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?

Agree or Disagree?

The fact that early Christians were completely unlike us in terms of world view and cultural context is an unsettling result, to be sure, for those accustomed to read these writings as sacred Scripture, and in particular for Protestants who traditionally emphasize that anyone at all can read and interpret that Bible. The truth of the matter, for those readers without knowledge of ancient languages, ancient cultures, and other such subjects, the meaning of the Bible is at times not all clear, while at other times it can seem to clearly mean things that it is unlikely to have meant in its original context. The possibility of misunderstanding a reader today in a Western cultural setting is at least as great as the chances that the same individual will experience a cultural or linguistic misunderstanding if traveling to a foreign culture. By emphasizing these points, I do not wish to discourage interested individuals from reading the Bible in English translation – far from it. it is important, however, for all readers to understand that they are having the Bible interpreted for them by those who have translated it into their native language and are then engaging in interpretation themselves through the act of reading. The books they are reading derive from a very different world, and therefore one should not cease reading but should utilize the multitude of books and other resources that scholars have made available, expressly with the aim of helping readers make sense of these ancient texts. Having done that, one should then go on to express one’s conclusions about what these writings mean with an appropriate humility and tentativeness, aware that what seems obvious to a reader today may not have been what seemed obvious to a first-century reader.

James McGrath in The Only True God (page 100)

Swing real low

I recently learned the story behind the old negro spiritual, Swing Low Sweet Chariot. Written by Wallis Willis, it was actually coded communication for slaves trying to escape via the Underground Railroad. The traditional lyrics are as follows:

Chorus:
Swing low, sweet chariot
Coming for to carry me home
Swing low, sweet chariot
Coming for to carry me home

I looked over Jordan and what did I see
Coming for to carry me home
A band of angels coming after me
Coming for to carry me home
(chorus)

Sometimes I'm up and sometimes I'm down
Coming for to carry me home
But still my soul feels heavenly bound
Coming for to carry me home
(chorus)

The brightest day that I can say
Coming for to carry me home
When Jesus washed my sins away,
Coming for to carry me home.
(chorus)

If I get there before you do
Coming for to carry me home
I'll cut a hole and pull you through
Coming for to carry me home
(chorus)

If you get there before I do
Coming for to carry me home
Tell all my friends I'm coming too
Coming for to carry me home
(chorus)

As crazy as this is, I find myself singing this song inside my head more than any other. It gets stuck there for days, disappears, and comes back time and time again. So, this week I decided to find out about it. Click here if you want to read more.

Before I had all the real facts, I just supposed that the lyricist was like me and knew that God had to reach way down to get him. Kind of like, "Swing real low, God, I’m way down here."

I still think that's true, but now I get to add freedom to the equation. "Swing real low, God, I'm way down here waiting to be free." Cool.

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.

A three letter word

Yesterday, I mentioned sin. This three letter word bothered a few of you. Please know that I always appreciate your emails and feedback. You must expect by now, however, that I will respond on the blog. I think it makes for fertile conversation and deeper thinking.

There are two words used in Scripture that I wonder if we sometimes think mean the same thing. The two words are TRANGRESSIONS and SIN. For those of you who are bothered by the idea of sin (or my use of it) I think the two words are worth exploring.

Transgression, when translated properly, means to cross the line. Think of it as an unkind word or harmful behavior done on purpose. Transgressors are rebels – those who stand with their toes on the line, contemplate the wrongness of a thing, and step over anyway.

Sin, when understood rightly, means to miss the mark. Instead of rebel, think failure.

Quite frankly, I have no trouble at all seeing myself, and all of humankind, in both of these scenarios. One only has to look at the world – watch the news, go to a PTA meeting, think about Darfur, stand where the Twin Towers used to be, take too long in the grocery store line – to realize that there is something very wrong with us. Something inside of us is either broken or missing because we are capable of awful things.

Here’s the thing. It is correct to assume that God cannot tolerate transgressions and sin. But let me ask you this – would you want a God who could?

It’s getting close to Christmas. I am always intrigued by how much we love Christmas and how nice we are to each other during the yuletide. We love Christmas because people seem to be kinder, to be giving, and we sing about joy and peace and hope. We want all those things, we wish it would never end, and we regret when the season is over, don’t we?

If God tolerated sin and transgression, we would not have the hope of joy and peace and unity. Rebellion and failure would make a forever Christmas impossible – or if you will – they would make it impossible to enter into the kingdom that God has established. It’s a kingdom MADE OF love and peace and unity and healthy relationship, rebellion and failure have no place in it.

Ah, but here’s another thought. I don’t think sin, or the reality of it, is what you are really struggling with. What I suspect the real issue is, is how the church has taught about how God deals with sin and transgression.

Hear me. God wants to LOVE us out of our ways, that’s why He extends His grace. Grace is the offering of powerful and healing love - God's favor - to the undeserving. He longs to make the world so safe that you and I are liberated from our pride and fears – and secure enough to change.

Funny, how a three letter word got as much reaction from skeptics as a four letter word (ok, it was really 8 letters: b-u-l-l-s-h-i-t) got from believers last week (again, thanks for your feedback). Maybe we all have a lot to think through.

A reason to doubt

If you are a Christian, I have a question for you. It is not a hard question, it is not unanswerable, but it may be a little heartbreaking to answer.

Have you ever given someone a reason to doubt?

I have a great little book entitled, On Bullshit, by Harry G. Frankfurt. His blatant use of French aside, Henry has written the most interesting paper – now in book form. Here’s an excerpt:

One of the most salient features of our culture is that there is so much bullshit. Everyone knows this. Each of us contributes his share. But we tend to take the situation for granted. Most people are rather confident of their ability to recognize bullshit and to avoid being taken in by it. So the phenomenon has not aroused much deliberate concern, nor attracted much sustained inquiry.

In consequence, we have no clear understanding of what bullshit is, why there is so much of it, or what function it serves. And we lack a conscientiously developed appreciation of what it means to us.

As Christians, we live in this culture of bullshit. Unfortunately, we contribute to it. I don’t just mean the pastors in the tabloids or those who display airline arrogance – all of us. Here’s the thing though – I think we have misinterpreted our role a little. We have grown to think that if we tell the truth about our lives – our inner thinking, our failures, our own moments of uncertainty – then we are causing others to doubt. The exact opposite is really true. I have discovered that when I am honest about my journey, both the best and worst parts of it, my experience rings true for others. No one believes my bullshit anyway.

But far more important, I need to remember that I must always start with God and work my way to humankind. If I try to discern the truth of God using my own perceptions and experiences as a foundation, I will end up with a distorted understanding of Who He is and how He operates (and, thus, add to the bullshit). Instead, I must always understand Who God is first, and then see myself in light of Him – not the other way around. More about this idea next Monday.

Harry finishes like this:

The contemporary proliferation of bullshit also has deeper sources, in various forms of skepticism which deny that we can have any reliable access to an objective reality, and which therefore reject the possibility of knowing how things truly are. These “antirealist” doctrines undermine confidence in the value of disinterested efforts to determine what is true and what is false, and even in the intelligibility of the notion of objective inquiry. One response to this loss of confidence has been a retreat from the discipline required by dedication to the ideal of correctness to a quite different sort of discipline, which is imposed by pursuit of an alternative ideal of sincerity. Rather than seeking primarily to arrive at accurate representations of a common world, the individual turns toward trying to provide honest representations of himself. Convinced that reality has no inherent nature, which he might hope to identify as the truth about things, he devotes himself to being true to his own nature. It is as though he decides that since it makes no sense to try to be true to the facts, he must therefore try instead to be true to himself.

But it is preposterous to imagine that we ourselves are determinate, and hence susceptible both to correct and to incorrect descriptions, while supposing that the ascription of determinacy to anything else has been exposed as a mistake. As conscious beings, we exist only in response to other things, and we cannot know ourselves at all without knowing them. Moreover, there is nothing in theory, and certainly nothing in experience, to support the extraordinary judgment that it is the truth about himself that is the easiest for a person to know. Facts about ourselves are not particularly solid and resistant to skeptical dissolution. Our natures are, indeed, elusively insubstantial – notoriously less stable and less inherent than the natures of other things. And insofar as this is the case, sincerity itself is bullshit.

Accountability

I received an email this morning from someone who wanted to challenge me about today's post, "Marching Orders." In many ways, I agreed with his assessment, and so I wanted to be perfectly clear.

My angst is not with a single mother who may have donated her time to ride a float. My angst is with a church who has forgotten to love single mothers. My reply to his email is below:

In some ways, you do understand me. The single mom who volunteered for the float is not the target of my ire - but most churches are not caring for single moms.

You're right to assume that I would do anything to help anyone - the perpetrator and the victim. I am, however, outright angry with the church and its preoccupations. I hope that my anger is a righteous one - the kind that cleanses and burns clean - not the kind that smokes and pollutes the air. My blog is my little corner of the cyber world (thus my sometimes pointed responses - sorry!) to express my angst for the institution that I love so much, but is driving me crazy every time I read the gospels.

Here's a challenge. Soren Kierkegaard once wrote, "Take any words in the New Testament and forget everything except pledging yourself to act accordingly." I have tried to make it through just the GOSPELS with that perspective - without rationalizing things like changed culture and societal limitations. It is a haunting exercise, one that I suspect if you tried (there is a group called RED LETTER Christians who read and reread the words of Christ) you, too, would see the church, and your church, quite differently.

Our churches are so Americanized, so enculturated, that I think they view congregants like consumers - what will "attract" or "satisfy" them. There's a reason that Jesus declared His way was the narrow way - it is not an easy way - but far more liberating than sin nonetheless. We still want, and unfortunately preach, easy.

Your point is well taken, though. I need to be careful expressing my opinion to the point where I may be misunderstood to be criticizing the wrong people. Thanks for the accountability, brother.

You made me, Gypsy Rose

To get to my friend Diana’s house, I travel Route 113. It kind of winds around and when I’m not preoccupied with the radio or whatever, I look at the scenes on either side of the road.

There is a restaurant on the right side, just as you descend a hill, called the Gypsy Rose. It has a sign outside – you know the kind that you can place letters on and change them at will? The same signs that churches use to display stupid sayings like, “Get your fireproof tickets here” to attract (repel) people to their doors.

Last year, the Gypsy Rose closed its doors, and the sign read, “You made me love you.” I was so intrigued by this turn of events, and I just knew there was a story behind it all. Since I drive that way a lot, I saw the estate sale and an auction for the building contents and the weeds begin to overgrow. Then one morning, the sign changed. It simply said, “You made me,” and I knew that it wasn’t the result of the other words simply falling off, because the phrase was now perfectly centered on the sign.

I am, of course, dying to know what it all means. Every time I drive by, I imagine all the ways love can go wrong. For some reason, I’m fairly sure that a man posted the letters and that he was deserted by a beautiful woman. When they started out, they had dreams and hopes and big ideas. He became obsessed with the business, however, unable to release control to anyone else, spending every day and night in the kitchen. She was lonely and neglected until a man waltzed into the bar area promising more attention and great vacations. The woman demanded her share of the restaurant, throwing the man into financial and emotional ruin. He responded with despair and invited her suitor for a drink to talk things over. He slipped cyanide in the rival’s scotch and soda, but instead of seeing his revenge come to fruition, a young waitress innocently picked up the drink, serving it to an elderly woman celebrating her 80th birthday with the man she has loved for 62 years. They toast, and for a moment she smiles at her husband happily, but then her skin grows pale… The rest is easy to figure out.

Or maybe it was nothing like that at all.

Besides being glad that I don’t write fiction, do you see the story behind? I am trying to see everyone’s behind story, because everyone has one. My friend Diana’s story includes, “Leukemia” but other people have chapters entitled, “Abuse” or “Ignored” or “Guilty” or “Afraid” or “Always wins” or “Lost” or “Hungry” or “Dirty” or “You made me.” I am not suggesting we invent stories for each other, but I am wondering if we would find it easier to love one another if we simply acknowledged that we do not understand all the places another person has been. Grace is often effortless after we’ve heard someone’s tale, but loving and accepting someone BEFORE having the facts is truly a wonderful thing.

I think that last sentence would work nicely on a church sign.

a little Emily Dickenson

“Hope is the Thing with Feathers”

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I've heard it in the chilliest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity
It asked a crumb of me.

The Liberal Conservative Press

I often find myself in conversations where people are accusing the press of being either too liberal or too conservative. Yes, there are differing opinions depending on where you get your news (or what your news outlet tells you about its competition). Today, I read one of the most articulate articles on the press - and author Eric Boehlert doesn't feel the need to label anything. He simply uses the current media frenzy about the alleged tension between Obama and Clinton at the DNC as his proof. If you are interested, it is a great read. You may find the site either too liberal or too conservative, but they hunt for media inconsistencies, on both sides of the fence, pretty fervently.

Good fortune

I went out for Chinese last night. My friend Diana had a rough day, so we decided to eat Lo Mein. Steve, the kids – we all went. The food was good, the friends were good, the conversation was good, the laughter was really good.

Diana fought cancer this year, and for all intents and purposes, she and God won. Her doctor says her numbers are great, she has a full head of hair, and she is back to work. I think the hard part now is dealing with the post-cancer feelings. She’s been in survival mode for so long, where does all that intensity go now?

Our lives have been busy lately and it was great to see her and great to be seen. I waited on the bench in front of our house because I was eager to see her Mustang turn into the driveway. I smiled and hugged her, and soon the kids were doing the same.

The maitre' de at the restaurant did a whole shtick while delivering the menus. He claimed that after you eat the Amazing Shrimp, you will scream for joy in the parking lot afterwards. Diana decided to test his assertion.

So, after we ate Governor’s Chicken, Amazing Shrimp, Crabmeat Cream Cheese Wontons, and Colossal Shrimp with papaya (yum), we were served our fortune cookies. The Melchior’s are kind of stupid about fortune cookies. We carefully select which one we believe is fated to be ours, then we read them one by one while the rest of the group listens.

Noah read: “You can overcome any obstacle.” I laughed inside as I thought of how my son had hunted down the phone number of the out of town girl he’d met at camp, finally asking her father’s permission (through me) to give her a call.

Steve read: “You love a challenge.” My husband, the consummate salesperson, who thinks “by commission” is the only way to earn a living.

Mia read: “An unexpected surprise awaits you,” which I wondered about quizzically until we came home and discovered one of the cat’s hairballs on the bed.

J.J. read: “You love the nightlife.” Extremely frightening for his mother, but I must admit that if any of my children will ever get arrested – it will be J.J.

Diana, who was thrilled that the cookies were dipped in chocolate, opened hers and grinned. She looked up at me and said, “This you won’t believe. Mine says, ‘God will help you overcome any hardship.’”

Besides the fact that I have never before seen a Chinese fortune that referred to God, I had this feeling in my gut that God loves a coincidence. I’m not saying He planted the fortune, but I think He loved it when she was assured.

We left and returned to my house. I had to leave (another all-nighter with my editor buddy) and so I hugged and kissed her goodbye in the driveway. She wasn’t exactly screaming for joy, but there was definitely a spring in her step that wasn’t there before she experienced Amazing Shrimp and a bit of good fortune.

My cookie? After listening to everyone else read theirs, I eagerly opened mine. They had all been so perfect, so fitting to their possessors. I was sure mine would say something like, “Your book will appear on the NY Times bestseller list for at least a kajillion weeks,” or “Oprah’s Book Club here you come!” or at the very least, “You will lose the extra weight without dieting.” You know, something ideal for ME.

But, alas, my slip of paper read, “You are attracted to ancient Chinese culture.” I'm sure God got a big kick out of that one, too.

Dancing with myself

I got another job offer yesterday. Over the past months, churches have been calling to see what I’m thinking about the/my future. The church that called this week is in California, a good church, but here’s what happened…

I could not articulate my current status. ME – usually full of words – had no idea what to say. So, I was honest about it:

“I don’t really know how to articulate what I’m thinking right now, because I’m not sure what I’m thinking. I’m not in distress, mind you, just wordless.” To which the person on the other end of the phone said:

“You’re too valuable to sit and do nothing.”

I considered his statement. NOTHING?? Wow, I hadn’t really seen these past months as doing nothing. Sure, they’ve been the quietest of my life, but quiet does not mean empty. In an effort to receive feedback without defensiveness, I decided to make a quick list, just to evaluate the fullness of my recent months.

1. One day, when the writing was slow and my heart still broken, I turned on some music really loud and danced in my bedroom like I used to when I was 12. I danced with abandon and sang along with full voice. The Rolling Stones, Amy Winehouse, a few tender moments with Simon & Garfunkel…I danced myself to breathlessness.
2. I’ve made tons of new friends including Debbie, the cashier at the grocery store whose husband left her three years ago and she met this other guy but even though he’s really nice she isn’t sure how her children will respond because they are still so hurt by their father but she is having trouble paying for the house by herself so getting married again is a financially wise thing to do and she really does think she loves him because he listens in a way her husband never did and would I please pray?….we talk every Monday because she waits until I arrive to take her break.
3. I originally said I was going to clean out all the closets in the house, but I haven’t done that yet.
4. I read a lot. Early on, I read books about publishing, moved on to periodicals about theology, and ended up in fiction – a luxury genre I haven’t waded through in years. I just finished A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Hosseini. I spent several days enjoying the author’s gift for words and ideas, his passion for his people, his style and tempo. After finishing, I realized that I had borrowed the book from someone instead of paying Mr. Hosseini for his work. Even though I had read every page, I went out and bought my own copy.
5. When JJ forgot his saxophone or missed the bus or left his Science folder on his bed or dropped his Math homework or lost his thermos or couldn’t find his cleats – Mom was here to rescue. I’ve made lunch all summer too.
6. Diana, my dear friend, struggled with leukemia this year. Guess who had the privilege of driving her to most treatments?
7. I wrote a book.
8. I’ve been all alone. After Steve leaves for work, and the kids go to school, I have been all by myself. Well, me and God. We talk a whole lot. When He’s ready and I’m ready, He’ll give me words.

Thanks for caring, and thanks for the offer, but I’m a busy, busy bee.

Telling a story

I am storyboarding a video for the church I am working for this week. The video is about the value of MERCY and it takes a look at everything from hunger to loneliness to immigration.

While I have spent time in and out of the church office, I have been meeting some beautiful people and hearing their stories as well. There’s Chad who watched “Darfur Now” with me and grew up in Oregon. He is sincere and very bright. I love Heidi who, I learned today, is married to a full-blooded Navajo (isn't that cool?). She is capable and creative and has a ready smile. Jan, a woman who has God’s love coming out of her pores, sat and prayed with me as I began to work on the video. Her story of real loss and real life left me weeping. Mike, my much younger partner in crime, is the editor and a photographer extraordinaire. He has a way of seeing story through a lens in an incredible way.

All of these stories mix together to form the story of them – each life a chapter that forms a whole - and now I am a paragraph, too. Our time together has created more story, some of it very funny, some of it rather sad, some of it unsure – all the elements of a good story.

And though I sleep, eat and breathe the video right now, I suspect that what I will take home with me is the bigger story. God has a way of connecting people, of creating ties that bind, of writing people on each other's hearts. In a couple of more days, I will fly home. My plot will change and one character will be missing from their ongoing tale.

Still, they have given me so many new and beautiful words.

Rejected Crayons

via firey electromagnetic destroyosaurs

Father's Day Secrets

Post Secret is really worth checking out this week, because it displays Father's Day secrets. It is a site where people send in secrets on postcards - the creator calls it an on-going art project. Amazing how honest people are when they know they are safe from exposure. Make sure you take the time to look. Click here.

No more teacher's dirty looks

Last day of school for the Melchior’s. It is only a half day, but we are having the entire 6th grade over for a last-day-of-school pool party this afternoon, so it turns into a full day.

I always love it when my kids are home for the summer. Parents keep telling me that they don’t know what they’ll do and how they can’t wait for school to start again, but I always look forward to being with my kids. I really like them and their company.

Yesterday, I got a call from a mother upset about something one of my sons had done. It was a great opportunity for me to practice “receiving feedback” like we talked about in yesterday’s post. I tried to listen without being defensive (hard!) and really heard her concerns. I hung up and hunted my son down.

After Steve and I spoke with him (and his siblings who witnessed the event), we came to understand that it wasn’t as cut and dry as the other mother thought. These things never are, are they? Eventually, we dug down to the bottom of the issue to understand not just the incident, but what is actually happening relationally that invites problems.

Later, I was thinking about the inflammatory nature of language. Yesterday’s post was about receiving feedback, but the way we GIVE it is just as important. As much as I love words, and my whole life is about word choice right now as I work on the book, I still find myself using language in my everyday conversations that is not helpful.

Ephesians 4 says, “Do not let any unwholesome talk come out of your mouths, but only what is helpful for building others up according to their needs, that it may benefit those who listen.” And the other killer in Philippians 2, “Do everything without complaining or arguing, so that you may become blameless and pure, children of God without fault in a crooked and depraved generation, in which you shine like stars in the universe.”

I took a quick mental survey of everything I said yesterday. You know, kind of like when you’re keeping a food journal when on a diet and you write down even that one pretzel rod so that you can evaluate how much you are really eating. It is a shocking exercise to write down everything you say in a day. Did everything I said yesterday build someone up? Now you try.

I suspect this talk business is most difficult in crisis situations, when we are prone to show our true colors. LOVE is so much about action, but it is profoundly about words as well.

What I've written so far today

istock

Blocked

image via ffffound

How could you like bratwurst?!?! Yuck!

Did you know that the noun worldview, having two primary definitions, in both senses is also called Weltanschauung? It’s true.

Let’s talk about your weltanschauung, and – No! - I do not want you to show it to me. Your weltanschauung is the overall perspective from which you see and interpret the world. Notice I am talking to you and not us, because I have my very own weltanschauung and – no - you cannot see it either. Mine is probably better anyway, because I’m actually married to a German guy. Okay, he’s never actually been to Germany, but he has a second cousin named Louisa that lives there.

Now before I am corrected all day by “commenters” (don’t I wish. Look, even if you just want to mention how your cat barfed up a hairball this morning, could you put it in my comments section??) groups can have weltanschauung, the second definition being a collection of beliefs about life and the universe held by an individual or a group. The Manson Family had a weltanschauung. So do Disney princesses.

Our collective and individual weltanschauungs are HUGE (please, please put yours away) because when they clash, the trouble begins. For some crazy reason, I think that you should share my weltanschauung, and you think I should embrace yours. Either that, or I initially assume we have the same one, but upon closer examination, I realize that yours has a mole on the starboard side.

Here’s the deal about Jesus. Besides healing people and growing His beard, His time on earth was really about weltanschauung. He was offering us a way to see the world that was radically different than any weltanschauung we could invent on our own. I mean, how nuts was it to say, “Love your enemies?” Jesus probably hasn’t heard of Al-Qaeda. Why didn’t He just say, “You’ll have no enemies and small animals from the forest will sing and dress you in the morning”? Once again, the god we want is confronted by the God who is.

When I set aside my weltanschauung and think for a second, it’s not such a bad idea. How would the world look different if you and I loved our enemies? If we refused to curse them and blessed them instead (even that neighbor who lets his dog poop in your yard)? What if you did that and Al-Qaeda did that and those two kids from Columbine and the people on Big Brother and Quebec and Terrell Owens and me, too?

Weltanschauung, sweet weltanschauung. Singing skunks aside.

Mom! Don't read this post!

I have a friend named Meredith Munro. Besides being stunning, she has the heart of a quilt – all warm, safe, covering and colorful. Whenever I have the rare chance to be with her, I like it.

Meredith introduced me to a website called, TO WRITE LOVE ON HER ARMS, and I highly recommend that you click and read too. It is the true story of a young, self-mutilating woman, who was denied rehab, and the group of people that took her in and lived and rescued and looked like the real Church. When they found her, she had used a razor to carve “F**K UP” across her left forearm.

I have another friend who has spent most of his adult life in and out of jail and when he was younger, he was confined in the Graterford Penitentiary, Pennsylvania’s largest maximum security prison. While there, he had “F**K OFF” tattooed onto his knuckles, and from the stories I’ve heard about Graterford, I can see why.

I remember the day that Noah got off the bus and asked me what, “f**k” meant. He was in first grade. Now, before all the home schoolers start thinking I’ve proved their point, in some ways I have welcomed these moments with my children. I say, “The world is what it is right now, but what will we be in the midst of it and how will our lives instigate change?”

I told Noah that the word itself, just a combination of four letters, is not inherently bad. There really is no such thing as a bad word. From my perspective, it is the intent behind a word, the heart behind it, that is most disturbing. I guess, then, it should surprise no one that the word ended up on one of Noah’s school papers that year, on a list of words that rhymed with duck. Yeah, suck was there, too.

The girl who cut herself had self-loathing and addiction behind her word. My friend in prison had fear behind his. The crazy thing for me is that so many people react strongly to the use of four letter words, forgetting they are simply a combination of letters that can tell us so much about someone’s hurting, angry, broken heart.

LOVE is a four letter word, too. It can be said and said and said (and sung and preached and studied and recited) with no heart behind it at all, but no one seems to be getting upset about it. I’m not sure which is worse.

No, that’s b******t. I’m perfectly sure which is worse.