Friday Chews

Click to contrast and compare this team with this team. How do we all really win?

We confess our little faults to persuade people that we have no large ones.
--Francois de La Rochefoucauld (1613 - 1680)

Writing is the only profession where no one considers you ridiculous if you earn no money.
--Jules Renard (1864 - 1910)

People are, if anything, more touchy about being thought silly than they are about being thought unjust.
--E. B. White (1899 - 1985)

Never let your sense of morals get in the way of doing what's right.
--Isaac Asimov (1920 - 1992)

A dabba doo time, we'll have a gay old time!

It is sort of sad that the word “gay” has lost its original meaning. Not that I don’t think it can’t have two meanings, it’s just that when my kids watch the Flintstones or sing “Deck the Halls” they look at me quizzically. We had a thorough conversation about the whole thing the other night.

Perhaps you read about the two girls who were expelled from their Christian school for claiming to be lesbians. Just for fun click here, and here, and here to read three very different perspectives of the same incident.

Let’s not tackle the whole gay and lesbian issue here today, but let’s ask another question, shall we? Apparently, gleaning from our three articles, the girls were expelled for violating the code of conduct at the school. The girls’ parents filed a lawsuit (one that may be headed all the way to the California Supreme Court), but the lower courts found in favor of the school, since it is a private institution.

Let’s not tackle who’s legally right either.

I think it’s fair to assume that the school officials view the girls’ revelation as sin, right? For argument’s sake, let’s agree. I still have a problem. Here's my question:

What CHRISTIAN school expels two young girls for struggling with sin? Wow – if the Christian college that I attended had expelled every student that sinned during the four years I was there, not only would there have been no one in its hallowed halls (me being the first to go), but I would bet that there wouldn’t have been professors or administrators hanging around either. I mean no disrespect to anyone I went to school with or who taught me – they were (and are) some of the most beautiful people I know – but they were not without sin.

I read a great interview with Anne Rice – you know, the vampire author (Lestat) who used to be an atheist who is now a Christian – and she talks about her journey from devout atheism to devout faith. She quite honestly discusses her difficulty in loving enemies – loving anyone as Jesus does. But then she said, “The more I study this...the more I realize as well that what drives people away from Christ is the Christian who does not know how to love.”

O SCHOOL! What a great opportunity to show love to these girls, to help them work through their thinking. Their minds may never be changed, but sometimes young people experiment in all kinds of ways, for all kinds of reasons. Help clear the air with righteousness, not pollute it with rightness.

The argument that the rest of the school community needs to be protected makes me even more nuts. They have not protected the other students, they have reinforced every young Christian’s propensity to hide sin and they have nurtured the pretending that develops when the “innocent” see the “guilty” shamed for their choices. If you attended that school, and you were struggling with deep issues you couldn’t figure out, what would you now do?

And who knows? It’s best to remember to 1Keep on loving each other as brothers. 2Do not forget to entertain strangers, for by so doing some people have entertained angels without knowing it. (Heb. 13:1&2). The lesbians are certainly strangers in that community, aren’t they?

Thoughts?

Pastors and prostitutes and bribes - oh my

I read the sad news yesterday that, besides the male prostitute, Ted Haggard had another relationship with a man from his church – and the church paid the man to keep the relationship secret – oh, and for counseling, too. I think I read that Ted is appearing on Oprah today.

I am intimately familiar with clergy sin. I have never been with a prostitute myself, but I was on staff at a church when the pastor was caught in an affair. So, when I hear about Ted, I have all sorts of thoughts.

I attended a conference once where the speaker said, “Pastors, there are two things that you simply cannot do. You cannot sin and you cannot quit.” I have never forgotten.

When the speaker mentioned “sin” I do not believe he was asking us all to be perfect. Frankly, that would be impossible. But when we do things that taint the reputation of the church, and in turn, the reputation of God, it is a very sad day.

I thought that it was worth reminding both me and you that God is God and we are not. People do all sorts of things that misrepresent who God is, but their behavior doesn’t dent who He really is. I often say things that I regret, but that doesn’t mean that God is equally impulsive.

I apologize. I am sorry for all the Teds, for all the televangelists, for all the fakers, for all the Wendys. They are only people. People who God loves, as a matter of fact.

Sometimes I am a faker. Sometimes I have to determine to be loving because it is not my first impulse. I pray and I ask for courage, but often I fail. Forgive me and remember that Jesus never fails, even when His people do.

Meet Keats

I discovered one of the most interesting quotes. Many of you who read this blog may not know it, but there is a lot of conversation in the church these days (and in the world) about the idea of post-modernity and what it means.

Post-modernity is hard to define, perhaps impossible really, so if you Google it after reading this, make sure you read a lot of opinion. Wikipedia (not the most reliable source) describes postmodernism/postmodernity this way:

These terms are used by philosophers, social scientists, and social critics to refer to aspects of contemporary culture, economics and society that are the result of the unique features of late 20th century and early 21st century life. These features include the fragmentation of authority, and the commoditization of knowledge. Postmodernity is a condition, or a state of being, or is concerned with changes to institutions and conditions - whereas postmodernism is an aesthetic, literary, political or social philosophy. In other words, postmodernism is the "cultural and intellectual phenomenon", especially since the 1920s' new movements in the arts, while postmodernity focuses on social and political outworkings and innovations globally, especially since the 1960s in the West.

Whether I always knew it or not (i.e. had it defined for me by Wikipedia), my thinking has always seemed congruent with postmodern thinking – something to do with being an artist perhaps – although I have a friend named Doug who always says, “If you use the term postmodern, you probably aren’t.” I happen to agree.

But back to the quote. The English poet John Keats (1795-1821), after watching a Shakespearean piece performed, said something that comes so close to describing how I see the world that I had to share it. He said:

“…the deepest truths are found in uncertainty and doubt and mystery and not in ‘the irritating reach for fact and reason.’” (Keats’ theory was termed Negative Capability).

Now, if you are a modern thinker, that statement warrants the dreaded label “relativism,” (and probably gives you the urge to wet your pants) but look closer. It’s far deeper than the idea that your facts and my facts are subjective, it is trying to say that once you have reached the pinnacle of irrefutable knowledge – so what? Knowledge is not understanding. Understanding requires getting dirty – rolling around in uncertainty and doubt and pain.

My apologies to those of you who are reading today’s post and thinking, “Huh? Where’s the neatly packaged story for today?” Truth be told, I have to work pretty hard to be that tidy every day.

I do believe there is Absolute Truth. I just disagree about how He’s revealed. In the midst of all that I do not know, He is there – but not with answers – but with Himself.

Christians sing songs like, “Jesus Is Still the Answer” or use phrases like, “I prayed and God gave me an answer…” Frankly, I do not believe that God always offers answers, but He offers Himself, and somehow in the midst of the ongoing uncertainly, it is understood that He is enough.

Seasoning

In early December, I had a very cool, yet very complex moment. I was wide awake before dawn, debating whether I could afford a few more minutes in bed before jumping up, and just like I often do I said, “Hi God.”

I did not hear an audible reply, but I had a deep inside me sense that I was ready – ready for far more than getting up out of bed. Interestingly, I had not been asking Him if I was ready or not, but it wasn’t the first time I've been caught asking the wrong questions. I’m pretty sure it won’t be the last either.

I simply smiled and said, “Okay,” in reply, and I got out of bed and had an ordinary day.

I have only had a handful of moments in my life that I knew with certainty that God was telling me something directly. Most of the time, I just know that God asks me to live into my calling as a Christian, and whether I choose to obey or not, that path is pretty clearly spelled out in Scripture. I think God’s will is often wide and open, and God leaves room for our choices within its parameters, but He still expects me to follow with His heart. In other words, some things God will negotiate, and some things He won’t. Apparently, the holding pattern that I’ve been in is over.

To confuse you even further, I have no idea what I’m ready for! I’m not necessarily worried about it, I have learned this year that things take time, but I’m looking forward to turning the page to reveal the next season of my life.

Am I finally going to finish this book? Am I going to step into ministry again? Am I about to do something that I haven’t even imagined yet? I have no idea, and it's almost the end of January, but one thing I do know:

I’m ready.

Friday Chews

When someone strips a man of his clothes, we call him a thief. And one who has the ability to clothe the naked and does not -- should not he be given the same name?

--Basil the Great

It's not the parts of the Bible I don't understand that scare me, but the parts I do understand.

--Mark Twain

92% of Americans believe in God. I guess that’s what happens when you don’t have health care.

-- Magnus Betner, Swedish comedian

compassion is snuggling up close next to pain and refusing to leave, waiting for something true to be revealed.

-- unknown

Pitch peace

Regular readers know that my kids play baseball. Regular readers also know that I continue to work through feelings and issues concerning youth sports leagues.

Last year, a couple of parents got upset about what I believe were very solvable issues. Instead of participating in peace-keeping discussions, impulsive decisions were made and the gossip and hearsay flew through the neighborhoods. Very small issues became larger than life and proved divisive to the program and to the community at large. The fractured group formed their own team.

A new season is on the horizon, and the separation has become more pronounced, with purchased newspaper blurbs insisting that one group exists to advocate “for the kids” – thus implying the other has more devious and ulterior motives.

In my ever-so-humble opinion, there is a lot of blame to go around (if blame even needs to be placed) and both groups involved in the distress have proven themselves disappointing at different times.

But, ah, there’s the rub, isn’t it? One thing that I have learned about opinions, as I have watched it all unfold, is that people will go to great lengths to defend their perspectives. I readily admit that I have caught myself passionately defending my opinion of the whole situation. And aren’t we adept at presenting our opinions as facts, instead of the bias points of view that they actually are?

I want Christ to inform every part of my life, and when I allow Him to meddle in baseball, I am reminded that He wants me to discharge peace, not opinion. There is no way that I see the whole situation clearly. I simply do not have all the facts, and even if I did, I have relationships and emotional attachments that skew the facts inside my mind. Since my view point is tainted, it’s just a better idea to see things from God’s view point instead.

So, what does God think about the baseball woes?

“Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.”

“Love your neighbor as yourself.”

“Do everything without complaining or arguing…”

“Do not judge, and you will not be judged. Do not condemn, and you will not be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven. Give, and it will be given to you.”

So, once again, I am reminded that there are far more important things than my reputation or field maintenance or which kid played first base or whether we won the game or who’s a better coach. I know, from God’s perspective, that peace in the community takes priority over my opinions, even over my hurts, and I need to launch words that promote it.

That’s what it really means to be “for the kids.” Fractured and new leagues are not the answer, but how our children see us behave as we process inevitable conflict will help them grow to be better men.

Odds are, our children will not play in the MLB, but even if they do, I want us to be as proud of who they are as we are of how they play.

Pitch peace.

DEEP and WIDE

I probably do not need to tell most of you that I loved yesterday. Most of you know from last fall that I was an Obama supporter (much to the chagrin of my dearly loved conservative friends), but I had tremendous respect for John McCain as well. I still am (a supporter) and I still do (respect Senator McCain).

Yesterday was important for many reasons, not the least of which was the swearing in of the first black president. I can remember, during the campaign, white friends of mine making comments like, “We shouldn’t care about skin color, we should care about getting the best person for the job.”

I happen to think we should care about both, and here’s why I celebrate the blackness of the man who became President yesterday.

Even in his speech, the President made it clear that he is a man of inclusion. His mention of all races, sexual orientations and faiths drives some to distraction, but not me. The Gospel that I read tells me that Jesus was an Equal Opportunity Savior – one who hung around with the unpopular, marginalized, disliked, oppressed and sinful. Did He purpose to advocate for the weak? Yes. Was His goal to save the lost? Yes. Did He do it by making people feel safe in His presence? Yes. Did He understand the importance of relationship and credibility? Yes. Did people make different choices after encountering Him? Yes. Did His methods change the world? YES.

From my blog picture, it’s pretty obvious that I am white, so I do not fully understand the struggle that the black community has experienced in our culture. One experience I have had, however, has given me a taste.

It is shockingly difficult to be a woman and be a pastor. In my church, which was fairly progressive, I actually had a few men get up and walk out after the music but before I would speak. I remember having feelings of anger, just wanting them to give me a chance, wanting them to be open to something other than what they were comfortable with. No amount of reasoning or conversation would change their perspective, however, and there were some who called for my resignation and/or firing. Sometimes it felt like I was climbing a mountain every day, just to get a fair shake in a male-dominated profession. Even my book met with some resistance at one publisher because I was a female pastor that dared to criticize the church, yet the same publisher has printed many titles by men with a similar message. Their message to my agent was, “LOVE the writing and Wendy has important things to say to us all. We are not sure, however, if people can hear this kind of truth from a woman.”

Now, my mountain certainly does not include slavery and inadequate educational opportunities or racial profiling or the pile of other injustices that the black community has suffered, so I can only imagine the frustration that has built over time. But yesterday, I could almost hear the release valve on the pressure cooker being loosened, as America truly became a land that included everyone. Perhaps now we can further heal and truly move forward together.

You know what else? I heard plenty of unashamed references to the God of our nation - the God of our history - both during the ceremony prayers and in the President's speech. Perhaps He smiled as He was honored, both by our words, and our recognition of how He INCLUDES.

There’s a wideness in God’s mercy,
Like the wideness of the sea;
There’s a kindness in His justice,
Which is more than liberty.


There is no place where earth’s sorrows
Are more felt than up in heaven;
There is no place where earth’s failings
Have such kindly judgment given.


There is welcome for the sinner,
And more graces for the good;
There is mercy with the Savior;
There is healing in His blood.


There is grace enough for thousands
Of new worlds as great as this;
There is room for fresh creations
In that upper home of bliss.


For the love of God is broader
Than the measure of our mind;
And the heart of the Eternal
Is most wonderfully kind.

There is plentiful redemption
In the blood that has been shed;
There is joy for all the members
In the sorrows of the Head.


’Tis not all we owe to Jesus;
It is something more than all;
Greater good because of evil,
Larger mercy through the fall.


If our love were but more simple,
We should take Him at His word;
And our lives would be all sunshine
In the sweetness of our Lord.

Let it go, let it go, let it go

I was invited to hear a Holocaust survivor speak last night, and I planned on sharing what I learned with you today, but the event was postponed because of SNOW here in the east.

The funny part is that my kids and I were out playing in the white stuff when the call about the postponement came in. We came into the house, took off our wet clothes, drank hot chocolate, jumped into warm showers and put on warm socks – we basically did everything except check the phone messages.

The friend who invited us is pretty organized, her Blackberry keeps track of the multiple overlapping events of her family, so when she did not arrive on time to pick us up last night I was puzzled.

Perhaps the snow was keeping her, I thought to myself as the boys and I sat with our coats on and waited, so I resisted calling until 30 minutes past the agreed upon pick up time. Her cell went straight to voice mail, and I just knew she’d had an accident on her way to our house.
I told my husband of my visions of her stranded in a snow bank, and here is what he said:

“She’s fine. She’s very organized. You have the plan messed up. Are you sure it is tonight? Maybe you were supposed to drive.”

For a brief moment, I did not feel offended by his assumptions. My Blackberry is my brain, which often fails me, and I can surprise myself (and others) by being weeks early or months late. One of my New Year’s resolutions is a datebook, and so far so good. It was my last year’s resolution too.

Then I got that little ticked feeling. It wasn’t really directed at my husband, it was more of that I-hate-when-I’m-told-the-truth sort of feeling, you know? The inkling you get inside when you hear the facts, but don’t like them. I felt frustrated with myself.

I have a friend named Ed who could not be any more different than me, but could not be any more loved by me. Several years ago, I was lamenting the abyss between who I want to be organizationally and who I really am, and he said the most interesting thing. He said, “Wendy, stop trying to be a 10 at everything. Let’s face it. For you, in this area, a 5 would be success. Work toward 5.”

That was the day that God taught me to embrace my threeness, even twoness. It was the day that God taught me to let myself off the hook and be happily flawed. Perfectly imperfect.

Please don’t hear me saying that we shouldn’t work toward goals because I’m not. Please don’t hear me saying that sin and rotten personality traits are acceptable because they’re not.

Please hear me saying that I used to think my imperfections and quirks made me impossible, but God has convinced me, I’m not.

Let it go, let it go, let it go. May snow cover your driveway and grace blanket your heart.

Thank you, Rev. King

I refuse to accept the view that mankind is so tragically bound to the starless midnight of racism and war that the bright daybreak of peace and brotherhood can never become a reality... I believe that unarmed truth and unconditional love will have the final word.

Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr.

Happy Birthday to you, You live in a zoo

I know it is Friday Chew Day, but it is also my son, JJ’s, 11th birthday. We had a conversation last night that I want to share with you.

JJ plays the saxophone in the school band. Every Thursday morning, he gets up extra early for band practice. Several of his good friends are in the band too, and one of the best parts of early morning rehearsal is eating breakfast with them afterwards.

One of his buds is a great kid named Eric, who not only plays in the band, but plays on the same baseball team as JJ. After yesterday’s rehearsal, JJ and Eric ate breakfast together, and then gathered their instruments to catch the band bus back to their school. As they were ready to go, Eric discovered that he had thrown his retainer out. Yes, his orthodontic retainer and, yes, in the trash.

The two boys sprung into action. Together, they started digging through the trash cans, lifting half-eaten Pop Tarts and milk soaked scrambled eggs up with their hands. JJ told me later, “It wasn’t pretty, Mom, but it was funny.”

They had to ask the Band Director to hold the bus, until at last they found both small, expensive apparatuses. Grabbing their things, they ran to the bus.

I laughed as JJ told me the story on the way home from school, his facial expressions and gestures were so great. I imagined the two boys, in my mind’s eye, staring down into the cans, deciding on a plan of action and it made me smile. When I asked him what motivated him to stick his fingers in the mess, JJ said, “Eric is my friend and he would do it for me. Besides, I know what it’s like to wear a retainer.”

Hours after hearing the story, I sat down with JJ as I tucked him into bed, and here’s what I said, using my most meaningful mother-son moment voice:

“On the eve of your birthday, a most stupendous day, I want you to know what your life teaches me. First, always help a friend in trouble. Second, even yucky tasks are fun if you do them with someone. Third, even if everyone else gets on the bus, stay and do what’s right. And lastly, my own life experiences can help me empathize with others. ”

He looked at me and smiled his own orthodontic smile. “Mom,” he whispered, “you forgot the most important one.”

“I did?” I asked.

“Yes. What about, ‘Don’t ever throw away your retainer’?”

I smiled back. Happy Birthday, precious boy.

Magic Part Deux

Yesterday’s post (if you missed it read it quick and come back!) pondered the difference between magic and miracles. I realized, after I reread it last night, that I left it a little too open ended. The idea of, “Do whatever He tells you to,” leaves the door ajar for magic too.

I think many Christians pray for guidance – which I believe is a great practice – one which I am doing myself right now. However, as Steve in Central CA intimated in his comment post yesterday, Christians can spend a whole lot of time waiting for guidance and not a lot of time actually doing something. Why? Well, we’re waiting for a magic word from God.

Do not misunderstand me. I truly believe that God reveals specific things to my heart that I would not otherwise know or understand. Knowing God is like any other relationship – a give and take between two. Yet, I also believe that the Bible is already my best source of insight into the mind and heart of God. I already clearly understand what to do with my moments and my days by reading the Gospel, no need to wait for “a word from above.”

Am I making sense? I guess my concern is that we explain away our inertia and impotence as “waiting for a sign” when often we are really waiting out of convenience and fear and self-preservation. Friends, the truth is that we live by faith, and we must act on what we know to be true. And we must act today.

Is there ever a time to wait? Absolutely. “…they that wait upon the LORD shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint” (a verse that, by the way, gives us some clues as to who God wants to see in the Super Bowl). There is a time for waiting, for renewal, for being still, for just walking with God.

I’m just not sure that I’m supposed to walk with God right past a hungry person, you know?

Do you believe in magic?

I have been intrigued lately as I have listened to people pray. Now before you jump all over me for “judging” people’s prayers – hear me out. I love it when people pray. I love it when we talk to God.

Public prayers are interesting sometimes, however. People reveal a lot about their theology when they pray. One interesting phrase I hear often is, “just be with [insert name here], Lord” or “may [name again] feel Your presence in a special way during this time.”

Last week, I spoke at a great church. I have been reading the book of John, so I decided to use John 2:1-11 as my scripture. It is the story of Jesus’ first miracle when He turns water into wine at a wedding. Here’s the verses:

1On the third day a wedding took place at Cana in Galilee. Jesus' mother was there, 2and Jesus and his disciples had also been invited to the wedding. 3When the wine was gone, Jesus' mother said to him, "They have no more wine."

4"Dear woman, why do you involve me?" Jesus replied, "My time has not yet come."

5His mother said to the servants, "Do whatever he tells you."

6Nearby stood six stone water jars, the kind used by the Jews for ceremonial washing, each holding from twenty to thirty gallons.

7Jesus said to the servants, "Fill the jars with water"; so they filled them to the brim.

8Then he told them, "Now draw some out and take it to the master of the banquet."

They did so, 9and the master of the banquet tasted the water that had been turned into wine. He did not realize where it had come from, though the servants who had drawn the water knew. Then he called the bridegroom aside 10and said, "Everyone brings out the choice wine first and then the cheaper wine after the guests have had too much to drink; but you have saved the best till now."

11This, the first of his miraculous signs, Jesus performed in Cana of Galilee. He thus revealed his glory, and his disciples put their faith in him.

There is a lot here, but I am particularly interested in Mary, Jesus’ mother. Besides the funny way she ignores Jesus, isn’t it fascinating that she just assumes that Jesus will employ the servants in His solution? It’s almost as if the woman, who 30 years before found herself to be a pregnant virgin, simply understands that God uses people to accomplish His miracles in the world.

Perhaps we are praying to a magician instead of a miracle maker? Magicians make things happen out of thin air, instantaneously. “God, would you please make that homeless man’s next meal appear out of a hat?” “Jesus, will you wave your wand and heal my broken relationship?”

Instead, let’s hear Mary’s words, “Do whatever He tells you” and watch the miracles happen – both in the world and in our hearts.

The Lovely Miss Jasmine

If you are a regular here, you are well aware of the fact that I have a friend, Diana, who is struggling with leukemia. She just spent 43 days in the hospital, and I am taking her back again this Friday.

Diana often comments on the blog with the moniker “The Lovely Miss Jasmine” who is actually her dog, a Doberman Pincher. They were best buddies, Diana and Jasmine, so when Diana could no longer care for Jasmine last fall, we asked my Mom and Dad to care for her.

While Diana was in the hospital last week, Jasmine died. My Mom fed her breakfast that morning, took her for a walk, and then Jasmine decided to have a little nap. She died in her sleep, and considering that Doberman’s usually live 9 years or so (Jasmine was 14) it was a pleasant way to go.

After my mother called to tell me, I started driving to my parent's house to help. Jasmine was a very big dog to move, not to mention how upset my mother was. On the way, I was thinking of how to tell Diana. I knew I had to call, the hospital was too far away to deliver the news in person and still help my distressed mother. It was an awful moment, figuring out how to tell someone who is already suffering so deeply that there is even more bad news to be absorbed.

I read an interesting work of fiction a couple of weeks ago – The Grace That Keeps This World by Tom Bailey. In one chapter, a Catholic priest talks about listening to a veteran confess about the Vietnam War. The former soldier, in his fear, had shot an innocent man and failed to rescue an 8 year old girl being raped by other U.S. soldiers. He had carried the weight of his secret, and the sound of her screams, for many years. Bailey writes from the priest’s point of view, “There seemed to be no end to the stories he needed to tell. He spoke, and I listened, absorbing his words, each deed, every act. And as I listened I could not help but recall the story of Jesus’ taking possession of the demons and sending them into a herd of swine and then racing the mad, squealing bunch of them over the cliff….” (the demon story is Matthew 8:28 if you want to look it up)

I often wrestle with what the Apostle John meant when he wrote, “Walk as Jesus walked.” Absorbing my friend’s grief – the pain that was about to feel explosive inside her - was to walk as Jesus walked. There’s a lot to absorb with cancer, and I haven't quite figured out how to cast it all away. I wasn’t sure I had room for more. I sat in the car and debated whether Diana was better off not knowing, whether a white lie or two was justified just this once. As I struggled, I knew that choosing to lie was about self-protection, not friend-protection.

Sitting in my parents’ driveway, and taking a deep breath, I called Diana. I listened as she sobbed and told me how she had just dreamt of Jasmine the night before. Losing a pet is upsetting, under any circumstances, but as I listened to my friend grieve in her hospital room, I knew this was far more complex than anyone, save God, could understand.

Diana gave me instructions for burying Jasmine, and my dear father braved the snow to wrap her in her purple blanket and lay her to rest in my mother’s beautiful garden. Diana plans to plant some flowers there in the spring, a moment I will not only willingly absorb, but one I will choose to keep.

A dangerous post

Most of you are keenly aware that I live in a suburb of Philadelphia. We natives fully recognize that we have a bad reputation, and if we’re honest, we sort of like it.

Take our sports teams, for instance. We are over the top ridiculous and fanatical about the Phillies, Eagles and Flyers – the Sixers have been held in suspicion since Dr. J retired, but that’s a story for another day. We were the only NFL franchise to have a court located INSIDE THE STADIUM so a judge could process all the arrests during game time, so for me to criticize my own is an extremely dangerous proposition. If there is no blog post tomorrow morning, call 9-1-1.

Naturally, I was sitting in front of my TV yesterday afternoon, with every other Philadelphian, watching the Eagles take on the Giants. It was a hard fought game, what FOX was billing as the NFC Grudge Match, and the amount of fighting and trash-talking that appeared to be going on proved FOX’s point.

Not until the last quarter was it apparent that the Eagles would win. It was a real nail biter, as my father-in-law says. In the final minutes, our quarterback, Donovan McNabb did something that I want to talk about today.

Donovan ran out of bounds with the football, and his own momentum propelled him into the Giants sideline. He took the opportunity to rub the looming defeat in a little, and picked up the Giant’s team phone to call the Giants coaching booth. It was a little immature, honestly, but not the end of the world.

But then he got my goat. During a post-game interview, when asked how he felt about the game, Donovan said, on national TV, “First of all, God is so good.”

Ugh.

Now this may surprise those of you who accuse me of being a bleeding-heart-liberal-no mention-of-sin-bending-grace-so-far-it-will-break kind of person (yes, I do read your emails) but it drives me NUTS when athletes credit God with helping them win a football game. I am not implying that it is beyond the abilities of God to intervene, but I often wonder why He would choose to do so. How would it advance His kingdom?

So, you can imagine what I was feeling when Donovan pulled his little “in your face, Giants” phone shenanigan and then credited God for handing the team a victory. I turned to look at my husband, who knows me better than any other human being, and he already had an ear to ear grin on his face, waiting for my reaction.

“Why, oh, why do they do that?” I said, incensed.

“Do what?” Steve was still smiling.

“You know what,” I replied, “with people starving all over the world, do football players really believe that God is concerned with the outcome of a game?”

“Maybe,” was all he said.

“What do you mean, maybe?”

“Maybe God likes it when players remind viewers of His name, when they represent Him on TV.” Steve braced himself.

Let me just interrupt our conversation a minute. I am not completely unreasonable even though I can come on a little strong at times. I took at least a nano second to consider my husband’s theory before passionately defending my position.

“Are you crazy?” was how I began our reasonable exchange of ideas and thoughts. “No, I should be thanking you because you have proven my point about Donovan. When he uses God’s name on TV, he must remember that he now represents Him on some level, so why that little stunt with the telephone? Would God rub someone’s defeat in their face? God may be good, but Donovan apparently is not.” I gave the last word a little extra emphasis because I was ready for the case to go to the jury.

Steve just kept smiling, because he knew I would let it all marinate for a while, over thinking it from every angle.

I do not have a profound conclusion - and I admit that I do dumb stuff almost every day - but from my current ungracious point of view, I still think to whom much is given, much is expected.

Your thoughts?

Yee-haw! See ya at church, partner.

My cousin, Wayne, sent me this link. I was open-minded until I realized I'd be baptized in a horse trough.

Friday Chews

If all the insects on earth disappeared, within 50 years all life on earth would disappear. If all humans disappeared, within 50 years all species would flourish as never before.

— Jonas Salk

I actually feel too close to this problem, a problem that symbolizes all problems. It’s true: I have friends in Gaza about whom I worry a great deal; I’ve seen many people killed in Gaza; I’ve served in the Israeli Army in Gaza; I’ve been kidnapped in Gaza; I’ve reported for years from Gaza; I hope my former army doesn’t kill the wrong people in Gaza; I hope Israeli soldiers all leave Gaza alive; I know they’ll be back in Gaza; I think this operation will work; and I have no actual hope that it will work for very long, because nothing works for very long in the Middle East. Gaza is where dreams of reconciliation go to die. Gaza is where the dream of Palestinian statehood goes to die; Gaza is where the Zionist dream might yet die. Or, more to the point, might be murdered.

— Jeffrey Goldberg

What do computers matter when millions are still unnecessarily dying of diarrhea?

— Bill Gates, quoted in Slavoj Zizek’s Enjoy Your Symptom

I'm sorry, Adam

One particular news story has me in knots. Well, MANY news stories have me in knots, but this one has me mourning.

It is the story of Adam Herrman, an 11 year old boy who walked away from his home in Kansas a decade ago and no one ever reported him missing.

Be sure to click here and read for yourself, but essentially this young boy was adopted when he was two years old and frequently ran away as he grew. One day he was punished with a belt, and he left the trailer park upset. The parents claim that, when he didn’t return, they were afraid of getting in trouble for the spanking, so they never reported Adam missing. They were quoted as saying that they looked around the park for two days.

An undisclosed person contacted police about Adam this week, and the search has begun…ten years later.

The facts grieve me for so many reasons. I look at my soon-to-be 11 year-old boy (JJ’s birthday is next week) and I cannot imagine not looking for him. As a matter of fact, I would turn the world upside and shake it if I had to. I tell my kids, to the point where I drive them nuts, that I will always love them no matter what. I have cited examples like, “even if you get too cool for me” or “if you bring home a report card littered with ‘F’s” or my husband’s favorite, “if you call in the middle of the night in need of bail money for an international felony…” No matter what.

I am also troubled by the adoptive parents’ protection of SELF over the welfare of the child. Repercussions for spanking Adam seem small compared to having no idea what happened to him for 10 years. Allowing a young boy to fend for himself in order to preserve your own well-being seems incredulous to me. I am not standing in judgment, but I am having difficulty getting my arms around how this happened. I am in shock.

I have said before on the blog that our perceptions of our fathers have so much to do with how we feel (or don’t feel) about God. Poor Adam. I’m not sure if he’ll ever be found, but if I was fortunate enough to cross his path one day, I would say:

“It doesn’t matter how far you’ve run or what 11 year old crimes you’ve committed or what you think is your fault, God keeps looking. God searches and pursues far longer than 2 days. He always leaves the porch light on and never gives away your room or locks the front door.

And God gave up everything – His glory, His reputation, His life – to collect me and you. No self-preservation on His part, just love no matter what.”

Keep your sheep to yourself

I got some cool stuff for Christmas. One of my favorites is a beat up little book that my parents put in my stocking. It is entitled, “The MENSA Book of Words, Word Games, Puzzles and Oddities.” The MENSA part is simply more evidence that my parents continue to insist that I am gifted and advanced, but I love the crazy torn up book nevertheless.

The first chapter is full of words and their origins (if you have been around the blog for a long time, you know how I love my words). I was paging through it last night and found something cool.

Do you know the origin of the word neighbor? Here’s the deal:

It’s from the Old English neah (near) plus gebur (farm). There is some evidence that the word neight (bleating or braying) is related too – hence anyone within reach of this sound. Now extrapolated, neighbor originally meant nearby farm, or anyone who could hear the noises of.

Right away, I thought of Love your neighbor as yourself. I have an old friend, named Stephen, who is now in Angola (I know, I know – check google maps for where it is). We used to serve in a church together and he preached a sermon once entitled, “Who Is My Neighbor?” I remember it well, and I loved the question, because depending on how we define neighbor, we can pick and choose who we love. Selective grace.

According to my tattered little Christmas gift, I am commanded to love people at nearby farms. Depending on where you live, this understanding may make things very easy for you. I’m relatively near Amish country, so I’m screwed.

Yet I see something else here too. Love your neighbor, Wendy. Love everyone who can hear your sounds.

I think of all the talking I do. Some of it is intended to communicate with someone else, and some of it is overheard by those around me – even when I am unaware (like the one-sided cell phone conversations). Strangers hear it. My children hear it. It becomes an interesting idea to love my neighbor – to love everyone who can hear my sounds.

Of course, I believe that everyone is my neighbor, but today I will intentionally love people within my sounds – those within earshot. I will make my noise full of life and joy and encouragement.

And, perhaps, I will resist making sounds, too, if that means love.

Everyone's brilliance

SO, my friend Susan Isaacs has a book coming out in March. I am hoping to get a review copy and tell you all about it (there is an outside chance I will get an extra to give away in a blog contest – we’ll see). The book is called, “Angry Conversations With God” and, being prophetic, I have no doubt it is awesome. Susan is very gifted.

She is also generous. Susan has proved a great encouragement to me and I thought I would share something I learned from her.

After we were first connected, (through our mutual and beautiful friend Meredith) Susan did not hesitate to help me. She was several steps ahead of me in the book process, and she gave me names, warnings, and pep talks. Publishing is a very competitive business, with limited work being printed each year. Without reluctance, she emailed a copy of her book proposal to me so that I could get a feel for what was expected and she sent me a funny message asking if I would do a book tour with her after reading a sample from my website. She is an actor, I am a former one, so a combined book tour is probably a dangerous and high-strung idea, but I loved her for suggesting it, no matter how tongue-in-cheek it was.

One day, after she blessed me with more encouragement, I sent her a message thanking her for being so perfectly wonderful. She replied with the most interesting sentence. She said, “I have come to realize that there is room in the world for everyone’s brilliance.”

WOW.

I have let those words ring in my head ever since. Being the kind of person that refuses to be threatened by other people’s gifts is an extraordinary thing. No need to find fault, no need to compete, no need to compare – just the ability to be so helpful and vulnerable that you risk the possibility of being surpassed. True joy when someone else wins. It’s the stuff of God.

Not that Susan had to worry. She is now WAY ahead of me. I am never tempted to feel jealous or withholding, however, because the woman out in front taught me that her brilliance is valuable and needed. And so is mine.

Thanks, Susan. I will tell everyone to buy your book, my friend. Hooray for you!

Not alarmed

I overslept this morning. Me, who usually jumps out of bed way before dawn, refused to face the fact that our family routine was beginning once again. Or maybe it’s simply because of all the late, late nights I had over the past two weeks.

My husband got up to make sure Noah was headed to the shower. I lay in bed listening to them move through the house. I could see Noah moving in the bathroom in my mind’s eye as I heard him flick the light switch, turn on the shower and put up the toilet seat. For a moment, I decided to listen to the noises my house makes - pets, cars outside, multiple bathrooms - and every once in a while I heard one that I couldn’t readily identify. Steve's electric razor, for instance. When he first turned it on this morning, I thought it was JJ’s alarm clock or faint music, so I lay very still listening intently until I could single out the sound from all the others, and soon I realized it was the razor.

Ever have that happen? Ever hear something, a familiar something, but it takes you a couple of moments to discern what it is?

Before I jumped up to make breakfast and school lunches, I told God that I was listening today. Sometimes it’s hard to discern Him in the midst of all the other noises, especially as the day progresses and the world gets louder. But I have decided to live alert.

He is familiar to me, but if listening is not intentional on my part, He can be lost in the shuffle of my noisy existence. If I combine the noise outside with the rattle inside my head, it can actually be a Petri dish for deafness. Our noise level is somewhat alarming, really.

Turn the world off and listen. Don’t read. Don’t pray. Don’t do. Just be still and listen.

Happy 2009

I am spending January 2, 2009 doing what every good Philadelphian is ... I am watching a Rocky marathon. Adrian is currently unconscious in the hospital and Rocky is reading her a novel aloud.

I have high hopes for this year. Well, not for the year itself, but for the people I know and the world I love. Miracles happen everyday (even when things seem rocky), I just miss most of them because I sometimes go through life unconscious. My 2009 resolution is to be alert. A greater state of awake...

I suspect being awake will mean that I will miss less, and maybe that's why I choose sleep walking sometimes - to miss the things that are sad or painful or boring or disappointing. Awake means feeling all things more deeply - both joy and mourning, chaos and peace.

Looking forward to seeing what God does this year. I hope you'll stay awake with me.