Will You Uphold Me?

On our way back from Florida today, I finished listening to the book, “Blackwater.” In it, the main character, Brodie, plays a simple prank on two kids from his high school, yet the prank goes wrong and both kids die. Paralyzed by emotion and reality, Brodie allows his cousin—a wandering, attention seeking soul who lives for danger—to construct a lie about the events that led to the students’ deaths. As a result, Brodie and his cousin are heralded as heroes…yet the truth eats at Brodie’s soul.

One girl knows the truth, though. One girl saw what happened. In a gentle, loving way, this girl encourages Brodie to confess the truth because she knows, from experience, that hiding the truth is more difficult than living a lie. She assures Brodie that even though the truth may be difficult to speak and even though it may not be well-received, things will, in time, smooth over and telling the truth, in the end, will allow Brodie to live free. She also assures Brodie that she will support him and walk with him through whatever happens.

Eventually Brodie tells the truth. As can be expected, Brodie’s parents are devastated. They hurt for the reality of what happened but they also grieve for the weight of guilt that their son has been carrying alone.

The book ends the night before the funeral of the second student. Literally sick with regret and worry—with the knowledge that his life will never be the same—Brodie—a middle school boy—asks his parents if he can lay between them in their bed—in the place where he once felt safe. As the family lay on their backs beside one another that night—each thinking their own thoughts—the mom and dad drift to sleep...but Brodie lies restlessly awake.

Then, in one of the most profound scenes I have ever read, Brodie whispers his dad’s name. His dad immediately wakes up—the book says it’s as if the dad only half sleeps—as if he’s always listening for his name in case his son or wife need him—and says, “Yes.”

Brodie says, “Dad. Will you uphold me tomorrow?”
Brodie’s dad responds, “Son. I will uphold you tomorrow and in all the days to come.”
And then Brodie goes to sleep.

Oh dear friends…may we be like Brodie’s father (and friend) and choose to uphold one another no matter what truths are confessed or lies are constructed.

Like Brodie, I believe we’re each doing our best to survive, yet sometimes life spins out of control and leaves us gasping for air. Some days we have it all together while other days we’re lucky to survive. But oh the scary freedom of truth! Oh the knowledge that we’re all in this thing called life together! Oh the sting of consequences but the balm of grace! Oh the assurance of being loved…of feeling safe…of feeling secure…of knowing you’re going to make it…of knowing you are upheld.

“Deanna? Will you uphold me?” you may ask.
“Yes, friend.” I will answer. “I will uphold you. Today, tomorrow, and in all the days to come.”

Amen.

The Moon and The Nativity

I had the privilege of babysitting my niece (Amelia) and nephew (Griffin) on Saturday night. As part of their bedtime routine, they each chose one book for me to read aloud. Amelia chose a short picture book while Griffin chose two chapters of a Magic Tree House Book. They each listened to the other’s selection, Amelia sitting on my lap, Griffin curled around my shoulders like a comfortable cat or dog.

As I read from The Magic Tree House, Amelia leaned her head back and looked around the room. She said, “I can look anywhere I want during this story because there aren’t any pictures.” I didn’t think much of her comment until church on Sunday morning. As I sat listening to the cantata, I thought about the Christmas story that was being read to me through music and spoken word. For some reason, it made me think about reading to Griffin and Amelia the night before—reading and imagining what it would be like to travel to the moon and ride on a moon buggy.

The story on Saturday night was exciting and alive. While Amelia looked around the room, she pretended to be in the story. She wasn’t tied to pictures on a page but free to imagine images in her head. She was fully engaged in the story. So was Griffin. They didn’t want me to stop reading because they wanted to know what would happen next…

I wish I could say that I greet the Christmas story with this same excitement and imagination. But if I’m honest, then I must admit that I don’t. I’ve heard the story so many times and I’ve seen so many nativity scenes and I’ve witnessed so many arguments about keeping Christ in Christmas that the story has lost something along the way. I wish this confession weren’t true. I wish that I approached the season of Advent with the same anticipation and wondering with which Griffin and Amelia approached The Magic Tree House on Saturday night or that I’ve approached the 57 audio books that I’ve “read” this year. But I don’t. I know the Christmas story. I know how Christ’s life began and I know how it ended. The story is familiar. It’s comforting. It’s part of the narrative of my life. Yet I grieve the fact that it’s been reduced to a still, stale nativity scene. I grieve that the “greatest story ever told” has gotten stuck on the page in a clean, perfect moment…

Because it couldn’t have been a clean, perfect moment. Well. It could have been perfect, but I doubt it was clean. Mary had a baby in a stable. On its own, having a baby isn’t clean. I’ll leave you to ponder the details of childbirth. And on its own, a stable isn’t clean. I’ll leave you to ponder the smells that accompany a stable. And Mary and Joseph couldn’t have remained frozen in a posture of peaceful adoration while shepherds and wise men came to visit. They still had to eat and drink and sleep and take care of normal bodily functions and “household” chores. And Joseph probably had to leave the stable to be counted in the census, right? [I don’t know about this because I don’t know how the census worked…but the census is why they were going to Bethlehem, right? So it makes sense that they had to do something with the census at some point.]

And the shepherds probably had to heavily weigh whether or not to leave their sheep—their livelihood—alone in the fields to do what the angels said. They probably had to discuss what they’d just seen and heard and figure out what they wanted to do. And they probably had to figure out what to say when they arrived at the stable. How do you introduce yourself to the parents of a newborn baby who is declared to be the Son of God? And when they got there, they probably didn’t freeze in humble submission as much as they gazed upon the baby Jesus in awe—like we gaze upon newborns in awe. They probably made silly little noises and funny little faces and ooo-ed and ahh-ed about how beautiful Jesus was. I’m not saying they didn’t bow down. But I don’t think they froze in one silent position.

And…I don’t know. The possibilities of LIFE in the nativity scene and the Christmas story seem endless when I take the time to read or listen beyond the page—to look around the room and imagine what it might have been like to be there—not just on the night Jesus was born but during the moments when Mary and Joseph found out they were having a child, when Mary marveled at the changes taking place in her body during pregnancy, when Simeon and Anna saw their lives’ ambitions fulfilled when Jesus was presented at the temple, when Joseph changed his first diaper, when…you fill in the blank.

Oh God, forgive me for allowing your story to become stale. Give me fresh eyes to see and new ears with which to hear and allow my holy imagination to sense the same excitement, anticipation, and wonder about your presence in this world as children sense about their visit to the moon. Amen.

Project Idea: People Watching

People-watching is something you can do anytime and anywhere—as long as there are people around! In fact, people-watching is something that we’re always doing—as long as there are people around! So why not make people watching intentional?

As you move through the hustle and bustle of this holiday season, pay attention to the people around you. If you look closely, you’ll be able to see beyond shoes, clothes, hair, handbags, shopping carts, book bags, and Bibles and into a full gamut of emotions. You’ll see happiness and joy, yes. But you’ll also see anxiety, fear, sadness, loneliness, and grief. For some persons, the holidays are very difficult. They may not have presents to give or receive. They may not be promised endless supplies of food. They may not have a loving family with whom to surround themselves. Or they may be missing loved ones who have gone.

You can people-watch in a shopping mall, at school, in a grocery store, or in your church. You may even choose to people watch in your family. Pray that God will give you a spirit with which to discern emotions and wisdom to know when to speak and when to remain silent in prayer. When you begin to open yourself to what others may be feeling or experiencing, you may realize that you have a close friend or family member who really needs your love and encouragement.

Consider people-watching as a group—setting aside a period of time during which you all simply watch and pray (either alone or in pairs) and then coming together to debrief what you’ve seen (beyond crazy fashions and people picking their noses) and to brainstorm ways you can minister to any needs you have discovered.

An Advent Confession

I had one of those moments during worship yesterday when God’s spirit overwhelmed me and I was left in tears. And these weren’t small, unnoticeable tears. These were large, uncontrollable tears that streamed down my face, onto my neck, and into my shirt. And I totally didn’t expect it.

The preacher began to preach, and I began to cry. At first, I cried tears of sadness for grieving family members, lost traditions, and the deep hurts of this world.

Then I cried tears of conviction as I realized just how small my faith had become. I live and breathe God and theology and the ministry and the church, yet somehow my faith has become stagnant and stale. The preacher asked one very simple question: Will you believe in what God can do this Christmas? If God came to earth in the form of the Christ-child over two thousand years ago and if that Christ-child changed how we view the law, how we treat humanity, and how we believe in true life eternal, then why could God not do it again? Why could God not take normal, hum-drum reality and transform it into something more wonderful than anything we can imagine? Why could God not take stagnant, stale, or impossible reality and breathe new life into existence? If I believe in our God of Advent—our God of life and creation—our God that I profess to love and serve with my whole life—then should I not believe in what God can do this Christmas? And not just this Christmas, but in life in general?

Then I cried tears of, oh, I don’t know what they were tears of, but they came as I prayed the Lord’s prayer and asked God to “forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.” If I am honest, then I must confess that there are many people and institutions who I feel have trespassed against me—who have hurt me with words, actions, and deeds because of theological or political beliefs, past actions, and other issues that need not be discussed. If I am honest, then I must confess that there are many people and institutions toward which I feel bitter and judgmental and for whom I have lost belief that anything good can come. Yet if I am to live as one forgiven, and if I am to hope that others will grant forgiveness toward me, then I must extend forgiveness—and hope—to those who have trespassed against me. I must release the bitterness and judgment that I feel—however overt it is—because I really didn’t realize it was there to the extent with which I was tearful yesterday—if I am to live with a faith that is healthy and whole and that believes in what God can do.

One of my favorite passages of scripture is Isaiah 55. I like the whole passage, but my favorite verses are from 8-13: “For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are my ways your ways,” declares the Lord. “As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts. As the rain and the snow come down from heaven, and do not return to it without watering the earth and making it bud and flourish, so that it yields seed for the sower and bread for the eater, so is my word that goes out from my mouth:It will not return to me empty, but will accomplish what I desire and achieve the purpose for which I sent it. You will go out in joy and be led forth in peace; the mountains and hills will burst into song before you, and all the trees of the field will clap their hands. Instead of the thornbush will grow the pine tree, and instead of briers the myrtle will grow. This will be for the Lord’s renown, for an everlasting sign which will not be destroyed.”

Oh, Deanna. Oh that you would remember these words. Oh that you would live into these beliefs that God is so much bigger than you and that God can do so much more than anything you can imagine.

And oh, dear friends. Won’t you join me in this confession? Won’t you allow yourself to cry tears of grief for those who are hurting, repentance for faith that is dying, and whatever other emotion needs to be cried for whatever conviction God lays upon your heart?

And then, together, may we go out in joy and be led forth in peace this holiday season, answering yes to this question and to the God whom we love and serve: Will you believe in what God can do this Christmas today?

Deanna The Double Dutch Dreamer

Last night was my Sabbath night, so I did not cut on the TV or use my computer after leaving work. Instead, I cooked, cleaned, and read—both with my ears and with my eyes. With my ears, I read the book, “Double Dutch,” and with my eyes I read one speech out of “Great Speeches By African Americans.” I fell asleep thinking about slavery, freedom, and double dutch. Quite an odd combination.

I really enjoyed listening to, “Double Dutch.” I liked the middle school characters—I could hear echoes of students from years past—and I imagined the sport—a sport that I have always been fascinated with—and I wished that I could back handspring into two turning ropes and then cartwheel in and out of them with ease. But alas. I cannot. I’m fairly certain that I never will. In fact, I think the turning of the ropes at this point in my life might make me motion sick!

One of the things that I keep thinking about today is how double dutch gave the characters in the book purpose and meaning. More than one character declared that double dutch saved their life—that it gave them something to be good at, somewhere they could belong, a positive way to escape from their problems, and a goal toward which to strive. At one point in the book, the characters united in the Double Dutch Pledge and said:

I promise to do my best to:
• Report for practice on time;
• Work cooperatively with my coach, teammates, and Double Dutch officials;
• Strive to encourage good citizenship, always setting a good example;
• Practice good health habits—promising to be drug free;
• Demonstrate my best with daily school attendance, assignments, and home responsibilities.

I don’t know about you, but I think the Double Dutch pledge—which is purely fictional as far as I can tell—is a great way to live. I think workplaces would be transformed if everyone pledged to:
• Report to meetings on time;
• Work cooperatively with my boss, coworkers, and company officials;
• Strive to encourage good citizenship, always setting a good example;
• Practice good health habits—promising to be drug and other addiction free;
• Demonstrate my best with daily work attendance, job assignments, and home responsibilities.

And what about churches?
I promise to:
• Report to Sunday school, worship, choir practice, and committee meetings on time;
• Work cooperatively with my pastors, lay persons, committee leaders, and deacons;
• Strive to encourage good citizenship, always setting a good (Christ-like) example;
• Practice good health habits—promising to be drug free and not to over-eat at church pot-lucks;
• Demonstrate my best with worship attendance, missions, and home responsibilities.

I think you get the idea.

Deanna The Double Dutch Dreamer may never say the fictional Double Dutch Pledge at the fictional National Double Dutch Tournament, but she can make a pledge with her life to be the best God has called her to be. And she can do everything possible to make the church and her life’s expression of Christianity a place where people can come and feel welcomed and accepted, like they have a place to belong, like they have a positive escape from their problems, and like they have something that they are good at—whatever that something is—because we’re all good at something—even if it’s not Double Dutch.

Hallmark Movies and Dark Sides

Sometimes I think it’d be nice if life were a Hallmark movie. There would be tragedy, yes, but everything would resolve within two hours and everyone would live happily ever after. I should know. I watched at least six Hallmark movies over the weekend. It may have been eight. I lost count.

My dad called to say hey last night. He was cutting out coupons and thinking of me. As we were talking and I told him that I’d been at my apartment all weekend, he said, “Well it’s good you’ve been able to rest and have some time to yourself. But the danger in that is that it can make you feel lonely and alone.” He is exactly right. After so many hours of sleep and Hallmark movies—all of which end with the guy getting the girl or vice versa—one can begin to feel sort of lonely and alone. And when this one feels lonely and alone, her thoughts can turn very dark and unrealistic. I’m glad my dad called. And I’m glad that Iron Chef America pulled me away from the Hallmark channel.

A few weeks ago, I got Kelly Clarkson’s latest CD. The purchase was a Target impulse buy, but I’m glad I bought it because there are some good songs on the CD. One of them is called “Dark Side.” The lyrics are:

There's a place that I know
It's not pretty there and few have ever gone
If I show it to you now
Will it make you run away
Or will you stay
Even if it hurts
Even if I try to push you out
Will you return?
And remind me who I really am
Please remind me who I really am

Everybody's got a dark side
Do you love me?
Can you love mine?
Nobody's a picture perfect
But we're worth it
You know that we're worth it
Will you love me?
Even with my dark side?

Like a diamond
From black dust
It's hard to know
It can become
A few give up
So don't give up on me
Please remind me who I really am

Everybody's got a dark side
Do you love me?
Can you love mine?
Nobody's a picture perfect
But we're worth it
You know that we're worth it
Will you love me?
Even with my dark side?

Don't run away
Don't run away
Just tell me that you will stay
Promise me you will stay
Don't run away
Don't run away
Just promise me you will stay
Promise me you will stay

Will you love me?
Everybody's got a dark side
Do you love me?
Can you love mine?
Nobody's a picture perfect
But we're worth it
You know that we're worth it
Will you love me?
Even with my dark side?

I just got back from Christmas Packet Day. On the first Monday of every December, a group of us gather at a local church to finalize the packets. Packets are delivered from churches and associations from across the state, but they must be checked and stuffed with a Christmas card and scripture booklet before they are delivered. As I worked today, surrounded by both civilians and inmates, I couldn’t help but think of Kelly’s song—of Hallmark movies and loneliness—of the dark side that each of us has. And I couldn’t help but be grateful that scripture tells us that, “There is neither Jew nor Gentile, neither slave nor free, nor is there male and female, for [we] are all one in Christ Jesus.”

I don’t know about you, but I’m thankful that everybody’s got a dark side—that none is better than another—that we are all connected with a common thread of humanity—and that we can live with the hope that, somehow, in the end, maybe not as easily as a Hallmark movie, Light will consume darkness and Love will prevail.

God…thanks for not giving up on us and for giving us a chance to pass on your steady love. Amen.

Baked Beans, Mr. Potato Head, Fair Maiden, and A Purr Box

Well, friends. She’s done it again. The sleep texter struck last night.

One minute I was reading and perfectly awake. The next minute I was asleep, only I didn’t realize it (as can be evidenced when I answer the question: are you still asleep). I suppose that my brain knew that I was having a conversation and that I hadn’t said good night—which I will do if I am having a conversation with you at night—I always like to end a conversation so that I know it’s over—so every time I woke up my brain evidently felt as if I needed to continue talking…and it just so happened that who I was talking to was up doing homework and kind enough to respond to my insanity (and exploit my sleepiness :-)).

So now, for your reading pleasure, I present to you, “Baked Beans, Mr. Potato Head, Fair Maiden, and a Purr Box.”

Me, 9:36pm: It’s Sabbath night for me, so I’m just reading.
Friend, 9:37pm: Nice. Enjoy :-)
Me, 9:38pm: It’d be nice to have hot chocolate :-).
Friend, 9:39pm: :-)
Me, 9:44pm: I’m actually enjoying this book. It’s WMU history. I don’t usually like istory, so it’s weird that I’m enjoying this.
Friend, 9:52pm: I’m glad you’re enjoying it! My calves hurt :-(.
Me, 11:57pm: Hey. Are you still awake? I fell asleep reading. It’s one of my talents :-).
Me, 12:00m: Happy December! :-)
Friend, 12:00am: :-)
Me, 12:01am: HEY!! :-) What are you doing?
Friend, 12:01am: Working on homework.
Me, 12:01am: All my lights are on. Hehe.
Me, 12:02am: Good job for working on your homework.
Me, 12:05am: How are you?
Friend, 12:05am: I’m good. Are you still asleep?
Me, 12:07am: Why no I am not. I have just moved to my spacious bed. I am right in the very middle. And I must say. My bed, away from the space heater, hosting me in my pajamas, is much cooler than the couch. I feel likes being cooler.
Me, 12:10am: I don’t really like onions. You know that. But some things are just plain better with onions than without. Baked beans are one of them. Shhhh. Don’t tell!
Friend, 12:15am: :-)
Me, 12:16am: Mr. POTATO HEAD! I never played with him. But. He could be fun. Creating new identities and such. Especially with a mustache.
Friend, 12:18am: :-)
Me, 12:23am: Exactly what portion of your homework morsels are you working to digest?
Me, 12:37am: How is your working, my fair maiden?
Friend, 12:44am: Fine. Hahaha.
Me, 12:45am: Tis great to hear and music to my ears.
Friend, 12:51am: Hahahaha.
Me, 12:57am: Why do humans not have a purr box like cats? That would be helpful in relatiedships, you know?:
Friend, 12:58am: A purr box? Going to sleep now. Hope you’re sleeping well.
Me, 2:47am: Good night for real. Hehe. I just had the oddest dream! Couldn’t make it up the hill. Light out this time.

Me, 8:00am: Good morning. Sorry I fell asleep on you last night. I was reading and then sleeping.
Friend, 8:30am: You should read the texts you sent last night.
Me, 8:35am: Hahahahaha! Oh my. Where in the world was my brain?! I guess you figured out I was asleep :-). Did you laugh at me?
Friend, 9:49am: Yep. I was laughing a lot :-).

FYI: I also wrote my mom in my sleep, telling her that I was asleep when she wrote me—that I had fallen asleep reading—but that I was up and moving to my bed—and that I loved her. It’s always important to tell your mom you love her before going to bed, right? :-)