Here they are. The thoughts inspired by Beyond Belief: Finding the Strength to Come Back, Josh Hamilton's memoir.
Addiction. It comes in so many forms and starts for so many reasons. I know people who are alcoholics in varying states of recovery, and I have a dear friend who is a recovering drug addict. It's not something that I have always understood. At the same time, I have always tried to understand. But I figured that I'd never live it, so I would never really get it.
And then, over the past several months, I have come to understand myself in a different way. I have come to see that while I smoked a handful of cigarettes when I was 16 but never became a smoker, while I drink a few times a month and have gotten drunk a couple of times over the last 14 years but never became an alcoholic, and while I have never used an illegal drug or misused a prescription drug, I am still an addict. It's hard to admit, but I seriously have a problem with food. In his memoir, Josh talked about being both an alcoholic and a drug addict. He said that he needs to completely avoid alcohol, because he is unable to stop at just one drink. In 2009, he had a very public relapse that began with a late-night dinner at a pizza place and the question, "What could one drink hurt?"
For me it is a question of what can one bag of jelly beans hurt? What can one fast food meal hurt? What can one run through Culver's hurt? And then it goes further than that, because I struggle with self control. What can sleeping in one morning hurt? What can one day away from my Bible reading hurt? What can one lapse in self-discipline hurt? For me, the answer is a lot. The answer is that it's never just one day. Because I'm an addict.
I hope that I'm not belittling the damages that are caused by alcohol and drug addictions. I'm certainly not trying to do so. I know that those addictions destroy families and careers and lives. I know that food addictions don't do that. At least not normally. From time to time, though, they do. I hope it doesn't for me. I'm certainly not the healthiest person around, but I am also not in real danger of dying because of my addiction. At least not at this point. But I've seen it in people. I've seen food consume them. I've seen an extra-large casket at a funeral. I know that it can happen.
But beyond the physical problems from addictions, there is a deeper issue. There's the fact that this isn't what I was created for. There's the fact that God wants one lord of my life, and it's Him. It's not cocaine or Jack Daniels or Burger King. It's Him. It's Him.
I had a bad month. My husband may have witnessed that, but there is also a lot that I did in secret this month. I hate it. I hate that I did it. I hate that I relapsed. But I love that I can come back. I love that His strength is made perfect in my weakness.
I read Beyond Belief at an interesting time. The copy that I read has an extra chapter, updating readers on Hamilton's relapse in 2009. I finished the book and looked Josh up online only to discover that he relapsed again early this month. What heartbreak. And then to read some of the negative comments that people are writing about him and even to him . . . why? Why? Because it's hard to admit that something could have so much power over you? Because it's easier to judge him and find him a failure than to take a look at the addictions in your own life? This was a horrible month for me. It was set off by a new medication that erased the weight I lost in January. I decided that meant it erased all the hard work I'd done and decided to cash it all in. I couldn't see how it was worth it, so I barely worked out, and I ate what I wanted. I'm embarassed to have to face what I did to myself this month and how I ended up back where I said I never wanted to go again. But that's addiction. That's relapsing. That's life. Thank God there's grace.
I believe that Josh Hamilton is a public figure representing the private battles so many of us face. No matter the addiction, no matter the number of relapses, no matter the person, there's power in facing it. There's power in acknowledging it. There's power in getting back up to start all over. So this becomes a new month for me. This becomes a learning experience and another step in my journey--another page in my story. I have the strength to come back, in the exact same place where I found the strength for day one: in admitting that I am hopeless on my own and hope-filled in Him.
Monday, February 27, 2012
Book Five
Beyond Belief: Finding the Strength to Come Back
Josh Hamilton (with Tim Keown)
I'm trying to decide whether to start with a review of the book or writing down all of the thoughts that the book has brought to mind. I suppose today will get two blog entries--one for the book review and one for the thoughts.
Hamilton wrote Beyond Belief with a cowriter, so it's hard to know what, if anything, he actually wrote of his story. Either way, Hamilton comes across as a bit pompous and strangely defensive of his parents. The early portions of the book, while engaging, were hard for me to read. All I could see in Hamilton was a jock who was still attached to his mother and father ("momma" and "daddy," to hear him tell it). Time and time again he defended his parents in places that I didn't think they needed defending. As the book goes on, though, it seemed to me that Hamilton is not pompous or still attached to his umbilical cord--I think he's naive. I think he's, um, simple. And I think he's sweet.
As Hamilton recounts his descent into cocaine addiction, the story becomes at times engrossing and appalling. It's rather like watching a car crash--you want to look away from the destruction, but you have to know how it comes out. You can't look away. At least with Hamilton's story anyone who follows baseball knows at least how it comes around. The self-destruction is evident, and (this is why I think he's simple and sweet) Hamilton doesn't hide any of it. He details the squarlor in which he was willing to find his drugs, his descent into crack, and the levels he sunk to in order to feed his demons. Hamilton also doesn't hide the fact that his faith in God is all that brought him through. At face value, Beyond Belief is the tale of Josh Hamilton's addiction, his efforts to throw away the natural baseball talent that God gave him, and his recovery from drugs and of his career. When it comes down to it, though, this is a tale of spiritual warfare. From his tattoos to his drug addiction to his reclaimed career to his two relapses, that's what Hamilton's story is. And, at the end of the day, that's what our stories are too.
Josh Hamilton (with Tim Keown)
I'm trying to decide whether to start with a review of the book or writing down all of the thoughts that the book has brought to mind. I suppose today will get two blog entries--one for the book review and one for the thoughts.
Hamilton wrote Beyond Belief with a cowriter, so it's hard to know what, if anything, he actually wrote of his story. Either way, Hamilton comes across as a bit pompous and strangely defensive of his parents. The early portions of the book, while engaging, were hard for me to read. All I could see in Hamilton was a jock who was still attached to his mother and father ("momma" and "daddy," to hear him tell it). Time and time again he defended his parents in places that I didn't think they needed defending. As the book goes on, though, it seemed to me that Hamilton is not pompous or still attached to his umbilical cord--I think he's naive. I think he's, um, simple. And I think he's sweet.
As Hamilton recounts his descent into cocaine addiction, the story becomes at times engrossing and appalling. It's rather like watching a car crash--you want to look away from the destruction, but you have to know how it comes out. You can't look away. At least with Hamilton's story anyone who follows baseball knows at least how it comes around. The self-destruction is evident, and (this is why I think he's simple and sweet) Hamilton doesn't hide any of it. He details the squarlor in which he was willing to find his drugs, his descent into crack, and the levels he sunk to in order to feed his demons. Hamilton also doesn't hide the fact that his faith in God is all that brought him through. At face value, Beyond Belief is the tale of Josh Hamilton's addiction, his efforts to throw away the natural baseball talent that God gave him, and his recovery from drugs and of his career. When it comes down to it, though, this is a tale of spiritual warfare. From his tattoos to his drug addiction to his reclaimed career to his two relapses, that's what Hamilton's story is. And, at the end of the day, that's what our stories are too.
I know the twelve steps by heart, but my healing did not come from a strict adherence to those principles. Instead, my life changed from hopeless to hope-filled when I turned to God and asked for His help. (Josh Hamilton)
Sunday, February 26, 2012
The Ninth Sabbath
When morning gilds the skies,"May Jesus Christ Be Praised," Katholisches Gesanglruch
My heart awaking cries:
May Jesus Christ be praised!
Alike at work and prayer
To Jesus I repair
May Jesus Christ be praised!
Does sadness fill my mind?
A solace here I find,
May Jesus Christ be praised!
Or fades my earthly bliss?
My comfort still is this,
May Jesus Christ be praised!
The night becomes as day
When from the heart we say:
May Jesus Christ be praised!
The powers of darkness fear
When this sweet chant they hear:
May Jesus Christ be praised!
Be this, while life is mine,
My canticle divine,
May Jesus Christ be praised!
Be this th' eternal song
Through all the ages long,
May Jesus Christ be praised!
Friday, February 24, 2012
Book Four (B)
11/22/63
Stephen King
I should probably start by noting that while I'm a fan of Stephen King (especially Uncle Stevie, who entertains us often--though not often enough--in Entertainment Weekly), I don't read his books. I have watched nearly all of his books on film--Pet Semetary and Sometimes They Come Back are particular favorites, and It scares the crap out of me just to think about it--but I just don't get into the swearing and the sex and the monsters in his books. And, I don't really have 500+ pages to commit to anyone other than dear Harry Potter. That said, I was excited to pick up 11/22/63 and knew that I wanted it to be the first book I read on my Kindle.
Man, Stephen King can write! Seriously. I knew this from the films based on his novels, the novellas that I've read, and from reading On Writing, but I just hadn't experienced it on my own. From the first chapter through the Afterword, I found myself devouring each page. I couldn't put it down and was grumpy when I was forced to do so. While King wrote about time travel and stopping the assassination of JFK, 11/22/63 is about far more than that. Along the way, this is a novel about building friendships and setting things right and how sometimes it's better to not know what is coming ahead because then we want to step in and change it. And this is a novel about hard choices and love and responsibility. In true Stephen King fashion, there are monsters in this book, but they serve as a reminder that sometimes the monsters are us.
Readers familiar with King's work will see many delightful references that make me wonder if just any author could pull off. History buffs will love the detailed research into Oswald's associates and his life in the Dallas/Fort Worth area. Lovers of small towns will become engrossed in the Jodie Doin's (I sort of want to move there--to King's Jodie anyway). Conspiracy theorists will find few answers and perhaps even more fodder. Those prone to "what ifs" will be caught up in imagine a new world. And aspiring writers will wonder if there is anyone else who can pull this novel off. And then they'll want to try.
Stephen King
I should probably start by noting that while I'm a fan of Stephen King (especially Uncle Stevie, who entertains us often--though not often enough--in Entertainment Weekly), I don't read his books. I have watched nearly all of his books on film--Pet Semetary and Sometimes They Come Back are particular favorites, and It scares the crap out of me just to think about it--but I just don't get into the swearing and the sex and the monsters in his books. And, I don't really have 500+ pages to commit to anyone other than dear Harry Potter. That said, I was excited to pick up 11/22/63 and knew that I wanted it to be the first book I read on my Kindle.
Man, Stephen King can write! Seriously. I knew this from the films based on his novels, the novellas that I've read, and from reading On Writing, but I just hadn't experienced it on my own. From the first chapter through the Afterword, I found myself devouring each page. I couldn't put it down and was grumpy when I was forced to do so. While King wrote about time travel and stopping the assassination of JFK, 11/22/63 is about far more than that. Along the way, this is a novel about building friendships and setting things right and how sometimes it's better to not know what is coming ahead because then we want to step in and change it. And this is a novel about hard choices and love and responsibility. In true Stephen King fashion, there are monsters in this book, but they serve as a reminder that sometimes the monsters are us.
Readers familiar with King's work will see many delightful references that make me wonder if just any author could pull off. History buffs will love the detailed research into Oswald's associates and his life in the Dallas/Fort Worth area. Lovers of small towns will become engrossed in the Jodie Doin's (I sort of want to move there--to King's Jodie anyway). Conspiracy theorists will find few answers and perhaps even more fodder. Those prone to "what ifs" will be caught up in imagine a new world. And aspiring writers will wonder if there is anyone else who can pull this novel off. And then they'll want to try.
Book Four (A)
Book Four was meant to be our February book club book: The Zookeeper's Wife by Diane Ackerman. I say "meant to be," because I didn't read it. For nearly three weeks it sat on my shelf, waiting to be read. I thought about it several times but was engrossed in what actually became Book Four. Finally, it was the Sunday before book club. I knew I needed to read it, so I pulled it off the shelf and settled in.
Wow. I must have read the first four pages a dozen times, and I still couldn't tell you what they say. It's so disappointing to me when I can't even get that far in a book, because I know that somewhere, someone (Diane Ackerman, as it seems) worked hard researching and writing the manuscript. But I'm sorry, Diane, you have to do better than that. You need to somehow wrap me into it. Rumor has it that it's good if you get a ways into it, but who has time for that? If you can't catch me at the beginning, chances are good that someone else will.
All that said, I think the subject matter and the premise of the biography really are great. A Polish, Christian zookeeper and his wife house Jews during the Holocaust. And the kicker is that they hide them in cages in their zoo. I imagine that it's far more humane than it sounds (and than the Holocaust, when it comes down to it), but my point is that I don't know. I have no clue. Part of me wishes I did. Part of me wanted to renew it and give it a go. But most of me wanted to return it to the library and get back to Uncle Stevie.
Maybe someday I'll pick The Zookeeper's Wife up again--and just start where it gets good. But until then, I'll just mark it in Goodreads as "Couldn't Finish" and move on to the March Book Club Book. It looks a bit more engaging--just from the cover.
Wow. I must have read the first four pages a dozen times, and I still couldn't tell you what they say. It's so disappointing to me when I can't even get that far in a book, because I know that somewhere, someone (Diane Ackerman, as it seems) worked hard researching and writing the manuscript. But I'm sorry, Diane, you have to do better than that. You need to somehow wrap me into it. Rumor has it that it's good if you get a ways into it, but who has time for that? If you can't catch me at the beginning, chances are good that someone else will.
All that said, I think the subject matter and the premise of the biography really are great. A Polish, Christian zookeeper and his wife house Jews during the Holocaust. And the kicker is that they hide them in cages in their zoo. I imagine that it's far more humane than it sounds (and than the Holocaust, when it comes down to it), but my point is that I don't know. I have no clue. Part of me wishes I did. Part of me wanted to renew it and give it a go. But most of me wanted to return it to the library and get back to Uncle Stevie.
Maybe someday I'll pick The Zookeeper's Wife up again--and just start where it gets good. But until then, I'll just mark it in Goodreads as "Couldn't Finish" and move on to the March Book Club Book. It looks a bit more engaging--just from the cover.
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
A (Wo)Man After God's Own Heart
2001 was a rough year for our family and friends. It began with several family funerals and ended with 9/11/01, when our grief became corporate, shared by the country. Tucked in between were a separation between my husband and me, a desperate fight to come back together, and the death of my husband's best friend's twin brother. It was a year from hell. And I have never learned more.
Today in my Bible readings I read four different psalms. The thing that strikes me most about David is that, despite his royal mess ups, God calls him a man after His own heart. The sinning surely isn't what does that. The sinning is just part of his job description as a human being. We can't get away from that. Now, maybe we don't do it quite as "big" as David, but I don't think that measurement is something God cares about.
I think what God sees in David is his honesty.
In three of the psalms that I read today, David went from running "straight to the arms of God" (Psalm 11) to declaring, "Long enough, God--you've ignored me long enough" (Psalm 13). Now I know that the psalms aren't necessarily listed in chronological order, but I do believe that God had everything to do with how the Bible is laid out. He isn't surprised by the change in David's tune any more than he was surprised that Samuel "prayed his anger and disappointment all through the night" after God said that He regretted making Saul king (I Samuel 15:11 The Message).
And the best part is that God isn't angry about any of it. I think He loves it. In the heart of 2001, my Writer Friend shared with me a story of her high school boyfriend. He and his dad used to play fight, and his dad would pat his shoulders, encourage his son to come at him with all he had, and say, "I can take it. I've got big shoulders." She said, "Beka, God can take it. He's got big shoulders." Another friend pointed out that while I was crying on the floor, God was lying there holding me and crying with me. I began to picture Him sitting in His throne with me in His lap sobbing and pounding my fists on His chest. And I've never been closer to Him.
I know that God is the only one who could have spared our friend's twin brother. I also know that God is the only one who could have softened the blow from the bull's hoof on my cowboy cousin's chest, keeping his aorta from rupturing. I also know that God is the only one who could have kept the planes in the air on September 11, despite evil's best efforts to crash them into buildings. But I also know that God is the only one who can hold me while I cry, dry my tears, and help me heal.
So whether it's praying my anger and disappointment all night long, pounding my fists into God's chest as I continue to grieve the loss of one of our twins, or dancing with joy in front of Him, He is worthy of my honest praise. It's the thing that makes me a woman after God's own heart.
Today in my Bible readings I read four different psalms. The thing that strikes me most about David is that, despite his royal mess ups, God calls him a man after His own heart. The sinning surely isn't what does that. The sinning is just part of his job description as a human being. We can't get away from that. Now, maybe we don't do it quite as "big" as David, but I don't think that measurement is something God cares about.
I think what God sees in David is his honesty.
In three of the psalms that I read today, David went from running "straight to the arms of God" (Psalm 11) to declaring, "Long enough, God--you've ignored me long enough" (Psalm 13). Now I know that the psalms aren't necessarily listed in chronological order, but I do believe that God had everything to do with how the Bible is laid out. He isn't surprised by the change in David's tune any more than he was surprised that Samuel "prayed his anger and disappointment all through the night" after God said that He regretted making Saul king (I Samuel 15:11 The Message).
And the best part is that God isn't angry about any of it. I think He loves it. In the heart of 2001, my Writer Friend shared with me a story of her high school boyfriend. He and his dad used to play fight, and his dad would pat his shoulders, encourage his son to come at him with all he had, and say, "I can take it. I've got big shoulders." She said, "Beka, God can take it. He's got big shoulders." Another friend pointed out that while I was crying on the floor, God was lying there holding me and crying with me. I began to picture Him sitting in His throne with me in His lap sobbing and pounding my fists on His chest. And I've never been closer to Him.
I know that God is the only one who could have spared our friend's twin brother. I also know that God is the only one who could have softened the blow from the bull's hoof on my cowboy cousin's chest, keeping his aorta from rupturing. I also know that God is the only one who could have kept the planes in the air on September 11, despite evil's best efforts to crash them into buildings. But I also know that God is the only one who can hold me while I cry, dry my tears, and help me heal.
So whether it's praying my anger and disappointment all night long, pounding my fists into God's chest as I continue to grieve the loss of one of our twins, or dancing with joy in front of Him, He is worthy of my honest praise. It's the thing that makes me a woman after God's own heart.
Worthy, You are worthy"Unashamed Love," Jason Morant
Of a childlike faith and of my honest praise
And of my unashamed love
Of a holy love and of my sacrifice
And of my unashamed love
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
Nothing Left to Say
I'll confess that I'm sitting here with this blank page only because I know the month is winding down, and I have quite a few posts to write in order to meet my quota. It is hard to knowwhether the exercise of writing is worth the fact that I'm actually sitting here with nothing to say. What do I type--and how much of it--to fulfill this portion of my creative goal? Would dear Anne Lamott or talented Stephen King tell me that the post itself is the important part, and the content can all be crap that all of us want to delete later?
In Bird by Bird, Lamott gives aspiring writers a few tips and offers insight behind the scenes for readers. She says that you should write just a square inch of the story, you should write a certain number of words or for a certain number of minutes each day, that you are allowed to delete what you wrote the day before if it's no good, and that not everything that happens to you is interesting. That last tip is probably the reason for tip number three.
So here I am. A writer, with nothing left to say and a goal to meet. I want to be a writer. I am a lover of words, and I want to be a writer. I am a writer. But I want to make my living by creating stories that entertain and make people think. Stories no one has ever told before. (Dare I say it, some even better than anyone has told before.) If I'm a writer, then I have to write. Because the point truly is the exercise, the working, the digging deeply, the creation.
Anne Lamott also says that the process of writing is about asking oneself, "How alive am I willing to be?" As a writer, that really is the question. Even when the answer takes a boring form, maybe the key to me being a writer is me being willing to be fully alive. And me being willing to sit down with a blank page and muscle through this exercise, knowing that some day it will pay off.
Because I am a lover of words. And one day I will write a book.
In Bird by Bird, Lamott gives aspiring writers a few tips and offers insight behind the scenes for readers. She says that you should write just a square inch of the story, you should write a certain number of words or for a certain number of minutes each day, that you are allowed to delete what you wrote the day before if it's no good, and that not everything that happens to you is interesting. That last tip is probably the reason for tip number three.
So here I am. A writer, with nothing left to say and a goal to meet. I want to be a writer. I am a lover of words, and I want to be a writer. I am a writer. But I want to make my living by creating stories that entertain and make people think. Stories no one has ever told before. (Dare I say it, some even better than anyone has told before.) If I'm a writer, then I have to write. Because the point truly is the exercise, the working, the digging deeply, the creation.
Anne Lamott also says that the process of writing is about asking oneself, "How alive am I willing to be?" As a writer, that really is the question. Even when the answer takes a boring form, maybe the key to me being a writer is me being willing to be fully alive. And me being willing to sit down with a blank page and muscle through this exercise, knowing that some day it will pay off.
Because I am a lover of words. And one day I will write a book.
Monday, February 20, 2012
Things I Think I Think #18-34
And it's time once again for everyone's my favorite random thoughts. I bet you can't wait.
18. I'm surprisingly sad that Whitney died. Addiction breaks my heart, and I hate that it stole a mother and daughter once again. I also hate that it stole The Queen--that voice was such a gift.
19. "The Greatest Love of All" has always been one of my favorite songs, but I forgot how great "I Have Nothing" is. Entertainment Weekly called it the song that brought "power" into "power ballad," and I think they're right.
20. I am looking forward to watching "This Means War," even though it might not be a super film. It's probably the baby blues of Chris Pine and Tom Hardy. They remind me of Beau's. :)
21. My husband is the greatest man that I know. He cares so deeply that it hurts him, and he struggles to become the man that God has called him to be. I love that man.
22. It should go without saying that I don't support what Chris Brown did to Rihanna. It's terrible, awful, and inexcusable to beat a woman. However, he completed the punishment the courts gave him and participated in treatment. So is he really not allowed to still be a musician and a good one at that? Isn't it possible that he continues to regret his behavior and work to be a better man?
23. It turns out that Justin Bieber might actually be talented. I ended up watching Never Say Never over the weekend. That boy had rhythm and could play drums like nothing else--at five years old. And now he has song-writing credits on most of his songs, plays the guitar and the piano, and can dance. Didn't want to be impressed by him, but apparently when he smiles, I smile. ;)
24. I bought my first bag of Brachs jelly beans for 2012 today. That means it's spring.
25. It's good to get away and spend a weekend with good friends and no kids. And then it's good to come home.
26. Every woman should have a couple of best friends--who keep you up too late talking and then don't get mad when you fall asleep in the middle of their sentence, watch Justin Bieber movies with you "for work research," pray for you when you cry, share your history and love you anyway, believe in your dreams when you don't feel like you can, laugh with you like a little girl, and promise to tell you when they think you need to grow up.
27. I'm blessed to have two of those friends. And I'm also blessed to have many others who go much deeper than mere acquaintances.
28. Sometimes I just can't make it past the first five pages of a book.
29. I love my iPhone. Those apps are quite something, and I'm going to work hard to become the mayor of something. Thanks for making me sit in my car just a few seconds longer at each destination, Foursquare.
30. It's exciting to have friends expecting new babies and even more exciting to know it's not me.
31. Mondays are my favorite TV nights--The Voice Adam Levine AND Hawaii Five-0 Scott Caan. If only I got to add in some Green Bay Packers football. Then we'd be golden.
32. I wish celebrities would take better care of themselves so that their kids don't have to say goodbye to them so early.
33. I can't help it. I love to watch red carpet specials and awards shows. The American Music Awards are always my favorite, but I do like the Emmy's and Oscars, too. And the Grammy's. Seriously, I think I watch almost all of them.
34. Sometimes I miss working full time, because I enjoy working at a desk and keeping everything organized. And I love office supplies.
Now I'm going to go eat some jelly beans and settle in with The Voice.
18. I'm surprisingly sad that Whitney died. Addiction breaks my heart, and I hate that it stole a mother and daughter once again. I also hate that it stole The Queen--that voice was such a gift.
19. "The Greatest Love of All" has always been one of my favorite songs, but I forgot how great "I Have Nothing" is. Entertainment Weekly called it the song that brought "power" into "power ballad," and I think they're right.
20. I am looking forward to watching "This Means War," even though it might not be a super film. It's probably the baby blues of Chris Pine and Tom Hardy. They remind me of Beau's. :)
21. My husband is the greatest man that I know. He cares so deeply that it hurts him, and he struggles to become the man that God has called him to be. I love that man.
22. It should go without saying that I don't support what Chris Brown did to Rihanna. It's terrible, awful, and inexcusable to beat a woman. However, he completed the punishment the courts gave him and participated in treatment. So is he really not allowed to still be a musician and a good one at that? Isn't it possible that he continues to regret his behavior and work to be a better man?
23. It turns out that Justin Bieber might actually be talented. I ended up watching Never Say Never over the weekend. That boy had rhythm and could play drums like nothing else--at five years old. And now he has song-writing credits on most of his songs, plays the guitar and the piano, and can dance. Didn't want to be impressed by him, but apparently when he smiles, I smile. ;)
24. I bought my first bag of Brachs jelly beans for 2012 today. That means it's spring.
25. It's good to get away and spend a weekend with good friends and no kids. And then it's good to come home.
26. Every woman should have a couple of best friends--who keep you up too late talking and then don't get mad when you fall asleep in the middle of their sentence, watch Justin Bieber movies with you "for work research," pray for you when you cry, share your history and love you anyway, believe in your dreams when you don't feel like you can, laugh with you like a little girl, and promise to tell you when they think you need to grow up.
27. I'm blessed to have two of those friends. And I'm also blessed to have many others who go much deeper than mere acquaintances.
28. Sometimes I just can't make it past the first five pages of a book.
29. I love my iPhone. Those apps are quite something, and I'm going to work hard to become the mayor of something. Thanks for making me sit in my car just a few seconds longer at each destination, Foursquare.
30. It's exciting to have friends expecting new babies and even more exciting to know it's not me.
31. Mondays are my favorite TV nights--
32. I wish celebrities would take better care of themselves so that their kids don't have to say goodbye to them so early.
33. I can't help it. I love to watch red carpet specials and awards shows. The American Music Awards are always my favorite, but I do like the Emmy's and Oscars, too. And the Grammy's. Seriously, I think I watch almost all of them.
34. Sometimes I miss working full time, because I enjoy working at a desk and keeping everything organized. And I love office supplies.
Now I'm going to go eat some jelly beans and settle in with The Voice.
Sunday, February 19, 2012
The Eighth Sabbath
Today was truly a sabbath as I enjoyed a weekend with friends at a cottage in Pentwater, MI. With limited exceptions, I spent the weekend unplugged from phone and computer. We laughed, ate junk food, shopped, played games, watched movies, stayed up late talking, and slept until we wanted to get up in the morning. It was a lovely hint of heaven.
Saturday, February 18, 2012
The Reason
Recently a friend of mine sent me a text message. She wrote, "I am running errands and heard an Amy Grant song on the radio--what a great song and title for your blog."
This blog used to be called "Funny Writer Mommy." There's a joke between my Writer Friend and I that people like me because I'm funny. I used to be Funny Writer Girl, but then I became a mommy, and I thought I should grow up. But then one day I watched a slideshow depicting a day of radiation for the 10-year-old son of friends of mine from high school. Another former classmate of ours had taken the photos and put them into a slideshow with "Better Than a Hallelujah" playing in the background.
I couldn't think of a better sentiment either, especially for a life that seeks honest praise. So here it is. May my life truly be filled with hallelujahs and honesty that is sometimes better even than that.
This blog used to be called "Funny Writer Mommy." There's a joke between my Writer Friend and I that people like me because I'm funny. I used to be Funny Writer Girl, but then I became a mommy, and I thought I should grow up. But then one day I watched a slideshow depicting a day of radiation for the 10-year-old son of friends of mine from high school. Another former classmate of ours had taken the photos and put them into a slideshow with "Better Than a Hallelujah" playing in the background.
I couldn't think of a better sentiment either, especially for a life that seeks honest praise. So here it is. May my life truly be filled with hallelujahs and honesty that is sometimes better even than that.
God loves a lullaby"Better Than a Hallelujah," Sarah Hart and Chapin Hartford
In a mother's tears in the dead of night
Better than a Hallelujah sometimes
God loves the drunkard's cry
The soldier's plea not to let him die
Better than a Hallelujah sometimes
We pour out our miseries
God just hears a melody
Beautiful, the mess we are
The honest cries of breaking hearts
Are better than a Hallelujah
The woman holding on for life
The dying man giving up the fight
Are better than a Hallelujah sometimes
The tears of shame for what's been done
The silence when the words won't come
Are better than a Hallelujah sometimes
We pour out our miseries
God just hears a melody
Beautiful, the mess we are
The honest cries of breaking hearts
Are better than a Hallelujah
Better than a church bell ringing
Better than a choir singing out, singing out
We pour out our miseries
God just hears a melody
Beautiful, the mess we are
The honest cries of breaking hearts
Are better than a Hallelujah
We pour out our miseries
God just hears a melody
Beautiful, the mess we are
The honest cries of breaking hearts
Are better than a Hallelujah
(Better than a Hallelujah sometimes)
Better than a Hallelujah
(Better than a Hallelujah sometimes)
Friday, February 17, 2012
Better is One Day
This morning I was thinking about the song "Better is One Day." I thought of it because one of the Psalms in my daily reading is a Psalm of the Sons of Korah. So is Psalm 84, the Psalm on which the song is based. Without a doubt, that is my favorite Psalm for more reasons than I have time to write about now.
The song. This is about the song.
The first time I sang "Better is One Day," I was in a church in the mountains of Colorado. Talk about being aware of the majesty and creativity of God. I'm sure there are many places in the world where God's power and creation are on full display, but the Rockies seem to be a grand place to start. As we were singing the song, I couldn't keep my eyes from the windows where the power and beauty and wonder of the mountains reminded me of Whose presence I was declaring was great.
I also couldn't keep my mind off of the people I was with. It was a spring break trip with dozens of high schoolers. We had taken a Greyhound-style bus and a couple of vans full of teenagers from Grand Rapids, MI, to Colorado for a week of skiing and day trips in Glenwood Springs. As we were singing the song, in the midst of those beautiful teenagers, I thought, "Yes. I would spend one day in the presence of these lovely children of God pointing them to Him." One day with them and with Him. Because it would be worth it. Even after how that week ended up, it would have been worth it.
And I couldn't stop thinking about where we were singing it. Our trip to Glenwood Springs brought us through Denver. Because we were taking teenagers through Denver, I thought it would be good to take them to Columbine High School. It was only one year after the tragic shootings at Columbine, and I thought it would have a great impact on the teens to actually see that place and be reminded that what they saw on the news wasn't actually a Hollywood creation. And, I didn't want to be that close and not get to see it myself. So we went. Dozens and dozens of teenagers and adults walked around that school, praying, taking pictures, remembering. We also went to a church service not far from there. We attended West Bowles, which is the church where some of the kids who died at Columbine had worshiped.
In that place, in the midst of that majesty interwoven with tragedy and possibility, I sang "Better is One Day" with all my heart. I learned it that morning and felt as if I'd known it my whole life. When I sing it today, I still see those images. And I still think that I would cash it all in for one day with Him.
The song. This is about the song.
The first time I sang "Better is One Day," I was in a church in the mountains of Colorado. Talk about being aware of the majesty and creativity of God. I'm sure there are many places in the world where God's power and creation are on full display, but the Rockies seem to be a grand place to start. As we were singing the song, I couldn't keep my eyes from the windows where the power and beauty and wonder of the mountains reminded me of Whose presence I was declaring was great.
I also couldn't keep my mind off of the people I was with. It was a spring break trip with dozens of high schoolers. We had taken a Greyhound-style bus and a couple of vans full of teenagers from Grand Rapids, MI, to Colorado for a week of skiing and day trips in Glenwood Springs. As we were singing the song, in the midst of those beautiful teenagers, I thought, "Yes. I would spend one day in the presence of these lovely children of God pointing them to Him." One day with them and with Him. Because it would be worth it. Even after how that week ended up, it would have been worth it.
And I couldn't stop thinking about where we were singing it. Our trip to Glenwood Springs brought us through Denver. Because we were taking teenagers through Denver, I thought it would be good to take them to Columbine High School. It was only one year after the tragic shootings at Columbine, and I thought it would have a great impact on the teens to actually see that place and be reminded that what they saw on the news wasn't actually a Hollywood creation. And, I didn't want to be that close and not get to see it myself. So we went. Dozens and dozens of teenagers and adults walked around that school, praying, taking pictures, remembering. We also went to a church service not far from there. We attended West Bowles, which is the church where some of the kids who died at Columbine had worshiped.
In that place, in the midst of that majesty interwoven with tragedy and possibility, I sang "Better is One Day" with all my heart. I learned it that morning and felt as if I'd known it my whole life. When I sing it today, I still see those images. And I still think that I would cash it all in for one day with Him.
Thursday, February 16, 2012
Kids Today (or, Back When I Was a Kid)
I am privileged to teach Sunday School for the 7th-12th graders at our church. It's a privilege every week, and most Sundays it's fun too. :) (Kidding. Mostly.) The students in my class, like most teenagers, come in varying degrees of communication, enthusiasm, and participation. They are a beautiful and lovely group.
Our curriculum this year is the Heidelberg Catechism. A couple of weeks ago I had prepared a lesson that I knew would be more fun with as many participants as we could get--plus I'd purchased a lot of candy for it, and I didn't want to have the extras at my house. Since there were only three students in class that day, I decided that we would have a chat session instead of using our normal lesson.
I asked my students two questions:
1) What issues--social, person, etc.--would you like to talk about this year?
2) What do you wish adults knew (or remembered) about being teenagers?
As I was introducing our topics, it occurred to me that though I'm not old it has been longer since I've been a teenager than it took me to get there. I mean, I graduated from college 13 years ago. Craziness. It also occurred to me that perhaps the problem we're having with our curriculum being relevant is the fact that it was written by people who had been teenagers even longer ago than I was. Nothing against adults, but I began to wonder how life had changed since then and how we as adults could speak to that unless we understood it. So we spent an hour talking about it.
Here's what I learned:
* High school teachers today sound more like college professors. Students get syllabi from every class, and teachers allow different things in class--some allow notetaking on computers, some allow you to ask questions, some just want you to sit like a bump on a log and absorb their lecture.
* Still not everyone is offered drugs. I wasn't, though I had some friends who smoked pot, and it was interesting for me to hear that that's still true. However, I was shocked to find out that there are teenagers walking through the halls at their schools with mushrooms hanging out of their backpacks. They use meth, too. And instead of cigarettes it's pot they're smoking in the bathrooms.
* Kissing in the hallways isn't the whole issue anymore. Students at local high schools have been caught having sex--yes, having sex--in the hallways and on the middle of the dance floor at prom.
We ran out of time before we got much further. After class they mentioned a couple of other things they'd like to talk about, including homosexuality. (That should be an interesting experience, and I've already selected some guest speakers to deal with it so that I don't get myself in trouble by not wearing my traditional church filter that day.) Apparently there are lots of kids in schools today who are gay--and there are lots of kids who are homophobic. That makes for interesting hallway experiences. I can't imagine being a student today.
So . . . how does one who was a teenager nearly 20 years ago relate to a world so different than where I lived? Kids today. They're lovely and giving and beautiful and honest and it's a privilege to be trusted by them. God--and the church--has His hands full with them, and I can't wait to see how they change His world. I hope I don't mess them up.
Our curriculum this year is the Heidelberg Catechism. A couple of weeks ago I had prepared a lesson that I knew would be more fun with as many participants as we could get--plus I'd purchased a lot of candy for it, and I didn't want to have the extras at my house. Since there were only three students in class that day, I decided that we would have a chat session instead of using our normal lesson.
I asked my students two questions:
1) What issues--social, person, etc.--would you like to talk about this year?
2) What do you wish adults knew (or remembered) about being teenagers?
As I was introducing our topics, it occurred to me that though I'm not old it has been longer since I've been a teenager than it took me to get there. I mean, I graduated from college 13 years ago. Craziness. It also occurred to me that perhaps the problem we're having with our curriculum being relevant is the fact that it was written by people who had been teenagers even longer ago than I was. Nothing against adults, but I began to wonder how life had changed since then and how we as adults could speak to that unless we understood it. So we spent an hour talking about it.
Here's what I learned:
* High school teachers today sound more like college professors. Students get syllabi from every class, and teachers allow different things in class--some allow notetaking on computers, some allow you to ask questions, some just want you to sit like a bump on a log and absorb their lecture.
* Still not everyone is offered drugs. I wasn't, though I had some friends who smoked pot, and it was interesting for me to hear that that's still true. However, I was shocked to find out that there are teenagers walking through the halls at their schools with mushrooms hanging out of their backpacks. They use meth, too. And instead of cigarettes it's pot they're smoking in the bathrooms.
* Kissing in the hallways isn't the whole issue anymore. Students at local high schools have been caught having sex--yes, having sex--in the hallways and on the middle of the dance floor at prom.
We ran out of time before we got much further. After class they mentioned a couple of other things they'd like to talk about, including homosexuality. (That should be an interesting experience, and I've already selected some guest speakers to deal with it so that I don't get myself in trouble by not wearing my traditional church filter that day.) Apparently there are lots of kids in schools today who are gay--and there are lots of kids who are homophobic. That makes for interesting hallway experiences. I can't imagine being a student today.
So . . . how does one who was a teenager nearly 20 years ago relate to a world so different than where I lived? Kids today. They're lovely and giving and beautiful and honest and it's a privilege to be trusted by them. God--and the church--has His hands full with them, and I can't wait to see how they change His world. I hope I don't mess them up.
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
That Doesn't Make It Easy
For the past few weeks, our pastor has been preaching about loving well and what it means to be true community to each other. Two weeks ago he preached about "loving stupid people" and talked about how each of us is "stupid" from time to time. We're stupid when we fall into the same sinful traps over and over again. We're stupid when we are rude and short tempered. We're stupid when we ignore the presence of God in our lives and instead focus on all that we don't have and our discontent. We're stupid when the choices we make destroy ourselves or our relationships. We're all stupid from time to time.
In order to love stupid people (and hopefully be loved in return when we're stupid), we may need to speak the truth to them. We may need to call them on their stupidity. Or, we may just need to take the time to ask them how they are and really listen. Maybe there's something more to their stupidity. Maybe they are pessimistic because they can't allow themselves to believe that they deserve good things. Maybe they drink too much or don't smile enough or are critical and grumpy because of a deep hurt they've endured. And maybe if we take a minute to ask and to truly listen, we just might find a way to gently restore them into optimism or even joy.
I've had a rough couple of weeks on a lot of levels, and there is someone in my life who is especially hard to love right now. This person is (dare I say it out loud) stupid. I think that in the past several weeks, I believe I have specifically referred to this person as an idiot, crazy, incapable, and a host of other lovely and Christian things. (Yeah, right.) God brought all of this to mind as I sat cringing my way through the sermon. And He told me that I don't get to speak harshly about this person or be impatient in our dealings or be proud about how I have it all together and this person doesn't. It totally sucked. But I prayed, and I began my dealings with this person with this new and humble heart. I thought that maybe if I approached our dealings with love and humility, then maybe I would have the opportunity to ask--and really mean--"Are you okay? Because there seems to be a lot going on with you."
I wish I could say I've been perfect at it. I haven't. I'm truly a work in progress. The occasions I had to talk with this person over the past week have been markedly different--in my mind and attitude at least. I don't know if this person felt any different about me or my attitude, but I certainly did.I forced myself God gave me the ability to see this person through His eyes and as someone that He created in His own image and died for.
But boy, it was not easy.
I was reminded that just because it's right does not make it easy. Just because I decided to change my attitude and approach doesn't mean anyone else around me did. And it didn't make the person less "stupid." Recently a friend of mine and I had a conversation about another friend we needed to "confront" with humble and loving truth. We needed to do it, because we were the only people who could, and it had to be done. So I gave an early morning pep talk and then made my friend do it--while I stayed behind praying, of course. She did it, and it was received well, and our friendship--our community--has been honored. But that didn't make it easy.
Maybe that's what tough love, loving stupid people even when they don't change, and speaking the truth in love is all about. It's not easy. It's not easy for the person who is hearing it, nor is it easy for the person who is doing it. But it's still the right thing to do.
In order to love stupid people (and hopefully be loved in return when we're stupid), we may need to speak the truth to them. We may need to call them on their stupidity. Or, we may just need to take the time to ask them how they are and really listen. Maybe there's something more to their stupidity. Maybe they are pessimistic because they can't allow themselves to believe that they deserve good things. Maybe they drink too much or don't smile enough or are critical and grumpy because of a deep hurt they've endured. And maybe if we take a minute to ask and to truly listen, we just might find a way to gently restore them into optimism or even joy.
I've had a rough couple of weeks on a lot of levels, and there is someone in my life who is especially hard to love right now. This person is (dare I say it out loud) stupid. I think that in the past several weeks, I believe I have specifically referred to this person as an idiot, crazy, incapable, and a host of other lovely and Christian things. (Yeah, right.) God brought all of this to mind as I sat cringing my way through the sermon. And He told me that I don't get to speak harshly about this person or be impatient in our dealings or be proud about how I have it all together and this person doesn't. It totally sucked. But I prayed, and I began my dealings with this person with this new and humble heart. I thought that maybe if I approached our dealings with love and humility, then maybe I would have the opportunity to ask--and really mean--"Are you okay? Because there seems to be a lot going on with you."
I wish I could say I've been perfect at it. I haven't. I'm truly a work in progress. The occasions I had to talk with this person over the past week have been markedly different--in my mind and attitude at least. I don't know if this person felt any different about me or my attitude, but I certainly did.
But boy, it was not easy.
I was reminded that just because it's right does not make it easy. Just because I decided to change my attitude and approach doesn't mean anyone else around me did. And it didn't make the person less "stupid." Recently a friend of mine and I had a conversation about another friend we needed to "confront" with humble and loving truth. We needed to do it, because we were the only people who could, and it had to be done. So I gave an early morning pep talk and then made my friend do it--while I stayed behind praying, of course. She did it, and it was received well, and our friendship--our community--has been honored. But that didn't make it easy.
Maybe that's what tough love, loving stupid people even when they don't change, and speaking the truth in love is all about. It's not easy. It's not easy for the person who is hearing it, nor is it easy for the person who is doing it. But it's still the right thing to do.
Monday, February 13, 2012
The Seventh Sabbath
Would you be free from the burden of sin?
There's power in the blood, power in the blood;
Would you o'er evil a victory win?
There's wonderful power in the blood.
There is power, power, wonder-working power
In the blood of the Lamb.
There is power, power, wonder-working power
In the precious blood of the Lamb.
Would you be free from your passion and pride?
There's power in the blood, power in the blood;
Come for a cleansing to Calvary's tide;
There's wonderful power in the blood.
There is power, power, wonder-working power
In the blood of the Lamb.
There is power, power, wonder-working power
In the precious blood of the Lamb.
Would you be whiter, much whiter than snow?
There's power in the blood, power in the blood;
Sin stains are lost in its life-giving flow.
There's wonderful power in the blood.
There is power, power, wonder-working power
In the blood of the Lamb.
There is power, power, wonder-working power
In the precious blood of the Lamb.
Would you do service for Jesus your King?
There's power in the blood, power in the blood;
Would you live daily His praises to sing?
There's wonderful power in the blood.
There is power, power, wonder-working power
In the blood of the Lamb.
There is power, power, wonder-working power
In the blood of the Lamb.
"There is Power in the Blood," Lewis E. Jones
Wednesday, February 08, 2012
Giving Them Back
This morning I started the book of I Samuel. As a mother, I am always moved to read of Hannah's longing for a child. She is picked on, mocked, and driven to great depression over her barrenness. She begs, pleads, and cries out to God. Her agony in the temple was so intense that the priest even believes she must be drunk--nobody sober would act like that before God.
God hears her, and he grants her deepest desire. He gives her not only a child but a son. The part I so often miss in the story is that she said to God, "[Give me a son, and] I'll give him completely, unreservedly to you." And then she does just that. This woman who, more than anything in the world, wanted a child, gets one, and then leaves him in the temple to grow up.
As a mother, it's hard to imagine. As a Christian who struggles on my sojourn, it's even harder to comprehend. First of all, she makes a promise to God--and then she keeps it. Even when it must have destroyed part of her to do so. How often do I want something badly, and I say to God, "If you just give me this, then I'll X"? Whether the "X" is be happy, tell everyone what you did, never ask for anything more, not screw it up . . . whatever it is, how often do I really do it? I can answer that for you: almost never.
But as a mother . . . as a mother who has never had trouble conceiving, as a mother who conceived twins only to have one die, as a mother who is often overwhelmed by my three living children, as a mother who still grieves the (now) two-year-old baby I long to hold in my arms . . . how do you long for a child, have it long enough to wean it, and then drop it off at the temple to live?
Now, this isn't like it would be for us. We go to church at the end of our road. There are plenty of days that I think it might be nice to drop by kids off at Pastor Tim and "Miss Ruth's" house for a while. Shoot, there are days that I do that (and thanks for generously taking them Ruthie!)--for a few hours at least. But I can always go pick them up, and the trip takes me only about 1 minute. Five if I walk. For Hannah it's a long journey that she takes once a year. Huh? How do you do that? How do you long for something to the point of your heart breaking and then turn it completely over to God?
But then how do you not?
I remember once in college when I was going off with my Christian fellowship group to do some evangelism thing that made my dad pretty nervous. He sent me a letter after we discussed it on the phone, and his letter is something that I'll keep forever. In it he wrote, "We have always known that you aren't our child. You are God's. And we knew the time would come when He took you places that we didn't understand and didn't like. But you are His. You were never ours to keep."
As a mom I'm grateful that I get to see my children nearly every day. I'm grateful that I don't have to send them miles and miles away and see them only once a year for them to truly be God's. But I also know that just as my sweet Baby Zion is sitting on God's lap and belongs solely to Him, Ellie Grace, Meggity Leigh, and DeeDee also belong solely to God. They may not be literally sitting on His lap, but they are held in the palm of His hand. They are no less His than Zion is, than I am. While they may live in my house for a time and in my heart forever, they have never really been mine.
So, yes. I have longed for them to the point of my heart breaking. I have watched out for them and cared for them and loved them to the point of my heart breaking. But I have also--and need to continue to--given them completely over to God. Today may I care for them as children that God has entrusted to me, and women who will change this world forever because of their Father, and sisters who will sojourn Home alongside me and the rest of our brothers and sisters. Today may I see them as they are: dedicated to God for life.
God hears her, and he grants her deepest desire. He gives her not only a child but a son. The part I so often miss in the story is that she said to God, "[Give me a son, and] I'll give him completely, unreservedly to you." And then she does just that. This woman who, more than anything in the world, wanted a child, gets one, and then leaves him in the temple to grow up.
As a mother, it's hard to imagine. As a Christian who struggles on my sojourn, it's even harder to comprehend. First of all, she makes a promise to God--and then she keeps it. Even when it must have destroyed part of her to do so. How often do I want something badly, and I say to God, "If you just give me this, then I'll X"? Whether the "X" is be happy, tell everyone what you did, never ask for anything more, not screw it up . . . whatever it is, how often do I really do it? I can answer that for you: almost never.
But as a mother . . . as a mother who has never had trouble conceiving, as a mother who conceived twins only to have one die, as a mother who is often overwhelmed by my three living children, as a mother who still grieves the (now) two-year-old baby I long to hold in my arms . . . how do you long for a child, have it long enough to wean it, and then drop it off at the temple to live?
Now, this isn't like it would be for us. We go to church at the end of our road. There are plenty of days that I think it might be nice to drop by kids off at Pastor Tim and "Miss Ruth's" house for a while. Shoot, there are days that I do that (and thanks for generously taking them Ruthie!)--for a few hours at least. But I can always go pick them up, and the trip takes me only about 1 minute. Five if I walk. For Hannah it's a long journey that she takes once a year. Huh? How do you do that? How do you long for something to the point of your heart breaking and then turn it completely over to God?
But then how do you not?
I remember once in college when I was going off with my Christian fellowship group to do some evangelism thing that made my dad pretty nervous. He sent me a letter after we discussed it on the phone, and his letter is something that I'll keep forever. In it he wrote, "We have always known that you aren't our child. You are God's. And we knew the time would come when He took you places that we didn't understand and didn't like. But you are His. You were never ours to keep."
As a mom I'm grateful that I get to see my children nearly every day. I'm grateful that I don't have to send them miles and miles away and see them only once a year for them to truly be God's. But I also know that just as my sweet Baby Zion is sitting on God's lap and belongs solely to Him, Ellie Grace, Meggity Leigh, and DeeDee also belong solely to God. They may not be literally sitting on His lap, but they are held in the palm of His hand. They are no less His than Zion is, than I am. While they may live in my house for a time and in my heart forever, they have never really been mine.
So, yes. I have longed for them to the point of my heart breaking. I have watched out for them and cared for them and loved them to the point of my heart breaking. But I have also--and need to continue to--given them completely over to God. Today may I care for them as children that God has entrusted to me, and women who will change this world forever because of their Father, and sisters who will sojourn Home alongside me and the rest of our brothers and sisters. Today may I see them as they are: dedicated to God for life.
Sunday, February 05, 2012
The Sixth Sabbath
The love of God is greater far"The Love of God," Frederick Martin Lehman
Than tongue or pen can ever tell;
It goes beyond the highest star,
And reaches to the lowest hell;
The guilty pair, bowed down with care,
God gave His Son to win;
His erring child He reconciled,
And pardoned from his sin.
Oh, love of God, how rich and pure!
How measureless and strong!
It shall forevermore endure—
The saints’ and angels’ song.
When years of time shall pass away,
And earthly thrones and kingdoms fall,
When men who here refuse to pray,
On rocks and hills and mountains call,
God’s love so sure, shall still endure,
All measureless and strong;
Redeeming grace to Adam’s race—
The saints’ and angels’ song.
Could we with ink the ocean fill,
And were the skies of parchment made,
Were every stalk on earth a quill,
And every man a scribe by trade;
To write the love of God above
Would drain the ocean dry;
Nor could the scroll contain the whole,
Though stretched from sky to sky.
Book Three
The Meaning of Matthew: My Son's Murder in Laramie, and a World Transformed
Judy Shepard
Every once in a while, a film will come along that sticks with me. It settles into my brain and sort of just grabs hold in a way that I know I'll never be the same. I've been changed by what I've seen. "Martha Marcy Mae Marlene" comes to mind as the most recent. There's also "Who is Julia?," "Doubt," and "In the Mouth of Madness," to name a few.
More rarely, a book will have that same power. I immediately think of Nobody's Fault by Patricia Hermes, Before I Fall by Lauren Oliver, and Columbine by Dave Cullen. When I first read them, and still now years after, I feel haunted by them. The Meaning of Matthew is one of those books. I remember so vividly the day in October 1998 when I first heard that Matthew had been attacked and tied to a fence and left to die. I remember feeling personally violated at the thought that people could be so heartless and hateful. It made no sense to me. To be honest, it still doesn't.
Judy Shepard, Matt's mom, wrote this book ten years after the murder of her son, and it still makes no sense--to anyone. But, like so many people caught in tragic situations, she has decided to make the world different, make sense of the world, instead of the tragedy. The honesty with which Judy writes is moving. She doesn't paint Matt with an angelic brush and even calls out the media and others who have.
This book is important for everyone to read--whether you think you've made up your mind about homosexuality, whether you are facing it yourself or struggling with a family member who is, or whether you think none of it will ever affect you. It will. It does, in ways that may surprise you. Take a minute to learn what you can about yourself, about the people you know, and about the world in which we live. It's never okay to hate. It's not enough to tolerate. As Dennis, Matthew's father, stated in his victim impact statement at the sentencing of one of the murderers, "Love, respect, and compassion for everyone is why we are here today...loving one another doesn't mean that we have to compromise our beliefs; it simply means that we choose to be compassionate and respectful of others."
Judy Shepard
Every once in a while, a film will come along that sticks with me. It settles into my brain and sort of just grabs hold in a way that I know I'll never be the same. I've been changed by what I've seen. "Martha Marcy Mae Marlene" comes to mind as the most recent. There's also "Who is Julia?," "Doubt," and "In the Mouth of Madness," to name a few.
More rarely, a book will have that same power. I immediately think of Nobody's Fault by Patricia Hermes, Before I Fall by Lauren Oliver, and Columbine by Dave Cullen. When I first read them, and still now years after, I feel haunted by them. The Meaning of Matthew is one of those books. I remember so vividly the day in October 1998 when I first heard that Matthew had been attacked and tied to a fence and left to die. I remember feeling personally violated at the thought that people could be so heartless and hateful. It made no sense to me. To be honest, it still doesn't.
Judy Shepard, Matt's mom, wrote this book ten years after the murder of her son, and it still makes no sense--to anyone. But, like so many people caught in tragic situations, she has decided to make the world different, make sense of the world, instead of the tragedy. The honesty with which Judy writes is moving. She doesn't paint Matt with an angelic brush and even calls out the media and others who have.
This book is important for everyone to read--whether you think you've made up your mind about homosexuality, whether you are facing it yourself or struggling with a family member who is, or whether you think none of it will ever affect you. It will. It does, in ways that may surprise you. Take a minute to learn what you can about yourself, about the people you know, and about the world in which we live. It's never okay to hate. It's not enough to tolerate. As Dennis, Matthew's father, stated in his victim impact statement at the sentencing of one of the murderers, "Love, respect, and compassion for everyone is why we are here today...loving one another doesn't mean that we have to compromise our beliefs; it simply means that we choose to be compassionate and respectful of others."
Thursday, February 02, 2012
Sticks, Stones, and Words
I sing on the worship team at my church. Since I love to worship and sing worship songs, and I'm generally a confident singer (as long as I have a group to sing with), it's something that I truly enjoy. We always have practice on the Wednesday before our assigned week and then get together at 8:00 on Sunday morning for a final practice.
Last week at Wednesday's practice, we had an unexpected visitor. There is a man in our neighborhood who is an alcoholic. When I say that he is a falling-down drunk, that's actually an exact representation of what he appears to be. Often a walk through the neighborhood--or simply a glance out the window--will find him stumbling down the street or through the church parking lot. He's even been known to lie down--or fall and not get up--alongside the road.
To say that's all John is, though, is a gross understatement. John is a man, a son, a brother, a friend. He knows more about the Bible than several years through it will get me, and he's a gifted song writer. He can commit Scripture to memory, turn it into song, and sing it in his Bob Dylan-esque voice with ease and style. He can elicit tears with his songs. And he has taught me so much about grace and about who I am. He is a man who struggles in a prison that refuses to turn him loose.
When he's drinking, he also has no filter.
Wednesday night at practice, we were running through "Amazing Grace (My Chains are Gone)." Because we were going to be singing it while the elders were passing the bread during Communion, we were praticing it in a contemplative fashion. That's how we ran through it the first time. Then John came in. Then we ran through the song again. I couldn't help myself. I thought about the message of the song, about chains being gone, about God calling us and then being forever ours, about John. I sang it out. I worshipped God, and I interceded for John.
When we were done, John said, "You? Becky, is it? You should be less shrill next time. Sing some harmonies or something, but you need to be less shrill." There's humility for you.
Julie, the worship leader and a close friend of mine, immediately came to my defense. She said, "Beka, you aren't shrill. You were just singing it out. And besides, I haven't adjusted the levels. You sounded great. Don't worry about it."
My immediate thought was, "The guy's drunk. Like I'm going to let someone who is drunk steal my joy." And I truly wasn't worried about it or impacted by what he said. I mean, surely I know who I am and that God has gifted me. I'm secure enough in the role I play.
Afterwards, when Julie and I talked about it, she told me that she had so quickly jumped with affirmation because she remembered some of the things I have shared with her in the past about what people have said about my singing. I'm too loud. I'm too sharp. I'm too flat. I'm unable to hold a key. I don't have a solo voice. I should practice more or stick to just passing out the song books. When she was growing up, she also heard that she couldn't hold a key, and our combined "inabilities" made us nervous about the acapella verse we sang Sunday morning. Maybe it was Ruth and Bob, or maybe it was just the Holy Spirit, or maybe we've learned how to hold a key, but we did well on that verse. It didn't stop me from being VERY CAREFUL through that whole verse, though. Because the truth is that I can't hold a key, right? That I'm shrill.
As young children we used to sing, "Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me." Who were we kidding? Were we trying to convince ourselves not to care so much? Because that little line couldn't be further from the truth. The wounds from sticks and stones fade with time. Broken bones heal. But words? They stick with you. They make you very careful. They make you cry, even 25 years later. They make you scared.
Think about that today. What words are you saying today that are reinforcing what someone already "knows" about themselves? What words are you saying that confirm their weaknesses--or at least the weaknesses others have assigned to them? What words are you saying that are instilling fear or creating pain? Let's use our words to extend grace and healing and peace. To remove fear. To encourage. To affirm. Maybe those words will last, too.
Last week at Wednesday's practice, we had an unexpected visitor. There is a man in our neighborhood who is an alcoholic. When I say that he is a falling-down drunk, that's actually an exact representation of what he appears to be. Often a walk through the neighborhood--or simply a glance out the window--will find him stumbling down the street or through the church parking lot. He's even been known to lie down--or fall and not get up--alongside the road.
To say that's all John is, though, is a gross understatement. John is a man, a son, a brother, a friend. He knows more about the Bible than several years through it will get me, and he's a gifted song writer. He can commit Scripture to memory, turn it into song, and sing it in his Bob Dylan-esque voice with ease and style. He can elicit tears with his songs. And he has taught me so much about grace and about who I am. He is a man who struggles in a prison that refuses to turn him loose.
When he's drinking, he also has no filter.
Wednesday night at practice, we were running through "Amazing Grace (My Chains are Gone)." Because we were going to be singing it while the elders were passing the bread during Communion, we were praticing it in a contemplative fashion. That's how we ran through it the first time. Then John came in. Then we ran through the song again. I couldn't help myself. I thought about the message of the song, about chains being gone, about God calling us and then being forever ours, about John. I sang it out. I worshipped God, and I interceded for John.
When we were done, John said, "You? Becky, is it? You should be less shrill next time. Sing some harmonies or something, but you need to be less shrill." There's humility for you.
Julie, the worship leader and a close friend of mine, immediately came to my defense. She said, "Beka, you aren't shrill. You were just singing it out. And besides, I haven't adjusted the levels. You sounded great. Don't worry about it."
My immediate thought was, "The guy's drunk. Like I'm going to let someone who is drunk steal my joy." And I truly wasn't worried about it or impacted by what he said. I mean, surely I know who I am and that God has gifted me. I'm secure enough in the role I play.
Afterwards, when Julie and I talked about it, she told me that she had so quickly jumped with affirmation because she remembered some of the things I have shared with her in the past about what people have said about my singing. I'm too loud. I'm too sharp. I'm too flat. I'm unable to hold a key. I don't have a solo voice. I should practice more or stick to just passing out the song books. When she was growing up, she also heard that she couldn't hold a key, and our combined "inabilities" made us nervous about the acapella verse we sang Sunday morning. Maybe it was Ruth and Bob, or maybe it was just the Holy Spirit, or maybe we've learned how to hold a key, but we did well on that verse. It didn't stop me from being VERY CAREFUL through that whole verse, though. Because the truth is that I can't hold a key, right? That I'm shrill.
As young children we used to sing, "Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me." Who were we kidding? Were we trying to convince ourselves not to care so much? Because that little line couldn't be further from the truth. The wounds from sticks and stones fade with time. Broken bones heal. But words? They stick with you. They make you very careful. They make you cry, even 25 years later. They make you scared.
Think about that today. What words are you saying today that are reinforcing what someone already "knows" about themselves? What words are you saying that confirm their weaknesses--or at least the weaknesses others have assigned to them? What words are you saying that are instilling fear or creating pain? Let's use our words to extend grace and healing and peace. To remove fear. To encourage. To affirm. Maybe those words will last, too.
Wednesday, February 01, 2012
I Want to Be One of Them
As I've been delving into Scripture more over the past month, the KINGDOM reading plan has be spending a good amount of time in the Old Testament. Like most 21st century Christians, I typically make most of my personal focus on the New Testament, so this has been a good shift for me.
The stories of Noah, Abraham, Isaac, Samson, Joshua, and Ruth are so familiar to me--they're the stories I grew up listening to in Sunday School. Because I know them so well, when my almost-four-year-old comes home from Sunday School and tells me in her scattered way about a few highlights (and some random facts) that she learned at church that morning, I can usually guess the person if not the story as well. It's good to have that familiarity. But, like one of the boys in the Sunday School class I teach has said, it can also be bad. It loses something.
By spending every morning with this familiar friends over the past 26 days, I have been reminded of something. They're family. It's really like reading the Christmas letters I so enjoy every year. This is their year--their life--in review. Whether it's the highlights, like God saving Noah's family in the ark or Samson beating up on the Philistines so many times or Ruth's devotion to Naomi, or the lowlights, like Jacob stealing Esau's birthright and blessing or Lot's wife turning into a pillar of salt or the many times the Israelites worshipped idols, it's them. It's truth. And it's family.
I listened to some great Christian music (rare for me) on the way home from Muskegon last night. One of the songs that came on was "When the Saints" by Sara Groves. It's such an amazing song, because it highlights people from the Bible and the saints of our times--Jim Elliot, Mother Theresa--and then she says, "When the saints go marching in, I want to be one of them."
I do. Whether it's the highlights of my life or the lowlights, I want to see what God has done in my life and is doing in my life, and I want to walk with Him. I want to walk with them into His kingdom. I want to arrive Home and greet my Father and our family including myself among my brothers and sisters throughout the ages. It's an amazing thought to consider. I'm not walking this alone. God walked here before me in the flesh of Jesus. But there was also David and Jacob and Joseph and Paul and Silas and Jim and Theresa and so many others. We'll make it, because they did.
The stories of Noah, Abraham, Isaac, Samson, Joshua, and Ruth are so familiar to me--they're the stories I grew up listening to in Sunday School. Because I know them so well, when my almost-four-year-old comes home from Sunday School and tells me in her scattered way about a few highlights (and some random facts) that she learned at church that morning, I can usually guess the person if not the story as well. It's good to have that familiarity. But, like one of the boys in the Sunday School class I teach has said, it can also be bad. It loses something.
By spending every morning with this familiar friends over the past 26 days, I have been reminded of something. They're family. It's really like reading the Christmas letters I so enjoy every year. This is their year--their life--in review. Whether it's the highlights, like God saving Noah's family in the ark or Samson beating up on the Philistines so many times or Ruth's devotion to Naomi, or the lowlights, like Jacob stealing Esau's birthright and blessing or Lot's wife turning into a pillar of salt or the many times the Israelites worshipped idols, it's them. It's truth. And it's family.
I listened to some great Christian music (rare for me) on the way home from Muskegon last night. One of the songs that came on was "When the Saints" by Sara Groves. It's such an amazing song, because it highlights people from the Bible and the saints of our times--Jim Elliot, Mother Theresa--and then she says, "When the saints go marching in, I want to be one of them."
I do. Whether it's the highlights of my life or the lowlights, I want to see what God has done in my life and is doing in my life, and I want to walk with Him. I want to walk with them into His kingdom. I want to arrive Home and greet my Father and our family including myself among my brothers and sisters throughout the ages. It's an amazing thought to consider. I'm not walking this alone. God walked here before me in the flesh of Jesus. But there was also David and Jacob and Joseph and Paul and Silas and Jim and Theresa and so many others. We'll make it, because they did.
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