonder about growing older, life getting away from me, unpleasant memories from the past. It's the place when I meet the me that is real and alive and not always the person I can imagine myself being. Yes, it's the place of the fluffy comforters and soft pajamas, but it is also the place of fear, of regrets, of disappointment that the fairy tale doesn't always come true. Business keeps all of those thoughts at bay; non-structured time encourages them on. Maybe there is some intentionality to running with all my strength to avoid whatever it is that I seem to need to avoid. If there is truth in that, that is even more sad and ridiculous. Isn't the reality the reality, whatever I might do to avoid it?



The list goes on and the time spent wonder why I am not playing, keeps me from playing. So I am going to sleep with the stronger conviction that tomorrow needs some play time, as does the day after that. I am going to choose to make those things that I love a real part of my life. I bet I make some people mad. Lord, help me to realize I would have made them mad anyway! I am going to keep my focus on the 'main thing' and trust God will flag me down when I have gotten to looking at the storm too much. I am aware that there may be some nasty little demons, who will visit my silence and stillness, and I will be putting my trust in Jesus who said, in this world we would have some nastiness, great news though: he beats the world every time. I think he can give me some victories too.



Good night moon, good night stars, good night dear ones. This is peace.

Emotional Upheaval

Perhaps it is from my family tree I learned the deeply suspicious response to intense emotion.  Honestly, I am pretty comfortable with deep hilarity and ecstatic joy.  It is deep sorrow and grief I find,well, offensive.  I have had the hardest time using the word offensive.  Typing this brings 'shouldn'ts and ought nots' to the front lines in my mind and the great squashing has commensed.  The nice spiritual sideof me is yelling that I could not really be offended by sorrow, after all, we know that grief and sorrow are God given too.  But the heart, the heart is reminding me about how often I say to myself and others 'Don't feel bad!  It's going to be okay." "This too shall pass".  What to do, what to do, what to do.

Sadness is vulnerability to me.  Strong people do not admit to sorrow, after all the enemy might use this to gain advantage.  Over what, I am forced to ask?  Is it a question of faith?  If I loved God, as I profess, would I not feel sadness?  Good grief, how ridiculous is this?  Is it the avoidance of all pain that is just sensible after all, that makes me revolt at grief?  Is it the tears that embarrass me?  Is it the lack of control?  Is it the conflict of my personality and the reality I keep having to incorporate? 

I am truly Tigger by nature, I am bouncy and bubbly and think every day is the great new adventure.  Pain seems to stick its ugly head into my joy and I am confused about how to remain me in the midst of hurt.  It is me, you know, that bounces.  I do not choose to bounce, I try to choose not to bounce at times, as I know that Tigger is exhausting to live with.  I heard of someone else this week that they were always welcomed when they came, always welcomed when they left.  I know that this must be true of me, for I found myself exhausting at times.  Yet, when I am less conscious of others and the need to find a place for them within, I am a bouncy girl.  How do I make sorrow that is also real and genuine a part of my bounce?

Today I grieve deeply.  The tears fall without any conscious thought and I can feel the depth of loss that has no bottom as far as I can see.  I wish to sit with this genuinely, for as long as necessary, but my feet are already finding the need to look for the doorway that leads to the party.  Is the pain a blessing?  Is pain beautiful in its own way?  Is there more to this than I can absorb because I am too busy pushing away and justifying and rationalizing.   Is there something in pain that leads to joy beyond happiness?

Many questions today.  It is deeply uncomfortable.  Even so, come Holy Spirit.

Pushy Hospitality

Is pushy hospitality an oxymoron?  I have noticed in recent years that when people talk to me about hospitality, they are challenging me often to make room for them, or for people who they have judged I do not welcome with open arms.  I need to make room for the poor and the oppressed, I need to make room for the widowed and orphaned, I need to make room for those who are without a people, I need to make room for my enemies, I need to make room for those who believe differently from myself.  I must make space for those who think I am stupid, shallow, judgemental, opinionated, bigotted.  In fact everyone gets a seat at my table, if I am faithful and loving, serving as a true child of God.  I am not sure exactly how big this table is, but I know that if I am not a worthless, shallow, in name only Christian, everyone is sitting at my table, darn it.  My smile stays fixed, the food never runs out and no matter how many times I am rudely address or treated as a dog, my response must be, "Thank you sir or ma'am.  May I have another?"

Before I am left sitting here with Archie Bunker, let me say that the heart of the above it certainly spot on.  I am convinced that this honors God and is genuine love at its best when at our table, in our souls, there is always room for others.  I do not disagree with the sentiment and I would not rush to jumping up and down on the heads of those who teach it.  Come on in, I will make room for you and heck, I even want to make room for you.

However, and let me say this as a person who knows my vision and understanding is limited to what I can grasp at any given time, may I ask this question?  Doesn't everyone have a table?  I mean, really?  Are not the very people criticising my table manners, telling me that I must get a grip and clean up before I can go sit at their tables?  Those who are annoyed that I have beliefs contrary to theirs have decided I must agree they my beliefs aren't meaningful before I am welcomed in?  Is hospitality a 'you all' kind of thing or an 'us all' kind of thing?

Is not the standing back and making demands of the host a total violation of the rules of ettiquette and hospitality?  When did we get permission to criticize everyone elses manners at the table and be confident we had the right to judge, and dispense corrective action?  Is this not the absolute lack of hospitality and grace we are being told to practice? 

The more I dig into spiritual formation and encounter God who loves and delights in His children, the less I have been sure of my judgement and understanding of others.  Yes, my critical nature is alive and well, thank you very much, only from time to time I am given a glimpse of God's grace shining in places where I was fairly sure God would not walk.  If a slow thinking mutton head like me can get that, I am pretty sure anyone can.  So why are we pointing and shoving and yelling "Hey, you, why don't you try love for a change?" and then standing back with smug spirituality (another oxymoron). 

I am back to thinking that while my table needs work, I am confident that God knows just exactly what condition it is in.  God knew what condition it was in last year too and do you know, He just loves hanging out with me anyway.  Interesting people arrive all the time and, as I have become more confident that God is always present, always loving, always delighted to be with me, I have become more comfortable with my guests.  Now when someone comes and spills something or dislikes what is being served there are moments when I am saddened but not dejected because I am so filled with God that I have no room for injury.  Not always, I am forced to say, but sometimes.  That's just pretty good stuff, let me tell you.  So good that I have even started on occasion to fail to notice how other tables are doing, whether they are keeping up the team standards, if they are being gracious enough, darn it!  This is also good stuff.

There is room at my table, not as much as there will be, but room.   I think we can trust God to transform all of us without all the judgement and condemnation.  I think Miss Manners would be all over that,  except she would believe that my use of slang was inappropriate in formal communication.  Which would be rude.  Just saying.

Farther in Farther Up

I am revisiting CS Lewis in Narnia again.  Yes, again.  I have been here before, it seems to be a circular journey as Christmas and Easter often are.  Every so often they are back and each time they are the same and entirely different.  Every Christmas that has ever come has left images and memories, but each is still uniquely new and stands apart.  It is not the stuff or the circumstance exactly, though of course stuff and circumstance contribute.  It is the me who shows up each year, exactly the same as last year and entirely different.  Somehow the same things mean more or less, I appreciate more or less, I need more or less.  I  hear things differently, sometimes grieving that they do not sound the same way, sometimes celebrating that they don't. 

I started reading The Last Battle three months ago and I finished listening to it on my ipod yesterday.   I am glad I heard it, though I must say that the gentleman who was reading it made the experience slightly more challenging as I found myself over and over missing the point of what he was reading because I felt the need to critique his delivery and pronunciation.  (Yes, truly some things never do change.)  There I was back at the stable again, listening to the profound theology of CS Lewis and trying it on with new eyes.  Is the Kingdom of God truly like an onion, with layers and layers, only the layer within begin much bigger than the layer without?  Do our fears and prejudices blind us to the color and texture and smells and tastes of the delightful kingdom around us?  Am I joyfully living the great adventure that Aslan has prepared for me?  How do I reconcile the battle, and the pain, and the fear, and the darkness with the doorway that leads to light, and life,and joy, and delight?  Am I clinging so hard to the half gods, the half world, the half truths that I cannot step through to the genuine thing?  When do I miss that defeat is the first step to victory?

My first journey to Lewis' stable was as a young mother with two small boys.  There the images of the dwarfs gathered in a tight circle, blind to the possibilities spoke to me as a mom who was never able to see light.  I felt paralyzed by the clutter and mess, unable to find a way to begin eating the elephant.  Where would you take your first bite?!  As I read I connected and realized that I too was missing out on the beauty and joy, the colors and textures of life as a mom, and a wife, and a friend, because all I could see was laundry, and dishes. and toys. and dust.  So, I kept the dwarfs in my thoughts every day and I was intentional in reminding myself about the miracles that were a day to day occurrence in my life.  There were so many blessings I had missed!  It took practice but in time I no longer had to prompt myself, I was already noticing how wonderful my kids were, how cute my house was, how clever all of my friends were, how faithful my husband was. 

The second time I was deeply embattled with the struggles of life.  It was a 'dark night of the soul' time for me and I wrestled with who God was, what would it mean if He really didn't love me, as I feared.  There was the darkness and despair that spoke volumes, I found it almost too painful to read.  The hopelessness of the end of the world as we know it was too real for me.  Then it was the doorway that captivated me.  I began to look for the doorway that would end this time of blackness, death and destruction and lead me to the place where the colors were vibrant and real.  It was forever in coming, but gradually a doorway appeared and with great fear and trepidation, I allowed the world as I knew it to end and embraced the world within that was love, light, truth.

This time it is the farther up and farther in that calls to me.  I am eager to push on to more, only I do not know what that is, or how to go, or who one travels with.  I am captivated by running and not growing weary and soaring into bright blue skies.  I understand the Lewis was referring to the ultimate homecoming, and yet, there is within me a conviction that in this life there is the ability for the soul to do what the body cannot.  I want to go farther up, farther in.  I can still see the doorway though I know that the other side is gone to me forever.  I would like to live in expectation of meeting Jesus around every corner, of comfort in the garden of the King, of being unable to be afraid again.  Wouldn't the ability to live fearless be amazing?!  Perfect love drives out fear, I know.  I see often how imperfect my love is. 

Farther up, farther in!  Letting go of all that holds us back, we run on to take hold of that which Christ has already taken hold  for us.  Perfect love, where we run and not grow weary, where a table has been prepared for us.  The Kingdom within the kingdom, so much more than we dream.  Farther up, farther in!