Merry, Merry Christmas

Make Peace.

See you in January.

Feelings or lack thereof

I had the strangest dream last night. It involved old friends, some sad news, and the name of an old infomercial product that evaded me throughout the dream – one that I intend to Google later today.

Funny, though, I wasn’t sad about the sad news. The others weren’t over-wrought, mind you, but they showed decent sorrow. Me? Not a bone of decent sorrow in me.

The person that had died (yes, it was a death scene) was someone I know, but just a casual acquaintance. People that I know well know her – so I am kind of connected through mutual knowing, but not by common experience or time spent in friendship.

When I woke up, I took some time to marvel at my lack of feeling. Someone had died, after all, and her death had affected those I love – even if it hadn’t really affected me. It was just a dream, but I wondered what was wrong with my heart.

The feeling reminds me of how I can see stories on the news, or hear truths about the living conditions of people around the world, and somehow stay disconnected. Someone once told me that we can’t possibly take it all in or we’d be emotional wrecks, but I think it should disturb us that things don’t disturb us.

So, as I brushed my teeth this morning, I watched the water come on and prayed for the millions in refuge camps who have no access to clean water. I didn’t stand there and feel lucky or blessed. No, I felt the inequity. I felt the responsibility to act.

Look at your water today and ask God for a heart like His.

O mummy dear

J.J. has been working on a project for the Ancient Egyptian Fair at his school today. You can see from the pictures, that he made a mummy. He also wrote a paper entitled, “Ancient Egyptian Mummification.” He was never one for flowery titles like his mother.

As I edited his paper for him, I learned so many fascinating things. For instance, I knew that the Egyptian embalmers removed the internal organs and put them in canopic jars, but I did not know that they left the heart in the body because they believed it to be the center of feeling and the essence of the person. Apparently, a person was going to need his or her heart immediately in the after-life, so nobody dared take it out.

The brain, however, was a different story. A long spike was pushed up the nose of the corpse, the brain was smashed, and then removed with the spike. Often times, the brain was simply thrown away because it was considered generally unimportant.

Now, we know that our brains are important, but it got me thinking.

How many times have I let my “better judgment” be an obstacle to acting on a compassionate impulse? Or how frequently do I let fear undermine an empathetic urge? Often times, thinking things through has proved my downfall – and at other times, impulse has landed me in a shipload of trouble.

Perhaps there are legitimate reasons to throw the brain away.

Peace

"True peace is not just freedom from fear, but freedom from want."

President Barack Obama when accepting the Nobel Peace Prize today.

Me and Karl

Growing up in the good ol’ US of A, I knew without a shadow of a doubt that Communism was a great evil that needed to be eradicated from the face of the Earth. The Cold War was a pressing necessity, and when the Berlin Wall fell, I had the same sense of pride and eagerly participated in the “Go Capitalism!” pep rally like everyone else.

Now, I think I am a Communist – or a Marxist at the very least.

I spent one week on a cruise ship. What I observed in the dining room was enough to make me rethink the whole world, probably because the whole world was around me.

The wait staff represented 67 different countries. Our waiters were from the Philippines and Jamaica respectively – Ricky and Andre were their names. They were very hard workers, and during the first meal I decided to learn about them.

Both had families back in their countries that they were away from for 6 months at a time. Andre would disembark once a week, on Wednesdays, and jog to his kids’ school to check up on them briefly before rushing back. Both spoke multiple languages (far more than the one that I can barely use properly) and they were intelligent and fascinating men.

On Day 2, I asked them why they do this job. Ricky smiled thoughtfully and essentially explained that his sacrifice provided opportunities for his children that they would otherwise miss out on.

I began to pick up my own dishes by Day 3 – uncomfortable with being served in this way. Unless we are disabled, putting our own napkin on our laps should be a no brainer also.

There was a group at a table near us that continued to attract my attention. Using my keen observation skills, I determined that they had saved for quite a while for this trip. I will not go into further descriptive detail, but just know that they were no multi-millionaires.

The way they treated the wait staff, however, was appalling. They acted as if they were the royal family (actually, the royal family has far better manners) and were so demanding. They each ordered multiple entrees every night, sometimes just having a single bite, and wasted an obscene amount of food. You realize, I suppose, that I am really holding back on these folks trying to exercise grace – but it isn’t easy!!

They felt like someone owed them something. I’m not sure why, but they were fine upstanding examples of why the world hates Americans.

I started to wonder what Ricky and Andre thought. By Day 5, I was brave enough to ask.

“Oh, Wendy,” Ricky said with a smile, “there are people like that all over the world. Unfortunately, they all vacation here.” We both laughed.

As I ponder social inequities, I recognize that they have caused both problems – both Ricky being far from his family and people trying to feel important and acting like jerks. I hear the argument that we provide jobs and income and it all makes the world go round, but somehow somewhere something is terribly wrong.

I am not escaping the hypocrisy of my own presence there. Out of guilt and appreciation, I left them a huge tip. Did I help or hinder?

I’m not really a Communist. No, I am in favor of a dictatorship – a benevolent one where God is in charge. I wonder what that would look like?

Onward

We talked abouth THIS ARTICLE at church yesterday. If you don't have time to read it, essentially a group of Christians, calling themselves the "Christian Army," marched in a town not too far from where I live in order to protest the removal of the nativity scene in the town square.

I have always been intrigued by our use of certain terms. Even that hymn that says, "Onward Christian soldiers, marching as to war..." was one that I just stood and let everyone sing around me.

No need to be militant about nativity scenes. If you want them that badly, put them up in your own yard. Instead, be just as intentional about love. Use your energy differently.

As Pastor Jim said yesterday, set an injustice straight this season - a real injustice where people are suffering and unheard.

Or maybe take that free ham you won with your supermarket points and hang it on someone's door knob - anonymously. Lots of people are struggling financially this year.

Last week, the principal at my son's school said something intriguing to him. He said, "You lead by doing, not by telling."

Amen.

Let's all put our weapons down this year.

And BINGO was his NAME-O

I have a very conservative heritage. There were no playing cards allowed in my grandmother’s house, and my parents did not allow dancing at my wedding. Lest you find them prudish, they are great people who are lavish with their love, and they truly felt like there were some temptations that were better avoided.

On my honeymoon, I met a 73 year old Jewish woman from Florida named Myra. She and her husband had recently sold the chain of discount liquor stores that they owned, and so they now took cruises several times a year in their retirement. I met her on the pool deck on the first day.

We became fast friends, and later that afternoon, Myra invited me to go play bingo on a lower deck. I had NEVER played bingo before, as it was considered gambling in my home, but I was a grown and married woman now, AND the idea was intriguing, so I tagged along.

It is now 17 years later, and even though I have managed to resist the temptation to play every Tuesday night at the local Catholic church, I must admit I became obsessed with winning bingo on that trip. I never missed a chance to play (neither did Myra) but I chalked my persistence up to the fact that I needed a break from the Caribbean sun by the time 4:00 pm bingo rolled around.

Since I am in confession mode, I will tell you that every vacation that I go on, if there is bingo to be played, I participate. I even dragged my children into the obsessive pit last week with me.

I have probably played a total of 27 games of bingo in my life. Considering I have lived approximately 15,330 days, that is pretty insignificant, but in all that time, I have NEVER won. Every game I am convinced that I will win, but I never do.

We traveled with another family on our vacation last week, and my husband had warned them ahead of time about my vacation bingo addiction which they found very amusing. The first evening of our trip, they tagged along, much as I had done with Myra years ago. Would you believe that their 9 year-old daughter won the $500 first night jackpot?? No kidding.

To make matters worse, her mother (my friend) won $98 the next night AND won a free string ray excursion. We had already chosen that particular excursion, so the ship happily refunded her pre-payment as part of her winnings.

I already suspected, before the trip, that I was unlucky, but I could no longer ignore the cosmic confirmation of my unluckiness anymore.

So, because of my background, I was tempted to wonder if God kept me from winning. I already have that natural guilt-o-meter built in, but to assume that God would intervene in a bingo match to teach me a lesson is an interesting perspective, isn’t it? Does God even care about bingo? Probably not. Does God care about how I use the money and resources that He has given me? Definitely.

Which, of course, brings me to my point. I think sometimes, in our efforts to always do right, we can consider God to be a cosmic kill joy or we imagine that He would thwart our fun. I don’t think God was terribly upset about bingo, but I know He wants me to think about the time and money I was wasting – and, really, for what?

It’s a great life question really – one that we should ask before playing bingo or performing brain surgery…

For what?

Myra lived quite a few more years after my honeymoon, and we exchanged Hanukkah/Christmas cards every year until she died. Wonder what she’s doing now every day at 4:00 pm.

Let's face it

While I was on vacation, I won a free facial. Let me try to explain the problem with that.

I have RIDICULOUSLY sensitive skin. Even very expensive, all-natural products bother my face, and so I walk around with the complexion of Winston Churchill most of the time.

Never one to pass up on FREE, however, I decided to explain to the woman at the salon about my ever present ruddy situation – thinking that she may have some helpful hints to help me.

I was treated like royalty upon entering the place, handed a refreshing glass of mint water, and invited to wait in a sound proof room that was pumping in classical music. Delightful.

A gorgeous woman from South Africa then came to collect me, and take me to a treatment room. The room was immaculate, quiet and painted in soothing colors. I marveled at my good fortune, sat on the treatment table, and waited to begin.

The gorgeous woman was named Chane (SHANAY). We spoke at length about my hyper-sensitivity problem, and she nodded with confidence. I was in good hands.

As the facial began, I was invited to lie down upon a table and was covered in warm blankets. Irish flute music was playing, and the lights were dimmed. All the creams and clays smelled so great, and I almost fell asleep as Chane wiped and examined and pampered.

Afterwards, I sat back up and took a moment to wake up. Dear Chane was smiling at me and asked if I was ready for “a little chat.” Sure, I thought, why not? Everything still smelled great.

Suddenly Chane’s face turned grim. Whatever the news, it wasn’t good.

“Your face is in serious trouble,” was how she began. “You seem like such a lovely person, why wear a face that doesn’t reveal your beauty?”

PAUSE: At this point in our story, I was feeling more disbelief than actual hurt. I took a quick look around the serene room for the Candid Camera.

Chane went on, “The circulation around your eyes is very poor. You obvious laugh a lot, because your laugh lines are frighteningly deep. And, honestly, I would like you to see our Botox specialist. It’s a free consultation, and I really think it would help solve many of your issues.”

BOTOX is such a fascinating word, isn’t it? It’s on par with CELLULITE and GIRDLE and GRAVITY.

After more scary facial revelations, Chane handed me a paper with all her recommendations written in tidy handwriting. If I had purchased all of her suggested products (some for everyday, some for monthly use and some quarterly) I would have spent $ 2,138 on face creams. I think I added a quarter inch to my laugh lines just then as I imagined my husband’s face when I explained the bill.

All of a sudden, though, right there on the table, it wasn't funny. I had the most grippingly sad moment for women who actually spend their time trying to be younger. Someone must follow all these instructions or they wouldn’t exist, right? I suddenly felt very weighted in the light room, and if there are sadness lines, I’m sure I started on them. Preying on insecurity, beauty experts clean out our wallets and our sense of self.

Sure, I want to look nice – who doesn’t? But there is something deeply troubling about that much self-focus.

I smiled and thanked Chane profusely for her time and attention. I assured her that the whole experience was terribly relaxing, but went on to explain that I love my lines. I laugh out loud freely and often, and I guess it shows.

I think it’s worth it to mention that the products destroyed my skin. Later that evening, I could feel the burning and tightness beginning. Days later, I am currently walking around with huge red and scaly patches all over my face, and Winston Churchill is actually prettier than me right now.

Prettier. Not happier.

Where to start, where to start...

I have been away with my family. It was a great time.

I observed SO many things that I want to discuss with you that I'm not even sure where to start, but let me just give you some hints.

I think I'm a Communist.

A woman told me I need Botox to my face.

I saw the best and worst of humanity.

I did not win even one game of BINGO. I am officially the unluckiest person I know.

And, after I finish the laundry, we'll talk about it all week. See you tomorrow.

Obvious to what

“… those of us who have the nerve to call ourselves Christians will do well to be extremely reticent on the subject. Indeed, it is almost the definition of a Christian that he is somebody who knows he isn’t one, either in faith or morals. Where faith is concerned, very few of us have the right to say more than—to vary a saying of Simone Weil’s—“I believe in a God who is like the True God in everything except that he does not exist, for I have not yet reached the point where God exists.” As for loving and forgiving our enemies, the less we say about that the better. Our lack of faith and love are facts we have to acknowledge, but we shall not improve either by a morbid and essentially narcissistic moaning over our deficiencies. Let us rather ask, with caution and humour—given our time and place and talents, what, if our faith and love were perfect, would we be glad to find it obvious to do?”

— W.H. Auden

Branching out

I keep learning from my children, and at the risk of sounding like a bragging mother today, I need to tell you about last night.

J.J. was in a play.

Now that may not sound very earth shattering to you, but let me explain. I used to be an actor – many moons ago now – but I could never get my children to even sing in the church choir – especially J.J. No amount of coercion or bribery would convince him to stand up in front of other people, and so I just let him choose for himself.

When he came home from school one day and declared, “I got a part in the play. I am the prince. I sing a solo and I have to wear tights,” I was pretty sure I would have a coronary right on the spot. This was no small step into performing. No, for a nonexhibitionist – this was a leap off a cliff.

I suspect it helped that two of his buddies from the baseball team were in it too – another fact I marveled over. What was happening to their well defined cleat wearing roles?

Last night during dinner, as we prepared to leave for the show, I asked J.J. if he was nervous, and he said exactly this:

“I think I’m always nervous when I try something new, but I chose to be the Prince, so I’m going to suck it up and go out there. It’ll probably be great once I get started.”

Later, after his thrilling performance (thrilling being his mother’s word) I thought about that response. My friend Dave, who I do not see nearly enough anymore, sent me an email the other day and he essentially talked about the price of being a true follower of Christ. He wrote, “I’ve never felt more excited about the gospel, but I feel I’m now amongst an incredibly small minority that feel this way. Most feel that they liked me better the way I was.”

It’s an old story, but the truth is that Christians want things to be easy and comfortable, and that desire seems to be in direct contradiction to the life of Jesus and His words. Being a follower of Christ demands venturing into uncomfortable, unfamiliar and brand new places – both literally and figuratively.

When God asks me to have a look at myself, I am often forced to face things about my personality and my bias’ that are disturbing to me. I would often like to think about cotton candy instead, but I recognize that if I dare to go there, God has something great for me in the end – growth, healing, better relationships.

My little baseball Prince reminded me of the truth:

I think I am always nervous when I try something new, but I chose to follow Christ, so I’m going to suck it up and go out there. It’ll probably be great once I get started.”

So, like J.J. and his baseball buddies above, I'm still branching out.

Learning to lose

I will admit that I have gone completely the opposite way of Winston Churchill. You may remember his famous quote:

“Show me a young Conservative and I'll show you someone with no heart. Show me an old Liberal and I'll show you someone with no brains.”

Labels bother me though. When I was younger, I was naïve and I bought into the whole Christian-conservative-family-values-war-hawk front. I was never right-wing, mind you, because I always had enough in me to question everything. However, I do not think I wear the word “liberal” well either. It, too, has many troubling aspects.

I want to be a Christian. How that forms my thinking and forces me to interact with the world is a result of Scripture and my relationship with Jesus.

For instance, in my Bible reading lately, I have been really wrestling with Mark 8:34-36. The same kind of Jesus’ ideology can be found in other gospels too, but let’s just look at what Mark recorded:

34Then he called the crowd to him along with his disciples and said: "If anyone would come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross and follow me. 35For whoever wants to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for me and for the gospel will save it. 36What good is it for a man to gain the whole world, yet forfeit his soul?

Crazy challenging words, and I think we have come to think that Jesus was being figurative – but I suspect that He was being quite literal and thorough actually. Remember that many of His listeners died for their faith – as did He – and there is something very deep and profound here for us.

One of the arguments that I hear against promoting peace around the world is that it would expose us to danger at home. Our foremost concern seems to be protecting not only our lives, but our WAY of life here in America. We are motivated by fear, yes? And for some insane reason, we believe that WAR brings about PEACE.

Now apply the words of Jesus to our thinking. What if being vulnerable and promoting peace (i.e. less money on weapons, less emphasis on posturing, more on education, food, clean water) does in fact open us up to danger but is indeed the way of Jesus anyway? What if He is telling us that defending our way of life by any means necessary is an ultimate forfeit of our souls?

I do not have answers. I’m just thinking.

Hmmm...perhaps someone is messing with me?

Bearing gifts

If you have followed the blog for some time, you know that we have adopted 4 stray cats. I never had cats growing up, and I am learning what fascinating little animals they are.

They are constantly bringing me gifts. Usually, they bring mice indoors and leave them in my slippers. One even left a full size rabbit under Mia’s bed last Spring.

This week, however, they have been baffling me. Last Friday, I left a bag of Halloween candy downstairs in the family room – which is probably the farthest point from my bedroom, and each morning when I wake up there are little candies by my bed. None of the candies are open, but they keeping picking out the same kind.

Let me be sure you understand. There must be 20 different kinds of candy – Sweet Tarts, Reese’s, Laffy Taffy, Snickers – but they have been digging through the bag and selecting the mini Hershey bars – Krackel bars and Dark chocolates .

I find this so amusing, that I continue to leave the bag of candy unattended, just to see if it will keep happening. Is it the color? Is it the smell? Did Hershey pay them a fee for product placement?
I was sitting and laughing with my husband about it, watching our beloved Phillies, when Mia noticed that one of the cats was playing with something in my closet. She was rolling around with my shoes, shaking something back and forth. I got up to check, thinking it was chewing my belt, when I suddenly realized the belt was moving – all on its own.

The Visible Invisible

We had a bout with H1N1 here at the Melchior’s. That is not a new or unusual tale, because MANY households are experiencing this nasty flu.

When my kids are really sick, I am reminded of the fragility of life. I sometimes imagine the invisible war going on all around us – the microscopic germ that can wreak complete havoc on a huge body vs. the antibodies within our bodies that fight to ward off more attacks. It’s like a game of Risk.

Faith – believing in something you cannot see – can seem a little risky too. I wrestle with doubt, just like everyone else, and believing in the unseen isn’t a popular choice in our culture either. Oh no, we are far too advanced and self-sufficient for invisible things, aren’t we?

Here’s the thing, though. God is really not invisible. Unfortunately, however, some who claim to represent Him are wreaking havoc and they seem to be the ones who claim the spotlight – ensuring their visibility. They remind me of the flu.

There are faithful people of God quietly making His presence tangible all over the world – digging wells to find water, feeding hungry children in urban centers, rescuing women from human trafficking, honestly loving their neighbors – all clearly in the name of Jesus.

Just because God doesn’t clamor for your attention doesn’t mean He isn’t there. Have a look around today.

Oh my God?

There is a new documentary entitled, Oh My God?, that is already playing at film festivals and will hit the U.S. in November (select theatres). The director, Peter Rodger, told reporters at the Jerusalem Film Festival, “My goal was to find out what this entity that goes by the name of God means to people.” He went on:

“I was fed up with the childish schoolyard mentality that permeates this world, what I call the "My God is Greater than Your God" syndrome. By throwing out the question in an interview as 'What is God?' instead of 'Who is God?' it makes the interviewee look at God from the outside in rather than from the inside out.”

Hmmm. Interesting questions.

Let’s personalize it a little. Would you ask, “Who is Wendy? or “What is Wendy?” and how would I feel about either question?

I completely agree with Rodger’s idea about the childish schoolyard mentality, but I must disagree with his thesis that asking WHAT instead of WHO uncovers truth.

When I was a pastor to 20 somethings, I used to say over and over to them, “Always start with God. Don’t begin with your own perspective or circumstances or learning, because your conclusions will end up faulty. Find out who God is first, then see yourself in light of Him – not the other way around.”

What is God? God is the Great WHO, the Great I AM. It is amazing hubris on our part to think that we can define Him on our whim or point of view. God does not exist to fit our individualized need for a god, He exists to expand our smallness and give us a taste of His power and eternity. We were made by Him remember? Oh how we love to think we invent Him though.

Rodger’s documentary interviews several celebrities, one of which is Hugh Jackman. He says something in the film that made me smile:

"If you put Buddha, Jesus Christ, Socrates, Shakespeare, Arjuna, Krishna at a dinner table together, I can't see them having any argument."

I agree. God has no need to prove Himself, just the fact that Christ joined us for dinner is enough.

Look for the signs

It’s going to be a long week. I have been having trouble sleeping. Combine that with the fact that our Phillies are playing into the later hours, and I have been all but useless the last couple of days. Of course, my schedule is jammed packed, so it’s been challenging to stay alert.

Last night, as I watched our beloved Phillies beat the Dodgers, I sat in front of my TV at home. At the stadium, however, the frenzied crowd chanted various phrases including the traditional ones like, “Charge!” and “Here we go, Phillies, here we go!”

However, every time Manny Ramirez came to the plate, the chants became less traditional. You will remember that Manny was caught using steroids earlier this year – actually I think it was labeled a ‘female hormone’ - but either way he was given a 55 game suspension by the MLB, a suspension he already completed. I have been told that Philadelphia is a particularly brutal town to be the away team, but I have no other frame of reference.

I was intrigued by the taunting of Manny, even signs pointing out his error, all on national TV. Now, many of us would claim that it goes with the territory, kind of like you do the crime you do the time, and that’s how I felt at first.

Then I imagined myself walking down the street with people carrying signs outlining all my indiscretions.

“Don’t deny you’ve told a lie.”

“No need to repeat, Wendy’s a cheat.”

You get the idea.

For some reason, we love to continue to punish people, don’t we? Forget the macro example of Manny Ramirez, how about in our homes? Do we revisit people’s (spouse, children, family, neighbor) sins over and over? Perhaps we do not chant, but does our behavior toward these folks suggest that forgiveness is a long way off – or forgetness will never come???

I suspect that I am not going to convince an entire city, one that is pretty revved up right now, to stop taunting Manny, but that same city has reminded me to let others off the hook – to practice tangible forgiveness.

“No need to hide, I’m on your side.”

Hammurabi the Hammer

I was studying with J.J. for his Social Studies test last night and we reviewed Hammurabi’s Code. For those of you who have been out of 6th grade for a while, Hammurabi was the leader of the Babylonian Empire and his written system of laws and rules is the earliest we have ever discovered.

Hammurabi was an “eye for an eye” kind of guy – with an interesting exception. Punishment did indeed match the crime, but the importance of the victim also influenced the severity of the consequence. In other words, if an ancient surgeon failed to cure a person of the higher class, his hands were cut off.

As we studied, J.J. mentioned how so many of the places mentioned in his lesson were found in the Old Testament of the Bible – we learned that Ninevah had a large and impressive library (remember Jonah trying to avoid his trip and being swallowed by a fish?), we learned about the Assyrian warriors and we talked about the Mesopotamian calendar being based on the flooding of the Nile River.

The more I learned about Hammurabi, and thought about the people who lived under his code, I began to see why the way of Christ is so hard to believe. We as people just cannot imagine that sort of grace, can we?

Think upon it – the UNMERITED favor of God…the forgiveness of sin without eternal penalty...regardless of who you are.

It’s still true, I believe. Even a casual glance at politics, law enforcement and even global relations can move us farther and farther away from the way of Christ and it gets harder and harder to get a taste of Jesus while we are being swallowed by it all.

Let’s allow God to challenge our limited perspective. Can we see the severity of the world for what it is and live under a different code? The way of Christ is the way of amazing grace - without exception.

Give and receive a taste of it today. Cut off the rest.

Novacaine and hangovers

I am not sure if I am suffering from a Phillies hangover or if I am having trouble recovering from yesterday's dental work, but either way - my mind's a blank.

Hoping I can face the Dodgers with a temporary crown.

Thank you, Kristin

Something interesting happened the other day, and at the risk of my friends being afraid to relate to me for fear our interaction end up on the blog, I’m going to tell you about it.

My oldest son had a game yesterday afternoon. It was an away game, and we had to travel about 20 miles to get to the other school - this requiring that I pick my younger children up early from school. Normally, they would be fine with it, but both of them had subjects yesterday afternoon that they did not want to miss, so our only option was to find a willing friend to care for them after school.

Mia chose her BFF, and so my husband called and made all the arrangements. J.J. chose his buddy, the E-man, and I called his mother (who is my buddy) to see if she minded having J.J. for a couple of hours.

After I asked her over the phone, she responded with the most interesting thing. She said, “Oh that would be fine. Thank you for calling and asking.”

Now you may not see what I see in those two sentences, but for a moment I felt so blessed. Here I was, asking for a favor that in some way inconveniences my friend, and she THANKED me for the opportunity.

I want to be the kind of person who is TRULY THANKFUL for the chance to serve, the opportunity to be inconvenienced in order to make another person feel cared for. It is deeply profound if you think about it, because even as Christians we know that serving another person is what Christ modeled for us, but how often is it a forced behavior and not an involuntary outflow of a Christ-filled heart?

I understand that loving and serving and being inconvenienced is sometimes hard, and I even know that it is a choice to pursue such a path. But it’s not just good for the world to serve, it is good for me. I am being shaped and matured every time I dare to do it.

I want to be thankful for the heart that is being made inside me as I serve the world outside me.

Beefing it up

When I was a kid, we would travel to Canada to my grandparent’s home for Christmas. When we arrived, we would sit down to a roast beef dinner that my Grandma had lovingly prepared in anticipation of our visit. I can vividly remember how dry the roast was, and how much gravy it required.

I grew up believing that Grandma overcooked beef. As a matter of fact, it was sort of a joke with me when I cooked something too long, I would make some remark about how it resembled my Grandma’s roasts.

It wasn’t until I became an adult and I was driving to Canada myself one trip, that I realized how off schedule I was. In order to get there by car, I drive through Syracuse and Buffalo – both of which are famous for snow – and I was almost 2 hours later arriving than I had promised.

Hmmm. I applied this new knowledge to my childhood trips and realized that, no, my Grandmother did not enjoy leathered food, but she had been readying the supper for the time we claimed we’d arrive. I can almost hear her contemplating the problem, “Well, if they actually do make it on time, they’ll be hungry as bears….”

In truth, her overcooked roast was MY fault all those years, not her error in cooking judgment. I had it way out of context.

This may be a stretch for you, but that little piece of learning has helped me so much relationally. When I am ready to “decide” about a person or a situation, especially when someone behaves like leathered beef, God helps me remember that I probably do not see a complete picture. I simply do not have all the information and, admittedly, my understanding is all too limited by my own point of view.

Life requires a lot of gravy. Love anyway.

Am I smarter than a 4th grader?

My 9 year old daughter, Mia, had a Science quiz yesterday. As we were reviewing the information that she needed to regurgitate, I came across the most interesting sentence for 4th grade curriculum.

The notes were based on “working in a Science Team.” There were suggestions about listening and completing your tasks well. There were different team roles spelled out, like “Task Manager” and “Skill Builder.” I was impressed with all of these.

It wasn’t until I reached a section entitled, “Special Team Skills” that I stopped short. Third, on a list of three, the following skill was spelled out:

Criticize ideas, not people.

I paused momentarily and my daughter asked why I stopped reading. I looked up at her and smiled.

“Mommy is learning from your Science notes,” was what I said. This truth pleased my daughter.

Talk about a special skill, huh?! How often have I criticized a politician or friend or family member instead of questioning their ideas?

Admittedly, “Are you crazy?” is a common question I ask my husband.

Second on Mia’s list was:

Entertain lots of ideas before coming to a conclusion.

Sheesh. What ever happened to graduated cylinders and dissecting frogs?

Just like in Science, I think it is more than important to have a discerning mind and sharp intellect. Some ideas are just bad ones – in our government, in our culture, in our homes - and should be challenged. But as Christians, do we challenge ideas or do we contribute to the hostility and defensiveness of the world by criticizing people?

Once again, we return to the idea of defending the space to love someone over defending our “morality.” Honest dialogue is critical to the healing of the world, but if no one feels safe enough to talk, no one feels safe enough to change.

Hoping for a gassy decade

Yesterday was my birthday. Birthdays are funny things, aren’t they? I tend to do more reflecting than I usually do on my birthday and this year was no exception.

I also ran out of gas yesterday. Running out of gas is an ongoing issue with me, although I must say I am far better than I was in my 20s and 30s. I think it is only the second time this year I have needed rescuing and my friends, Beth and Kristin, faced the death defying traffic with me.

You know, in my life I have done all sorts of things. Some things have been admirable and some have been terrible (dear David Letterman). Most situations I have caused (like not stopping for gas) and others I have fallen victim to. Regardless, a lot of forgiveness has been required – a lot.

One of the most difficult things to do is to forgive one’s self. Even Christians, who know they have been forgiven by a gracious God, can struggle with letting themselves feel free from their own judgment. Our pasts, and our presents, can be haunting things.

Here’s the thing, though. Just like my gas situation, God and I have watched me change. Over the years of knowing Him, I have learned to look for redemptive things in the people around me, and sometimes I even find them in me as well. Sticking close to Him has helped me deal with shame, and truly live forgiven.

I am not what I was in my 20s and 30s. Yesterday I was 42. Maybe when I’m 50, I will have a gas-filled decade.

Live forgiven.

Absence makes the elbow grow tender

Sorry to be absent. Noah has another elbow problem from playing football that I am trying to get sorted out. I honestly feel like I can't win with these boys and these bones.

Grace under water pressure

On Saturday, my dear friend Beth and I, and our husbands, were in charge of the 6th grade car wash to raise funds for J.J.’s class trip. Let me just begin by telling you that if you are ever asked to lead a 6th grade car wash – don’t do it.

It was only four hours, but in that span of time I had such a myriad of feelings that I probably can’t explain them all to you.

One thing, however, that I think is worth mentioning is that very few of the kids could work hard.

Hear me out: I LOVE FUN. As a matter of fact, I prefer fun to most other things. I am all for bubble fights and hose squirting and general soap sudsy revelry. I am both happy to participate in said fun, and to allow it. Yet I had some sense on Saturday that there should be some actual car washing going on since we were taking people’s money.

Now, there were a few kids, I must say, who were great workers. They also had lots of fun, but then when a car arrived, they scrubbed and hosed and dried. The majority of kids, though, had excuses and arguments against putting out any sort of effort at all, and I began to wonder if I was chaperoning a school dance or an actually fundraising activity. The even crazier part was that even after they were (gently) encouraged to help, they still did not jump in to participate. At one point, I considered prompting them with a high pressured power washer.

You know what? I want kids to be kids, yes, but I somehow think it is important that they put forth some effort for what they want. These particular kids are going on an out of state class trip, one that will cost quite a bit of cash, and I do not think it is unrealistic for them to help raise such cash.

Perhaps too many parents are just writing checks for their kids’ activities these days. Perhaps a little elbow grease would do us all good. Perhaps I am old fashioned and out of touch.

My children claim that they do far too many chores. I claimed the same when I was a kid, but somehow I survived.

Thank you, Mom and Dad, for teaching me to work.

Offense

Yesterday was our middle school football season opener. The team lost 12 to 8, but it was a decent showing for the first try. My son, Noah, is on the team.

I was on the sidelines, trying to figure out which parents belonged to which players. First of all, with all the padding and helmets, it’s hard to tell which kid is which, but then to pair them with parents I’ve never met is quite a challenge. I have heard my son say some of these player’s names during his tales from school series, and I was eager to meet some of them.

I watched one particular woman who was there with 4 children, ranging in ages from about 15 to 2. The littlest one, a girl, was obviously adopted from China. She was sitting in her stroller so calmly, eating her Cheerios, that during half-time I approached her and leaned over to tell her what a good girl she is. She smiled broadly, and showed me that the Cheerios were all gone.

I then stood up and introduced myself to her mother, a smiling and friendly woman. She told me her name, and I immediately knew who her son was. She told me how the little girl had special needs and was just learning to speak English. I listened to her story – about how she had 4 children of her own and still adopted the sweetheart eating Cheerios – and I instantly liked her. She was open and gracious.

As she continued to talk, however, she started to tell me about the Bible curriculum her husband does with her children. Now, at this point I had only been listening and had not shared that I was a follower of Christ. Telling me about curriculum was fine, but as she continued about a plethora of other biblical activities, pausing to watch my face instead of the game, I realized that she was sort of “fishing” with me, wanting to see how I would react.

All at once I knew I was an outreach project on the sidelines. She was going to either invite me to church or tell me about Jesus.

I know I could of told her about myself right away, but I wanted to see what she was going to do, how she planned to close the deal. I was curious. And even though she was a completely lovely person, all the overwhelming Bible talk was hindering my ability to yell, “Go defense!”

Here’s the thing, dear Christians, I was already so impressed with her mothering and her choices and her open smile, that I was naturally drawn to her from the beginning. It was only the first game, and she has plenty more chances to get to know me. Our exchange ended up being so forced and overwhelming, that we both were uncomfortable and I felt like I needed padding and a helmet.

I never did tell her that I used to teach an Evangelism class. I’ll save that for when I get to know her a little better.

completely empty

My kids have this funny thing they do. Often, after playing in a game somewhere, they bring their empty water bottles back to the car with them. On the ride home, they stick the bottles out the window, and depending on the position you hold the bottle, and the speed of the car, you can produce different sounds. The kids are getting so good at it, that they actually had some harmony going the other day. J.J. thought it was an A and an F, but who’s to say.

About two weeks ago, we were driving home from the tennis courts, and Noah had his bottle out the window, trying to make the lowest pitched note he could. It was just the kids and me, and we all smiled as he experimented with it for about 2 miles or so.

We stopped at a red light at an intersection near our home, and suddenly I was completely doused through the driver’s side window of the car with a liquid I later discovered was soda.

Quite shocked, I turned to see a man in a red pick up truck in the left hand turn lane. He screamed something like, “That’ll teach you to try and throw water on my truck…” but my completely perplexed look must have caught him off guard.

“That kid over there,” he said, referring to Noah. “He’s trying to throw water on my car.” He was a VERY angry man.

“The bottle is completely empty,” was my feeble reply while I came to grips with the truth that I was covered in Sprite or Sierra Mist. “He’s just playing a game.”

“Tell the little f****r to play in front of someone else.”

Naturally, the red light refused to change to green. My children and I sat there in stunned silence, just wanting to get away, and he continued to look at us and make sneering remarks. When the left turn arrow turned green, instead of drive away, he sat right there – still staring at us. For a minute, I was afraid he was planning to follow us when our light turned green, but the car behind him starting honking its horn so persistently that he peeled away, screeching his tires the entire way.

The moment still makes me sad. My kids were frightened, I was sticky, the man was enraged.

So much for harmony.

Corny songs and just reminders

So, last week, I got a song stuck in my head. No, that’s an exaggeration. I got two lines I wasn’t sure of and a fairly shaky tune of some remote song I remember from years ago stuck in my head.

My brain chose to “sing” it incessantly, making up lyrics and stanzas – even though I knew the root of what was inside me was vaguely familiar.

I sang my version of said song for a couple of the baseball moms this weekend, and everyone else had some distant memory of it as well, but we couldn’t seem to pinpoint an artist or title.

Yesterday, on iTunes, I typed in the few words I thought were correct, and sure enough, there was the fine (but immensely corny) song by the Bellamy Brothers, “Let Your Love Flow.”

The chorus goes like this:

Just let your love flow like a mountain stream
And let your love grow with the smallest of dreams
And let your love show and you'll know what I mean it's the season
Let your love fly like a bird on the wind
And let your love bind you to all living things
And let your love shine and you'll know what I mean that's the reason

After I finally relieved the insane guessing game inside my head, and even chuckled a little at the answer, I thought of the verse of Scripture in the book of Amos that says:

But let justice roll on like a river,
righteousness like a never-failing stream!

I started to think about a mountain stream after the rain – how powerful and strong and sweeping it is.

And, as corny as it sounds, I felt immense hope at the thought of love and justice and righteousness like that.

Not a bad thing to have rolling around in your head, or rolling around on the Earth, even if the details are hard to articulate.

Broken

I may not be around on Monday because the accident prone Melchior boys need to go back to the orthopaedist - ok, just J.J. He broke his left thumb diving for a baseball today, so we did the whole Emergency Room thing, yada yada, and need to head to the orthpaedist in the morning.

Scary, but I've been there so often that I actually know the correct spelling of ORTHOPAEDIST.

When we were headed home from the hospital, via McDonalds (the sure cure all supper), J.J. wanted to call some of his teammates to tell them that he would be out 4-6 weeks, but then he looked at me and said, "You'd better do it, Mom. I think I'm going to cry."

It made me feel broken too.

Vocab test

This morning, before he got on the bus, I helped my 8th grader study for his first vocabulary test of the school year. Boy, did he have difficult words. I mentioned this while reviewing them with him.

“I don’t think I use any of these words in every day conversation,” I noted. “I’m not even sure I know what convivial means exactly.”

“You use words like this,” my son replied, “maybe not these exact ones, but big ones.”

“Really? Nuh uh,” was my well spoken response.

“Mom, sometimes people don’t know what you mean, at least I don’t. The other day you said it was a ‘taxing’ situation and I was sure it had something to do with money until I figured it out.”

I laughed, but you know what? I want to be an easily understood person. Of course, that doesn’t mean I have to use the vocabulary of an 8th grader all the time, but the words and inflections and posture I choose can either be easy or difficult to relate to.

I want to be easy (in the most appropriate sense of the word).

Time to take a vocab test. As a Christian, do I choose words and language that that creates distance or safety? Judgment or acceptance? Defensiveness or peace? Am I cool or warm?

…or perhaps I should say, am I supercilious or convivial?

“Lazarus, come forth….loose him and let him go.”

I am reading a work of fiction entitled, “The Lazarus Project.” Truthfully, it got great reviews and the cover was cool, so I bought it. I have only just started, so I have no idea whether I recommend it or not.

The author, Aleksandar Hemon, has a beautiful command of language – that I do know. On the second page, he writes about a man visiting a street he has never been on before:

Someone peeks from behind a curtain of the house across the street, the face ashen against the dark space behind. It is a young woman: he smiles at her and she quickly draws the curtain. All the lives I could live, all the people I will never know, never will be, they are everywhere. That is all that the world is.

I have often sat and contemplated all the people I do not know. Sometimes, when I am in busy traffic, I watch the drivers fly by and marvel at the fact that they all have names and facts and circumstances and people that they love. I mean, how many people do you think are peeing at this very moment? All over the world, peeing right now?

There is something so bonding and so isolating about being a member of humankind, isn’t there? It is a mixture of knowing you belong because of shared experience, but also wondering how to avoid being lost in the sea of it all. So many people, so many names, so many feelings – generations upon generations.

Maybe some of it is answered by choosing to draw the curtain or simply smile back.

Rescue

I saw a commercial on TV for Lending Tree recently. It depicted a man, who apparently has financial difficulties, looking at his own reflection in his car window. Even though he was in a suit and tie, his reflection showed him dressed like a super hero – just like the Green Lantern.

The general idea was, instead of being helpless during financially stressed times, take your future into your own hands. The tag line read, “YOU TO THE RESCUE.” Well, you and Lending Tree, of course.

I smiled at this particular thought – you to the rescue.

Then I had breakfast with my mom this morning. It was a really nice time together and we proceeded to solve the world’s problems like we usually do. I really love my Mom.

One of the ideas we discussed was how we, as Christians, have come to believe that God gifted us in particular ways to help solve problems – in the church, in the world, in our lives. While I think it’s true that God does not put us in a canoe without an oar, I also suspect that we have come to rely on our own problem solving skills and sense of logic far too much.

Hear me out. GOD HAS ALREADY SOLVED THE WORLD’S PROBLEMS. He always goes first - goes ahead. Wendy’s ingenuity, or lack thereof, is really not a factor unless I am using my gifts to follow His already paved way. Does that make sense? There is not only satisfaction for my creativity, thinking and skills in His plan, but there are real, honest and working solutions as well.

So, where I do agree with Gandhi when he said, “You must be the change you wish to see in the world,” I also must insist that the pattern for that change – the template, if you will – has already been discovered.

Yes, me to the rescue in the world. But only after I acknowledge Who has rescued me, grabbing on to the life preserver and letting it drag me in the well worn path of Jesus.

Speaking of love and dogs

Yesterday was a good Monday in Philadelphia. Our Phillies are leading their division, our Eagles had a big win Sunday, and I actually saw a dog wearing a Michael Vick jersey. All is well in The City of Brotherly Love.

I am coming to the conclusion that the world is so complicated that it may be naïve to believe that I have an informed opinion about anything at all. This leaves me in a pickle, frankly, because the natural next step is to remain opinionless, but then that often is interpreted as apathy to the rest of the human beings I coexist with. Don’t ever encounter a group of Christians without being armed with an opinion, believe me. Accusations of pluralism and relativism aboundeth.

So, then I look to the Scriptures for some sort of mandate to inform me, and there I find Jesus saying that the greatest commandment is:

“Love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, mind and strength. Love your neighbor as yourself.”

Opinions and discernment and judgments are all tricky things, aren’t they? Sometimes we rationalize one to be another, and at other times we ignore the need for clear perspective.

When I am confused about which is which, I try to love. Letting God fill in the blanks, either way, just seems best.

I wonder if they are selling Vick jerseys in doggie heaven?

Spam

Last spring, my sons joined a free fantasy baseball league online and used my email address for their contact information. Since that very second, I have been inundated with spam. I have won the lottery in the UK several times. I have been promise that Viagra will give me the much needed boost I need. I have been invited to study online to become a cosmetologist. And I have been guaranteed to lose 50 lbs. this week using the same method Oprah did.

Spam must work or it wouldn’t be so prolific. But it sure is annoying.

I nosied in on a back & forth on Facebook last week that was interesting. I did not comment myself (amazing self-restraint, huh?) but the whole thing left me puzzled.

A Christian friend of mine posted something about being proud that her 1st grader was saying the Pledge of Allegiance every day, and that the words still included “Under God.” Nice and no big deal, right? WRONG.

Another gentleman, an agnostic, took opposition to her post and made plain his feeling that people shouldn’t be forced to say something they simply do not believe – after all, “this is the United States of America.”

A firestorm began, with tons of folks jumping in. I read the comments with interest, especially the Christians defending their faith. I read everything from, “You have chosen to put intellect over faith, but I have chosen to put faith over intellect…”

Sheesh. I hope the two are not mutually exclusive.

Then there was, “I will pray that the Lord Jesus reveals Himself to you….:” without any discourse or acknowledgement of what the agnostic man believes to be true.

Naturally, there was the whole “Christian nation” and “God Bless America” business as usual – even a little sprinkling of “our founding fathers built this nation under God…”

It almost seemed like spam, but it certainly wasn’t working.

Then, in an unrelated post, a pastor friend of mine posted this on Facebook: Welcoming diversity doesn't just mean inviting other folks to the table - it means giving up our unilateral right to choose the menu.

Please don’t hear me watering down Truth. There is Absolute Truth. But just like spam, a little research reveals our biases weren’t truth at all.

I hope the Lord Jesus reveals Himself to us all.

Rambling on

So, today is 9/11. For Americans, this day is burned into our memories. I noticed on Facebook a few minutes ago, that lots of folks are posting comments like, “We will never forget” and many are thanking the men and women in our military.

9/11 was a horrific day to be sure. And Pearl Harbor. And the Oklahoma City bombing.

And the day an atom bomb fell on Hiroshima.

My son’s middle school hosted a First Friday Celebration this morning. Parents were invited to attend homeroom and first period, and then join the administration in the cafeteria for refreshments and conversation. We observed a moment of silence in homeroom to remember.

Right afterward, I watched the students interact with one another. One particular young girl was wearing a T-shirt covered in peace signs – kind of a retro 60s sort of deal. Funny though, even as she wore the peace symbol, she wasn’t making peace at all in the classroom. The teacher had to speak with her a couple of times, and it was obvious that she was a bit of a bully. The girl sitting next to her seemed to me that she was afraid to look up – hoping to stay invisible lest the “peaceful” girl noticed her presence.

I sat there and thought about Jesus’ words about Peacemakers. It’s not enough to be against war, we must be FOR peace. We must make it. Peace is not merely the cessation of hostilities, it is actively and intentionally promoting the well-being of others.

I, too, am thankful to the men in women in our military and I recognize the realities of our world. But, on a macro level, I must wonder if making bombs constitutes making peace. What would constitute making peace?

The same is true for war protestors. Are they peacemakers in their everyday lives? The end does not justify the means and so protesting something that we do not make creates not only a systemic problem, but an individual one as well.

I will never forget 9/11. But the memory must teach me something.

No answers, just ramblings.

Peace be with you.

Easy answers?

CLICK HERE and read an interesting article.

Thoughts?

Propoganda

My children start school today – but just barely. Our local teachers’ union announced last week that they would strike because they were unhappy with the contract proposed by the school district. In Pennsylvania, there is a law about how much notice the union must give the community, so last Friday a judge ordered the teachers to show up today.

In this dispute, as in every dispute, there are two sides to the story. I try to educate myself with the “facts,” but honestly, when you read the information that both sides are disseminating, the facts are hard to discern. I learned last week that the school board is spending $7,500 a month to the Public Relations firm it has hired to create the right image during the negotiations.

When discussing the same letter, or the same contract items, the two sides are so different and the language used is so inflammatory that it’s hard to believe they are talking about the same thing, let alone imagine an eventual resolution to it all.

I started to think about this particular phenomenon and I think it is pretty common. You know what I mean - do we actually manipulate each other to the point of deceit, or do we really believe that our perspective is valid and true even if it’s not? I suspect both are sometimes correct.

I want to be the kind of Christian that sees relationships and communications differently. When challenged or afraid, I want to hesitate – to pause and simply consider another person’s point of view – before fiercely defending my own position. I think there are even times that I do not need to defend at all, but I can go ahead and be misunderstood in order to love someone well. Easier said than done, I know.

Imagine not needing any PR.

I think I’ll go on a propaganda strike.

Really scary stuff

Labor Days

Labor Day weekend has officially begun at our house – the last hurrah of summer. The kids are asking if they can work the phones and have a bunch of school friends over to swim and have the final big baseball game in the yard before climbing on the bus next Tuesday.

I considered cleaning my house last night, but figured that was a futile task with kids coming, so we grabbed ice cream and went to my parents’ house to watch the Phillies game.

I love having my parents close by. My children saw both sets of their grandparents yesterday, and I was thinking how important that consistent interaction is in their lives. Generations of love and investment, all of which reinforces who my kids are in the world and who they belong to. One of the things that I say to my kids all the time is, “Remember who you are and Whose you are.”

I’ve never been able to figure out the correct way to spell Whose or Who’s or whatever, but mostly I say it anyway. I capitalize it because my children know I am not only referring to their family, but I also mean God. I want them to understand now, that no matter what happens or where they find themselves, they are grounded and they belong to Someone.

Giving birth to them was a treat, and raising them is even more, but ultimately they were gifts that were loaned to me – to us, their family. Letting them grow to be what God intends, guiding them to discover their own path, is the greatest task I’ve been given.

And modeling how God feels about them, well, that’s a labor of love.

Anticipation

I have been holding out on you a little. We found out, in early July, that my husband’s 44 year old brother has Stage 4 cancer in his liver, lungs and colon. His name is Chris, and my husband shared a bedroom with him for 18 years growing up.

His family has wracked their brains for where this may have come from with no clear answers, only a cloud of questions and bewilderment. Chris is a crazy healthy guy, an exercising nonsmoker, so his diagnosis brought shock and disbelief with it.

I began to fervently pray, anticipating what God will do.

Here’s the thing though – later this week, after 8 weeks of radiation and chemo, Chris has a scan to determine where things stand. As I wait for the results of that test, my anticipatory prayers are themselves embattled. I want to have the kind of faith that anticipates ANYTHING that God allows, whether healing or otherwise. I want to be the kind of Christian who recognizes a bigger picture than the here and now. I want to really get it, you know?

But as I watch my husband, his parents, Chris’ wife & children suffer in anticipation, my yielding to God’s will falters a little and I find myself wanting to dictate to Him the right thing to do. Please make Chris better.

And even though this isn’t even close to being about me, I tell God that after Diana’s death, I’m just not sure how much more my heart can bear.

I want to see it with God’s eyes. I even sometimes do. Jesus healed some people, and He walked by others. I can’t always answer why He did so, especially when disease seems to be sitting in my lap this year, but I can acknowledge that it is true. My struggle then, is not with why God allows suffering, but why He chooses to intervene when He does – or doesn’t. And not just in my world, but in the world.

So, while I attempt to answer the unanswerable, I will declare my anticipation – believing my heart will follow.

Huge

My family and I went to dinner last night with one of the most treasured people of my life. My Aunt Genny is 86 years old now, but you’d never ever know it. Beyond being physically well, she continues to be the model for grace in my life.

My mom was an only child and my father’s family was in Canada, so people from the church were I grew up “adopted” us as their own and we called them aunts and uncles. Aunt Genny, short for Genevieve, was one such person. When I consider what a heart after God's own is like, I have hers as an example. In recent years, she has moved to South Carolina to be near her daughter, but she is here for a brief visit.

After dinner, she wanted to visit another old friend, a man I called Uncle Seth, and so we hopped over to his place unannounced. He was pleased to see us and we learned that he had recently suffered a stroke and was recovering. He was still his funny self though.

When I walked into Uncle Seth’s home, I had an experience that I have had several times in recent years. Have you ever visited a place where you haven’t been since you were a child, only to discover it is far different – smaller, changed – from what you remember? Stepping into Uncle Seth’s kitchen was like being in a time machine in some ways. Even though his wife, Aunt Betty, has died – her drapes and pictures are all the same ones that I remember from childhood. I used to stay with Aunt Betty when I needed to stay home from school because I was sick, and even last night I could picture the couch were she had me rest, her Chihuahua snuggled up with me.

And yet, if you had asked me to draw a picture of the place before I visited, I would have seen something much larger than what is really there. In my mind’s eye, I still see it as a child, and my perspective was much smaller then.

I stood there, thinking it all through, and listened to Aunt Genny and Uncle Seth catch up. One thing I know, using my grown up eyes, is that the influence these people have had on my life is not small at all. As a matter of fact HUGE comes to mind.

Not one of them was educated beyond high school, and Aunt Genny was recalling an assembly line job that she worked for many years. They never had much to show for their efforts – small homes, modest furnishings, practical cars. In some ways, now that they are growing older, the world may not notice their seeming ordinary lives. But what their faithfulness meant to me was nothing short of miraculous.

And here I am, in the middle of the night, wondering if my life reflects the impact they have had on me. I want to be sure their time and effort has come to fruition in my heart and in my person, and being with them has reminded me of what is true, and real, and HUGE.

I don’t want to be a grown up with a still small perspective.

Sharpened

We bought school supplies yesterday.

Each of my children walked through the store deciding what they needed in order to have a productive year. I walked around imagining the supply drawers in our kitchen – now full of broken crayons and markers without caps and dried out glue sticks from last year’s school escapades. I filled my cart with new items – including poster board – and couldn’t wait to get home and clean out.

At the register, J.J. asked why I had gathered all “this stuff.”

“Mom,” he said, “Most of this we won’t need until we are assigned a project or book report. That won’t happen for a while yet.”

I looked at him and smiled because I remembered the times when he and I were out late at the store the night before a project was due – frantically trying to find the right color construction paper because he had “forgotten” to mention the supplies he would need and I did not have them on hand.

“I guess I want to be prepared,” I answered him. “It’s nice to be ready ahead of time.”

As I continued to think about his comments, I realized that I read my Bible for some of the same kinds of reasons. Yes, I love the poetry and storytelling and drama it provides (it really is a work of literature) but reading it everyday also somehow prepares me for things – for life.

It’s not that I face every situation able to quote the scripture that is relevant, but by reading my Bible often I begin to innately know the story of God – the way of God – and His heart. In essence, it supplies me with what I need even before I need it.

It’s so much better than a frantic search the night before.

Fresh starts and other tastes of grace

Noah will begin 8th grade in a week. He did really well last year in his middle school debut, except for his last marking period math grade. His effort reminded me of the last ember of a firework – it begins so bright and brilliantly, but fizzles and falls in its final moments.

Mom was on Noah – I mean, on him. Poor kid must have felt like I was literally riding on his back. I asked him everyday about his homework and test scores and study habits…and priorities and future and self-respect. Where did he think failing a math test was going to get him? Did he think Harvard wouldn’t be looking at 7th grade math tests? When he is thirty-five, and working as rat infested sewer inspector, this math test would haunt him each day as he trudged through the human waste wondering where his life went wrong - I reminded him gently.

O, how I love my kid.

Yesterday, Noah looked at me and smiled. “Ready for school to start?” he asked. I found his question particularly amusing since it is him, as opposed to me, who has to get back into study mode, but then I understood his meaning.

We are on this journey together, my son and I - grades, adolescence, misunderstandings, unnecessary freak outs and grade point pressure, sometimes winning, sometimes losing, sometimes really screwing up. Another mother told me this summer that she calls Noah “The Ambassador of Goodwill” on the baseball diamond. As he played first base, she watched him greet each batter from the other team with a handshake and a, “Good hit!” I didn’t tell her about the math test, or how sometimes his mother forgets how wonderful he is.

I think it’s the same way that God feels about me. Sometimes His chest is bursting with joy as He watches me love someone well and at other times He shakes His head as I fail the test.

But we’re on this journey together, my God and I.

O, how He loves His kid.

Sleepovers

I have been having downstairs sleepovers with my kids. Perhaps it’s because I am keenly aware that the end of summer is looming, but I have wanted to be near them nonstop.

Last night, during one such sleepover, a noise outside woke me. Actually, it startled me. It was the sound of a soda can hitting the bricks outside, and for a moment I was convinced that someone was lurking just beyond the window.

When I was in college, I would go with friends to scary movies. Back then, I enjoyed horrifying myself and could quickly forget the images I had seen. Even though I no longer find them entertaining, I have not forgotten how the main characters in these flicks always moved toward the disturbing sound or danger instead of choosing to FLEE the scene – which is what any normal and sane person would do, right?

Funny though, I jumped right up to investigate the errant can last night, turning on the outside flood lights and loudly warning the potential intruder of his/her pending capture at the hand of my well-developed martial arts skills. Later, after letting the can knocking cat back in the house, I pondered my bravery.

And there were my three children, the same ones I was having a Can’t Get Enough of You Sleepover with, and I knew I would face any midnight feline to protect them.

Then I watched the news and learned of the now 29 year old woman who had been abducted in 1991 (at 11 years old) and kept in a back shed by a sex offender for 18 years.

She, and her mother, have experienced a real life horror movie.

As a Christian, I should not quickly forget the images I see, and instead of flee, I must move toward the disturbing. Simply praying, “God, please meet that person’s needs,” when I hear of an illness or tragedy or horror is insufficient. Instead, perhaps, I should pray, “God, am I the answer to that person’s prayer?” and then get myself moving.

It’s kind of like martial arts love – wildly attacking injustice with crazy swinging Grace. No need to fear whatever is lurking just beyond, God is already there.

God Cogs: Sweating it out

Great emails yesterday. I do appreciate your ideas so much, and one particular person’s thoughts have been rattling around in my head since.

“Why would I choose to die?” she wrote. “Why would Jesus make following Him so hard?”

GREAT questions.

I’m not sure I can be completely coherent, because I’ve only thought about this for one day, but let’s give it a whirl, shall we?

I don’t think Jesus intended for it to be hard. It is hard, that I will agree with, but the real problem is that the WORLD is not what Jesus intended it to be. There was a plan in place, originally, that did not include all the crap that goes on – the selfishness, the violence, the competition – you know, all the stuff that makes for good TV.

Resisting the flow of the culture (i.e. dying to desires) is like swimming upstream or trying to master the Wipeout course (Weds 8/7c on ABC). Dying to what I impulsively or logically think is right makes space for God’s thoughts and God’s ideas to fill me up. The new, eventually, becomes the norm.

Ah, but here’s the rub. The CHURCH is also influenced by this wave, and so she has gotten a little off course. In many places, she has forgotten the central message of Grace, opting instead for a behavior modification program. YES, my behavior changed when I became a Christian, but the difference was the result of a heart change that occurred when I encountered Grace. I could never follow a code of conduct, but I can love someone in order to realize the peace that Jesus dreamt of. Out of love for Him, I am learning to love others.

I know lots of folks who grew up going to church but are no longer interested. I most often hear phrases like, “It really works for my parents, but it’s just not for me.” Or sometimes I hear, “The church is too concerned with things that I don’t think God is overly upset about.”

In many ways, I agree. But again, God intended something different for the church than she is. He longs for it to be a place where you really tell the truth about what you think and feel – a place of safety. Too often, well meaning parents dressed their children for church and told them it was a place to “behave” out of reverence for God. Never did you speak of what was really going on inside you, because church was like a place where you were on your best behavior. Some of us got so good at modifying our behavior that we survived adolescence at church, but we became so weary and so tired of it in adulthood, that we no longer can muster the energy to sit in a pew. Funny, but none of our resistance is really about whether God is real or not – it’s mostly about finding a real way to connect with Him.

Remember that Jesus gravitated toward bad behavior. He longed to redeem not just the circumstances, but the person that was drowning in them.

Choosing to die, then, is more about opening space up inside me than opting for a martyr complex. Sometimes people say that they became a Christian because of the promise of heaven. Ok, I think heaven will be cool, but I embraced Jesus because I wanted real life – life that starts here and now. Dying to ideas and behaviors that are contrary to His ideal simply makes room for real life.