I buried my mother. She wasn’t dead. It was a desperate metaphor to bring back some sense of normalcy. I made a green bean casserole and sang “Amazing Grace”. The scene was really touching in a twisted sort of way. There was no body, like I said, she wasn’t, and still isn’t dead. Good news is, she has been exhumed, dusted off, and is back in all her glory.
There were years and years of pent up problems. She drank hers. I evaded mine. Finally, I decided I couldn’t do anyone any good if I didn’t take some action. One tearful night I decided I had to be done with it.
The culminating event occurred on 3211. I was driving home and she was telling me that she was going to be friends with Mr. E’s bio mom. I can still feel the wounds that girl caused me. Deep in the night I can sense the pain that girl caused her baby. There is so much hurt in that one sad girl’s path. And my mother wanted to be her friend. It was just too much. So when I hung up the phone and thought about the slurred speech and the rambling sentences, I decided that I was done. Being the sort of person I am, I needed the ceremony.
I want to make my mom happy. I want to protect her from the consequences of her actions. I don’t want to force her to look at the messes she’s made. I know those things hurt her. I know that she isn’t strong enough to handle looking at it (Ok this is a happy story-She wasn’t strong enough.) I played along with her hiding and protecting her until that night, the night of green bean casserole and Amazing Grace and no more contact.
Christians are a people of redemption. My most basic belief is that Jesus can change anyone. This belief ate away at my resolve, digesting it. Long motorcycle rides followed by redemption themed preaching shredded my resolve. One night swinging a tired leg over the seat, I realized I can’t bury anyone who isn’t dead. I decided an exhumation was in order.
It was hard to bury my mother. It was even harder to exhume her. Who wants to be wrong about such a thing as death? Who wants to face the anger of the newly exhumed person? Humility bites (vampire metaphors could easily fill the rest of the post ).
While I had buried her, my mother had worked. She had gotten clean. She had worked through things, things I’m sure I don’t want to know. She had regained her strength and her beauty and her self. When I broke down and talked, she talked back.
I’m now happy to say that my mother is alive and well. There is no grave dust clinging to her. We talked the other day and had the best conversation in a very long time. My girls talked to her too. They were so excited to have her back.
The road is long. There will be bumps and toll roads and rickety bridges. She may disown me when she sees this. But, my mother is alive and well and re entering our lives, not as a vampire or a ghost. She is my mother.
Monday, October 24, 2011
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Confessions
Confessions come hard. This one is really difficult. I have to confess that I’ve acted like Jonah.
Jonah didn’t have a whole lot going for him. I imagine his story going like this. (Remember, this is just my imagination).
One day Jonah was sitting in his house doing his daily chores. He was feeling pretty good about himself because he was rocking the whole prophet business. He was respected, a little feared maybe. He was obeying all the rules and regs and feeling good. Then, God says “Jonah, I got a job for you. Go tell the people of Nineveh they need to repent.” Jonah wrinkles up his shaggy eyebrows and says “I just remembered I have to head out Tarshish and visit my auntie. I haven’t seen her in a long time and she might die any day. Surely, this whole Nineveh thing can wait awhile.” So off he goes on a ship in the opposite direction of where God told him to go.
See, this is where the story gets bad. What kind of moron would do exactly the opposite of what God TOLD him to do? I’ve always liked thinking I would never do something that defiant. Because, you know, I’m a good Bible study girl. I’m rocking the whole read your Bible every day, listen to the right music, talk right thing. Umhmm, just like Jonah.
So, Jonah’s on the boat and God outs him. I like that his shipmates don’t immediately dump him. They tried really hard to get back to land before they dumped him. That’s awful nice of them considering they were idol worshipping heathens and Jonah was a prophet of the Lord most high. They finally dump him. He gets swallowed by a whale. He repents. He gets spewed up. He goes to Nineveh and starts rocking the whole prophet business again. He does such a good job that even the king repents. But, when Jonah sees that God has mercy on them, he gets mad, REALLY mad. God, being the merciful God He is helps Jonah to understand what happened. The Bible ends the story with God’s explanation. I wonder what Jonah’s reaction was.
When I realized that I was acting like Jonah, I was embarrassed. How many times have I been shown mercy and grace? Yet, here I was throwing a hissy fit. All around me, the heathens were offering to help. I was so caught up in my self that I missed it. The stench of fish puke seemed to be following me.
The word says we are to confess to one another. Here is my confession to my brothers and sisters. I acted like Jonah. I am praying I don’t do it again. I think I share a fatal flaw with him though. That flaw is pride. But even though I have that flaw, “I called out to the LORD, out of my distress, and he answered me” (Jonah 2:2). Our God is an awesome God. He rejoices when we realize what goobers we are return to him. So even though we have to figure out how to get the fish smell off of us, he will forgive us and love us.
I used to think Jonah was a loser. Now I know Jonah was just a man and I am just a woman. We have more in common than I ever knew.
Jonah didn’t have a whole lot going for him. I imagine his story going like this. (Remember, this is just my imagination).
One day Jonah was sitting in his house doing his daily chores. He was feeling pretty good about himself because he was rocking the whole prophet business. He was respected, a little feared maybe. He was obeying all the rules and regs and feeling good. Then, God says “Jonah, I got a job for you. Go tell the people of Nineveh they need to repent.” Jonah wrinkles up his shaggy eyebrows and says “I just remembered I have to head out Tarshish and visit my auntie. I haven’t seen her in a long time and she might die any day. Surely, this whole Nineveh thing can wait awhile.” So off he goes on a ship in the opposite direction of where God told him to go.
See, this is where the story gets bad. What kind of moron would do exactly the opposite of what God TOLD him to do? I’ve always liked thinking I would never do something that defiant. Because, you know, I’m a good Bible study girl. I’m rocking the whole read your Bible every day, listen to the right music, talk right thing. Umhmm, just like Jonah.
So, Jonah’s on the boat and God outs him. I like that his shipmates don’t immediately dump him. They tried really hard to get back to land before they dumped him. That’s awful nice of them considering they were idol worshipping heathens and Jonah was a prophet of the Lord most high. They finally dump him. He gets swallowed by a whale. He repents. He gets spewed up. He goes to Nineveh and starts rocking the whole prophet business again. He does such a good job that even the king repents. But, when Jonah sees that God has mercy on them, he gets mad, REALLY mad. God, being the merciful God He is helps Jonah to understand what happened. The Bible ends the story with God’s explanation. I wonder what Jonah’s reaction was.
When I realized that I was acting like Jonah, I was embarrassed. How many times have I been shown mercy and grace? Yet, here I was throwing a hissy fit. All around me, the heathens were offering to help. I was so caught up in my self that I missed it. The stench of fish puke seemed to be following me.
The word says we are to confess to one another. Here is my confession to my brothers and sisters. I acted like Jonah. I am praying I don’t do it again. I think I share a fatal flaw with him though. That flaw is pride. But even though I have that flaw, “I called out to the LORD, out of my distress, and he answered me” (Jonah 2:2). Our God is an awesome God. He rejoices when we realize what goobers we are return to him. So even though we have to figure out how to get the fish smell off of us, he will forgive us and love us.
I used to think Jonah was a loser. Now I know Jonah was just a man and I am just a woman. We have more in common than I ever knew.
Monday, September 5, 2011
Hannah's Story
Sleep was hard to find last night. Laying in bed for hours just thinking without getting anywhere. Hannah’s story filled my head for hours last night.
Hannah was a woman who was the favorite of her husband, Elkanah. I’m not sure how she could be his “favorite” if he chose to marry another woman too but we all make mistakes. Her sister wife, Peninnah (or Peni as I like to call her) had children. Hannah did not. Even though children were usually a sign of being well loved, Hannah had no children. Elkanah was a pious man. He took the family to the temple once a year. He even journeyed a bit further with two women and several children so that they could go to the temple where the Ark of the Covenant was kept.
Hannah would go and Elkanah would show her favor. I can just see how well this went over with Peni. Here is the childless woman receiving the best piece of cake and the nicest bed, while the mother of all the children had to have the left overs.
I imagine Hannah as that type of woman you see and think “nothing bad has ever happened to her.” She would be beautiful. Her kindness and faith would shine through making her seem even lovelier. But there, behind her eyes, you might catch a glimpse of the sadness. She wanted a baby to hold. Not a baby she had to borrow but her own baby, a sign of God’s favor and her husband’s love. You know Hannah had to think that everyone watching the family go down the street would think her husband didn’t like her. If he loved her, she would have all the children, not Peni. Peni would take advantage of the situation and ridicule Hannah. I imagine Peni, with her head held high calling her children to her in front of the other ladies at the temple. Peni would share stories of the kids while Hannah sat to the side with no stories to tell. Peni would throw barbed comments at Hannah and imply that Elkanah preferred her bed to Hannah’s.
So, year after year they go to the temple. The children of the other wife play and laugh while the “favorite” wife is barren month after month. One too many times Peni rubs her pregnant belly and makes a joke at Hannah’s expense. Finally, she can’t take it anymore. The teasing and ridicule and emptiness leave her desperate. I can just see her getting up from the meal, wrapping her shawl around her head to hide her tears. She walks quickly but purposefully into the chapel. She throws herself in a pile on the altar steps and starts to pray. She is so deep in prayer that Eli, the priest, can see her lips moving and her body swaying but can hear nothing.
Eli, looks at her and thinks she must be drunk. He would think that because he sees his sons abusing the altar every day. He sees people as awful. He is old and unhappy and feels a failure because his sons who should be so righteous are so awful. Of course he thinks this woman has to be drunk. He gathers his courage and all his righteous indignation. He marches up to her.
“Ma’am” he says. When she doesn’t respond, he repeats himself louder this time. He would touch her but she might be unclean and if she is he will have to purify himself.
She moves her shawl and looks up at him. Her eyes are red and her face wet with tears. Her mouth is contorted in that awful crying grimace.
He says “Get out of here you drunk”
She swallows and says “I’m not drunk. I’m pouring my heart out to God. He alone can help me. I have prayed and begged Him to give me child. I’ve even told Him, if only he will give me child I will bring the boy back here and devote him to the LORD’s service.”
Eli looks confused. Then the heart deeply buried within him, cracks. He looks at the woman with new eyes. He sees the sincerity. He tells her that God will honor her request. Maybe he hands her his handkerchief so she can wipe her face. She begins to smile. The priest has told her she will have a baby. The Lord has heard her.
I can see her running into her husband’s arms. Elkanah has been waiting for her to come back. He was worried when she left because he could feel her sorrow. He had heard Peni’s mean comments but he didn’t know how to help. When she comes back, he can see a difference in her face. She tells him what she has done and what Eli has said. He holds her. I wonder what he felt about her vow to give the baby back to God. He was the man so he had to agree to make the vow apply. He had the power to tell her no, to tell her that the vow could not be made. But he didn’t. He agreed to it.
The time came and she had the baby. She held him in her arms. I know she loved that baby more than words can say. He was her miracle. He was her proof that she was loved. I can see the little family surrounding little Samuel. I can see the sister wife sulking in the corner. And I can feel the sadness mixed with joy that Hannah must have felt.
She knew this baby was not hers to keep. She knew that when the baby was weaned, she would take him to the temple. The first year, she sent the rest of the family off without her and the boy. She cherished him for as long as she could. Then, when the time came to fulfill her vow, she did it.
Samuel would have been somewhere around two I guess, maybe three depending on the timing. He would be at that sweet age of pudgy little fingers and mischief. He would be running and laughing as they walked to the temple. He would be playing with his half brothers and sisters. But Hannah, she would be watching while her heart broke. There was no question in heart about what was to come but the pain would still be there. I wonder if maybe God was kind to her and maybe she was already pregnant with her next child. Not that one child can make up for another but palpable hope always helps. To make a vow like hers would require great faith.
I wonder if Peni was still making comments. She would be sitting with her friends over coffee and one would say “I heard Hannah was dedicating Samuel to God’s service”. “Well, of course she is,” Peni would smirk. “You know she had to beg God to give her that baby. She even had to beg Elkanah to sleep with her.” Peni would know it wasn’t true but it didn’t matter to her. She would be able to hear Elkanah and Hannah crying together as they prepared to leave this child. She would be able to see him comfort her. Always slightly on the outside, Peni’s pain would continue as she watched Hannah have more babies.
And then Hannah would walk with Samuel, her beloved child, to the old priest Eli. The boy would look at her with eyes wide. She would brush the little curl of brown hair to the side and she knelt down beside him, her eyes overflowing with tears. She would kiss his little lips and tell him “Mommy loves you. I’ll be here to see you every year. I’ll bring you your favorite baklava and a new robe so you’ll look just like the big priests. You be a good boy and serve the LORD with all your heart, all your soul, and all your strength. My beautiful boy.” Elkanah would pat his head and place his little hand in Eli’s old hand. He would take Hannah in his arms and walk her away from the place. The old priest would walk with the boy into the house. I think God would comfort Samuel. He would hold the little boy in his arms and keep him from fear.
When they got back to their tent, Elkanah and Hannah would go into a corner and hold each other and cry. Peni’s children would come to her and ask what is wrong. She would say that little Samuel is living in the temple. The little sisters and brothers would cry at this and even Peni would feel a tug of sadness. She loved that little boy too. You can’t live that close with someone and not love them a little. Elkanah would leave at some point to go work. Peni would come to Hannah and cry with her. Then, maybe, Peni would look at Hannah and Hannah would look at her. The two would get up together and start to make the food for the next day. Like sisters they would start to talk and maybe even laugh a little together. Then they would go back home and start life over again.
It would seem easy to cast each player in the story in a role of hero or villain. How could Peni tease Hannah? How could Elkanah run a house loving one wife more than the other? How could God require a woman to give up her son? People are not one sided and our God is not easily understood. Our God is holy. We are not. His ways are not our ways. We do know though that we are to love one another. This family went through a severe trial. Their trial set in motion an amazing string of events that impacted all of history. As a mom, I’m pretty sure there are moments when Hannah wanted to scream “I don’t care about history! I care only about my baby.” Thankfully, her faith was stronger than her need to understand. I think about this family late at night when sleep doesn’t come. I think about them and wonder how it felt to walk where they walked. Then I give thanks that I live in a time where there are hot showers and air conditioning.
Hannah was a woman who was the favorite of her husband, Elkanah. I’m not sure how she could be his “favorite” if he chose to marry another woman too but we all make mistakes. Her sister wife, Peninnah (or Peni as I like to call her) had children. Hannah did not. Even though children were usually a sign of being well loved, Hannah had no children. Elkanah was a pious man. He took the family to the temple once a year. He even journeyed a bit further with two women and several children so that they could go to the temple where the Ark of the Covenant was kept.
Hannah would go and Elkanah would show her favor. I can just see how well this went over with Peni. Here is the childless woman receiving the best piece of cake and the nicest bed, while the mother of all the children had to have the left overs.
I imagine Hannah as that type of woman you see and think “nothing bad has ever happened to her.” She would be beautiful. Her kindness and faith would shine through making her seem even lovelier. But there, behind her eyes, you might catch a glimpse of the sadness. She wanted a baby to hold. Not a baby she had to borrow but her own baby, a sign of God’s favor and her husband’s love. You know Hannah had to think that everyone watching the family go down the street would think her husband didn’t like her. If he loved her, she would have all the children, not Peni. Peni would take advantage of the situation and ridicule Hannah. I imagine Peni, with her head held high calling her children to her in front of the other ladies at the temple. Peni would share stories of the kids while Hannah sat to the side with no stories to tell. Peni would throw barbed comments at Hannah and imply that Elkanah preferred her bed to Hannah’s.
So, year after year they go to the temple. The children of the other wife play and laugh while the “favorite” wife is barren month after month. One too many times Peni rubs her pregnant belly and makes a joke at Hannah’s expense. Finally, she can’t take it anymore. The teasing and ridicule and emptiness leave her desperate. I can just see her getting up from the meal, wrapping her shawl around her head to hide her tears. She walks quickly but purposefully into the chapel. She throws herself in a pile on the altar steps and starts to pray. She is so deep in prayer that Eli, the priest, can see her lips moving and her body swaying but can hear nothing.
Eli, looks at her and thinks she must be drunk. He would think that because he sees his sons abusing the altar every day. He sees people as awful. He is old and unhappy and feels a failure because his sons who should be so righteous are so awful. Of course he thinks this woman has to be drunk. He gathers his courage and all his righteous indignation. He marches up to her.
“Ma’am” he says. When she doesn’t respond, he repeats himself louder this time. He would touch her but she might be unclean and if she is he will have to purify himself.
She moves her shawl and looks up at him. Her eyes are red and her face wet with tears. Her mouth is contorted in that awful crying grimace.
He says “Get out of here you drunk”
She swallows and says “I’m not drunk. I’m pouring my heart out to God. He alone can help me. I have prayed and begged Him to give me child. I’ve even told Him, if only he will give me child I will bring the boy back here and devote him to the LORD’s service.”
Eli looks confused. Then the heart deeply buried within him, cracks. He looks at the woman with new eyes. He sees the sincerity. He tells her that God will honor her request. Maybe he hands her his handkerchief so she can wipe her face. She begins to smile. The priest has told her she will have a baby. The Lord has heard her.
I can see her running into her husband’s arms. Elkanah has been waiting for her to come back. He was worried when she left because he could feel her sorrow. He had heard Peni’s mean comments but he didn’t know how to help. When she comes back, he can see a difference in her face. She tells him what she has done and what Eli has said. He holds her. I wonder what he felt about her vow to give the baby back to God. He was the man so he had to agree to make the vow apply. He had the power to tell her no, to tell her that the vow could not be made. But he didn’t. He agreed to it.
The time came and she had the baby. She held him in her arms. I know she loved that baby more than words can say. He was her miracle. He was her proof that she was loved. I can see the little family surrounding little Samuel. I can see the sister wife sulking in the corner. And I can feel the sadness mixed with joy that Hannah must have felt.
She knew this baby was not hers to keep. She knew that when the baby was weaned, she would take him to the temple. The first year, she sent the rest of the family off without her and the boy. She cherished him for as long as she could. Then, when the time came to fulfill her vow, she did it.
Samuel would have been somewhere around two I guess, maybe three depending on the timing. He would be at that sweet age of pudgy little fingers and mischief. He would be running and laughing as they walked to the temple. He would be playing with his half brothers and sisters. But Hannah, she would be watching while her heart broke. There was no question in heart about what was to come but the pain would still be there. I wonder if maybe God was kind to her and maybe she was already pregnant with her next child. Not that one child can make up for another but palpable hope always helps. To make a vow like hers would require great faith.
I wonder if Peni was still making comments. She would be sitting with her friends over coffee and one would say “I heard Hannah was dedicating Samuel to God’s service”. “Well, of course she is,” Peni would smirk. “You know she had to beg God to give her that baby. She even had to beg Elkanah to sleep with her.” Peni would know it wasn’t true but it didn’t matter to her. She would be able to hear Elkanah and Hannah crying together as they prepared to leave this child. She would be able to see him comfort her. Always slightly on the outside, Peni’s pain would continue as she watched Hannah have more babies.
And then Hannah would walk with Samuel, her beloved child, to the old priest Eli. The boy would look at her with eyes wide. She would brush the little curl of brown hair to the side and she knelt down beside him, her eyes overflowing with tears. She would kiss his little lips and tell him “Mommy loves you. I’ll be here to see you every year. I’ll bring you your favorite baklava and a new robe so you’ll look just like the big priests. You be a good boy and serve the LORD with all your heart, all your soul, and all your strength. My beautiful boy.” Elkanah would pat his head and place his little hand in Eli’s old hand. He would take Hannah in his arms and walk her away from the place. The old priest would walk with the boy into the house. I think God would comfort Samuel. He would hold the little boy in his arms and keep him from fear.
When they got back to their tent, Elkanah and Hannah would go into a corner and hold each other and cry. Peni’s children would come to her and ask what is wrong. She would say that little Samuel is living in the temple. The little sisters and brothers would cry at this and even Peni would feel a tug of sadness. She loved that little boy too. You can’t live that close with someone and not love them a little. Elkanah would leave at some point to go work. Peni would come to Hannah and cry with her. Then, maybe, Peni would look at Hannah and Hannah would look at her. The two would get up together and start to make the food for the next day. Like sisters they would start to talk and maybe even laugh a little together. Then they would go back home and start life over again.
It would seem easy to cast each player in the story in a role of hero or villain. How could Peni tease Hannah? How could Elkanah run a house loving one wife more than the other? How could God require a woman to give up her son? People are not one sided and our God is not easily understood. Our God is holy. We are not. His ways are not our ways. We do know though that we are to love one another. This family went through a severe trial. Their trial set in motion an amazing string of events that impacted all of history. As a mom, I’m pretty sure there are moments when Hannah wanted to scream “I don’t care about history! I care only about my baby.” Thankfully, her faith was stronger than her need to understand. I think about this family late at night when sleep doesn’t come. I think about them and wonder how it felt to walk where they walked. Then I give thanks that I live in a time where there are hot showers and air conditioning.
Thursday, September 1, 2011
Heart Condition
I have a heart condition. It is a very minor, very boring heart condition. Most of the time I don’t even think about it, it’s that boring. Every day I take a pill. As long as I take that pill every day, the heart condition is all good. But, I have another condition. I’m not sure if it’s laziness or hard headedness or what but it is a much scarier condition than the heart condition.
This other condition causes me to not do the very simple things I have to do to keep the heart condition under control. I’m talking simple things like dropping the prescription off at the pharmacy and then picking it up later. I really don’t like to do that.
So, I started feeling funny yesterday. I realized I was out of the medicine I needed. I ignored that first warning. I mean maybe this month would be different than all the other months. See, about once every three months or so my second condition pops up and I decide I don’t need the medicine. Yeah, that doesn’t work so well. It is a little unnerving to feel your heart beating at 130 beats a minute. It is unnerving and it interferes with drinking coffee. (Coffee will speed up your heart beat. I like coffee. I do not like interference with my coffee which is why I usually just take the medicine.)
The most exciting thing about this heart condition is that it is a great metaphor for my relationship with Jesus. Most days I get up and open my Bible. I love to read it. I even love reading it when its all numbers and lineages. But there are days when I get up and that other condition hits. I guess we could call it my “sin” condition. I don’t want to read the Bible. I want my coffee without wisdom (sounds pretty goofy like that but…) Maybe I have to be somewhere or maybe I’m just mad at God.
How foolish is that? I’m mad at God so I don’t read His word. Works out about as well as it does when I decide I’m mad at Michael and don’t talk to him. I stay all grumpy for a few hours and then have to admit I was wrong. Same thing happens when I chose not to read my Bible. When I chose to read it, I make much better decisions. My anxiety level goes way down when I take a few minutes and read and pray. That lurking depression is easier to battle when I’ve taken my “medicine”. But that sin condition comes in every so often and gets me off track. The result, like the result of not taking my heart pill, is that I feel awful. All I have to do to feel better is take the medicine. There is a residual icky feeling but we always have to deal with the consequences of our actions. Once the pill is swallowed, or once I’ve asked forgiveness, I know it will all be better.
Our God wants us to do the simple things that bring us closer to him. The closer we are to him, the less powerful the sin condition is. Simple things like reading the Bible, praying, and telling others about him bring us such joy and comfort. To live life to its fullest we have to do these things but the trick is they are enjoyable. Unlike my medicine with its funny side effects, doing what the Spirit tells us to leads to side effects like love, joy, peace, and patience. These are very good things.
I ran to the store this morning and got my heart pills. I’m feeling much better now. On my way there, I talked to God about why I still have this sin issue. He listened. He’s good like that. I’m pretty sure his answer is something along the lines of “because you aren’t home yet. I’m here with you though and I love you. Now get back to work.”
This other condition causes me to not do the very simple things I have to do to keep the heart condition under control. I’m talking simple things like dropping the prescription off at the pharmacy and then picking it up later. I really don’t like to do that.
So, I started feeling funny yesterday. I realized I was out of the medicine I needed. I ignored that first warning. I mean maybe this month would be different than all the other months. See, about once every three months or so my second condition pops up and I decide I don’t need the medicine. Yeah, that doesn’t work so well. It is a little unnerving to feel your heart beating at 130 beats a minute. It is unnerving and it interferes with drinking coffee. (Coffee will speed up your heart beat. I like coffee. I do not like interference with my coffee which is why I usually just take the medicine.)
The most exciting thing about this heart condition is that it is a great metaphor for my relationship with Jesus. Most days I get up and open my Bible. I love to read it. I even love reading it when its all numbers and lineages. But there are days when I get up and that other condition hits. I guess we could call it my “sin” condition. I don’t want to read the Bible. I want my coffee without wisdom (sounds pretty goofy like that but…) Maybe I have to be somewhere or maybe I’m just mad at God.
How foolish is that? I’m mad at God so I don’t read His word. Works out about as well as it does when I decide I’m mad at Michael and don’t talk to him. I stay all grumpy for a few hours and then have to admit I was wrong. Same thing happens when I chose not to read my Bible. When I chose to read it, I make much better decisions. My anxiety level goes way down when I take a few minutes and read and pray. That lurking depression is easier to battle when I’ve taken my “medicine”. But that sin condition comes in every so often and gets me off track. The result, like the result of not taking my heart pill, is that I feel awful. All I have to do to feel better is take the medicine. There is a residual icky feeling but we always have to deal with the consequences of our actions. Once the pill is swallowed, or once I’ve asked forgiveness, I know it will all be better.
Our God wants us to do the simple things that bring us closer to him. The closer we are to him, the less powerful the sin condition is. Simple things like reading the Bible, praying, and telling others about him bring us such joy and comfort. To live life to its fullest we have to do these things but the trick is they are enjoyable. Unlike my medicine with its funny side effects, doing what the Spirit tells us to leads to side effects like love, joy, peace, and patience. These are very good things.
I ran to the store this morning and got my heart pills. I’m feeling much better now. On my way there, I talked to God about why I still have this sin issue. He listened. He’s good like that. I’m pretty sure his answer is something along the lines of “because you aren’t home yet. I’m here with you though and I love you. Now get back to work.”
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Butterfly
Stretching- pushing across and above and beyond. Stretching and begging for more room. When the time is accomplished, the pushing and stretching gives way to tearing, the tight cocoon walls tear and the first bit emerges. The first part of the butterfly to come out is covered in goo. It is slimy and fragile. It is far from beautiful.
I can almost hear it begging to break out. If butterflies speak to the Lord, I’m sure there is a time of desperation. A moment, or perhaps two for the more impatient, when the half formed creature screams out to its creator “Free me! I need to feel the air rolling off my wings.” A moment of fear that the current state is the permanent state, a moment when the stretching becomes almost panicked, or is there? If butterflies speak to the Lord, maybe they know that the time of transformation is required. Maybe they have a faith even clearer than that of child. Maybe they have laid down the need to know what happens next and simply trust that no matter how tight the chrysalis seems, there is freedom to be enjoyed- a freedom that transcends every circumstance-a freedom that sings of the Father’s love so loudly and surely that there is no reason for panic.
Butterflies seem so fragile. Their beauty is delicate. It cannot hold up for long or against difficult circumstances. At least that is how it seems at first. Then the slow realization dawns that these tiny creatures travel many, many miles each day. These tiny fragile creatures float on the wind. They soar and dip and dance on invisible air streams over amazing distances. There is nothing weak in their fragility.
Women appear fragile. We spend hours bending and stretching and begging for a different shape or a different look. As young teenagers we look at the other girls around us and wish we were them. As young mothers we look at the other mothers and wonder why our lives are so hard and theirs is so easy. Always, always we are comparing ourselves. We measure our success in terms of our relationships to others. We cry when we’re frustrated. We cry when our bodies refuse to be whatever it is we want right then. We cry and we appear fragile. We are not fragile.
We are the beloved creations of our Father. He has created each of us to be a wonderful person. He has given us our children because no one else will raise them the way we will. He has given us our trials because He knows how we will respond. He has chosen to give us a strength that mirrors that of the butterfly. The strength that appears weak but can do amazing things through Him.
He commands sometimes that we wait. He says “not yet”. For the more impatient of us, these times are more painful than the moment when the butterfly is breaking free. Our strength though lies in knowing that He will remove the walls. He will remove the walls, make us beautiful, and set us free. Free to fly on the wind, free to love, free to dance, free to worship our Lord and Savior who loved us enough to redeem us and remake us.
I love to watch the butterflies.
I can almost hear it begging to break out. If butterflies speak to the Lord, I’m sure there is a time of desperation. A moment, or perhaps two for the more impatient, when the half formed creature screams out to its creator “Free me! I need to feel the air rolling off my wings.” A moment of fear that the current state is the permanent state, a moment when the stretching becomes almost panicked, or is there? If butterflies speak to the Lord, maybe they know that the time of transformation is required. Maybe they have a faith even clearer than that of child. Maybe they have laid down the need to know what happens next and simply trust that no matter how tight the chrysalis seems, there is freedom to be enjoyed- a freedom that transcends every circumstance-a freedom that sings of the Father’s love so loudly and surely that there is no reason for panic.
Butterflies seem so fragile. Their beauty is delicate. It cannot hold up for long or against difficult circumstances. At least that is how it seems at first. Then the slow realization dawns that these tiny creatures travel many, many miles each day. These tiny fragile creatures float on the wind. They soar and dip and dance on invisible air streams over amazing distances. There is nothing weak in their fragility.
Women appear fragile. We spend hours bending and stretching and begging for a different shape or a different look. As young teenagers we look at the other girls around us and wish we were them. As young mothers we look at the other mothers and wonder why our lives are so hard and theirs is so easy. Always, always we are comparing ourselves. We measure our success in terms of our relationships to others. We cry when we’re frustrated. We cry when our bodies refuse to be whatever it is we want right then. We cry and we appear fragile. We are not fragile.
We are the beloved creations of our Father. He has created each of us to be a wonderful person. He has given us our children because no one else will raise them the way we will. He has given us our trials because He knows how we will respond. He has chosen to give us a strength that mirrors that of the butterfly. The strength that appears weak but can do amazing things through Him.
He commands sometimes that we wait. He says “not yet”. For the more impatient of us, these times are more painful than the moment when the butterfly is breaking free. Our strength though lies in knowing that He will remove the walls. He will remove the walls, make us beautiful, and set us free. Free to fly on the wind, free to love, free to dance, free to worship our Lord and Savior who loved us enough to redeem us and remake us.
I love to watch the butterflies.
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Time- for Amy
Some people have a love affair with clocks. My middle daughter is deeply in tune with the passage of time. She knows the minutes intimately. She feels the seconds moving and for her, I think, they move steadily.
Others may not feel the flow of time but they are keenly aware of tiny marks that indicate seconds. I have seen these people. They look at the clock and instead of seeing a clock they see a million tiny pieces. One glance and they can tell you all about the thing. They know what color it is. They know that second hand is slightly bent. I look at these people in a sort of puzzled awe.
I have looked at the clock in my kitchen a million times and I have no idea what color it is.
This is the beauty of my God. Not just that we are all created differently but that each tiny variation is valued and needed and on purpose. The word says “To each is given the manifestation of the Spirit for the common good.” Oh praise Him that He has thought out each detail and not being content to just focus on the details, He has designed an intricate, dazzling universe. The same God that created each blade of grass set in motion the processes that allow the grass to grow. And, one day, He chose to create me. Then after (or before or during-His time is even trickier than mine) He created me, He placed me in this moment in time and space where a comment triggered a thought.
See, school is about to start. When school starts, stress runs high and things fall apart and in my job as principal I’m supposed to manage all the falling pieces while teaching, scheduling, tap dancing, and redirecting. Time runs from me as fast as a laughing toddler from his momma in Wal-mart. And, in my worst moments, I want to scream in exasperation as toddler time peeks around the corner of the aisle just out of reach and giggles.
Then, a teacher, gifted with an eye to details, tells me we need to recoup a minute. A minute, she says! A minute when all around us things are raining down, she cares about a minute! And then I realize the toddler, laughing just outside my reach, isn’t time. It’s God. God cares about every minute and every person. God has orchestrated this whole beautiful crazy world with its beautiful crazy people whom He absolutely adores for this one minute…and the next “one minute”…and the next “one minute”. He takes joy in our brief moments of understanding. The moment when we truly realize that we are His creation, that each of our flaws, imperfections, talents, and skills are all His to use for His kingdom.
Thank you Lord for those who are obedient to do your will even if your will is only that each minute be noticed and accounted for. Because Lord, in that act of obedience, another act of obedience is born and dear Lord, for you to allow such a person as me to be obedient to You is the greatest gift imaginable.
Others may not feel the flow of time but they are keenly aware of tiny marks that indicate seconds. I have seen these people. They look at the clock and instead of seeing a clock they see a million tiny pieces. One glance and they can tell you all about the thing. They know what color it is. They know that second hand is slightly bent. I look at these people in a sort of puzzled awe.
I have looked at the clock in my kitchen a million times and I have no idea what color it is.
This is the beauty of my God. Not just that we are all created differently but that each tiny variation is valued and needed and on purpose. The word says “To each is given the manifestation of the Spirit for the common good.” Oh praise Him that He has thought out each detail and not being content to just focus on the details, He has designed an intricate, dazzling universe. The same God that created each blade of grass set in motion the processes that allow the grass to grow. And, one day, He chose to create me. Then after (or before or during-His time is even trickier than mine) He created me, He placed me in this moment in time and space where a comment triggered a thought.
See, school is about to start. When school starts, stress runs high and things fall apart and in my job as principal I’m supposed to manage all the falling pieces while teaching, scheduling, tap dancing, and redirecting. Time runs from me as fast as a laughing toddler from his momma in Wal-mart. And, in my worst moments, I want to scream in exasperation as toddler time peeks around the corner of the aisle just out of reach and giggles.
Then, a teacher, gifted with an eye to details, tells me we need to recoup a minute. A minute, she says! A minute when all around us things are raining down, she cares about a minute! And then I realize the toddler, laughing just outside my reach, isn’t time. It’s God. God cares about every minute and every person. God has orchestrated this whole beautiful crazy world with its beautiful crazy people whom He absolutely adores for this one minute…and the next “one minute”…and the next “one minute”. He takes joy in our brief moments of understanding. The moment when we truly realize that we are His creation, that each of our flaws, imperfections, talents, and skills are all His to use for His kingdom.
Thank you Lord for those who are obedient to do your will even if your will is only that each minute be noticed and accounted for. Because Lord, in that act of obedience, another act of obedience is born and dear Lord, for you to allow such a person as me to be obedient to You is the greatest gift imaginable.
Monday, August 8, 2011
Hot and Dry
3211 is hot and dry these days. As you round the curves you can see the heat waves rising from the asphalt that has bubbled up from between the tiny rocks that make up the road. The ac can’t keep up with the heat. It’s almost too hot to pray. Disquiet is settling in my heart as I drive by cattle trucks and see the boney hips and ribs. As removed as most of us are from agriculture, there is still something primal that screams danger when the food supply looks like something out of pharaoh’s dream.
The temptation is to try to do something to change the circumstances. In college, I studied about witchcraft in primitive cultures. The people with no power over their environment would resort to hidden ceremonies to influence spirits to help them. They constructed elaborate systems of taboos and good luck and spirit worship. Because they felt so powerless and so desperate to influence they would do terrible things to themselves and their children. Desperation breeds both evil and law.
We aren’t so different. As the drought continues we set up more and more restrictions. We can only water on certain days at certain times. Billboards scream out that wasting water equals wasting money. The tv news threatens rolling blackouts if we do not use our electricity wisely. All this and it’s almost too hot to reach out to the One who can change the environment.
I find myself returning again and again to the idea of freedom. For so many years, I was bound by fear and anger. Now, I can taste freedom. I drink it in from time to time, enjoying the freedom to dance and laugh and play. Except, sometimes, when I start to feel things slipping through my hands and I want to hold on to it. Those are the times when I want to start imposing rules on myself. The concept is tricky. Some things that might seem to be rules are more habits and some things that seem to be outward signs of my devotion are really rules. I can see the orthodox Jew wearing his prayer shawl and almost envy the sign of righteousness. Then I remember, we are called to be free. Because our Jesus sacrificed Himself for us, we are free to run into our Father’s arms as beloved children. This freedom is a most marvelous gift. We don’t need elaborate rituals. We just need our Father, His Son, and the Spirit. With God, all things are possible.
So, while the road boils and the cattle wither, I will remain free to love my God, free to rejoice in His goodness, knowing that in time the rain will come.
The temptation is to try to do something to change the circumstances. In college, I studied about witchcraft in primitive cultures. The people with no power over their environment would resort to hidden ceremonies to influence spirits to help them. They constructed elaborate systems of taboos and good luck and spirit worship. Because they felt so powerless and so desperate to influence they would do terrible things to themselves and their children. Desperation breeds both evil and law.
We aren’t so different. As the drought continues we set up more and more restrictions. We can only water on certain days at certain times. Billboards scream out that wasting water equals wasting money. The tv news threatens rolling blackouts if we do not use our electricity wisely. All this and it’s almost too hot to reach out to the One who can change the environment.
I find myself returning again and again to the idea of freedom. For so many years, I was bound by fear and anger. Now, I can taste freedom. I drink it in from time to time, enjoying the freedom to dance and laugh and play. Except, sometimes, when I start to feel things slipping through my hands and I want to hold on to it. Those are the times when I want to start imposing rules on myself. The concept is tricky. Some things that might seem to be rules are more habits and some things that seem to be outward signs of my devotion are really rules. I can see the orthodox Jew wearing his prayer shawl and almost envy the sign of righteousness. Then I remember, we are called to be free. Because our Jesus sacrificed Himself for us, we are free to run into our Father’s arms as beloved children. This freedom is a most marvelous gift. We don’t need elaborate rituals. We just need our Father, His Son, and the Spirit. With God, all things are possible.
So, while the road boils and the cattle wither, I will remain free to love my God, free to rejoice in His goodness, knowing that in time the rain will come.
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