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…”

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.

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.

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.

Puzzle Peace

Last July, after finishing a puzzle for a friend, I wrote: I’ve heard of a wide variety of prayer groups. Of quilting groups, crocheting and knitting groups, blanket-making groups, and others. Yet I’ve never heard of a puzzle group. But why not? Why not choose a specific puzzle for someone who needs prayer—something that holds meaning for the future recipient or something generic if the intended recipient is unknown—and pray for that person with every piece placed? Little did I know that nine months later, I would present a puzzle to someone who indeed needed prayer…and that that puzzle would be a life-affirming reminder of God’s ever-steady presence and love.

Thanks to Barnes and Nobles’ after Christmas sale, my mom and I had a brand new puzzle to work on during our many snow days at the beginning of the year. As we began to work on the puzzle and I realized what we were putting together, I decided for whom we were working and shifted my puzzle making thoughts not only to properly sorting the pieces for puzzle putting together ease but also to praying for my friend.

After many hours of work (and prayer), the most elaborate puzzle-piece organization of our lives, and many celebratory high-fives, my mom and I finished the puzzle and attempted to glue it together—four times. After the fourth glue attempt, we threw up our hands in glue surrender and moved the puzzle out of the family room to a place where it would not be damaged. There it sat for almost three months…until last week.

Each night last week, I fell asleep to the prayer, “God help me remember to take the puzzle to work tomorrow.” Each morning, I’d get half way to school and realize that the puzzle was still at home. On Friday morning, as I got into my car, I thought, “Lunch. Owe money. Will owe more money today. Wallet. I don’t have my wallet,” so I went back into the house to get my wallet. Then I thought, “Puzzle. I should get the puzzle.” So I got the puzzle. [Yes. I think in incomplete sentences in the morning :-).]

I modge-podged the puzzle in B’s room between two of my classes. I let it dry. I left the puzzle for my friend at the end of lunch and then I went to teach Kindergarten. Along with the puzzle, I left a note: “You are important. And your work is too. Love, Dee. PS: My mom and I put this puzzle together for you. I prayed for you with each piece I placed.”

As my Kindergarteners danced, I answered a phone call of thanks. With much noise-filtering concentration and the hope that my students wouldn’t hurt themselves in their last hour before Spring Break, I heard my friend share how the puzzle had reached her at just the right time—at the end of a very difficult week—in a moment when life and work needed to be affirmed through what she took as a reminder of God’s sovereignty and control. I listened in amazement…and I smiled…

Yesterday at church, my pastor said that God’s grace and peace are alive and working and that God’s spirit is moving, always moving, toward hope and redemption…

The puzzle creator could have never made the puzzle. Barnes and Noble could have not placed it on clearance. My mom could have decided not to buy it. She could have chosen another puzzle to complete over the snow days or she could have not chosen not to do one at all. The puzzle could have taken the puzzle glue on our first four attempts at permanently piecing it together. I could have seen my friend using modge-podge before last week and I could have had the idea to sneakily borrow it from her so that I could glue her puzzle long before last week. God could have more directly answered my night-time prayers every morning last week and I could have given my friend that puzzle on another day at another time and I have no doubt that she would have loved it.

But instead, every piece of this story’s puzzle—pun intended—came together at just the right moment and transformed individual events from meaningful to life-changing.

Is this God’s working and moving toward grace, peace, hope, and redemption or what?!

And to think…God chooses us to be part.

I Don't Know About You, But I Think We Should Show Them

My pastor said something on Sunday that made me think of an image of Jesus that I hadn’t considered in a long time:

Jesus, on the cross—beaten, bloody, and bruised;
Me, kneeling beneath the cross—looking into Jesus’ eyes.
Jesus, on the cross—beckoning me to join him;
Me, climbing up the cross—looking into the eyes of love.
Jesus, on the cross—arms open wide;
Me, embracing Jesus—his broken body folding into mine.

I wrote a song inspired by this image when I was in college. I opened my computer today to see if I’d typed up the song, but I hadn’t. In the process of looking, though, I found another song that I hadn’t considered in a long time. I wrote this song after being introduced not to moving images of Jesus’ compassion but to sad images of a wounded child. Little did I know that that introduction to childhood trauma would be only the first of countless stories that would come to break my heart over the years.

I updated that song today…and the poem that follows means more now than ever.

No child should have to:
know all she knows,
see all she sees,
hurt all she hurts,
be all she is.

No child should have to:
face life alone,
doubt her next meal will come,
feel she’s not good enough,
believe who is she is, is wrong.

No child should have to:
joke to hide all the pain inside,
think she's weak if she cries,
fear the touch of another’s hand,
hear words that wound and damn.

But so many do.

Just look into eyes: shame.
Just listen to voices: humiliation.
Just look at shoulders: heartache.

If only they knew and believed in who they are.

If only they knew they are loved as they are:
Beautifully broken, resilient children of God,
Created and able to grow by the creativity of God,
Redeemed and made new by the grace of God…

Being Human Is Hard

The next time I volunteer to sing a solo, ask me if I can sing it without having an emotional breakdown. Okay?

I woke up yesterday morning feeling sick. Not head cold sick. Not stomach sick. But back quivering, I’m-going-to-be-vulnerable-and-lay-my-life-on-the-line-for-people-to-examine-it sick.

And rightfully so.

I sang one of the most emotional and guarded songs in my repertoire yesterday. And I sang it twice. (The words are at the bottom of this post.)

The first time I sang I was fine. But the second time…well…I got choked up at the end of my singing and found myself in tears after the song was over.

And these weren’t quiet, little tears. They were loud, big tears…only I was sitting in church during a prayer, so I couldn’t really be loud…so my face turned bright red and my veins popped out and I pressed my fingers into my eyelids to hold in the tears…which I’ve never really understood because it really doesn’t work…but I did it anyway because I didn’t know what else to do.

Then my mom gave me a tissue and Patrick said amen and I somehow managed to stop crying…but I started again when a friend hugged me after church…and then I came home so emotionally spent that I had absolutely no trouble falling asleep for my Sunday afternoon nap.

“And what were those tears for?” you might ask.

Broken relationships.
Loss.
Betrayal.
The difficult realities of being human because, as I said yesterday, “Being human is hard.”

Yet being human is exactly what we are...and being human is exactly what Jesus was when he was handed over to be tried, convicted, and punished for crimes he did not commit.

So Jesus understands this being human.
And Jesus cried.
So it must be okay for me to cry, too.

Although… the next time I volunteer to sing a solo, ask me if I can sing it without bursting into tears and having an emotional breakdown. Okay?

Thanks.


--------

You came into my life and you gave me a new song
We were very best of friends but then something went wrong
I compromised what’s right, didn’t always stand for Christ
And it hurts, life without you hurts

But without you I see what true love is meant to be
Not a game we have win, but a path we have to walk
Just like the father of the son, who waited with open arms
To embrace the hurt, he embraced the hurt

So you can hate me and curse my name
Run away in silence, write words to shame me
I understand, I understand
I still love you and bless your name
Give Christ the anger, the hurt, the pain
And trust His hand, to take your hand
Because I can’t

If I’ve had a thousand friends, I’m lucky to have one
Whose light won’t fade away with the setting of the sun
But as the days come and go, we change as we grow
Though it hurts, growing apart hurts

But grasping to a string in the cold, dark, stale air
Won’t get you very far, it won’t get you anywhere
It’s crying out in the night and standing for what is right
That’ll heal the hurt, it’ll heal the hurt

So you can hate me and curse my name
Run away in silence, write words to shame me
I understand, I understand
I still love you and bless your name
Give Christ the anger, the hurt, the pain
And trust His hand, to take your hand
Because I can’t

Broken Human Reality

I ate shrimp on Monday
and I didn't die
and this is a big deal because I have avoiding shellfish for years
because I've been standing in solidarity with my grandmother who is allergic to shellfish
and I've been living in the anxiety instilled in me by a friend who also has become allergic to
both shellfish and mushrooms...

A little over two years ago, I began having panic attacks when I ate.
At the time, I didn't know what was happening.
All I knew was that I was afraid to eat for fear that my throat would close up and I couldn't be able to breathe.
After a month of living with this fear and cutting out about half of the foods I ate because so many were attached to that feeling of
tongue swelling, throat closing, chest hurting, head floating, skin sweating, and lungs gasping,
I went to the doctor.
I was convinced that I, like my friend, had suddenly become allergic to shellfish, mushrooms, and most of the rest of the food in the world.

After sitting with the doctor and sobbing for ten minutes,
I was relieved when she kindly looked at me and said,
"1) Let's change your acid reflux medicine because sometimes reflux can cause things to feel weird in your throat.
2) I'm not sure that you're actually allergic to any foods, but let's do a food allergy test to make sure.
3) We need to adjust your anxiety medication. I think it's stopped working! It sounds like you've been having panic attacks and those are horrible. So until the new meds get into your system, I'm going to give you something to take when you start to feel like this again. It should act immediately to calm you down."

I've not yet had to take that emergency medicine.
I hope that I never will.
Just being able to name what was happening as panic attacks--
being able to speak it out loud and have someone carry the weight with me--
has helped me be able to talk myself through them when they start to happen:
whether it be while eating alone, eating in crowds of people, eating with individuals for the first time,
walking through large crowds of people, walking through the mall alone, singing or playing an instrument with a group, or any other time I've ever felt those feelings of getting ready to die.

Looking back, I realize that I've had panic attacks
(some minor, some more severe)
for over half of my life.

Am I proud of this fact? No.
Is it difficult to admit that I'm on medication for anxiety--that when I don't have medication in my system my brain chemicals flow out of control, irrational fear and worry seize my mind, and depression begins to creep into my soul? Yes.
Is this embarrassing for a recovering, people-pleasing perfectionist who places her faith in a God she believes not to be a God of worry and fear? Absolutely.

And yet.
This is my broken, human reality.
And I'm okay.

Actually,
I'm more than okay:
I am created in God's image,
and I was deemed good, though far from complete,
and I am chosen and dearly loved,
and so are you, my friend--
so are you.