The Next Chapter
by Bryn Jones
Bryn Jones started following me on Twitter, so I started following him back and checking out some of the books he's written. All are available on Kindle, generally for quite an affordable price. The Next Chapter is the third and first full-length story of his that I've read.
The premise, as stated in the Amazon summary, is that an author who has recently endured a family tragedy has become embroiled in a kidnapping and probable murder of a young girl. The kidnapper forces Sal to write the next chapter, ultimately ending (the kidnapper hopes) in murder. At the same time, a police officer, fresh from tragic events of his own, is slowly tying the kidnapping to kidnappings from decades earlier--as the bodies of those young women begin appearing, staged to match Sal's novels.
Jones writes Christian fiction in a subtle way. His books are certainly not "Amish fiction," nor are they pretty and all tied up in the end. While some of them have allegorical elements, most seem to match the every-day struggles many Christians face as they try to live out faith in a world that poses more questions than answers. The Next Chapter is certainly one of these. And, while some portions felt trite or "neat" or a bit far fetched, I think Jones wrote a clever story with a fast pace and characters for whom I wanted to root.
Friday, December 28, 2012
Book Nineteen
Crooked Letter, Crooked Letter
by Tom Franklin
In Crooked Letter, Crooked Letter, Franklin writes with what can only be the authenticity of someone who grew up in the south and, in spite of its complicated history and equally-complicated present, loves that land. While Crooked Letter, Crooked Letter is, on one level a mystery, on a much deeper level, I feel like it is a love letter to the complexity of growing up in the racially-tense south.
Where Silas (a black boy) and Larry (a white boy) and Cindy (a white girl) interact as children and again as adults, Franklin's prose carefully details a world where right isn't always right and wrong is certainly just as hard to understand. This is a novel of mistakes and consequences and hatred and love and friendship and family and redemption. It was a quick read, and I loved every word of it.
by Tom Franklin
In Crooked Letter, Crooked Letter, Franklin writes with what can only be the authenticity of someone who grew up in the south and, in spite of its complicated history and equally-complicated present, loves that land. While Crooked Letter, Crooked Letter is, on one level a mystery, on a much deeper level, I feel like it is a love letter to the complexity of growing up in the racially-tense south.
Where Silas (a black boy) and Larry (a white boy) and Cindy (a white girl) interact as children and again as adults, Franklin's prose carefully details a world where right isn't always right and wrong is certainly just as hard to understand. This is a novel of mistakes and consequences and hatred and love and friendship and family and redemption. It was a quick read, and I loved every word of it.
Friday, December 14, 2012
In Response to Another Tragedy
On my way home from picking my daughter up from school this afternoon, I felt compelled to sit down when I got home and put some thoughts on paper. As I opened my computer, I came across something a friend had posted on his Facebook page. I have to say, Max really got it right with "A Christmas Prayer." It sort of took away everything that I even dreamed of writing. Because I just didn't think I could add anything.
So I was going to write, "What he said." I know some people who read this don't read Facebook links to articles that people post. I hope you'll read this one. Because he's dead on. We need Jesus to be born anew in us this Christmas. Our world is in desperate straights and needs Him.
But then I thought a bit more about it. I thought about how as I was watching the news this afternoon, while my little ones napped for the first time all week and my oldest was safe in her classroom in a community very similar to Sandy Hook, CT, my chest hurt, and I couldn't breathe well. I thought about how it felt like September 11, 2001, all over again. I thought about how the only thing I wanted was to hold my girls in my arms every day for the rest of my life. And I thought about how when my daughter was in Kindergarten two years ago, there were only 21 kids in her class. That would have left three survivors. And then I thought about the survivors in that Kindergarten class at Sandy Hook Elementary and wondered if they could really be called survivors. And I thought about that mom and how it felt to see her son walk into the classroom and open fire on her and the little ones in her care. I hope she didn't see him. I hope he caught her with her back turned.
So, in light of all of that, I wanted to share something after all. I wanted to beg, along with the Church and children of God way back in the time of Isaiah, God for something. Father God, send our salvation. Rescue us. Bring us Home.
And I'll conclude as Max Lucado did. Because it seems most fitting as long as we travel through this world.
Hopefully . . .
So I was going to write, "What he said." I know some people who read this don't read Facebook links to articles that people post. I hope you'll read this one. Because he's dead on. We need Jesus to be born anew in us this Christmas. Our world is in desperate straights and needs Him.
But then I thought a bit more about it. I thought about how as I was watching the news this afternoon, while my little ones napped for the first time all week and my oldest was safe in her classroom in a community very similar to Sandy Hook, CT, my chest hurt, and I couldn't breathe well. I thought about how it felt like September 11, 2001, all over again. I thought about how the only thing I wanted was to hold my girls in my arms every day for the rest of my life. And I thought about how when my daughter was in Kindergarten two years ago, there were only 21 kids in her class. That would have left three survivors. And then I thought about the survivors in that Kindergarten class at Sandy Hook Elementary and wondered if they could really be called survivors. And I thought about that mom and how it felt to see her son walk into the classroom and open fire on her and the little ones in her care. I hope she didn't see him. I hope he caught her with her back turned.
So, in light of all of that, I wanted to share something after all. I wanted to beg, along with the Church and children of God way back in the time of Isaiah, God for something. Father God, send our salvation. Rescue us. Bring us Home.
Come, Thou long expected Jesus"Come, Thou Long-Expected Jesus" by Charles Wesley (arranged by Chris Tomlin)
Born to set Thy people free
From our fears and sins release us
Let us find our rest in Thee
Israel's strength and consolation
Hope of all the earth Thou art
Dear desire of every nation
Joy of every longing heart
Born Thy people to deliver
Born a child and yet a king
Born to reign in us forever
Now Thy gracious kingdom bring
By Thine own eternal Spirit
Rule in all our hearts alone
By Thine own sufficient merit
Raise us to Thy glorious throne
By Thine own sufficient merit
Raise us to Thy glorious throne
And I'll conclude as Max Lucado did. Because it seems most fitting as long as we travel through this world.
Hopefully . . .
Monday, November 26, 2012
Overexposed
This is me. Baring my soul. It's easier to do when I'm sitting at Starbucks and you're wherever you are, and I don't need to look at you.
For a while now I have been thinking about writing this. Many of my friends have heard me share bits and pieces, and they take it with varying degrees of acceptance, humor, and belief. I love them anyway. Because it's weird. Like face blindness and other randommental disorders diseases conditions, a lot of people don't think I'm telling the truth or think it's just an excuse or something everyone lives with.
Here's my reality: It hurts to cut my toenails. I can't wear nylons. When headlights shine in my eyes when I'm driving at night, I want to hit something. I don't like the taste of the candy coating on brown M&Ms. When my kids are poking me and people are whispering and the overhead light is flickering and someone behind me is tapping his foot and my necklace is laying wrong on my neck, I feel like someone is inside me clawing to get out. I have a sensory processing disorder.
Most of my life was spent in the dark about it. I thought I was just sensitive. My parents thought I was just being dramatic. People saw me and thought I was fine, but I knew that I wanted to run and hide. Or hit someone. Or throw up. Or just sit down and cry.
Several years ago, my husband bought a book for me. It is called Too Loud, Too Bright, Too Fast, Too Tight. He bought it for me because he loves me and because he thought it sounded exactly like me. I read it. And I cried. For the first time, I discovered that it was real, that I was real. That I could trust what I was feeling. And I learned that while I couldn't cure it, I could cope with it. And I could tell people about it.
I've spent the last several years doing that. Telling people. Often it's in an apologetic way: "I'm sorry, but I can't eat that--it's too spicy for me." Sometimes it's in a defensive way: "Well, it's spicy to me." Other times it's in a pleading way: "Please. I'm overwhelmed right now. I need a break." For the most part, people are kind, and usually they want to learn more about it or say that maybe that's the same thing their nephew has. Some people even want to know how they can help. But there are others (of course there are) who say, "Yeah--those things bother me too. I just shut them out." or "Well, if you try hard enough you can get over it." or even "Right. You just always need things to be your way."
Listen, that's hurtful. I didn't choose to be this way, and I promise you that I would change it if I could. I wish I could eat spicy things or onions. It would make me feel like less of a problem. I wish I could sit in a hot tub. I wouldn't miss out on the fun or wreck other people's plans for the evening. I wish I could "tune out" the nylons or the necklace or the pretty sweater. I would be able to wear the latest fashions then. I wish I could be around my kids when they're "just being kids" and not feel overwhelmed. I would feel like a better mother.
At the same time, there are things about it that I would never give up. Did you know that Asiago Cheese Bread from D&W has so much flavor that it doesn't need butter or anything else? Do you know that the red M&Ms are actually a bit sweeter than any of the other colors? Do you recognize the smell of snow on the air days before it falls? Can you smell spring when the first thaw begins? Are you able to picture exactly where you set something down or the song that was playing the last time you were in this spot? Can you (almost always) notice when someone gets a haircut or new glasses?
When people ask me what it's like to have a sensory processing disorder, I never know what to say. I never know how to compare my response to a "normal" response, because I've never had a normal response. Everyone has days when they're overwhelmed, and Disney World puts everyone over the edge at some point in their stay. All I've ever known to say is that it's real, I have it, and I need a break.
Then I read The Lifeboat by Charlotte Rogan. Without knowing it, she gave me the words to explain--to myself and to the people around me--exactly what a sensory processing disorder does. On page 64, Grace Winter is recalling the Empress Alexandra and the passengers she met aboard. She writes about memory and refers to a scientific explanation for why memory is faulty. Then she suggests that "sometimes . . . the failure to remember is not so much a pathological tendency as a natural consequence of necessity, for at any one moment there are hundreds of things that could take a person's attention, but room for the senses to notice and process only one or two."
Ah. There you have it. That is normal. The senses notice and process only one or two of the things happening around them. But, in my "abnormal" brain, my disordered sensory processing system notices all of the hundreds and tries to process all of them at once. Then I have to shut down or explode or melt down.
It's real. And lately I've been overstimulated 99% of the time. Today I'm wearing my lightest necklace, and I still feel a bit panicky. My skin itches and my shoes feel like they're cutting off my circulation. Something burned in the kitchen at Starbucks and the coffee has been sitting in the carafe for too long. The guy next to me is wearing a cologne that doesn't suit me, and there's a drip in the sink. It would be helpful if they turned the music down and if the girls at the table over there stopped their chatting. The bathroom door needs to be oiled, and I wish the only open seat when I arrived didn't have windows on both sides of it. Oh, and to top it all off, the people waiting in line are kissing. Loudly. I'll manage--one of the open tabs on my browser will give instructions for a friend and me to make a weighted blanket to help me center again, and I found really great perfume that seems to get me back to zero--but it's a daily battle.
I nearly called this post "Living in This 'Too Loud Too Bright Too Fast Too Tight' World," but in the end I chose something even more appropriate. Overexposed--that's how my nerve endings and my brain feel every day. And that's especially how I feel now that I've shared all of this. I'm telling you it's hard to be a mom with a sensory processing disorder. It's hard when I recognize it in my middle daughter and when our responses clash. But I'm learning to cope. And I'm learning to share it with others just like I would tell them if I couldn't hear well and needed them to speak up. There's no cure for what I have, but if you'll be patient with me and if you'll believe me when I share my heart and if you'll ask me before you hug me, then maybe we'll both discover that there are so many wonderful things that my disordered brain can offer.
For a while now I have been thinking about writing this. Many of my friends have heard me share bits and pieces, and they take it with varying degrees of acceptance, humor, and belief. I love them anyway. Because it's weird. Like face blindness and other random
Here's my reality: It hurts to cut my toenails. I can't wear nylons. When headlights shine in my eyes when I'm driving at night, I want to hit something. I don't like the taste of the candy coating on brown M&Ms. When my kids are poking me and people are whispering and the overhead light is flickering and someone behind me is tapping his foot and my necklace is laying wrong on my neck, I feel like someone is inside me clawing to get out. I have a sensory processing disorder.
Most of my life was spent in the dark about it. I thought I was just sensitive. My parents thought I was just being dramatic. People saw me and thought I was fine, but I knew that I wanted to run and hide. Or hit someone. Or throw up. Or just sit down and cry.
Several years ago, my husband bought a book for me. It is called Too Loud, Too Bright, Too Fast, Too Tight. He bought it for me because he loves me and because he thought it sounded exactly like me. I read it. And I cried. For the first time, I discovered that it was real, that I was real. That I could trust what I was feeling. And I learned that while I couldn't cure it, I could cope with it. And I could tell people about it.
I've spent the last several years doing that. Telling people. Often it's in an apologetic way: "I'm sorry, but I can't eat that--it's too spicy for me." Sometimes it's in a defensive way: "Well, it's spicy to me." Other times it's in a pleading way: "Please. I'm overwhelmed right now. I need a break." For the most part, people are kind, and usually they want to learn more about it or say that maybe that's the same thing their nephew has. Some people even want to know how they can help. But there are others (of course there are) who say, "Yeah--those things bother me too. I just shut them out." or "Well, if you try hard enough you can get over it." or even "Right. You just always need things to be your way."
Listen, that's hurtful. I didn't choose to be this way, and I promise you that I would change it if I could. I wish I could eat spicy things or onions. It would make me feel like less of a problem. I wish I could sit in a hot tub. I wouldn't miss out on the fun or wreck other people's plans for the evening. I wish I could "tune out" the nylons or the necklace or the pretty sweater. I would be able to wear the latest fashions then. I wish I could be around my kids when they're "just being kids" and not feel overwhelmed. I would feel like a better mother.
At the same time, there are things about it that I would never give up. Did you know that Asiago Cheese Bread from D&W has so much flavor that it doesn't need butter or anything else? Do you know that the red M&Ms are actually a bit sweeter than any of the other colors? Do you recognize the smell of snow on the air days before it falls? Can you smell spring when the first thaw begins? Are you able to picture exactly where you set something down or the song that was playing the last time you were in this spot? Can you (almost always) notice when someone gets a haircut or new glasses?
When people ask me what it's like to have a sensory processing disorder, I never know what to say. I never know how to compare my response to a "normal" response, because I've never had a normal response. Everyone has days when they're overwhelmed, and Disney World puts everyone over the edge at some point in their stay. All I've ever known to say is that it's real, I have it, and I need a break.
Then I read The Lifeboat by Charlotte Rogan. Without knowing it, she gave me the words to explain--to myself and to the people around me--exactly what a sensory processing disorder does. On page 64, Grace Winter is recalling the Empress Alexandra and the passengers she met aboard. She writes about memory and refers to a scientific explanation for why memory is faulty. Then she suggests that "sometimes . . . the failure to remember is not so much a pathological tendency as a natural consequence of necessity, for at any one moment there are hundreds of things that could take a person's attention, but room for the senses to notice and process only one or two."
Ah. There you have it. That is normal. The senses notice and process only one or two of the things happening around them. But, in my "abnormal" brain, my disordered sensory processing system notices all of the hundreds and tries to process all of them at once. Then I have to shut down or explode or melt down.
It's real. And lately I've been overstimulated 99% of the time. Today I'm wearing my lightest necklace, and I still feel a bit panicky. My skin itches and my shoes feel like they're cutting off my circulation. Something burned in the kitchen at Starbucks and the coffee has been sitting in the carafe for too long. The guy next to me is wearing a cologne that doesn't suit me, and there's a drip in the sink. It would be helpful if they turned the music down and if the girls at the table over there stopped their chatting. The bathroom door needs to be oiled, and I wish the only open seat when I arrived didn't have windows on both sides of it. Oh, and to top it all off, the people waiting in line are kissing. Loudly. I'll manage--one of the open tabs on my browser will give instructions for a friend and me to make a weighted blanket to help me center again, and I found really great perfume that seems to get me back to zero--but it's a daily battle.
I nearly called this post "Living in This 'Too Loud Too Bright Too Fast Too Tight' World," but in the end I chose something even more appropriate. Overexposed--that's how my nerve endings and my brain feel every day. And that's especially how I feel now that I've shared all of this. I'm telling you it's hard to be a mom with a sensory processing disorder. It's hard when I recognize it in my middle daughter and when our responses clash. But I'm learning to cope. And I'm learning to share it with others just like I would tell them if I couldn't hear well and needed them to speak up. There's no cure for what I have, but if you'll be patient with me and if you'll believe me when I share my heart and if you'll ask me before you hug me, then maybe we'll both discover that there are so many wonderful things that my disordered brain can offer.
Book Eighteen
The Lifeboat
Charlotte Rogan
The premise of The Lifeboat reminds me of one of those moral dilemmas that often come out when people are around a campfire or in a car together for too long: imagine you're in a lifeboat with a priest, a doctor, a mother, and it will sink unless you get rid of one person. Whom do you choose?
While the book ends up differently than that, it does present the same underlying question: are you a murderer if you survive at the cost of other lives? Set in the summer of 1914, The Lifeboat is, in part, the diary of Grace Winter as she recalls the days following the sinking of the ocean liner upon which she and her brand new husband were passengers. Grace finds herself in a lifeboat along with 38 other passengers. It quickly becomes clear that the boat, while "built for 40" was in fact not meant to hold more than 30 or so people. As she writes from a prison cell where she awaits her trial and verdict for murdering one of the passengers, she recounts the storms, power struggles, lives, and deaths of the others aboard the small vessel.
Interspersed with these chapters, the reader learns about Grace's husband and their elopement to London and a bit about Grace's life before that. Beyond that background knowledge about Grace, Charlotte Rogan does not give the reader any insight--beyond gossip shared by the other passengers--into the lives of the others hoping for rescue and fighting for survival. Thus, the reader is left to pass judgement and draw conclusions about the motives and justifications of the others. I closed The Lifeboat on its final page without answering many of the questions about those very judgements and conclusions, which, I suppose, is where Grace was left as well.
At its heart, this is a story about survival. It's about Grace's survival on the lifeboat, but it's also about our very own survival. What would you do if your boat is over capacity and dangerously close to sinking and you see a child in the water, close enough to reach and pull into your boat? What would you do if you know the boat will sink unless someone gets off and the "captain" asks for volunteers? What would you do if the most powerful person on the boat--the very person who would help you survive--told you to throw someone who endangered that survival overboard? How far would you go to survive? And, once you had, could you live with what you had done?
Charlotte Rogan
The premise of The Lifeboat reminds me of one of those moral dilemmas that often come out when people are around a campfire or in a car together for too long: imagine you're in a lifeboat with a priest, a doctor, a mother, and it will sink unless you get rid of one person. Whom do you choose?
While the book ends up differently than that, it does present the same underlying question: are you a murderer if you survive at the cost of other lives? Set in the summer of 1914, The Lifeboat is, in part, the diary of Grace Winter as she recalls the days following the sinking of the ocean liner upon which she and her brand new husband were passengers. Grace finds herself in a lifeboat along with 38 other passengers. It quickly becomes clear that the boat, while "built for 40" was in fact not meant to hold more than 30 or so people. As she writes from a prison cell where she awaits her trial and verdict for murdering one of the passengers, she recounts the storms, power struggles, lives, and deaths of the others aboard the small vessel.
Interspersed with these chapters, the reader learns about Grace's husband and their elopement to London and a bit about Grace's life before that. Beyond that background knowledge about Grace, Charlotte Rogan does not give the reader any insight--beyond gossip shared by the other passengers--into the lives of the others hoping for rescue and fighting for survival. Thus, the reader is left to pass judgement and draw conclusions about the motives and justifications of the others. I closed The Lifeboat on its final page without answering many of the questions about those very judgements and conclusions, which, I suppose, is where Grace was left as well.
At its heart, this is a story about survival. It's about Grace's survival on the lifeboat, but it's also about our very own survival. What would you do if your boat is over capacity and dangerously close to sinking and you see a child in the water, close enough to reach and pull into your boat? What would you do if you know the boat will sink unless someone gets off and the "captain" asks for volunteers? What would you do if the most powerful person on the boat--the very person who would help you survive--told you to throw someone who endangered that survival overboard? How far would you go to survive? And, once you had, could you live with what you had done?
Sunday, November 04, 2012
For When Your Hope is Gone
A while back, I read a series of books called The Chaos Walking.
It wasn't a series that I loved, but I did find some good "nuggets" in it. One of those I have wanted to share in its a blog post all by itself. Then life happened. While I've spent the past couple of months trying to catch up with my life (how is it November already?!), I have also spent the past couple of months being too busy to be a friend to some of the important people in my life. This post is for them, with my apology for neglecting to share this sooner or enough. But it's also a reminder that while I may not have asked or hugged or listened as much as I wish I had, I never stopped believing.
There is a key to friendship and to being a true friend. It is, quite often, the only key that I can offer to my friends. For those of you who are Bible readers--or who have spent much time with me when we're sharing our stories--please think back to the story of the quadriplegic man who was carried on a mat by his four friends. Remember that they climbed up a ladder to the roof of a house that was crowded with people following Jesus. The friends carried their paralyzed buddy to the roof, broke through the roof, and lowered their friend to Jesus' feet. They loved their friend, so they bore the burden of taking him to the feet of the only One who could remove his burden. Nothing could stop them, because they loved their friend. All the friend had to do was lie there.
Now that can be difficult, and much can be said about that important role, but for today I need to focus on the friends. That's the role I'm privileged to be in for now, especially with two dear friends. So, for them, I am sorry that I haven't carried fast enough or far enough. But I want you to know that when your hope is gone, I will carry you. When your hope is gone, I will bear your burden and carry you to the feet of the One who can ease your burden. Who can hold you close. Who longs to embrace you. And I will count it a blessing.
Two messages for you, for when your hope is gone:
But there's one other thing I remember,
and remembering, I keep a grip on hope:
God's loyal love couldn't have run out,
his merciful love couldn't have dried up.
They're created new every morning.
How great your faithfulness!
I'm sticking with God (I say it over and over).
He's all I've got left.
...The "worst" is never the worst.
Why? Because the Master won't ever
walk out and fail to return.
If he works severely, he also works tenderly.
His stockpiles of loyal love are immense.
(Lamentations 3:22-24 and 31-33, The Message)
AND
God's stockpiles of loyal love are immense. Believe it, dear friends. And even if you don't believe it, believe that I do.
It wasn't a series that I loved, but I did find some good "nuggets" in it. One of those I have wanted to share in its a blog post all by itself. Then life happened. While I've spent the past couple of months trying to catch up with my life (how is it November already?!), I have also spent the past couple of months being too busy to be a friend to some of the important people in my life. This post is for them, with my apology for neglecting to share this sooner or enough. But it's also a reminder that while I may not have asked or hugged or listened as much as I wish I had, I never stopped believing.
There is a key to friendship and to being a true friend. It is, quite often, the only key that I can offer to my friends. For those of you who are Bible readers--or who have spent much time with me when we're sharing our stories--please think back to the story of the quadriplegic man who was carried on a mat by his four friends. Remember that they climbed up a ladder to the roof of a house that was crowded with people following Jesus. The friends carried their paralyzed buddy to the roof, broke through the roof, and lowered their friend to Jesus' feet. They loved their friend, so they bore the burden of taking him to the feet of the only One who could remove his burden. Nothing could stop them, because they loved their friend. All the friend had to do was lie there.
Now that can be difficult, and much can be said about that important role, but for today I need to focus on the friends. That's the role I'm privileged to be in for now, especially with two dear friends. So, for them, I am sorry that I haven't carried fast enough or far enough. But I want you to know that when your hope is gone, I will carry you. When your hope is gone, I will bear your burden and carry you to the feet of the One who can ease your burden. Who can hold you close. Who longs to embrace you. And I will count it a blessing.
Two messages for you, for when your hope is gone:
But there's one other thing I remember,
and remembering, I keep a grip on hope:
God's loyal love couldn't have run out,
his merciful love couldn't have dried up.
They're created new every morning.
How great your faithfulness!
I'm sticking with God (I say it over and over).
He's all I've got left.
...The "worst" is never the worst.
Why? Because the Master won't ever
walk out and fail to return.
If he works severely, he also works tenderly.
His stockpiles of loyal love are immense.
(Lamentations 3:22-24 and 31-33, The Message)
AND
“Hope,” he says, squeezing my arm on the word. “It’s
hope. I am looking into yer eyes right now and I am telling you that
there’s hope for you, hope for you both.” He looks up at Viola and back
at me. “There’s hope waiting for you at the end of the road.”
“You don’t know that,” Viola says and my Noise, as much as I
don’t want it to, agrees with her.
“No,” Ben says, “But I believe it. I believe it for
you. And that’s why it’s hope.”
“Ben—“
“Even if you don’t believe it,” he says, “believe that I
do.”
(The Knife of Never Letting Go, p376, Patrick Ness)
God's stockpiles of loyal love are immense. Believe it, dear friends. And even if you don't believe it, believe that I do.
Wednesday, September 26, 2012
I Almost Missed It Too
No doubt about it! God is good--Psalm 73:1-5, The Message
good to good people, good to the good-hearted.
But I nearly missed it,
missed seeing his goodnesss.
I was looking the other way,
looking up to the people
At the top,
envying the wicked who have it made,
Who have nothing to worry about,
not a care in the whole wide world.
What a reminder, early this morning, as I sat on the too-small front porch of a house I want to sell as I looked out at two vans that just aren't quite as cool as the Land Rovers I see every day and listened to my too-close neighbors begin their days while their dogs bark incessantly.
Maybe it's a first-world problem, or maybe it's an American one, but I'm certain it's not just mine. Isn't it easy to envy other people who seemingly have it made? Isn't it easy to be discontent with the car I drive or the house I call home or the neighborhood where I live or the gifts and talents I have or everything else about my life that just isn't good enough? Isn't it far too easy to feel like other people "have it made, piling up riches" while we are "stupid to play by the rules" (vs. 12 in The Message)?
I have often said that the greatest disservice my mother ever did me was to teach me that I wasn't any more important than anyone else. It makes me wait in line longer than other people do, it makes me give money to church and to other people who need it, it makes me spend some of my free time working for others. It forces me to be a little bit less selfish.
Yet, I still forget. I still look at other people and all that they have and wonder if--how--I can get my hands on some of it.
And then I'm reminded. Whether it's by a blown call in a football game, giving a touchdown to someone who must know he didn't score one, or an artist selflessly offering to create something to benefit other people, or a few verses from a Psalm that I've read many times before. I'm reminded.
"No doubt about it! God is good . . . But I nearly missed it."
God, today, please open my eyes. Let me focus on the higher purpose. Let my focus be You and Your goodness.
You're all I want in heaven!Psalm 73:25-28, The Message
You're all I want on earth!
When my skin sags and my bones get brittle,
God is rock-firm and faithful.
Look! Those who left you are falling apart!
Deserters, they'll never be heard from again.
But I'm in the very presence of God--
oh, how refreshing it is!
I've made Lord God my home.
God, I'm telling the world what you do!
Monday, September 17, 2012
The Thirty-eighth Sabbath
It was Mission India Sunday at church, and then my Sunday School class and I discussed missions. Those teenagers are pretty smart, and they have some great ideas about what it can be like to be the Word of God to those we meet. All of it reminded me of a song I remember listening to in my bedroom when I was their age. It made me think that maybe the traditional means of missions--walking in to a culture and telling them everything they do is wrong, and they need to change it all to come to Jesus--wasn't good enough. That was all more deeply confirmed in my reading of my favorite "How To" guide to missions: The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver (yes, I get that she wasn't really trying to teach us about missions, but she definitely got her point across with the bits about the river and the farming). Later, the Blessings Tour further affirmed it, and yesterday's message continued it.
So, Missions 101:
* First help them experience love. Then explain the Bible.
* Don't bring the Bible--BE the Bible.
* Missions are (is?) a reminder to Satan that we win, because Jesus already won.
So, Missions 101:
* First help them experience love. Then explain the Bible.
* Don't bring the Bible--BE the Bible.
* Missions are (is?) a reminder to Satan that we win, because Jesus already won.
Oh, the suffering souls"Don't Tell Them Jesus Loves Them" by Steve Camp and Rob Frazier
Crying out for love
In a world that seldom cares
See the hungry hearts
Longing to be filled
With much more than our prayers
And a young girl sells herself on Seventh Avenue
And you hear her crying out for help
My God! What will we do ?
Don't tell them Jesus loves them
'Til you're ready to love them too!
'Til your heart breaks from their sorrow
And the pain they're going through
With a life full of compassion
May we do what we must do
Don't tell them Jesus loves them
'Til you're ready to love them too!
All the desperate men
Are we reaching for the souls
That are sinking down sin?
Oh, cry for the church
We've lost our passion for the lost
And there are billions left to win
And another 40,000 children starved to death today
Would we risk all we have
To see one of them saved!?!
Don't tell them Jesus loves them
'Til you're ready to love them too!
'Til your heart breaks from their sorrow
And the pain they're going through
With a life full of compassion
May we do what we must do
Don't tell them Jesus loves them
'Til you're ready to love them too!
Why have we waited so long
To show them Jesus lives
To share salvation's song!
Why have our hearts become so proud
That we fail to see
To love them is to love God!
And a young girl sells herself on Seventh Avenue
Hear her crying out for help
What will we do?
Don't tell them Jesus loves them
'Til you're ready to love them too!
'Til your heart breaks from their sorrow
And the pain they're going through
With a life full of compassion
May we do what we must do
Don't tell them Jesus loves them
'Til you're ready to love them too!
Wednesday, September 12, 2012
Getting Back On Track
Ah, the lazy, hazy days of summer. A little too hazy and humid this year for my taste, but still, they were lazy days. And, if I'm honest, they were way too lazy.
Summer is the break we all need, right? For as long as I can remember, my life has been divided into "school year" and "summer break." Even now that I've been out of college and working at a "real job" for 13 years(!), that hasn't changed. Most years I welcome the break and the change in pace. This year, it's thrown me for a real loop.
I began the year with wonderful and lofty goals. Goals I've been longing to achieve for most of my adult life--writing more, reading my Bible more, eating better, losing weight. They have always required more discipline than I could tap into in my feeble brain, so I've always failed. This year was going to be different.
And it was! For the first month, I did great. The second and third months wavered, but I still tried and was still committed.
Then, those lazy, hazy days of summer arrived. The kids got a break from their routine, and I took one too.
Now, I find myself nearing the last quarter of the year, weighing the same as I did when I started, eating poorly, my gym card gathering dust, my Bible reading plan crossed off through June, and my blog updated once a week . . . maybe. (I am ahead on my book reading goals, but I'm not sure anyone other than the Grand Rapids Public Library should be proud of that.)
So now I find myself trying to get back on track. A series of books I just finished, the Chaos Walking trilogy, truly does contain some perfect lines (thanks, Amy), and one of those weaves its way through each of the three books: "It isn't whether you fall down, it's whether you get back up." So, here I am. The measure of Beka in 2012 isn't whether I fell down. I've fallen down every year that I've tried to better my life. The measure of Beka in 2012 is that I'm getting back up. I've never done that before with these goals. The other measure is that I'm doing it bathed in prayer and begging God to drag me back up. Maybe I learned more by falling down than I would have by staying on my own two feet. Isn't that always the way?
So, here I am. At the demands of my dear friend Julie (who won't read this, because she never does), I am not looking backwards at where I would be today if I hadn't fallen. I'm looking forward at where I can get by keeping my hand in His and moving. I have a plan to continue (and finish!) my journey through the Bible in 2012. I will accomplish it, because I want to, and because when I don't want to, I'm begging God to make me want to. I have a plan to write more--maybe on my blog or maybe on secret projects to get DearEditorFriend off my back--and I have a plan to eat better. I need to make a plan (ie. a schedule, so I don't just sit and watch TV) to work out and still manage to get my house clean and my kids to school in time.
It's a busy life, to be a mother. It's a busier life, to be a mother with a dream. So when I fall down, I'm going to get back up. Because it's a sad life to spend all your days in the lazy, hazy days of summer.
Summer is the break we all need, right? For as long as I can remember, my life has been divided into "school year" and "summer break." Even now that I've been out of college and working at a "real job" for 13 years(!), that hasn't changed. Most years I welcome the break and the change in pace. This year, it's thrown me for a real loop.
I began the year with wonderful and lofty goals. Goals I've been longing to achieve for most of my adult life--writing more, reading my Bible more, eating better, losing weight. They have always required more discipline than I could tap into in my feeble brain, so I've always failed. This year was going to be different.
And it was! For the first month, I did great. The second and third months wavered, but I still tried and was still committed.
Then, those lazy, hazy days of summer arrived. The kids got a break from their routine, and I took one too.
Now, I find myself nearing the last quarter of the year, weighing the same as I did when I started, eating poorly, my gym card gathering dust, my Bible reading plan crossed off through June, and my blog updated once a week . . . maybe. (I am ahead on my book reading goals, but I'm not sure anyone other than the Grand Rapids Public Library should be proud of that.)
So now I find myself trying to get back on track. A series of books I just finished, the Chaos Walking trilogy, truly does contain some perfect lines (thanks, Amy), and one of those weaves its way through each of the three books: "It isn't whether you fall down, it's whether you get back up." So, here I am. The measure of Beka in 2012 isn't whether I fell down. I've fallen down every year that I've tried to better my life. The measure of Beka in 2012 is that I'm getting back up. I've never done that before with these goals. The other measure is that I'm doing it bathed in prayer and begging God to drag me back up. Maybe I learned more by falling down than I would have by staying on my own two feet. Isn't that always the way?
So, here I am. At the demands of my dear friend Julie (who won't read this, because she never does), I am not looking backwards at where I would be today if I hadn't fallen. I'm looking forward at where I can get by keeping my hand in His and moving. I have a plan to continue (and finish!) my journey through the Bible in 2012. I will accomplish it, because I want to, and because when I don't want to, I'm begging God to make me want to. I have a plan to write more--maybe on my blog or maybe on secret projects to get DearEditorFriend off my back--and I have a plan to eat better. I need to make a plan (ie. a schedule, so I don't just sit and watch TV) to work out and still manage to get my house clean and my kids to school in time.
It's a busy life, to be a mother. It's a busier life, to be a mother with a dream. So when I fall down, I'm going to get back up. Because it's a sad life to spend all your days in the lazy, hazy days of summer.
Friday, September 07, 2012
Book Seventeen
The Chaos Walking Series:
The Knife of Never Letting Go
The Ask & The Answer
Monsters of Men
by Patrick Ness
I've chosen to review all three of these books as one, just because it is a trilogy and it felt like cheating to actually call this books 17, 18, and 19. Even though they are. Because it's my prerogative. :)
In the Chaos Walking series, Ness writes about a future New World, which is essentially a new planet much like Earth. Because humans have destroyed Earth with our pollution and our fighting, colonists have taken to spaceships in search of a new plant to call home. The settlers have come in waves, so by the time the series begins with The Knife of Never Letting Go, there have been humans on New World for a couple of decades. The entire trilogy takes place during the few months between the scout ship's arrival on behalf of the new wave of colonists and the arrival of the convoy of ships holding thousands of those colonists. I sort of felt like it took me about that long to read the trilogy, too.
Because the first group of colonists arrived years earlier and have had little access to education--their focus mostly on survival at the beginning and then on the drama created by their mayor--the language used by Todd, the narrator, was very hard to follow for me. For the first third of The Knife of Never Letting Go, I faced a constant internal debate about whether to quit or continue. Ultimately I decided to skim, which is a mortal sin of reading as far as I'm concerned. It comes just before quitting a book altogether. I ended skimming several sections until things settled in to a system that I could follow. Then, and through The Ask & The Answer, the trilogy really got good.
There is action and a sweet friendship between a boy, a girl, and a dog. Publisher's Weekly calls The Ask & The Answer grim and beautifully written, and I have to agree with that. As Todd and Viola, on the run from an army built of men from Todd's hometown, progress on their journey to Haven and then, ultimately, settle in to their new roles in that town, they face a journey of hope and friendship and love and tension. It truly is grim and beautifully written. I found myself caring deeply about the fate of these two children-becoming-adults and wishing that fate would smile kindly on them and actually give them something for which to hope.
Unfortunately, that didn't happen--for Todd and Viola or for the reader. By the time I settled in to Monsters of Men, I began to skim again and just wish it all would end. Ness brings on another narrator in Book Three (whose name I've intentionally left off so as not to spoil any of the story), and I couldn't stand reading those sections. I felt preached at and judged. This trilogy, which was that grim and beautifully-written coming-of-age story about hope became New Age-y and judgmental.
At the end of the day, I'm glad I invested the time in this trilogy, if only for the end of Book One and Book Two. The messages of hope and love and forgiveness are lovely. I just wish they'd been packaged with less judgment.
The Knife of Never Letting Go
The Ask & The Answer
Monsters of Men
by Patrick Ness
I've chosen to review all three of these books as one, just because it is a trilogy and it felt like cheating to actually call this books 17, 18, and 19. Even though they are. Because it's my prerogative. :)
In the Chaos Walking series, Ness writes about a future New World, which is essentially a new planet much like Earth. Because humans have destroyed Earth with our pollution and our fighting, colonists have taken to spaceships in search of a new plant to call home. The settlers have come in waves, so by the time the series begins with The Knife of Never Letting Go, there have been humans on New World for a couple of decades. The entire trilogy takes place during the few months between the scout ship's arrival on behalf of the new wave of colonists and the arrival of the convoy of ships holding thousands of those colonists. I sort of felt like it took me about that long to read the trilogy, too.
Because the first group of colonists arrived years earlier and have had little access to education--their focus mostly on survival at the beginning and then on the drama created by their mayor--the language used by Todd, the narrator, was very hard to follow for me. For the first third of The Knife of Never Letting Go, I faced a constant internal debate about whether to quit or continue. Ultimately I decided to skim, which is a mortal sin of reading as far as I'm concerned. It comes just before quitting a book altogether. I ended skimming several sections until things settled in to a system that I could follow. Then, and through The Ask & The Answer, the trilogy really got good.
There is action and a sweet friendship between a boy, a girl, and a dog. Publisher's Weekly calls The Ask & The Answer grim and beautifully written, and I have to agree with that. As Todd and Viola, on the run from an army built of men from Todd's hometown, progress on their journey to Haven and then, ultimately, settle in to their new roles in that town, they face a journey of hope and friendship and love and tension. It truly is grim and beautifully written. I found myself caring deeply about the fate of these two children-becoming-adults and wishing that fate would smile kindly on them and actually give them something for which to hope.
Unfortunately, that didn't happen--for Todd and Viola or for the reader. By the time I settled in to Monsters of Men, I began to skim again and just wish it all would end. Ness brings on another narrator in Book Three (whose name I've intentionally left off so as not to spoil any of the story), and I couldn't stand reading those sections. I felt preached at and judged. This trilogy, which was that grim and beautifully-written coming-of-age story about hope became New Age-y and judgmental.
At the end of the day, I'm glad I invested the time in this trilogy, if only for the end of Book One and Book Two. The messages of hope and love and forgiveness are lovely. I just wish they'd been packaged with less judgment.
Sunday, August 26, 2012
The Thirty-fifth Sabbath
In honor of today, August 26, 2012, the day of our dear friend's ordination, a song we sang during his service. It was a privilege and an honor to be part of the worship team at today's service, and this may be one of the most beautiful songs I've ever heard. We sang it to the tune in the Kingsway version you can hear on YouTube.
There's also a YouTube video that pairs this song with a reenactment of a sermon by Martin Luther. I love the quote they included:
Before the throne of God above"Before the Throne of God Above," by Charitie Bancroft
I have a strong and perfect plea.
A great high Priest whose Name is Love
Who ever lives and pleads for me.
My name is graven on His hands,
My name is written on His heart.
I know that while in Heaven He stands
No tongue can bid me thence depart.
No tongue can bid me thence depart.
When Satan tempts me to despair
And tells me of the guilt within,
Upward I look and see Him there
Who made an end of all my sin.
Because the sinless Savior died
My sinful soul is counted free.
For God the just is satisfied
To look on Him and pardon me.
To look on Him and pardon me.
Behold Him there the risen Lamb,
My perfect spotless righteousness,
The great unchangeable I AM,
The King of glory and of grace,
One in Himself I cannot die.
My soul is purchased by His blood,
My life is hid with Christ on high,
With Christ my Savior and my God!
With Christ my Savior and my God!
There's also a YouTube video that pairs this song with a reenactment of a sermon by Martin Luther. I love the quote they included:
So when the devil throws your sins in your face and declares that you deserve death and hell, tell him this: "I admit that I deserve death and hell, what of it? For I know One who suffered and made satisfaction on my behalf. His name is Jesus Christ, Son of God, and where He is there I shall be also!” Martin Luther
Monday, August 20, 2012
Book Sixteen
Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me? (and other concerns)
Mindy Kaling
Our book club has been struggling this summer, both with our reading and with our getting together to discuss what we're reading. As a result, we're going to meet this week to discuss our June and August books. We're skipping our July book, which was maybe a little depressing to add to a summer month. Anyway, thankfully our August book is the Mindy Kaling autobiography. Easy enough.
And fluffy. And only mildly funny.
I'll confess to being a bit disappointed. I don't know really what I was expecting, except maybe some wipe the tears from my eyes laughter and hilarity. I didn't get that. The book is certainly light and easy to read. It will be even easier to discuss, I'm sure.
Kaling is a good writer. She turns a phrase nicely from time to time, and her descriptions of herself are candid. I appreciate that she doesn't try to make herself more amazing than she already is (which is pretty amazing, if she does say so herself). There are certainly moments when I laughed out loud. Those came in her description of one-night stands, the "Irish" exit, and the pictures on her Blackberry.
The subtitle of this book is perhaps the most descriptive title I've ever seen in a book. Sometimes when I'm reading a book I will read almost the entire book before I understand where the title originated. Other times it is only on reflection days later. With this it was clear from the beginning--Kaling is simply sharing 200 or so pages of her concerns about growing up, friendships, work, boys and men, and fashion. I'm not saying that's a bad thing. I'm just saying that sometimes it's funny, and sometimes it isn't. But all of it made me like her more and wish that we were friends. My concerns are pretty random and only mildly funny too.
NOTE: She did have some great thoughts on marriage, which will undoubtedly make it into another blog post this week.
Mindy Kaling
Our book club has been struggling this summer, both with our reading and with our getting together to discuss what we're reading. As a result, we're going to meet this week to discuss our June and August books. We're skipping our July book, which was maybe a little depressing to add to a summer month. Anyway, thankfully our August book is the Mindy Kaling autobiography. Easy enough.
And fluffy. And only mildly funny.
I'll confess to being a bit disappointed. I don't know really what I was expecting, except maybe some wipe the tears from my eyes laughter and hilarity. I didn't get that. The book is certainly light and easy to read. It will be even easier to discuss, I'm sure.
Kaling is a good writer. She turns a phrase nicely from time to time, and her descriptions of herself are candid. I appreciate that she doesn't try to make herself more amazing than she already is (which is pretty amazing, if she does say so herself). There are certainly moments when I laughed out loud. Those came in her description of one-night stands, the "Irish" exit, and the pictures on her Blackberry.
The subtitle of this book is perhaps the most descriptive title I've ever seen in a book. Sometimes when I'm reading a book I will read almost the entire book before I understand where the title originated. Other times it is only on reflection days later. With this it was clear from the beginning--Kaling is simply sharing 200 or so pages of her concerns about growing up, friendships, work, boys and men, and fashion. I'm not saying that's a bad thing. I'm just saying that sometimes it's funny, and sometimes it isn't. But all of it made me like her more and wish that we were friends. My concerns are pretty random and only mildly funny too.
NOTE: She did have some great thoughts on marriage, which will undoubtedly make it into another blog post this week.
Sunday, August 19, 2012
The Thirty-fourth Sabbath
There's a wall that has been standing
Since the day that Adam fell
Sin is where it started
And Sin is why it held
Speaking as a prisoner
Who was there and lived to tell
I remember how it fell
I can here the sound of freedom
Like a distant voice who called
And beckoned me to follow
Where I had never gone
And though my heart is willing
I just stood there at the wall
Praying somehow it would fall
But in a cross I found a doorway
And a hand that held a key
And when the chains fell at my feet
For the first time I could see
This is how it feels to be free
This is what it means to know that I am forgiven
This is how it feels to be free
To see that life can be more than I imagined
This is how it feels to be free
This is how it feels to be free Yeahhh!
There are days when I'm reminded
Of the prison I was in
Like a living nightmare
Burning from the veill
I can feel the voice of evil
I can hear the call of sin
But I won't go back again
This is how it feels to be free
This is what it means to know that I am forgiven
This is how it feels to be free
To see that life can be more than I imagined
This is how it feels to be free
This is how it feels to be free Yeahhh!
See, once I've tasted freedom
Then the walls could bind no more
Since mercy gave me wings to fly
Like an eagle I can soar
This is how it feels to be free
This is what it means to know that I am forgiven
This is how it feels to be free
To see that life can be more than I imagined
This is how it feels to be free
This is how it feels to be free Yeahhh!
"This is How it Feels to be Free," Brooklyn Tabernacle Choir
Since the day that Adam fell
Sin is where it started
And Sin is why it held
Speaking as a prisoner
Who was there and lived to tell
I remember how it fell
I can here the sound of freedom
Like a distant voice who called
And beckoned me to follow
Where I had never gone
And though my heart is willing
I just stood there at the wall
Praying somehow it would fall
But in a cross I found a doorway
And a hand that held a key
And when the chains fell at my feet
For the first time I could see
This is how it feels to be free
This is what it means to know that I am forgiven
This is how it feels to be free
To see that life can be more than I imagined
This is how it feels to be free
This is how it feels to be free Yeahhh!
There are days when I'm reminded
Of the prison I was in
Like a living nightmare
Burning from the veill
I can feel the voice of evil
I can hear the call of sin
But I won't go back again
This is how it feels to be free
This is what it means to know that I am forgiven
This is how it feels to be free
To see that life can be more than I imagined
This is how it feels to be free
This is how it feels to be free Yeahhh!
See, once I've tasted freedom
Then the walls could bind no more
Since mercy gave me wings to fly
Like an eagle I can soar
This is how it feels to be free
This is what it means to know that I am forgiven
This is how it feels to be free
To see that life can be more than I imagined
This is how it feels to be free
This is how it feels to be free Yeahhh!
"This is How it Feels to be Free," Brooklyn Tabernacle Choir
Wednesday, August 15, 2012
The Most Important Lesson We Can Learn
I have three beautiful and amazing girls. They like to giggle together. They like to snuggle with each other. They like to play Little People together. And they love to fight. Around my house, there is a lot of playing noise that quickly turns into yelling and screaming noise. And then crying. And then (usually when they've been reminded), there is a quiet and sad noise:
I've been thinking a lot about forgiveness lately.
I work at a children's advocacy center. We provide services for children who have been sexually abused. National statistics tell us that 90% of the children who are sexually abused are victimized by people they know, love, and trust. In the county where I live, it is closer to 99%. We're talking fathers, stepfathers, mothers, cousins, Dad's best friend, step siblings, babysitters. The other day, the mom of one of our clients was speaking with a group of people. She said, "My daughter is an inspiration to me. She teaches us all so much. And I know the biggest reason for her freedom and joy is something that she is teaching me: she forgave the man who did this to her."
She forgave the man who did this to her. She forgave the dear family friend who sexually abused her when he thought she was sleeping.
At the same time, there is a couple I know who are in the process of getting divorced. The reason? She had an affair.
I understand that having someone cheat on you is a horrible thing. The betrayal, the disappointment, the fear, the rejection. It is, according to many people I know, unforgivable.
And, in the case of this couple, it destroyed their marriage. Or did it? You see, she had her affair--and ended it--at least fifteen years ago. She came clean to her husband, they recommitted themselves each to their marriage and each other, and they moved past it. Or so she thought.
What really ended their marriage? Not forgiving. When he asked her to leave, he told her it was because he had never forgiven her for what she did fifteen years ago. Talk about betrayal, disappointment, fear, and rejection. Can you imagine believing that the man you love has extended grace and forgiveness--which you, self admittedly, did not deserve--only to find out that he has held on for fifteen years? That slowly, his deception has been eating away at the vows you took before God and your family and friends?
That's what not forgiving does. In Traveling Mercies Anne Lamott wrote, "Not forgiving is like eating rat poison and waiting for the rat to die." Amen. And then amen again.
Not forgiving destroys marriages. It robs joy. It erases freedom. It brings a slow and painful death.
Forgiving brings life. It causes joy and delivers freedom. It's hard. And it may be quiet and sad, because it's not easy, and the pain is still there. But, it says that nothing will come between us.
Spend a few hours at our house, and you will learn many lessons. You will learn how a small person with mere inches of water in the bathtub can make every square inch of the bathroom wet. You will learn that ketchup, cheese, mayo, pickles, and two slices of bread make a terrific lunch. You will learn how to giggle, transform plastic tubs into cars, and use Mom's cell phone to watch Curious George. You will also learn how to apologize. And, most importantly, you will learn how to forgive.
"I'm sorry."Immediately following, and always unprompted, there is an equally quiet and sad noise:
"I forgive you."The volume and the emotion behind it generally suggests that while not all is forgotten, and the pain still exists, the offense is forgiven. It won't come between them anymore. And, within minutes, they are giggling together.
I've been thinking a lot about forgiveness lately.
I work at a children's advocacy center. We provide services for children who have been sexually abused. National statistics tell us that 90% of the children who are sexually abused are victimized by people they know, love, and trust. In the county where I live, it is closer to 99%. We're talking fathers, stepfathers, mothers, cousins, Dad's best friend, step siblings, babysitters. The other day, the mom of one of our clients was speaking with a group of people. She said, "My daughter is an inspiration to me. She teaches us all so much. And I know the biggest reason for her freedom and joy is something that she is teaching me: she forgave the man who did this to her."
She forgave the man who did this to her. She forgave the dear family friend who sexually abused her when he thought she was sleeping.
At the same time, there is a couple I know who are in the process of getting divorced. The reason? She had an affair.
I understand that having someone cheat on you is a horrible thing. The betrayal, the disappointment, the fear, the rejection. It is, according to many people I know, unforgivable.
And, in the case of this couple, it destroyed their marriage. Or did it? You see, she had her affair--and ended it--at least fifteen years ago. She came clean to her husband, they recommitted themselves each to their marriage and each other, and they moved past it. Or so she thought.
What really ended their marriage? Not forgiving. When he asked her to leave, he told her it was because he had never forgiven her for what she did fifteen years ago. Talk about betrayal, disappointment, fear, and rejection. Can you imagine believing that the man you love has extended grace and forgiveness--which you, self admittedly, did not deserve--only to find out that he has held on for fifteen years? That slowly, his deception has been eating away at the vows you took before God and your family and friends?
That's what not forgiving does. In Traveling Mercies Anne Lamott wrote, "Not forgiving is like eating rat poison and waiting for the rat to die." Amen. And then amen again.
Not forgiving destroys marriages. It robs joy. It erases freedom. It brings a slow and painful death.
Forgiving brings life. It causes joy and delivers freedom. It's hard. And it may be quiet and sad, because it's not easy, and the pain is still there. But, it says that nothing will come between us.
Spend a few hours at our house, and you will learn many lessons. You will learn how a small person with mere inches of water in the bathtub can make every square inch of the bathroom wet. You will learn that ketchup, cheese, mayo, pickles, and two slices of bread make a terrific lunch. You will learn how to giggle, transform plastic tubs into cars, and use Mom's cell phone to watch Curious George. You will also learn how to apologize. And, most importantly, you will learn how to forgive.
Sunday, August 05, 2012
The Thirty-second Sabbath
In celebration of the Miles for Hope 5K yesterday and its local 2012 ambassador, Mitchell Buning, and his victory over a brain tumor . . . in remembering the past 1 1/2 years for his family . . . in hoping for friends whose hearts continue to break as marriages fail, friends disappoint, and loved ones succomb to illness. Dear friends, we are all safe. We really are.
"Safe" by Phil Wickham
To the one whose dreams are falling all apart
And all you're left with is a tired and broken heart
I can tell by your eyes you think you're on your own
but you're not all alone
Have you heard of the One who can calm the raging seas
Give sight to the blind, pull the lame up to their feet
With a love so strong he'll never let you go
oh you're not alone
You will be safe in His arms
You will be safe in His arms
'Cause the hands that hold the world are holding your heart
This is the promise He made
He will be with you always
When everything is falling apart
You will be safe in His arms
Did you know that the voice that brings the dead to life
Is the very same voice that calls you now to rise
So hear Him now He's calling you home
You will never be alone
You will be safe in His arms
You will be safe in His arms
'Cause the hands that hold the world are holding your heart
This is the promise He made
He will be with you always
When everything is falling apart
You will be safe in His arms
These are the hands that built the mountains
the hands that calm the seas
These are the arms that hold the heavens
they are holding you and me
These are hands that healed the leper
Pulled the lame up to their feet
These are the arms that were nailed to a cross
to break our chains and set us free
You will be safe in His arms
You will be safe in His arms
'Cause the hands that hold the world are holding your heart
This is the promise He made
He will be with you always
When everything is falling apart
You will be safe in His arms
"Safe" by Phil Wickham
Monday, July 30, 2012
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:
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"He Reigns," by Newsboys
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
Saturday, July 21, 2012
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.
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.
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.
Tuesday, July 17, 2012
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:
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?
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?
Sunday, July 15, 2012
The Twenty-ninth Sabbath
This is my Father's world,"This Is My Father's World," by Maltbie D. Babcock
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!
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