Rolling with the Punches

I love people who rise to the occasion. I just love those people who, when their plans go awry, put on a big smile, put their best foot forward and somehow make you think that this new plan is so much better than their old one. Whose ability to size up the seriousness of a situation and make a good judgement is so comforting and assuring that everyone responds with confidence. I just think these people hung the moon. I would like to sing an ode in their honor, only no one does that anymore. Thank goodness.

I am not this person. I can be funny during these moments. I can exude a calm exterior and a warm grin. I can be reassuring and I can do what I am told. But I am not at all at peace. I am furious that my plans are being thwarted (this is a big no), I am trying hard to think of a replacement plan, one equally perfect to the first, and I am repeating my mantra, 'this is no big deal, this is no big deal, this is no big deal'. Because, of course, I think it is a huge deal and I am going to be ashamed of this shortly.

The last few days I have had great examples of taking a punch and rolling with it. We had a wild storm come through here on Sunday morning. We had no power and it was our day to be in mission and ministry. Many of our projects were outside, all of our music and sound needed power for worship and quite frankly it was a mess. Cars were damaged in our lot. I really was clueless about what to do. I thought it was smarter to give it up and send everyone home only sending them out might be worse than keeping them. I was smiling big and thinking fast and feeling way over my head. I needed someone to hear all the concerns and make good decisions, and my pastor did. I sure did like him in that moment.

It is not any one's favorite thing, rolling with the punches. But those who know how to take a hit and rebound with grace and ease take away the sting. It's a gift to everyone there as well as ones self. This rocks. This is win/win and it is what I want God to do in me. I want to learn to take a punch better and see it as an opportunity to be a blessing and to bless rather than endure and survive. To take my big deal and quite trying to convince myself it is not, but claim the greater deal it could be. Wouldn't that be cool?

I know perfectionism has its roots very well anchored in insecurity. Wont it be delightful to come to the place where one's security is so complete in their value and worth as a child of God that the rest of this stuff is like water from a duck. Doesn't even make an impression. Oh Lord, make it so. Now would be good.

North and south going Zax

I had the painful experience of observing a north going Zax and a south going Zax carefully try to navigate each other this week. It was a truly very difficult for both and they were trying very hard to honor one another. Only the desire to honor one another when intersected with the deeply ingrained directional indicator was causing an intense response. It was not expressed, it was just below the surface but it radiated out into the room and everyone there was effected.

I was pained for both parties and I understood that for each the need was beyond having their way. These were set points that were being seriously pushed and the result was such an electrified environment that it stressed everyone who came into it. Words were dripping with emotion, movement was careful and guarded, discomfort was everywhere. It was frightening and sad and overwhelming all at the same time.

I thought about it for a long time and still have no resolution for how some of that could be diffused. Neither party is being willful, both have a tremendous need here and it is taking a carefully choreographed dance to keep everyone moving in rythm. I believe in this moment all participants had lost track of the shared music and were hearing their own strains loudly.

My Zax friends are bound for a destination neither of them want. This is a hardship. They are approaching the journey from an entirely different bent, this is also a problem. They are not free to say what they are feeling because they deeply love one another and they don't wish for the journey to be more of a burden for the other. They are tied up in knots all the time and they don't know how to unravel them. They are trying to keep their knots private but they cannot, they spill out into the world around them and this creates additional stress.

I wish I could help. I can't change their destination either. I can't rearrange their set points or give them a way out. I don't know how to really listen to either without being more of an intrusion and I don't know how to make it safe for them to express the emotion and tension. I have tried to be creative and I have no ideas. I can't come up with anything that wouldn't be an even greater invasion.

I am praying, and I am coming to the conclusion that there are truly times when the only way a north going Zax and a south going Zax who have come foot to foot and face to face reach resolution is by divine intervention. I think this is easier when the Zax want a resolution and my Zax do. They just wanted a different resolution. I wanted a different resolution for them. In some things, the answer is only to bend the knee. This is one of them.

The Quest for Peace

I had a hard time sleeping last night. In fact, I don't think I did. My mind would not stop, my stomach churned and I found no way to get comfortable or peaceful. Finally this morning when I have tried long enough, I just got up. I have a series of disciplines I usually work through that are comforting. Centering prayer, a bath, reading a book, working on my gratitude journal. All of those have been helpful in slowing my heart rate, calming my spirits, but none of them have helped me sleep. I have given up that goal and instead I am trying to make peace my focus.

So often the things that make me a little nuts are the things that move me out of the center and take away my sense of peace and well being. I am aware that this is not a unique reaction, it's not like most people don't have this experience! I am just pondering why peace is so fragile and when Jesus left us His peace, not as the world gives, why am I still often running back to His arms and asking Him to give it to me again. Am I so careless to loose it over and over again?

I hear you, I haven't lost it but I have let it go. This is true and profound and important but it doesn't resolve the issue. Why is that? More, how can I learn to have a better grip?

I had a delightful meal with a dear friend last night. We truly enjoyed the time and the discussion and I learned a great deal in the process. I have mulled over some of the conversation quite a bit in the hours I was not sleeping. I think God is the God of perfect timing, meaning I am given what I need when I need it. I think the morsels of truth I was given last night have a lot to do with my peace search. We discussed wounds and the on going message that God is in the business of healing them. We both agreed this was the case but we moved into talking about wounds that do not heal this side of eternity. What does God do with wounds that take graduation to eternity to heal?

He keeps them clean. He becomes the antiseptic that keeps infection at bay and even is gracious enough to create in our minds an alarm system that makes us react to a wound being invaded again. It's the fear or the anger or the emotion or physical response. It's the pounding heart that sometimes leads to the pounding head. It's God's gift to us to remind us to turn. Turn fast, run home, and stay until the cleaning is done. It's not peace lost, it's peace in union with God. That is where we are disinfected once again.

I was reminded yesterday in church of a time many years ago in the play land of a MacDonald's. A friend's little girl, who is now a very attractive and darling teen, was a little whiny and complained that someone was not playing with her. Her mom turned and called her over and said "Honey, let me love you". She pulled her up in her lap, wrapped both arms around her and her daughter snuggled into her shoulder and sighed the most contented sigh. I thought it was such a good thing to do! In my heart I can feel my God doing the same thing. "Daddy, they aren't playing with me!" "Come here honey, let me love you". When I come, He wraps both arms around me and I snuggle deep into His should and sigh with relief. Gosh that is so good!!!

So maybe peace isn't lost, maybe it takes on a new feeling when it calls you home. Maybe it creates a sense of urgency that invites you to run with every ounce of strength you can muster to get the wound tended before infection can set in. Perhaps the better we get at recognizing the symptoms, the faster we get clean again. At least the quicker we can feel the warmth and safety of a Father who knows who we are and loves us completely.

I would write more but I am going to sit with my Father and let Him love me some more.

I, the ex-jury

Yes, I was notified by mail that for the next three months I would be required to report for jury duty. I was displeased about this. I am a busy girl, I don't have either the desire or the need to go sit on a jury. I am blessed with friends who are attorneys so my first call was to one of them. I said, how does one get out of this and they said....you don't. Turns out I had no reason to be excused, apparently lack of interest and busy schedule don't qualify you.

So I reported for jury duty and discovered that I have not only been placed on jury duty, it's little pretend jury duty. We can't decide anything more than $400 and only misdemeanors. The only big thing we can do is decide if someone is competent and assign a guardian. Excuse me, but who on earth thinks I am competent to judge someones competence?

So I went for orientation and I really thought the judge was gracious and kind. He pointed out that regardless of the charge or the circumstances they deserved the same treatment as those with bigger matters. I agreed with that and thought it was pretty profound. I tried to swallow my impatience and frustration and take it on as a civic responsibility. Okay, no joy in this civic responsibility but I would do it faithfully.

Then I went to jury duty. It started off okay. I said here to roll call and they said they would be calling 12 of us and heck, there must have been 35 people. What were the odds they would call me? I noticed the deputy had been sitting in the last chair of the jury box and I remembered vaguely wondering if it was a jury seat or an extra one, thought it probably wouldn't matter to me anyway, only the first person selected. I must have communicated the thought to the deputy because I notice him push it back in line with the others. Yep, one of the jury seats. I hear the announcement about random selection and then they call my name. First. I almost laughed. I didn't though, I just strolled up there very naturally and sat in the chair recently realigned. Before long others joined me, a very sweet lady sitting next to me who seemed to know me from somewhere. I find this disconcerting a little because I have no idea who she might be. Before long there are twelve of us up front. I am feeling slightly panicky too when I realize that I know the prosecuting attorney and the police officer who will be testifying. I remind myself that this is Mayberry RFD and everyone knows everyone and I just need to say I know them and I am going to remain unbiased. Until they ask.

First I raise my right hand and promise to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth which I am sure I can do. Then we are introduced to the defendant and she stands and we are asked if we know her and I do not. Then her lawyer stands and though she looks just like Melinda Kelly from 7th and 8th grade, I do not know her. Now we move to the next table and one of my attorney friends stands and I agree I know him and I am asked if I can remain unbiased and I say yes, I believe so. However, no one else agrees they know him at all. This is disconcerting. Next the police officer stands up, and I raise my hand that yes, I know him, but none of my fellow jurors admit to this. Now I am beginning to feel a little more uncomfortable. I tell the judge the officer and I go to church together and say I believe I can be objective and he pushes the subject a little and I say I do not believe my relationship with him will effect the case. I am so sorry I raised my hand to promise that truth stuff now.

I am a little peeved with the man from my church sitting in jury chair 12 who is acting like he has never laid eyes on any of those people in his life. Oh well, I have told the truth, responded honestly and now the lawyer I know stands. He asks questions of the whole group and I answer all that apply to me, but few do. Then the lawyer I don't know begins to ask questions. First she goes after a lady sitting in front of me, juror number 8. I realize 'go after' is a highly inflammatory expression, but that is what she does. Jury number 8 has said she doesn't know the defendant but it turns out they graduated together. She says she doesn't recognize the name or the person but when told the lady's maiden name she recognizes her and then is berated until she says she would rather not serve and she is dismissed in tears from the courthouse. I wonder what is going on. Why is the jury on trial?

I am the next under the microscope. I am asked if I am sure I am unbiased and I say yes. She asks again how I know both individuals and I repeat it again. I am asked in the most aggressive manner if I am sure I am unbiased and I say yes, I believe so. She then begins cross examining my education and background and out of the blue asks me about a 'negative'. She asks me to tell her about a negative. I am now completely lost and say in terms of accounting? Accounting isn't about negatives, it's about balance. She says just in general. Can you prove a negative? I say....prove a negative....theoretically? and now she is getting peeved with me and says yes, in theory can you prove a negative? I am absolutely stunned. I finally say that I would say that perhaps you can't prove something didn't happen, in terms of my faith. She turns and jumps on juror number 8's replacement asking him the same question. He decides you can prove a negative and then she makes the rest of the jury raise their hands to say if a negative can be proved. No one moves, no one even understands the question. It is a little like Alice in Wonderland. She goes on to berate several other jurors, confusing a sweet little old lady so much I want to smack her. She finally turns back to me and says isn't it a remote possibility that since I go to church with the police officer I might let that bias me and I agree, yep it's a possibility. She then says would I understand if I was dismissed and I assure her absolutely and she says would I take it personally and I said no (as if I were not taking personally the cross examination). And I gather my stuff and wait to be dismissed, only I am not. Cruella Deville sits down again and I remember how much I didn't like Melinda Kelly and called her Jelly Belly Kelly.

My attorney friend stands, asks some follow up questions and says, Mrs. Engle, I don't want to beat a dead horse but can you be unbiased? And I say, yes I believe I can. Jelly Belly stands and asks a number of provocative questions and I think we are about done when she turns to me again and begins another assault. Now I have lost my patience and when she attacks, I respond assertively. She implies I have changed my answer and I respond she has changed her question. I lose my patience and correct her twice. I think well at least now I will be dismissed only not quite yet. Yet another break and finally I am free. I cannot get out of the courthouse fast enough and I am furious that I have wasted an entire morning to prove something. Sheesh they told us over an over there was a presumption of innocence but only for the defendant and they were the only person in the court that had been arrested.

Please someone tell me how it is that this is justice? I will have to say that by the end of the discussion I was severely prejudice not in favor of those I know but against Jelly Belly Deville. In fact I was trying to find her car so I could let the air out of her tires and leave a note under the windshield wipers questioning her legitimacy and heritage. I thought that juror number 8 and the other jurors who had been abused could gang up on her and tp her trees and fork her yard and encourage skunks to take up residence in her garage. How could that serve her client? Why did the judge allow that?

I got a phone call from juror number 12 who kept maintained silence and learned he had been on the final jury only to have the case declared a mistrial. Then the bell went off in my head. She was stacking the deck from the get go, trying to get something, anything to use for a mistrial and she finally got it. Did you remember I said this is baby court? If she was found guilty it could only result in 30 days in jail, maximum. Why on earth would Cruella gear up for that?! I think it had to be she has other more serious charges or has already been found guilty of something else. Or else, Jelly Belly Deville is just so doggone mean by nature that she can't turn it off.

I think this is more than an irritation for little old me. I cannot imagine one normal person on earth who wants to give up an entire day for all the abuse you can handle and $12. This, so a person can be judged by their peers. A person who is certainly presumed innocent until proven otherwise but since it's appeared highly likely there is enough evidence of their guilt to move beyond reasonable doubt, all there is left to win the case is to try to create a legality. Sacrifice whatever it takes to create an opportunity for appeal. It's a nasty system and I am confident there must be a better way. I am sure it's better than many others countries, but surely it can be improved.

Meanwhile, can someone please take my name off the list?

A welcomed smile

A year or so ago I had a friend go through a major and public trial. A series of bad choices were made and one thing lead to another and the end of the road there was a lost job, a marriage in serious trouble and eventually the loss of a home. It was a very sad story.

I knew the same details the rest of the community knew but no more than that. I was sorry and I prayed for all those involved. I wrote a note of encouragement and I reminded people when they would be ugly that there were always at least two sides to every story. A gentle reminder from time to time that all of us sin and fall short of the glory of God. I wondered why we never ran into each other, but we have not.

Until today. I ran into the spouse and I was so pleased to see a huge grin and a joyful pragmatic spirit. I was surprised but delighted to feel the sense of confidence and hope, the openness and trust in acceptance. Someone has loved them wonderfully well, how pleased I am for them. How pleased I am for those who have supported them. It is a wonderful way when the Body actually functions as it ought to, not turning a blind eye to sin but recognizing that unconditional love may correct behavior but does not cast off. This is true freedom to accept one's failings and begin to address them without fear of rejection. Gosh, this is truly grace in action.

Sometimes the most loving people look at the behavior of others, behavior that is painful and harmful themselves and those around them, and they feel justified in cutting people off or severing relations. This seems the proper response, throw out the bad apple before it spoils the whole bunch. I understand this philosophy. I just know it's not God's. Thank goodness. I would definitely have been tossed. I would have thrown me out any number of times. Instead God is the good Father who simply waits for us to turn back, and head for home. When we do, He is there to meet us, to cloth us royally and throw a party to celebrate our homecoming. We need to do that too. When there is a turning, we need to support that choice and help the transition. We may need to do some turning ourselves, it's good to practice. We need more than anything to call a sin a sin and call it to be stopped, addressed and resolved, but call the sinner brother, sister, fellow pilgrim.

So hats off to the faith family who took the public embarrassment and shame and let them be an opportunity to love this family through to the other side. I trust I learn from the example and shine the light. Is there an Olympic medal for excellence in discipleship?

Recipe Cards

I remember very clearly my first cooking adventures. I think the first one was some kind of chocolate disaster as it required melting the chocolate with the butter and I skipped this step in the recipe because a) I didn't read it and b) it seemed so unnecessary. I can't remember if, in this particular venture, I was rescued by my mother or if it ended up in the trash can.

My second major cooking attempt I remember very clearly because I followed every step of the instruction on the card. It was pudding of some kind and it required a quarter or a teaspoon of salt, but I thought it said a quarter of a cup of salt and we didn't have enough in the container with the girl and her umbrella so I had to take it out of the shakers. This we just threw away.

I was fortunate enough to go to school in the days when we were required to take cooking and sewing. I managed to learn enough to be dangerous at both. I have fond memories of the wonderful parfaits we made one day, required no cooking and had rice crispies, strawberries and vanilla pudding. Yummy. And the chocolate dipped peanut butter balls which I left in my locker over Christmas and was too scared to eat anyway since we put wax in the chocolate and I found that way too gross. Less warm fuzzies about sewing class though I do remember a trip to the optometrist when the sewing needle snapped, flying into my eye and scratching the cornea. Ouch. I did find the patch to be quite attractive and since I was already blind as a bat, it did no permanent damage. But I digress seriously.

It's the recipe cards that are currently on my mind. I remember very well learning to read them and then getting excited about reading cookbooks and finding ways to cook things in new and improved manners. Once I got better at reading a recipe and figuring out what kind of ingredients went well together I began to find the art of substitution fascinating. I had a friend named Teresa who used to say you could only substitute so many ingredients before a recipe stopped being that recipe anymore and started being something else entirely. I think my stuff often becomes something else entirely. I think sometimes this is a good thing, but not always. Sometimes it is a freak of nature and should be illegal.

Here is what I am thinking. I have been studying and studying and studying discipleship. I have read books about books about books and I am not complaining. They are all good. I will go on reading them and learning something new. I want to do that not only for knowledge sake, but I am finding that the further you expand your vocabulary, the more opportunity you have to express a thought, a feeling or an concept. Giving me words has been like opening the doorway to expression and given me tremendous freedom. I am excited and I want more! I want to talk to people who do this well and I want to ask questions and listen to thought that help me define what it is I believe. It is very much like the discovery in cooking that the reading part is in itself fun.

However, no matter how much I read cookbooks, I am not satisfied stopping there. I need to make it, I need to taste it and I need to serve it to someone. That's the practical application part. I am aware there are those who just read cookbooks, edit them or just find them entertaining. I want to eat. It just makes sense to me, read, find something that sounds appealing and then make it. If it turns out to not taste appealing, do not repeat. If it does, it may become a staple. This is satisfaction to me. It is as essential.

Why then do we have this major disconnect between reading and doing when it comes to discipleship? Why when the same people who have written these books are asked for procedures, they have nothing to fall back on but, you have to figure that out yourself. Did anyone ever pick up a cookbook that just listed the ingredients, told you what you ought to end up with if you used them all correctly and then said, now you figure out how to do it? I don't think so. I don't want that cookbook. I will tell you right now, the girl who couldn't figure out the difference between teaspoon and cup at 10 isn't that much further along now. The end of that process is just going to be landfill.

So, here is what I want us to do. I want us to take all the ingredients in discipleship and I want us to begin to construct some recipe cards. Some step by step procedures to end up with a disciple at the end. Each recipe might need a little substitution, to adjust for location and starting ingredients and maybe elevation, but at least some clue about how to start and what the end result should look like. How hard can this be?

And maybe we could have a disciple off. Top prize, an enormous crown to lay at Jesus' feet. Submit your entries today!

Back and Beyond

Had a great trip to the end of the world this week. It was through some of the prettiest countryside you can imagine. My cell phone service came and went and I went across hill and dale and it was lovely. I was really enjoying myself tremendously when my car made this ding sort of sound. It wasn't a bad ding like a you are going to die ding or anything, but it was kind of a get you attention ding.

So, I looked on the dashboard and there was a cute little red gasoline pump and the words "You have 18 miles to empty." I will admit that my immediate thought was, huh. Wonder where I am, wonder where there is gasoline and wonder if anyone will come looking for me if I fail to show up. For a few moments I did wonder if I would be eaten by bears if I tried to wander off into the country side seeking help. Before long the message had changed to "You have 10 miles to empty" which I felt to be an exaggeration as I haven't driven eight miles, but it did make me slightly insecure because I was now wondering how much you could trust the gage.

Before long I spot a sign that announces my destination and I am relieved as it seems that all my troubles are over. It does for a moment dawn on me that I am going to meet those who will be my superiors and perhaps it would be tacky to ask them to go off to find a gas station and fill a gas can and then bring it back to me. But I am not unduly concerned. These things have a way of working themselves out.

At lunch I meet a very nice gentleman who is from the area and describes it to me with great enthusiasm. I was absolutely all ears because I felt sure that at any moment he was about to tell a story about time when he had to find a gas station which turned out to be just up the road. No such luck. He announced he was finished with lunch and before he left the table I said, no doubt this sounds like a strange hypothetical question but supposing I was in a new area, miles from anything commercial and I needed gasoline. Where would one find it, oh in a place like this. He was not at all deceived but he was gracious and said "good thing you asked. Turn left and go about 200 yards and you will find a station". Then he did the sweetest thing ever: he leaned forward so he was very close to my ear and whispered "Can you drive 200 yards?". That was just so darling I would have kissed his head, but he didn't really seem like the head kissing type. I said yes, according to my car I can go 8 miles. He laughed, handed me his card and said, "let me know how I can be of help to you". A saint, the man is a saint.

Too bad he wasn't with me when I arrived at the gas station and discovered I had lost my debit card. Oh well, even super heroes get an afternoon off.