The Thirty-first Sabbath - Taking Our Turn

Yesterday in church, our pastor shared an email from one of our members who is currently in Thailand, visiting her son and daughter-in-law and grandchildren.  She wrote about the church service she had attended that morning--along with Christians from 40+ other countries.  And then she said something like, "As we worshiped God, I thought about the sun rising around the world, calling God's people to gather and worship Him--brothers and sisters in India, children in Africa, and you there.  Just as the sun's light spills across the earth, we gather, hour by hour, to give Him glory.  May He be with you as you take your turn."

I loved that.  "As you take your turn."  I did that yesterday, and it was a lovely service--begun in worship with friends and ended with blueberry cobbler shared with old friends and new friends.  And all day long, this song fluttered through my brain:

It's the song of the redeemed
Rising from the African plain
It's the song of the forgiven
Drowning out the Amazon rain
The song of Asian believers
Filled with God's holy fire
It's every tribe, every tongue, every nation
A love song born of a grateful choir

It's all God's children singing
Glory, glory, hallelujah
He reigns, He reigns
It's all God's children singing
Glory, glory, hallelujah
He reigns, He reigns

Let it rise about the four winds
Caught up in the heavenly sound
Let praises echo from the towers of cathedrals
To the faithful gathered underground
Of all the songs sung from the dawn of creation
Some were meant to persist
Of all the bells rung from a thousand steeples
None rings truer than this
And all the powers of darkness
Tremble at what they've just heard
'Cause all the powers of darkness
Can't drown out a single word

When all God's children sing out
Glory, glory, hallelujah
He reigns, He reigns
All God's people singing
Glory, glory, hallelujah
He reigns, He reigns

"He Reigns," by Newsboys

Book Fifteen

You Don't Look Like Anyone I Know: A true story of family, face blindness, and forgiveness
Heather Sellers

In Sellers's memoir, she recounts her childhood (living with a mother she later determined was paranoid schizophrenic and chasing after her mostly-absentee father who was a cross-dressing alcoholic) while intermittently describing her self discovery of her own prosopagnosia.  Late in the book, in the Afterward, in fact, Sellers writes that when she had shared stories of her childhood in the past, professional writers had told her that it was "unbelievable" and "unsurvivable."  There are moments that surely feel that way.

In truth, because most of us suffer from the inability to remember names of our acquaintances, it's easy to feel that her chapters on prosopagnosia--or face blindness--are just as unbelievable.  I appreciated the mix of anecdotal information (such as the golden retriever test--you may have had your dog for years, but if we put pictures of his face in a line up of 20 other golden retrievers, could you pick yours out?) along with scientific information about how the brain recognizes faces and identifies them and their characteristics. 

Sellers is a professor of English at a local college.  She is a good writer, and I think the book is well organized.  I appreciated her transitions between her (truly unbelievable!) childhood and its impacts on her realizations about who she is as an adult and her willingness to believe the truth about her condition.  Childhood is a confusing time and, even under normal conditions, our recollections about it color so much about our adulthoods.  When a brain disorder factors into that, it becomes even more difficult to see the truth and grow in that truth.  There are more things to ask forgiveness for and to offer forgiveness for.  But, at the end of the day, the forgiveness is worth it.

While You Don't Look Like Anyone I Know is a fascinating story about Heather Sellers's reality, it is also an important lesson for all of us.  It's a reminder to extend grace, because you never know what burdens others are carrying.  It's a reminder to give others permission to be real, even when their authenticity is scary or painful.  It's also a reminder to believe in each other, even when the truth seems unbelievable. 

Someone once asked me, after hearing me talk about my relationship with my grandmother, "Why do you even love her?" 

I remember looking at that person like she was crazy and saying, "Because she's my grandma."

I thought about that a lot while reading this book.  And I was glad to hear Sellers say that at the end of the day, while laying out her story and recalling her childhood and her journey into accepting her face blindness, she could see that throughout her life there had been love.  There had been love for her mother and her father and love from them for her.  She concludes: "I'd set out to write a book about how we learn to trust our own experience in the face of confusion, doubt, and anxiety.  What I ended up with is the story of how we love each other in spite of immense limitations."  (p354) Amen.  Sellers reminded me of that as well.

Hope, Despair, and The Dark Knight Rises on the night after the shootings

Hope is a funny thing.  So is seeing a movie the night after a horrific shooting at its premiere.

Obviously we are half a country away from Aurora, CO.  We're not in the suburb of a major city.  And we were safe, because we were at the movies.  And nothing bad happens at the movie theater, right?  Especially in West Michigan.

Still, we had a plan.  We knew how we were getting out of the theater if there was a fire (thanks for the plan, Leah.  And Steve offered to be last.).  We also knew that if someone came into the theater and started shooting we were not going to run.  We were going to drop to the ground and hide under our seats.  (Once in the theater we weren't sure how that would work since there isn't really a lot of room under those seats.  Especially once we were all tucked under them.  We would have made it work.)  I said my "I love yous" to my family and was glad that my husband was home with my girls, just in case.

As horrific as the shooting was to read about, and as many tears as I shed for those who sent their kids or spouses or parents to a midnight movie only to have them never return home, it still felt surreal.  I still felt completely safe watching The Dark Knight Rises at 10:30 p.m. the night after the shooting.  Sure, I had my "just in case" plans in place, but I never really thought anything would happen.

Until the movie started, and I kept checking the Exit doors.  And during the first shooting scene, when it's reported that the gunfire began in Theater 9 in Aurora, and I closed my eyes against the tears that tried to fall.  And then, when that guy tripped walking up the aisle and there was a loud thud and every single person in the theater began murmuring, and adrenaline began pumping through my veins and I thought about throwing myself on top of Leah and Amy to protect them.  I can honestly say that I have never had a movie experience like that one.

This morning, after my husband let me sleep in, and I sat reading Entertainment Weekly's review of The Dark Knight Rises, I noticed a quote that struck me as ironic.  Not the funny kind of irony, but the eerie kind that makes you think there's something deeper within certain events.  They quoted Bane, the film's villain, as saying, "There can be no true despair without hope."

Hope.  In the midst of the shooting in Aurora and the reminder it immediately brings of the shootings at Columbine, there is still that word: hope.

But there's also the ironic fact that what Holmes stole from moviegoers throughout the country--maybe even the world--is the hope that at a movie theater we can escape our lives for a while.  The hope that we can be safe.  That senseless shootings happen only on the big screen.  That spiraling downward into the darkness of despair is reserved for fictional characters.  Until the characters come off the screen and erase all of that hope with one pull of the trigger.

Bane's belief is shared by all who embrace chaos and terrorism: There can be no true despair without hope.  Without hope, the chaos is expected.  Safety is a dream, so senseless shootings aren't the nightmare.  But when hope creeps in, when I can believe for one second that there might be peace, then Bane, the Joker, shootings at the movies--they are true horror.

I didn't stay home from the movie theater last night, and I won't do so in the future.  I refuse to let someone who wants to destroy my hope dictate my life.  Because I believe something else about hope.  I believe that while it is true that there can be no true despair without hope, the opposite is also true. 

There can be no true peace or joy without hope.

Maybe just call me Robin.

Cheating People

This morning, in the coolness of my bedroom (okay, it was probably about 80 degrees--but that's cool if you'd entered the room the night before at about 95), I read Acts 13 in The Message.  I've always enjoyed Eugene Peterson's translation as I find him to be sassy, honest, and practical.  This particular section is referred to as "Barnabas, Saul, and Doctor Know-It-All."  (See what I mean about sassy?  You should check out Job!)

As I was reading, I was struck especially by the section for verses 7-11:

The governor invited Barnabas and Saul in, wanting to hear God's Word firsthand from them. But Dr. Know-It-All (that's the wizard's name in plain English) stirred up a ruckus, trying to divert the governor from becoming a believer. But Saul (or Paul), full of the Holy Spirit and looking him straight in the eye, said, "You bag of wind, you parody of a devil—why, you stay up nights inventing schemes to cheat people out of God. But now you've come up against God himself, and your game is up. You're about to go blind—no sunlight for you for a good long stretch." He was plunged immediately into a shadowy mist and stumbled around, begging people to take his hand and show him the way.

Those italics there are mine, because that's the part that jumped out at me.  "Why, you stay up nights inventing schemes to cheat people out of God."  Wow.  Now, this "Dr. Know-It-All" was a wizard.  He truly did spend his time trying to distract people from the Gospel message that Paul and Barnabas were trying to share.  And he paid for it dearly, with his sight.

But that really got me thinking--about me.  I'm certainly not a wizard (no amount of waiting has resulted in the delivery of my acceptance letter for Hogwarts), but I can tend toward being a Know-It-All.  I have the answers or I have the challenge to what people want to do.  And, I don't stay up nights inventing schemes.  I tend to stay up nights praying for a breeze so I can actually fall asleep.  But do I still cheat people out of God?  Can someone who loves God and has every good intention to serve Him do that?

Wouldn't that be a horrible message for a Christian to receive?  "Why, you . . . cheat people out of God."  Ugh.

But, if I'm not living as He called me to--if I'm not loving my neighbors, if I'm ignoring their needs, if I'm not participating in my church's work, if I don't have time to listen to a friend's heart, if I say I'll pray and don't, if I'm stingy with the resources God has entrusted to me, if I'm too paralyzed by fear to step out in faith to do what I know He has for me . . . am I cheating people out of God?  Because, really, if we're whom He has left on earth to do His work, to be Jesus to the people we meet, then if we aren't doing that are we any better than Dr. Know-It-All?

The Twenty-ninth Sabbath

This is my Father's world,
and to my listening ears
all nature sings, and round me rings
the music of the spheres.
This is my Father's world:
I rest me in the thought
of rocks and trees, of skies and seas;
his hand the wonders wrought.

This is my Father's world,
the birds their carols raise,
the morning light, the lily white,
declare their maker's praise.
This is my Father's world:
he shines in all that's fair;
in the rustling grass I hear him pass;
he speaks to me everywhere.

This is my Father's world.
O let me ne'er forget
that though the wrong seems oft so strong,
God is the ruler yet.
This is my Father's world:
why should my heart be sad?
The Lord is King; let the heavens ring!
God reigns; let the earth be glad!

"This Is My Father's World," by Maltbie D. Babcock

Breaking the Silence

This may be the longest break I've taken from blogging since 2012 and my new goals began.  Now that we're (more than--how did that happen!?) half way through the year, it's worth an update.  Or at least a post.

Summer makes life hard, doesn't it?  For some reason I always think the break from school will mean a break from the busyness, and that's never the case.  This summer has brought with it intolerable (for most of us anyway) heat.  That has led to me not sleeping at night, which has led to me not waking up at 5:00 a.m. to go to the gym and come home and read my Bible.  Which leads to most of my goals not being met.

My girlies and I just returned from a two-week vacation at my parents' cottage where we (thankfully!) had air conditioning to make it through the hottest temps in decades or even centuries.  We brought back with us suntans, certificates from passing to a new level of swimming lessons, a renewed commitment to achieving our goals, and a serious head cold.  Which again means I'm not sleeping, not working out, and . . . not eating!  I have no appetite, so this has been a great time to force myself into more salads and fruits.  After all, if I don't feel like eating but I know I need to eat, I might as well make it healthy, right?  So now I've lost 2 1/2 pounds since I returned home.  I'll take it!

On vacation, I also rediscovered the blog of a friend of a friend who has now lost two unborn babies.  They had the funeral for their second daughter two months ago.  Since I had the time, I read through all of her blog posts from her miscarriage of their first daughter, Eden.  What a beautiful gift for this mama who still grieves her baby Zion.  You'll find updates for them in my blog roll (Sprinkles & Wrinkles).  If you've ever lost a baby, or even if you haven't, she is an amazing writer who truly captures joy and peace in the midst of grief.

Then, at the end of vacation, my family learned that an old friend of our family's--and a former babysitter whom my sister bit :D--was just diagnosed with breast cancer.  I added her blog (Stacey's Boobies) today and will stay updated for prayer and the self-discovery and learning that inevitably comes with reading about someone's journey through the valley.

There were also happy times:
* The girls and I took my dad to see "Brave" at the movie theater.  They didn't like the scary bears, but we all agreed that mommy can be a bear sometimes but that doesn't mean mommy doesn't love them fiercely too.
* My friend Shannon and I went to see two movies: "Rock of Ages" and "Magic Mike."  The acting was terrible in "Magic Mike," and they were both cheesy comedies, which I think only one meant to be.  I'd recommend one over the other.  I'm sure you can guess which.
* I went to see "People Like Us," which I have been waiting for since filming began and it was still known as "Welcome to People."  I'm a huge Chris Pine fan, and he did a great job.  Michelle Pfeiffer was also splendid, and I appreciate that she looks her age.  I liked it far more than most of the reviews suggest I should.
* I learned that the son of a former classmate of my parents (at Kalamazoo Christian High School) will be representing the USA in steeplechase at the London Olympics in a couple of weeks.  Go USA and go Evan Jager!  (Now I guess I need to find out when steeplechase will be run . . . and dove and leaped and all the other things it is.)
* I discovered Words with Friends.  Which is probably why I haven't blogged at all.
* I read several books and made it through 1 1/2 grocery bags worth of old magazines.  Yes, I recycled them all.
* I had the opportunity to get almost caught up in my Bible reading.  Job in The Message is fantastically sassy and well-written.  And Jeremiah might be crazy.  Or at least long winded.

It was a great vacation, but I'm glad to be home, even with this cold.  Now that I'm back, I'll try to be better.  Or at least make an effort.

The Twenty-seventh Sabbath

I'm not in church (proper) again this Sabbath.  I was raised in church and going to church and playing church and never taking a Sunday off of church.  We even went to church when we were on vacation.  As I've grown older, I find myself taking a few Sundays off here and there.  Maybe I'm learning that breaks (Sabbath rests?) are important here and there.  Maybe I understand that 90 degrees is too hot for an outdoor chapel, and it feels silly to drive back to town to go to an air conditioned church.  Maybe I'm justifying.

Whatever the reason, today finds me in my third Sunday off in 2012.  My kids and my husband are at church today, and I'm at the cottage.  So I have spent this Sabbath sleeping in, eating an unhealthy (but lifelong favorite) breakfast, finishing a book, blogging, catching up on Facebook, catching up on my Bible reading, and reading friends' blogs from the past few days.  In a bit I'll go for a ride as I wait for my family to arrive.

So, instead of a hymn today, I'll share two blog posts I read today that have served as my sermon for today.  I know I'll ponder them throughout the day and coming week, and I hope that they serve to change my way of thinking--and acting--for the rest of my life.  Just like any other good sermon.

My friend Amy, writes for her therapy.  Today, she issues a reminder to trust in God.  To leave things--worries, our days--in His hands.

A friend from high school wrote a heart-wrenching post on her blog.  She's a gifted writer, and here, she takes this mother's heart into a moment no parent should have to endure but too many do.  By doing that, she reminds us to keep our eyes on our children even while we are trusting God to have them desperately and securely held in His grip.

Be blessed on this Sabbath--whether you are keeping it in church or in reflection on the amazing gifts you have received from your Abba.

Book Fourteen

A Monster Calls
by Patrick Ness, inspired by an idea from Siobhan Dowd

I should start by acknowledging that I didn't love this book . . . until the very end.  Given the rough time I had getting into the book but how deeply affected I was by the ending, I'm having a hard time deciding how to rate it.  I think I'm going to go with four stars just beause the premise was so great, and the ending really sealed it.

Grief is a common theme in life.  Since every day, we--and the people we love--are dying just a bit, life truly has more loss than anything else.  Sometimes that loss is "easy" and sometimes it is so painful that it is hell itself. 

A Monster Calls was written by Patrick Ness based on an idea that Siobhan Dowd had as she was dying of cancer.  She didn't have a chance to finish her book, so Ness took all of her ideas and crafted his own work.  Obviously we don't have the characters and ideas that Dowd developed, nor do we know how much of this story is Ness's creation.  What we do know is that perhaps no one knows the realities of dying and saying goodbye better than someone who is in its midst.  Ness took those ideas and somehow adopted those feelings and realities, and he created a stark and beautiful portrait of a young boy learning how to say goodbye to his mom. 

The other truth about grief is that it is contradictory.  In reality, so is life.  As Ness says toward the end of the tale: "The answer is that it does not matter what you think . . . your mind will contradict itself a hundred times each day.  Your mind will believe comforting lies while also knowing the painful truths that make those lies necessary."  (p191) Isn't that the way?  Isn't that the truth about pain and loss and saying goodbye?  Our minds protect us so well, but then they let us down in the end.  Because the truth is what is, even when it doesn't make sense.