Dear Friend:
I've been thinking about you today,
And I’ve realized something:
You are overworked and under-appreciated.
No wonder you’re considering jumping ship.
While I cannot presume to know where God is leading your life,
I can tell you this:
You are making a difference where you are.
You probably cannot see it.
But you are doing a lot of things right.
If nothing else, you are
showing up and
giving your best, and
setting an example of
steady courage and grace.
You are
intelligent and wise,
passionate and hardworking,
detailed and flexible.
You are a leader.
We need strong leaders.
Yet leadership takes time.
And leaders often must work through
silent strength
determination
gritted teeth and
prayer.
You work through those things.
Yet you are exhausted.
Overworked.
Under-appreciated.
And in those conditions, it's difficult to see anything clearly.
I pray you give yourself time.
I pray you do something life-giving for you.
I pray you feed your soul so that
Light and truth can filter in and
Darkness and lies can fade away
And God’s presence and peace can be
abundantly clear.
Yes. You are overworked.
Yes. You are under-appreciated.
But I appreciate you.
And I hope that, somehow, today
That is enough.
--------
What makes you feel appreciated?
At work?
At home?
At church?
At your volunteer post?
What do you need to feel appreciated right now?
Realistic or not?
Please answer.
I genuinely want to know.
Not because I’m going to try to fix everything.
I’m not.
(At least not right now.)
I’m just curious to know what needs to happen to change the tide.
Monday, May 19, 2014
Thursday, May 15, 2014
That Statement Again
A few years ago, my friend Kay and I started sending each other statements seen on church signs around North and South Carolina. What started as a mission to find funny sentiments to decorate her apartment has become an enduring purpose of communication. We may go months without writing but then one of us will find something worthy of sharing…and then we are connected again. That happened today, actually, after I rode by a sign that said: No bunny loves you like Jesus. Find us on Facebook. I laughed aloud. Then I wrote Kay. And we both agreed that the sign was a little late for Easter and that it was an interesting marketing strategy!
Because of this long-enduring connection with Kay, I find myself reading church signs every time I can. While there are a lot of signs that could stand improvement, there are some that are really good. I’ve found one sign on my way to and from work to be particularly encouraging this year. For instance, at the beginning of the year, when I wasn’t certain that I would adjust to being back in the classroom, I’d drive by and read, “You can make it.” It never failed. When I read those four simple words, I felt them making their way into my heart. God was speaking to me. And I knew that I would make it.
So I suppose that I shouldn’t be surprised that the church sign in mention gave me goose bumps yesterday. After a frustrating Monday and Tuesday, and memories of a really rotten Wednesday last week, I wasn’t overly thrilled about going to work. Yet as I drove that familiar road to school and passed that familiar sign, I found myself reading, “Pray grace over your situation,” and I literally chuckled to myself because I had been wondering how I was going to let go of the aggravation I’d been feeling all week and there was the church sign answering my wonderings. Pray grace over the situation, Deaton. Remember: “I love youregardless of how well you’re performing.”
Ah.
There’s that statement again.
“I love you regardless of how well you’re performing.”
Or more specifically this week: I love YOU, as a person, because you ARE a person, and there IS something good in you, even if I cannot find it right now BECAUSE of your performance which is basically not a performance at all and I don’t understand how you can not do your job and play the martyr and take and take and take. Yet. I (must) love YOU because you are a PERSON. And I am a person, too. And we are all worthy of love simply because we are people.
Love. Joy. Peace. Patience. Kindness. Goodness. Faithfulness. Gentleness. Self-control.
Pray for your enemies and love those who persecute you.
Do not become weary in doing for at the right time you will reap a harvest if you do not give up.
I love you regardless of how well you’re performing.
Pray grace over your situation.
And then somehow,
With time and with breath,
Frustration will begin to fade away,
Light will begin to filter in, and
People will be seen as people...
Thanks be to God,
(and church signs)
Amen.
Because of this long-enduring connection with Kay, I find myself reading church signs every time I can. While there are a lot of signs that could stand improvement, there are some that are really good. I’ve found one sign on my way to and from work to be particularly encouraging this year. For instance, at the beginning of the year, when I wasn’t certain that I would adjust to being back in the classroom, I’d drive by and read, “You can make it.” It never failed. When I read those four simple words, I felt them making their way into my heart. God was speaking to me. And I knew that I would make it.
So I suppose that I shouldn’t be surprised that the church sign in mention gave me goose bumps yesterday. After a frustrating Monday and Tuesday, and memories of a really rotten Wednesday last week, I wasn’t overly thrilled about going to work. Yet as I drove that familiar road to school and passed that familiar sign, I found myself reading, “Pray grace over your situation,” and I literally chuckled to myself because I had been wondering how I was going to let go of the aggravation I’d been feeling all week and there was the church sign answering my wonderings. Pray grace over the situation, Deaton. Remember: “I love youregardless of how well you’re performing.”
Ah.
There’s that statement again.
“I love you regardless of how well you’re performing.”
Or more specifically this week: I love YOU, as a person, because you ARE a person, and there IS something good in you, even if I cannot find it right now BECAUSE of your performance which is basically not a performance at all and I don’t understand how you can not do your job and play the martyr and take and take and take. Yet. I (must) love YOU because you are a PERSON. And I am a person, too. And we are all worthy of love simply because we are people.
Love. Joy. Peace. Patience. Kindness. Goodness. Faithfulness. Gentleness. Self-control.
Pray for your enemies and love those who persecute you.
Do not become weary in doing for at the right time you will reap a harvest if you do not give up.
I love you regardless of how well you’re performing.
Pray grace over your situation.
And then somehow,
With time and with breath,
Frustration will begin to fade away,
Light will begin to filter in, and
People will be seen as people...
Thanks be to God,
(and church signs)
Amen.
Monday, May 12, 2014
When Patience And Grace Fly Out The Window
I try to be a patient and grace-filled person. Really. I do. And for the most part, having become a believer of compassion as shared humanity, I do a pretty good job with it. I try to “be kind, for each of us is fighting a great battle.” I try to breathe in when I feel frustrated and breathe out the calm that I desire. I try to remain mindful of the fact that I am not the only person in the world feeling what I am feeling (nor will I ever be), and I try to breathe out peace for other persons feeling frustration, stress, fear, hurt, confusion, betrayal, loss, or whatever the emotion may be. I even try to do this with happy emotions—breathing out prayers for continued joy.
Yet there are moments—boy are there moments—when patience and grace fly out the window and bitter words fly out of my mouth faster than unsecured trash flies out of the back of a truck...or else they build up behind clinched jaw with such intensity that my head begins to hurt…
One of my favorite lessons to teach is a lesson based on a musical version of The Little Red Hen. In case you don’t know the story, here’s a summary: The little red hen wants to make some bread (starting with growing the wheat) but everyone she asks for help refuses. In the end, when the bread comes out of the oven and smells delicious, all of the hen’s friends come running for a taste. “You didn’t help me make the bread,” she says, “so you’re not going to help me eat it.” So she eats it herself.
When I first started teaching this lesson, I wanted the ending to change. I wanted the little red hen to forgive trumpet, flute, clarinet, violin, and trombone and give them bread regardless of their sloth. But she never does. Nor does she forgive cat, dog, hen, duck, rat, pig, or any other character in other versions of the story.
Yet these days, I’m okay with the ending. I’m okay with the fact that the characters get what they deserve in proportion to their efforts. I've learned all too well that we must sometimes suffer the consequences of our actions.
But I've also learning something else: I'm okay with the ending because it really bothers me when people do things that do not hold other persons in regards. And the little red hen's friends did not hold her need in regards.
It bothers me when people:
Refuse to help someone who obviously needs help.
Use something that belongs to someone else—without permission—and then does not put it back from where it came.
Laugh at someone with disabilities.
Make a mess and leave it for someone else to cleanup.
Take for granted simple gifts and acts of service.
Say that they will do something but not do it.
Like I said. I try to be patient and grace-filled. But sometimes things get to me. And surprisingly enough--thanks to the little red hen--I now know what those things are: people not holding others in regards.
For the times when I do not hold others in regards, oh God, forgive me.
And for the times when I lose my temper and act out of anything other than Love, forgive me as well.
Forgive us, oh God, we pray.
Amen.
Yet there are moments—boy are there moments—when patience and grace fly out the window and bitter words fly out of my mouth faster than unsecured trash flies out of the back of a truck...or else they build up behind clinched jaw with such intensity that my head begins to hurt…
One of my favorite lessons to teach is a lesson based on a musical version of The Little Red Hen. In case you don’t know the story, here’s a summary: The little red hen wants to make some bread (starting with growing the wheat) but everyone she asks for help refuses. In the end, when the bread comes out of the oven and smells delicious, all of the hen’s friends come running for a taste. “You didn’t help me make the bread,” she says, “so you’re not going to help me eat it.” So she eats it herself.
When I first started teaching this lesson, I wanted the ending to change. I wanted the little red hen to forgive trumpet, flute, clarinet, violin, and trombone and give them bread regardless of their sloth. But she never does. Nor does she forgive cat, dog, hen, duck, rat, pig, or any other character in other versions of the story.
Yet these days, I’m okay with the ending. I’m okay with the fact that the characters get what they deserve in proportion to their efforts. I've learned all too well that we must sometimes suffer the consequences of our actions.
But I've also learning something else: I'm okay with the ending because it really bothers me when people do things that do not hold other persons in regards. And the little red hen's friends did not hold her need in regards.
It bothers me when people:
Refuse to help someone who obviously needs help.
Use something that belongs to someone else—without permission—and then does not put it back from where it came.
Laugh at someone with disabilities.
Make a mess and leave it for someone else to cleanup.
Take for granted simple gifts and acts of service.
Say that they will do something but not do it.
Like I said. I try to be patient and grace-filled. But sometimes things get to me. And surprisingly enough--thanks to the little red hen--I now know what those things are: people not holding others in regards.
For the times when I do not hold others in regards, oh God, forgive me.
And for the times when I lose my temper and act out of anything other than Love, forgive me as well.
Forgive us, oh God, we pray.
Amen.
Thursday, May 8, 2014
A Teacher's Bad Day Confession
I was a smart aleck for a brief moment at car rider duty today. One of my coworkers said, “I have one more car rider slip for you.” I said, “Fine. But you can keep it. I don’t want it.” She responded, “Did you have a bad day today?” I smiled, chuckled, and said, “Nope. I was just being difficult. My day was fine. But yesterday was horrible.”
Yesterday was one of those days that I didn’t have it in me to joke at the end of the day. I was so exhausted and had dealt with so many behavior challenges that all I wanted to do was put the day to bed at 3:30. Do you know those days? The ones where hardly anything goes right and you feel like you’ve either been fighting a steady battle or run over by a truck?...
Each Wednesday night at the beginning of choir practice, I lead a brief devotional with my choir. I usually read a passage of scripture from the coming Sunday’s lectionary texts, offer a brief reflection or challenge, and lead a time of prayer. More often than not, I read the text from Psalms since it lends itself well to what we do as worship leaders. Yet last night I chose the New Testament reading because, truth be told, I was struggling in my desire to be there. Like I said, I wanted to put the day to bed at 3:30.
For it is commendable if someone bears up under the pain of unjust suffering because they are conscious of God.
But how is it to your credit if you receive a beating for doing wrong and endure it?
But if you suffer for doing good and you endure it, this is commendable before God.
To this you were called, because Christ suffered for you, leaving you an example, that you should follow in his steps.
“He committed no sin, and no deceit was found in his mouth.”
When they hurled their insults at him, he did not retaliate; when he suffered, he made no threats. Instead, he entrusted himself to him who judges justly.
“He himself bore our sins” in his body on the cross, so that we might die to sins and live for righteousness;
“By his wounds you have been healed.”
For “you were like sheep going astray,” but now you have returned to the Shepherd and Guardian of your souls.
As I read those words last night, I felt God’s spirit connecting with my heart, reminding me that I am exactly where I need to be right now…and in the process giving me a peace that I hadn’t had all day.
Teachers do experience the pain of unjust suffering and have insults hurled at us.
We see the pain of abuse, neglect, hunger, hurt, apathy, exhaustion, and over-indulgence in our students eyes, and we are met with the plethora of resulting actions—acting out to be seen, blending in to not be seen, going back and forth between the two in an effort to find one’s voice.
We receive attitude from students who push as hard as they can to make us react in anger because reacting in anger is all they know and expect, and we are questioned by parents who do not agree with our actions.
We teach students who truly have mental and emotional needs that differ from the “norm” and we do so in classes of at least twenty students of varying socio-economic class, cultural expectations, and academic levels—many of us being the only adult in the room.
These things are parts of the job.
This is what we signed up for.
Yet day in and day out, it is hard work.
It is especially hard when we watch students whom we know capable of success begin to follow behavioral and/or academic paths that we know to be troublesome.
But we keep showing up.
And we keep trying to do good.
And we keep sacrificing monetary success for the belief that investing in lives is much more important than investing riches in the bank.
Jesus was not a public school teacher. But sometimes I wonder if he would have been had such schools existed. And sometimes I wonder if he would be now if he were alive today.
By his wounds we have been healed.
By his strength we keep going.
By his example we welcome the children as they come.
By his Love we are changing the world…
One student at a time…
Even on our very bad days…
Thanks be to God:
The shepherd and guardian of our souls.
Amen.
Yesterday was one of those days that I didn’t have it in me to joke at the end of the day. I was so exhausted and had dealt with so many behavior challenges that all I wanted to do was put the day to bed at 3:30. Do you know those days? The ones where hardly anything goes right and you feel like you’ve either been fighting a steady battle or run over by a truck?...
Each Wednesday night at the beginning of choir practice, I lead a brief devotional with my choir. I usually read a passage of scripture from the coming Sunday’s lectionary texts, offer a brief reflection or challenge, and lead a time of prayer. More often than not, I read the text from Psalms since it lends itself well to what we do as worship leaders. Yet last night I chose the New Testament reading because, truth be told, I was struggling in my desire to be there. Like I said, I wanted to put the day to bed at 3:30.
For it is commendable if someone bears up under the pain of unjust suffering because they are conscious of God.
But how is it to your credit if you receive a beating for doing wrong and endure it?
But if you suffer for doing good and you endure it, this is commendable before God.
To this you were called, because Christ suffered for you, leaving you an example, that you should follow in his steps.
“He committed no sin, and no deceit was found in his mouth.”
When they hurled their insults at him, he did not retaliate; when he suffered, he made no threats. Instead, he entrusted himself to him who judges justly.
“He himself bore our sins” in his body on the cross, so that we might die to sins and live for righteousness;
“By his wounds you have been healed.”
For “you were like sheep going astray,” but now you have returned to the Shepherd and Guardian of your souls.
As I read those words last night, I felt God’s spirit connecting with my heart, reminding me that I am exactly where I need to be right now…and in the process giving me a peace that I hadn’t had all day.
Teachers do experience the pain of unjust suffering and have insults hurled at us.
We see the pain of abuse, neglect, hunger, hurt, apathy, exhaustion, and over-indulgence in our students eyes, and we are met with the plethora of resulting actions—acting out to be seen, blending in to not be seen, going back and forth between the two in an effort to find one’s voice.
We receive attitude from students who push as hard as they can to make us react in anger because reacting in anger is all they know and expect, and we are questioned by parents who do not agree with our actions.
We teach students who truly have mental and emotional needs that differ from the “norm” and we do so in classes of at least twenty students of varying socio-economic class, cultural expectations, and academic levels—many of us being the only adult in the room.
These things are parts of the job.
This is what we signed up for.
Yet day in and day out, it is hard work.
It is especially hard when we watch students whom we know capable of success begin to follow behavioral and/or academic paths that we know to be troublesome.
But we keep showing up.
And we keep trying to do good.
And we keep sacrificing monetary success for the belief that investing in lives is much more important than investing riches in the bank.
Jesus was not a public school teacher. But sometimes I wonder if he would have been had such schools existed. And sometimes I wonder if he would be now if he were alive today.
By his wounds we have been healed.
By his strength we keep going.
By his example we welcome the children as they come.
By his Love we are changing the world…
One student at a time…
Even on our very bad days…
Thanks be to God:
The shepherd and guardian of our souls.
Amen.
Monday, May 5, 2014
Love Is More
Love is more than
“Here Comes The Bride” and
Tears running down faces
When beauty is beheld.
Although that is part.
Love is more than
The passion of the wedding night and
The attraction that pulls two people together
In chemistry unexplained.
Although that is part, too.
Love is groceries and tires,
Smelly clothes and dirty dishes.
Love is silence and conversation,
Difficult questions and hard-to-hear answers.
Love is compromise and sacrifice,
Gut-wrenching release and stubborn holding-on.
Love is vulnerability and risk,
Daring honesty and brave heart.
Love is looking into eyes and doggedly declaring:
I believe in you regardless of how well you’re performing;
I see and celebrate the best in you while you can't see it yourself;
I hope for you even when there is nothing to like;
I commit to you though it may be easier to walk away;
I trust you enough to let you love me in return.
Love is not easy.
Love gives and takes time.
Love is perseverance.
Love is laughter, joy, and rhyme.
Love is
I choose you.
Thank you for choosing me.
So let’s keep choosing each other.
Because I really do love you.
And we’re going to figure this out
Together.
Okay?
“Here Comes The Bride” and
Tears running down faces
When beauty is beheld.
Although that is part.
Love is more than
The passion of the wedding night and
The attraction that pulls two people together
In chemistry unexplained.
Although that is part, too.
Love is groceries and tires,
Smelly clothes and dirty dishes.
Love is silence and conversation,
Difficult questions and hard-to-hear answers.
Love is compromise and sacrifice,
Gut-wrenching release and stubborn holding-on.
Love is vulnerability and risk,
Daring honesty and brave heart.
Love is looking into eyes and doggedly declaring:
I believe in you regardless of how well you’re performing;
I see and celebrate the best in you while you can't see it yourself;
I hope for you even when there is nothing to like;
I commit to you though it may be easier to walk away;
I trust you enough to let you love me in return.
Love is not easy.
Love gives and takes time.
Love is perseverance.
Love is laughter, joy, and rhyme.
Love is
I choose you.
Thank you for choosing me.
So let’s keep choosing each other.
Because I really do love you.
And we’re going to figure this out
Together.
Okay?
Thursday, May 1, 2014
Three Cheers for Cool Whip
A few weeks ago, B and I decided to feature dips for Treat Tuesday: Velveeta dip, taco dip, ranch dip, and pimento cheese. As I considered our menu, I realized that we were missing something sweet so I thought of a new dip: chocolate-chip dip. Far from revolutionary with this idea—Jason’s Deli has a delicious chocolate-chip mousse that I use as a dip with graham crackers rather than getting free ice cream—that’s how good it is—I bought a container of cool-whip, a box of chocolate pudding mix, and some chocolate chips. I mixed them together, put the mixture on a platter with some graham crackers, and an instant sweep dip was served. It was very good. So now I have two recipes in my Beginners Cookbook for Intuitive People: Chocolate Chip Dip and Cheese Potato Chips (melt cheese in microwave, pour over potato chips ).
…
Last week, B and I threw a party for our Harnett Off-Broadway students. In the past, when doing Harnett Off-Broadway, B and I have worked with two schools and thus had two parties: an ice cream sundae party with the K-2 school and a pizza party with the 3-5 schools. Since we only work at one school now, we decided to just throw one gigantic party: pepperoni pizza, cheese pizza, crazy bread, grape soda, orange soda, fruit punch soda, lemon-lime soda, vanilla ice cream, chocolate syrup, strawberry syrup, strawberry toppings, caramel syrup, chocolate chips, gummy bears, jelly beans, five types of sprinkles, whipped cream, cherries, and cheese-balls. After the kids finished their pizza, they were allowed to make their own sundaes. When I busted out the whipped cream, I had more than one kid ask me to squirt the whipped cream directly into their mouths. At first, I said no. Then, after everyone had gone through the line, I made a calculated decision and announced: “Alright! Everyone line up outside. Whipped cream directly in the mouth!” And so…one after one, the kids came. And one after one, B and I squirted whipped cream into milky mouths open and smiling with glee.
…
Today, I got pied in the face as part of a fund-raiser for Relay for Life. B wisely decided that I needed to wear diving gear: a snorkel, mask, and fins. I decided that I needed to wear my scrubs and an orange fish swim cap. I purchased and wore all of the above and had fifteen or so pies squished in my face. The cool thing? The dive gear was cancer awareness gear so a portion of the proceeds went to cancer research. And. The pies were made of cool-whip.
…
Three cheers for cool-whip (or I guess technically two for cool-whip, one for whipped cream)!
Hip-hip-hooray!
Three cheers for B and friendship!
Hip-hip-hooray!
Three cheers for celebrating life!
Hip-hip-hooray!
Hip-hip-hooray!
Hip-hip-hooray!
And don’t forget the spirit sprinkles.
…
Last week, B and I threw a party for our Harnett Off-Broadway students. In the past, when doing Harnett Off-Broadway, B and I have worked with two schools and thus had two parties: an ice cream sundae party with the K-2 school and a pizza party with the 3-5 schools. Since we only work at one school now, we decided to just throw one gigantic party: pepperoni pizza, cheese pizza, crazy bread, grape soda, orange soda, fruit punch soda, lemon-lime soda, vanilla ice cream, chocolate syrup, strawberry syrup, strawberry toppings, caramel syrup, chocolate chips, gummy bears, jelly beans, five types of sprinkles, whipped cream, cherries, and cheese-balls. After the kids finished their pizza, they were allowed to make their own sundaes. When I busted out the whipped cream, I had more than one kid ask me to squirt the whipped cream directly into their mouths. At first, I said no. Then, after everyone had gone through the line, I made a calculated decision and announced: “Alright! Everyone line up outside. Whipped cream directly in the mouth!” And so…one after one, the kids came. And one after one, B and I squirted whipped cream into milky mouths open and smiling with glee.
…
Today, I got pied in the face as part of a fund-raiser for Relay for Life. B wisely decided that I needed to wear diving gear: a snorkel, mask, and fins. I decided that I needed to wear my scrubs and an orange fish swim cap. I purchased and wore all of the above and had fifteen or so pies squished in my face. The cool thing? The dive gear was cancer awareness gear so a portion of the proceeds went to cancer research. And. The pies were made of cool-whip.
…
Three cheers for cool-whip (or I guess technically two for cool-whip, one for whipped cream)!
Hip-hip-hooray!
Three cheers for B and friendship!
Hip-hip-hooray!
Three cheers for celebrating life!
Hip-hip-hooray!
Hip-hip-hooray!
Hip-hip-hooray!
And don’t forget the spirit sprinkles.
Monday, April 28, 2014
Should Be, Could Be, and Is
I confess. I posted on Facebook during church yesterday. But in my defense, I was listening to the sermon for the second time and I had been pondering what I wanted to post for a couple of hours. I surprised myself when I posted, though, because what I ended up saying wasn’t what I had originally planned.
What I posted was this: “…There could be no us against them—no we versus they. There could just be us. There could just be people…”
My initial statement was this: “There should be no us against them—no we versus they. There should just be us. There should just be people.”
The difference lies in just one word; yet the difference is huge.
One of my favorite passages of scripture says: “So in Christ Jesus you are all children of God through faith, for all of you who were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ. There is neither Jew nor Gentile, neither slave nor free, nor is there male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus. If you belong to Christ, then you are Abraham’s seed, and heirs according to the promise.” (Galatians 3:26-28)
Another of my favorite passages says: “For just as each of us has one body with many members, and these members do not all have the same function, so in Christ we, though many, form one body, and each member belongs to all the others. We have different gifts, according to the grace given to each of us.” (Romans 12:4-6a)
In short: We are one in Christ, yet we are diverse. We are one in Christ, yet we are different. We are one in Christ, yet we are not robots. We are one in Christ, for what we stand for and live for is the same: redeeming, amazing, life-transforming Love.
Most of us know this. Most of us know that we should live as one. Most of us know that we should live in openness and affirmation rather than secrecy and condemnation. Most of us know that we should build up rather than tear down. Most of us know that we should being willing to sacrifice our own desires for greater good if sacrifice is what is needed.
We should. We should. We should.
But we don’t.
Yet we could.
We could.
It would take hard work and perseverance. It would take self-examination. It would take tongue-biting. It would take humility and willingness to change. It would take prayer. And time. And space. And it wouldn’t be easy. But it is possible. And we could do it.
So yes.
“…There could be no us against them—no we versus they. There could just be us. There could just be people…”
Forget should. We know we should.
We could. Really really, really could.
So let’s make it happen.
Let’s make it: “There is no us against them—no we versus they. There is just us. There are just people…”
What I posted was this: “…There could be no us against them—no we versus they. There could just be us. There could just be people…”
My initial statement was this: “There should be no us against them—no we versus they. There should just be us. There should just be people.”
The difference lies in just one word; yet the difference is huge.
One of my favorite passages of scripture says: “So in Christ Jesus you are all children of God through faith, for all of you who were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ. There is neither Jew nor Gentile, neither slave nor free, nor is there male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus. If you belong to Christ, then you are Abraham’s seed, and heirs according to the promise.” (Galatians 3:26-28)
Another of my favorite passages says: “For just as each of us has one body with many members, and these members do not all have the same function, so in Christ we, though many, form one body, and each member belongs to all the others. We have different gifts, according to the grace given to each of us.” (Romans 12:4-6a)
In short: We are one in Christ, yet we are diverse. We are one in Christ, yet we are different. We are one in Christ, yet we are not robots. We are one in Christ, for what we stand for and live for is the same: redeeming, amazing, life-transforming Love.
Most of us know this. Most of us know that we should live as one. Most of us know that we should live in openness and affirmation rather than secrecy and condemnation. Most of us know that we should build up rather than tear down. Most of us know that we should being willing to sacrifice our own desires for greater good if sacrifice is what is needed.
We should. We should. We should.
But we don’t.
Yet we could.
We could.
It would take hard work and perseverance. It would take self-examination. It would take tongue-biting. It would take humility and willingness to change. It would take prayer. And time. And space. And it wouldn’t be easy. But it is possible. And we could do it.
So yes.
“…There could be no us against them—no we versus they. There could just be us. There could just be people…”
Forget should. We know we should.
We could. Really really, really could.
So let’s make it happen.
Let’s make it: “There is no us against them—no we versus they. There is just us. There are just people…”
Thursday, April 24, 2014
One Statement Three Ways
My dad is a very sentimental man. So when I came downstairs on Friday morning and found him crying at the kitchen table, I wasn’t surprised. He was doing his morning devotion and had just read something that deeply moved him. In typical dad fashion, he read aloud what had touched him and I listened in typical Deanna-to-Dad fashion—which meant that I continued making my breakfast and not appearing terribly interested in what he was reading but really taking in his every word and inwardly smiling at his impromptu theological discourse.
Something that he read that morning made its way into my mind and became the source of my own theological ponderings for the past week. Quite simply, he read, “I love you regardless of how well you are performing.”
Sarah Young, the writer, wrote this statement from the perspective of Jesus talking to the reader. She wanted her readers to know that they were loved regardless of their actions and that even though we are to strive to live holy lives we are not going to be disowned when we fall short. I get that. And it is a comforting thought and a wonderful message for the “recovering perfectionist” that is me. But it’s totally not what I heard when my dad read the statement on Friday morning.
What I heard was this:
If God loves me regardless of how well I’m performing and I am supposed to love with the love of God, then I, likewise, must be able to look at people in my life and say, “I love you regardless of how well you’re performing.”
I love you when you don’t act like I think you should act.
I love you when you don’t write when I think you should you should write.
I love you when you don’t show up when I think you should show up.
I love you when you forget about something that’s important to me.
I love you when you take your frustrations out on me or hurt me.
I love you when you need to take space from me.
I love you when you’re absolutely ridiculous and refuse to believe that I am right .
I don’t mean to put expectations on the people in my life. But I do. And I therefore accidently set myself up to feel resentment…
So all week I’ve been telling myself, “I love you regardless of how well you’re performing,” and all week I’ve found my heart opening toward content grace.
Then, yesterday, while listening to a book about Rwandan genocide and the atrocities that led countless people to question God’s presence in the killing of 1,000,000 people in just 100 days, I suddenly found myself flipping that statement on its head again by saying aloud to God, “I love you regardless of how well you’re performing.”
There is a lot about God that I do not understand. I don’t understand how or when God chooses to intervene in the natural world order and when God allows God’s created world—including human beings—to do its thing. I especially don’t understand why some people are miraculously healed while others are not—even when prayers for healing are being prayed by hundreds of people each day. Don’t get me wrong. I get that good can come from all things and that little sparks of light can be seen even in darkness. But that doesn’t mean that I always understand God…and yet…I can—and do—still love God…regardless of my understanding of God’s “performance.”
“I love you regardless of how well you’re performing.”
Thanks, Dad, for sharing this thought through your morning devotional tears. I know you weren’t really talking to me when you read this statement, but…I know you mean it...and...I love you, too.
Something that he read that morning made its way into my mind and became the source of my own theological ponderings for the past week. Quite simply, he read, “I love you regardless of how well you are performing.”
Sarah Young, the writer, wrote this statement from the perspective of Jesus talking to the reader. She wanted her readers to know that they were loved regardless of their actions and that even though we are to strive to live holy lives we are not going to be disowned when we fall short. I get that. And it is a comforting thought and a wonderful message for the “recovering perfectionist” that is me. But it’s totally not what I heard when my dad read the statement on Friday morning.
What I heard was this:
If God loves me regardless of how well I’m performing and I am supposed to love with the love of God, then I, likewise, must be able to look at people in my life and say, “I love you regardless of how well you’re performing.”
I love you when you don’t act like I think you should act.
I love you when you don’t write when I think you should you should write.
I love you when you don’t show up when I think you should show up.
I love you when you forget about something that’s important to me.
I love you when you take your frustrations out on me or hurt me.
I love you when you need to take space from me.
I love you when you’re absolutely ridiculous and refuse to believe that I am right .
I don’t mean to put expectations on the people in my life. But I do. And I therefore accidently set myself up to feel resentment…
So all week I’ve been telling myself, “I love you regardless of how well you’re performing,” and all week I’ve found my heart opening toward content grace.
Then, yesterday, while listening to a book about Rwandan genocide and the atrocities that led countless people to question God’s presence in the killing of 1,000,000 people in just 100 days, I suddenly found myself flipping that statement on its head again by saying aloud to God, “I love you regardless of how well you’re performing.”
There is a lot about God that I do not understand. I don’t understand how or when God chooses to intervene in the natural world order and when God allows God’s created world—including human beings—to do its thing. I especially don’t understand why some people are miraculously healed while others are not—even when prayers for healing are being prayed by hundreds of people each day. Don’t get me wrong. I get that good can come from all things and that little sparks of light can be seen even in darkness. But that doesn’t mean that I always understand God…and yet…I can—and do—still love God…regardless of my understanding of God’s “performance.”
“I love you regardless of how well you’re performing.”
Thanks, Dad, for sharing this thought through your morning devotional tears. I know you weren’t really talking to me when you read this statement, but…I know you mean it...and...I love you, too.
Monday, April 21, 2014
Love. Genuine Love.
Amelia and Griffin joined me at church yesterday. After the service was over, as Dana and Amelia returned from the “very nice bathroom” at the church (quote from Amelia), Amelia was flooded by greetings from people she didn’t know but who knew her through my writing and posts. She was told by more than one person just how much her aunt loved her…which caused her to grin from ear to ear…though she hid shyly behind her mom’s leg.
Amelia loves “The Wizard of Oz.” She was Dorothy two years ago for Halloween—complete with Toto—and she forced me to dress in character as well (I was a yellow brick from the yellow brick road). Naturally, I decided to give her a ticket to see the “Wizard of Oz” at the DPAC. She dressed as Dorothy to attend the show—complete with ruby red slippers—and she sat proudly in her seat for the whole show—mesmerized.
Before the show, I noticed Amelia looking through her playbill with focused intensity. If you’ve ever seen a playbill, then you know that it’s not the most kindergarten-friendly piece of literature. So I bought her a souvenir program. If you’ve ever paid for a souvenir program, then you know that it is a kindergarten-friendly piece of literature. Instead of lots of tiny black-and-white words about people, it’s full of colored-photo scenes from the show and simple phrases from the songs.
As soon as I handed Amelia her fancy program, she put down her playbill and began turning the new, shiny pages. We “read” the program together until the lights dimmed and the show started, then we “read” to the point where intermission left us, then she read the rest of the program in the backseat of the car before falling fast asleep. Quite simply, those were some of the best $15 dollars I’ve ever spent.
After the show, some of the actors were in the lobby taking up money for charity. While Dana and I excitedly pointed out each character, Amelia was star-struck and mute. Remember: She was dressed as Dorothy, so she, herself, was drawing a lot of attention. She was very kind and said “thank you” when people told her she looked beautiful, yet she didn’t want to meet any of the characters for the perfect photo-op. Thankfully, however, the tin woodsman wanted to meet her, so before we knew it, Amelia and I were posing for a photo with the human form of the character she had declared her favorite: The Tin Man.
When asked why The Tin Man was her favorite character, Amelia said, “I like the Tin Man because nothing bad happened to him. He was just missing his heart.”
I have absolutely no idea what that answer means, but it makes perfect sense to Amelia’s six-year-old brain—and so that answer stands.
The next day, I wrote my sister: “Good morning. How’s our little Dorothy?”
She said, “ Perky and ready for a bike ride. How about you?”
“I’m good,” I said. “Has she mentioned the show?”
“Yes,” responded Dana. “She talked about the DPAC. She says she’s been thinking about the cowardly lion, too.”
“She’s thinking about him?!”
“That’s what she said :-).”
“Hmm. I wonder what she’s thinking. I’m curious to hear :-)”.
But I’ve never heard.
When I saw her yesterday, Amelia didn’t say anything about the Cowardly Lion, or the Tin Man, or the DPAC, or the souvenir program.
Yet she grinned when people told her I loved her and she lay her head against my stomach in a sweet gesture of love during the blessing and she held on tight as I carried her to the car to say good night.
So I’m pretty sure she understands the point of it all: Love. Genuine Love. Home. Heart. Helping. Soul. Giving. Mind. Brain. Cross. Strength. Courage. Journey. The Yellow Brick Road. Oz.
Love. Genuine Love.
Amen.
Amelia loves “The Wizard of Oz.” She was Dorothy two years ago for Halloween—complete with Toto—and she forced me to dress in character as well (I was a yellow brick from the yellow brick road). Naturally, I decided to give her a ticket to see the “Wizard of Oz” at the DPAC. She dressed as Dorothy to attend the show—complete with ruby red slippers—and she sat proudly in her seat for the whole show—mesmerized.
Before the show, I noticed Amelia looking through her playbill with focused intensity. If you’ve ever seen a playbill, then you know that it’s not the most kindergarten-friendly piece of literature. So I bought her a souvenir program. If you’ve ever paid for a souvenir program, then you know that it is a kindergarten-friendly piece of literature. Instead of lots of tiny black-and-white words about people, it’s full of colored-photo scenes from the show and simple phrases from the songs.
As soon as I handed Amelia her fancy program, she put down her playbill and began turning the new, shiny pages. We “read” the program together until the lights dimmed and the show started, then we “read” to the point where intermission left us, then she read the rest of the program in the backseat of the car before falling fast asleep. Quite simply, those were some of the best $15 dollars I’ve ever spent.
After the show, some of the actors were in the lobby taking up money for charity. While Dana and I excitedly pointed out each character, Amelia was star-struck and mute. Remember: She was dressed as Dorothy, so she, herself, was drawing a lot of attention. She was very kind and said “thank you” when people told her she looked beautiful, yet she didn’t want to meet any of the characters for the perfect photo-op. Thankfully, however, the tin woodsman wanted to meet her, so before we knew it, Amelia and I were posing for a photo with the human form of the character she had declared her favorite: The Tin Man.
When asked why The Tin Man was her favorite character, Amelia said, “I like the Tin Man because nothing bad happened to him. He was just missing his heart.”
I have absolutely no idea what that answer means, but it makes perfect sense to Amelia’s six-year-old brain—and so that answer stands.
The next day, I wrote my sister: “Good morning. How’s our little Dorothy?”
She said, “ Perky and ready for a bike ride. How about you?”
“I’m good,” I said. “Has she mentioned the show?”
“Yes,” responded Dana. “She talked about the DPAC. She says she’s been thinking about the cowardly lion, too.”
“She’s thinking about him?!”
“That’s what she said :-).”
“Hmm. I wonder what she’s thinking. I’m curious to hear :-)”.
But I’ve never heard.
When I saw her yesterday, Amelia didn’t say anything about the Cowardly Lion, or the Tin Man, or the DPAC, or the souvenir program.
Yet she grinned when people told her I loved her and she lay her head against my stomach in a sweet gesture of love during the blessing and she held on tight as I carried her to the car to say good night.
So I’m pretty sure she understands the point of it all: Love. Genuine Love. Home. Heart. Helping. Soul. Giving. Mind. Brain. Cross. Strength. Courage. Journey. The Yellow Brick Road. Oz.
Love. Genuine Love.
Amen.
Thursday, April 17, 2014
Go To Dark Gethsemane
Were you there when the disciples fell asleep?
Were you there when Christ Jesus was betrayed?
Were you there when the disciples ran away?
Were you there in the violence and the fear?
Were you there when Peter turned his head in shame?
Were you there when Pilate sentenced Christ to die?
Were you there you when they crucified my Lord?
Oh, sometimes it causes me to tremble...
Were you there…
-------
While working at Antioch a few years ago, I partnered with my mom to catalogue the music at the church. As part of the organizational process, I made a spreadsheet that included each song’s title, composer, arranger, publisher, date of publication, subject matter, and whether or not I thought it was a good match for the choir. My friend Barb would call this one of my OCD moments.
At the time, I was working on site-reading with the choir. One of the songs that I marked as a long-range possibility for us—largely because it was so different than anything we’d ever done but also because it had a very compelling text and haunting melody—became one of our site reading victims. We looked at it together. Read it. Sang it. Struggled through it. Acknowledged both its difficulty and power. Then put it away…but I didn’t forget it…and neither did they.
One of the first things I did when beginning work again at Antioch was hand out “Go To Dark Gethsemane.” Almost five years later, the choir having worked with a strong choral director in the time in between, I figured that my long-range choir dream might actually come true. Easily the most difficult song in our repertoire, “Go To Dark Gethsemane” has occupied a few minutes of choir practice each week for the past two months. Phrase by phrase, we have worked our way through the Lenten Season to prepare ourselves for this very night…and the three days that follow.
After searching for a YouTube recording to post with this note, I realized that “Go To Dark Gethsemane” is a text that has been set to many different melodies. I couldn’t find the one that we’ve been rehearsing, so I’m simply going to post the words and ask that you join me in Gethsemane.
Be prepared, though…the garden is dark…and the next few days are, too…
Go to dark Gethsemane
Ye that feel the tempter's power
Your Redeemer's conflict see
Watch with him one bitter hour
Turn not from His grief away
Learn with Jesus Christ to pray
Follow to the judgment hall
View the Lord of Life arraigned
Oh the wormwood and the gall
Oh the pangs of soul sustained
Shun not suffering, shame, nor loss
Learn with Him to bear the cross
Early hasten to the tomb
Where they laid His breathless clay
All is solitude and gloom
Who has taken him away
Christ is risen
He meets our eyes
Savior teach us,
Savior teach us,
Teach us so to rise.
Were you there when Christ Jesus was betrayed?
Were you there when the disciples ran away?
Were you there in the violence and the fear?
Were you there when Peter turned his head in shame?
Were you there when Pilate sentenced Christ to die?
Were you there you when they crucified my Lord?
Oh, sometimes it causes me to tremble...
Were you there…
-------
While working at Antioch a few years ago, I partnered with my mom to catalogue the music at the church. As part of the organizational process, I made a spreadsheet that included each song’s title, composer, arranger, publisher, date of publication, subject matter, and whether or not I thought it was a good match for the choir. My friend Barb would call this one of my OCD moments.
At the time, I was working on site-reading with the choir. One of the songs that I marked as a long-range possibility for us—largely because it was so different than anything we’d ever done but also because it had a very compelling text and haunting melody—became one of our site reading victims. We looked at it together. Read it. Sang it. Struggled through it. Acknowledged both its difficulty and power. Then put it away…but I didn’t forget it…and neither did they.
One of the first things I did when beginning work again at Antioch was hand out “Go To Dark Gethsemane.” Almost five years later, the choir having worked with a strong choral director in the time in between, I figured that my long-range choir dream might actually come true. Easily the most difficult song in our repertoire, “Go To Dark Gethsemane” has occupied a few minutes of choir practice each week for the past two months. Phrase by phrase, we have worked our way through the Lenten Season to prepare ourselves for this very night…and the three days that follow.
After searching for a YouTube recording to post with this note, I realized that “Go To Dark Gethsemane” is a text that has been set to many different melodies. I couldn’t find the one that we’ve been rehearsing, so I’m simply going to post the words and ask that you join me in Gethsemane.
Be prepared, though…the garden is dark…and the next few days are, too…
Go to dark Gethsemane
Ye that feel the tempter's power
Your Redeemer's conflict see
Watch with him one bitter hour
Turn not from His grief away
Learn with Jesus Christ to pray
Follow to the judgment hall
View the Lord of Life arraigned
Oh the wormwood and the gall
Oh the pangs of soul sustained
Shun not suffering, shame, nor loss
Learn with Him to bear the cross
Early hasten to the tomb
Where they laid His breathless clay
All is solitude and gloom
Who has taken him away
Christ is risen
He meets our eyes
Savior teach us,
Savior teach us,
Teach us so to rise.
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