Land of Plenty

We live in a land of plenty. If one ever doubts this fact, then all she has to do is turn on HGTV and watch its programming for a couple of hours. Granted, our plenty is not equally distributed and too many of us take for granted the backs on which our plenty stands, but that is a note for another night.

A few weeks ago, during my Saturday Sabbath, my mom and I stumbled onto a Tiny House Marathon. Ever since that day, I’ve been turning on HGTV to try to find another Tiny House Marathon. In the process, I’ve found myself watching a plethora of different shows—and talking to the TV quite a bit, almost always making the wrong decision when given a choice between house 1, 2, or 3.

Last night during a few of the rare moments that I’ve been awake this Memorial Day Weekend—I’ve been trying to beat a chest cold that settled in at the end of last week—I found myself watching a beachfront property show where the couple was looking for a new home for their family. The husband and wife were both lawyers and their budget was between two and three million dollars. Yes, million. When talking about their children, the couple said that the kids were, “energetic, especially the boy.” When interacting with the kids, the couple was very awkward. And when talking about how happy they were with their new home, the couple was playing tennis, marveling about how much less stress they feel with their new life, and how happy they are to have made the move—and their children were nowhere to be seen.

Evidently, this show bothered me so much that I dreamed about it. In my dream, I met the nanny who quite clearly was the person raising the children and said, “I knew it. I knew that they had a nanny. I knew that they were hands-off parents and that those segments were staged.” In my dream, too, the boy was identified autistic, which I would wager money that he, in real life, should be but that he will not be because his parents will not want the diagnosis.

I know. I’m sounding very judgmental and investing a lot of emotional energy into something far beyond my reality. But I can’t seem to get it off my mind. Maybe I’m jealous of the money and properties and wishing that I could have three million dollars to invest in a tropical island home. But I don’t think that’s it. I think I’m bothered by how expendable the children seemed in that segment—and in other segments as well. Today, for instance, a couple opted to spend their “nanny budget” on a beachfront property and to push back their efficiency date of having a child exactly one year and nine months.

Another thing I’ve been quietly reflecting on is the fact that no one—on any of the shows that I’ve seen—ever—has spoken about finding a home—huge or tiny—permanent or vacation—that is close to any kind of place of worship. Space for entertaining, amazing views, making the most of life, de-stressing, being within walking distance of shops and bars, granite countertops and open floor plans, living environmentally friends—I’ve heard a lot about those. But having somewhere to do yoga is the closest I’ve come to hearing anything about faith—and this may have had less to do with faith and spirituality and more to do with flexibility and good health. Maybe it’s a network editing rule. I don’t know. But faith and faith communities seem a non-priority on these shows. And this, too, bothers me.

We live in a land of plenty. We have so very, very much. Even our tiny houses are bigger and nicer than many homes around the world. Yet when our plenty causes us to lose site of our children and to live life to our present fullest with little to no thought of leaving the world a better place, is our plenty worth it?

Dear God, we come to you tonight aware of the many good things that life has given—and the many people who have died to make these good things possible. Help us to turn our plenty into so much more than we can imagine and to devote our lives—our time, devotion, talents, and resources—not just to living our lives to the fullest but to helping others live their lives to the fullest as well. Children, teenagers, adults. Body, soul, mind, spirit, and strength.--Amen.

Four Disjointed Thoughts From An Overfilled Brain and Heart

For a week or so, two birds made our porch their night-time home. They didn’t build a nest. They didn’t stay during the day. They just perched on a ledge at night and bird-slept. Each night before going upstairs to bed, I opened the front door and said, “Good night, birds. Sleep well.”

Sometime over the past couple of days, though, one of the birds has gone missing. Still, each night, one of the birds comes to sleep. And each night, I open the front door and say, “Good night, bird.” And then I go on to add, “I’m sorry that your partner is gone, bird. I hope he comes back.” And then I feel sad.

I don’t like seeing partners left alone—human and animals alike.

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Bullet can be outside for hours. He can have the freedom to roam wherever he wants and use the bathroom as much as he wants. And yet. Nine times out of ten, he will not poop unless I go outside with him. *I shake my head.*

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Another day
Another year gone
How did we get here?

It was just yesterday that we were saying
Welcome
Let’s get started
We’re on our way
That new beginning is now ending
How did we get here?

Seasons change
Minutes fly
Arms stretch to catch time
But it can’t be stopped.

Time can only be embraced--
Celebrated,
Each day a gift,
A new day,
Forged by yesterdays
That’s how we get here.

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O Merciful God,
Have compassion.
O Merciful God,
Redeem.
O Merciful God,
Save.
O Merciful God, have pity upon us,
Now,
Speedily,
And at a near time.
Amen.

--Jewish Prayer

Let Your Heart Be Broken

“What good is it, my brothers and sisters, if someone claims to have faith but has no deeds? Can such faith save them? Suppose a brother or a sister is without clothes and daily food. If one of you says to them, “Go in peace; keep warm and well fed,” but does nothing about their physical needs, what good is it? In the same way, faith by itself, if it is not accompanied by action, is dead. But someone will say, “You have faith; I have deeds.” Show me your faith without deeds, and I will show you my faith by my deeds. You believe that there is one God. Good! Even the demons believe that—and shudder.” --James 2:14-19

Let your heart be broken
For a world in need:
Feed the mouths that hunger,
Soothe the wounds that bleed,
Give the cup of water
And the loaf of bread—
Be the hands of Jesus,
Serving in His stead.

Here on earth applying
Principles of love,
Visible expression—
God still rules above—
Living illustration
Of the Living Word
To the minds of all who’ve
Never seen or heard.

Blest to be a blessing,
Privileged to care,
Challenged by the need—
Apparent everywhere.
Where mankind is wanting,
Fill the vacant place.
Be the means through which the
Lord reveals His grace.

Add to your believing
Deeds that prove it true,
Knowing Christ as Savior,
Make Him Master, too.
Follow in His footsteps,
Go where He has trod;
In the world’s great trouble
Risk yourself for God.

Let your heart be tender
And your vision clear;
See mankind as God sees,
Serve Him far and near.
Let your heart be broken
By a brother’s pain;
Share your rich resources,
Give and give again.

“I think that’s my new favorite hymn,” Rebecca said.
“Mine, too,” I replied. “Mine, too.”

May we each move faith to action, and may we spend more time standing for than standing against. May we stand for Love, and may we trust Love to push out everything not good, right, or life-giving. Amen.

What I Learned Today

I learned something today: I wouldn’t make a very good ISS teacher.

On Field Day, my job is to help cover the re-focus station with Barb The Art Teacher.

Instead of being firm and strict with the students who come our way, though, I usually end up talking to them and giving them the individual attention that they crave.

This happened today when I began talking to a student about math and ended up sitting with him and discussing the vocabulary in a beehive book. It was actually a very good book. I learned that bees put nectar in cells and leave it there to dry, thus making honey!

To hear Barb talk about it, I was patting the student on the back, saying a lot of “Good job, sweetie’s,” and filling the room with rainbows and butterflies :-).

I’m not sure about all of that! But it’s true, friends. I wouldn’t be a good ISS teacher.

What about you, friends? What have you learned recently? About yourself or the world? I’d love to hear!

God of Light and Wisdom,
thank you for giving us
minds that can know
and hearts that can love.

Help us to keep learning every day of our lives--
no matter what the subject may be.
Let us be convinced that all knowledge leads to you
and let us know how to find you and love you
in all the things you have made.

Encourage us when life is difficult
and when we are tempted to give up.
Enlighten us when our brains are slow
and help us grasp the truth held out each day.

Grant us the grace to put our knowledge to use
in building the kingdom of God on earth
so that we may enter the kingdom of God in heaven.
Amen.

Dignity And Worth

Have you ever heard a song that punched you in your gut and spoke to the very core of your being? I had that experience over two weeks ago and haven’t been able to get the song out of my head since.

In short, the song is about a son who longs for approval and acceptance from his father. It shares the singer’s gut-wrenching journey from ideas like,

“You’re the last thing I wanted or needed, boy. You make me sick. What am I supposed to say when my friends talk to me about you? Sure, I made you and you’re in this family, but all you do is embarrass me. I give you a roof over your head, food to eat, and pay for you to go to school, yet this is how you repay me? You’ll never amount to anything, boy. It’ll serve you right if you grow up miserable and lonely.”

to ideas like,

“Son, I need you to forgive me. I grew up learning that a man was only a man if he was tough and played sports—if he never cried—if he never showed weakness—if he was the head of the household, no questions asked. But now I’m not so sure. I don’t understand exactly who you are, and you’re very different than me, but I’ve realized that you’re you, and I want you to keep being you—no matter what my friends or anyone else says.”

Needless to say, by the end of the video—a stripped down recording with only acoustic guitar and voice—I was crying quiet tears.

Almost a decade ago, in the middle of a night when I couldn’t sleep, I got up and went to my computer and typed out these words:

I think that we each just want to be loved for who we are. Period. Not the idea of who we could be. Or the roles in which we function. Or the services, gifts, and talents that we offer. But who we are. Good, bad, ugly. I think we each need to know that we are honored and adored not by virtue of performance and perfection but by the triumph of waking up each day, breathing, and giving life a try.

I think that we each need places of unconditional acceptance: places to call home. We each need to know that, to someone, we are not second best--to someone, we are the cream of the crop,
the top notch, the best thing since sliced bread. Ideally, I think, we each receive that love from
our families. Ideally, our hunger for acceptance is satisfied by the seeds that gave us birth or the partnership that promised to honor and cherish. Ideally, we find comfort and peace in the place we lay our heads. No pretense. No intimidation. No fear. Just rest. And satisfaction. And joy.

But when those things are not there. When we are uncertain of our value. When we question and doubt the inherent beauty of existence. When we feel used, or reduced to function and performance, or we fear failure and disappointment. When we're forced into a mold that was not ours to live, paralyzed by discomfort, lost. When our spirits are not nurtured and allowed the freedom to soar--to explore the world and discover the depths of creation, the places where we fit, the points at which we flourish--we slowly begin to die: our bodies exhausted, our hearts wounded, our minds numb, our spirits suffocated and…then what?

I suppose we pick up the pieces and begin to live again. I suppose we apologize for reducing people to ideas and roles and function, for identifying individuals by what they do rather than who they are--what they like, how they love, when they dream--for not celebrating unique personality but honoring the status-quo. I suppose we vow never to let anyone feel as if she is not loved for who she is. Period. I suppose we fill the gaping hole called needy
beast with the unfathomable love of God, manifest both in God's still small, unexplainable voice and the loud voice of tangible community, and let that love transform the very core of our being. I suppose we allow ourselves to feel again, to experience and release emotion, however raw and difficult, however many tears it brings, and give it permission to bridge the gap between knowledge and understanding.

We are all loved for who we are. We are all created to be who we are. But I think we each just need to be reminded of that fact through words and deeds and actions and gifts and time—that we each need to know that we are loved for who we are. Period. Over and over and over and over and over again.

Friends, I dare say that there are more people than not singing that songwriter’s song and waking up in the middle of the night with hearts about to burst. I dare say that there are more people than not picking up broken pieces and trying to salvage them through time, hope, confession and forgiveness. Each of us is human. Each of us makes mistakes. Ever so often or every single day, each of us makes poor choices and passes harsh judgments. Each of us struggles to love and be at peace with ourselves though most of us don’t realize the struggle. Most of us allow or force the struggle to lurk in the shadows of hyper-functioning, power, and control. Yet, in the end, way down deep, don’t 99% of us just want the same thing? To safely love and be loved? And to live with a sense of purpose and the certainty of safe acceptance?

Oh God: For all of the times we have acted as the father at the beginning of the songwriter’s song, forgive us; and then allow us to journey with one another not to a place of harsh opposites behind walls of difference but to a place of loving openness in front of those walls. Help us to arrive and live in the space of the father at the end of the songwriter’s song and to love people as they are—even when we don’t understand or agree—and to value their dignity and worth as your creation. You are the One who has the ability to grow and transform. You are the One who ultimately changes lives. Help us to leave the changes to You as you work through our steady love and help us to trust You enough to do Your work in other people’s lives—and in our very own. I love you. Period. Always and always and forevermore. Amen.

"You Made Me Feel Safe"

We do a writing/art challenge each week at Johnsonville. It’s normal for some challenges to be more popular than others, but last week’s challenge took the prize for most popular challenge ever. The challenge? “If you were a super hero, then what would your super hero name be and what super hero powers would you have? You can also make yourself a villain.” The three most memorable were Super Cheetoh (who turned bad guys into cheetohs so that they could be eaten), Puzzel Master (who is able to easily solve puzzles), and Rotten Tooth Man (who punishes people by making their teeth rot).

We had so many entries last week that I was still sorting through them this week! As such, I didn’t create a normal challenge of the week. Instead, I challenged students to write a thank you note to one of their favorite teachers as an extension of last week’s Teacher Appreciation Week.
My part in the challenge was to sort, compile, and deliver the notes to teachers.

As I was beginning my part today, I found myself smiling quite a bit. It always makes me chuckle to read what goes on inside kids’ minds. But then I came to a note that made me come to a screeching teary-eyed halt. The note very simply said, “In Kindergarten, you made me feel safe…You will always be my favorite teacher.”

When I think of my favorite teacher—my Junior English teacher—I think of a teacher who made me feel safe. At that point in life, I had just moved from the city where I’d grown up and my whole world had turned upside down. In the midst of it all, through her calm, steady presence, my English teacher made me feel safe. And she encouraged me to write. And writing gave me a safe place. For that, I will always be grateful.

What about you? Who was (or is) your favorite teacher? Did he/she made you feel safe? And teachers, are you creating a safe place for your students? Friends: this is your writing challenge of the week! Share your answers here.

Forgiveness Is A Tricky Thing

A friend mentioned Little Rock, Arkansas, in passing earlier today. Ever since she mentioned it, I’ve been singing the song Little Rock by Collin Raye.

Strangely enough, Little Rock is one of my favorite songs. It’s led by keys. It’s real. And raw. It’s the confession of a broken man longing to be whole again. It’s the heart of a guilty man longing to be free:

Well I know I've disappeared a time or two
And along the way I lost me and you
I needed a new town for my new start
Selling VCR's in Arkansas at a Wal-Mart
And I haven't had a drink in 19 days
My eyes are clear and bright without that haze
I like the preacher from the Church of Christ
Sorry that I cried when I talked to you last night
…
I don't know why I held it all inside
You must've thought I never even tried
You know your daddy told me when I left
"Jesus would forgive but a daddy don't forget"
…
Lying here upon this motel bed
My thoughts of you explode inside my head
And like a castle built upon the sand
I let love crumble in my hand
I think I'm on a roll here in Little Rock
I'm solid as a stone, baby, wait and see
I got just one small problem here in Little Rock
Without you, baby, I'm not me

No. I’ve never been married or struggled with alcoholism. I’ve never moved to Arkansas or worked at Wal-mart and I’ve never had anyone’s dad tell me that Jesus would forgive but a daddy don’t forget. But I have watched relationships and friendships crumble. And I have lay in bed with thoughts exploding in my head. And it’s so hard—knowing that something is broken—but being helpless to fix it—save for a humble, trying heart, and an honest, open spirit.

I don’t know if Little Rock tells a story that really happened or if it was written to be a good song. Either way, I find myself wondering: Did the person on the other end of last night’s crying forgive him?

Forgiveness is such a complicated thing. There is the person who has done wrong and the person who has been wronged. Sometimes the person who has done wrong doesn’t think that he/she has done wrong and sometimes the person who has been wronged thinks that he/she deserves the wrong. Sometimes the person who has done wrong doesn’t care to fix the wrong even if the person they have wronged is offering forgiveness. And sometimes offered forgiveness isn’t received for fear of strings attached—because sometimes strings are attached instead of flowing unconditionally.

For those of us who have grown up in church, we know that God offers unconditional love and grace—free, a gift, no strings attached. We also know that we should live as Jesus lived—with unconditional love and grace. Yet Jesus does something peculiar in John 5. The text reads:

Some time later, Jesus went up to Jerusalem for one of the Jewish festivals. Now there is in Jerusalem near the Sheep Gate a pool, which in Aramaic is called Bethesda and which is surrounded by five covered colonnades. Here a great number of disabled people used to lie—the blind, the lame, the paralyzed. One who was there had been an invalid for thirty-eight years. When Jesus saw him lying there and learned that he had been in this condition for a long time, he asked him, “Do you want to get well?” “Sir,” the invalid replied, “I have no one to help me into the pool when the water is stirred. While I am trying to get in, someone else goes down ahead of me.” Then Jesus said to him, “Get up! Pick up your mat and walk.”

Did you see that? Jesus asked the man if he wanted to get well. In other words, in order for the man truly to be healed, the man first had to want to be healed. It wasn’t enough for Jesus alone to want to do the healing.

The man in Little Rock wants to be healed. He is singing his desire for forgiveness from the core of his being. Does the partner in the song forgive him? We don’t know. But I dare say yes—because I want to believe that his partner’s offer of forgiveness met his openness of receiving forgiveness at exactly the right moment…and then that they kept working at it together.

Do you want to be healed?
The pool = living water = dive in?
Do it? Accept it?
Grace, forgiveness, love.
Is there.
Do you want to be healed?

Amen.

Little Love Monsters

I think I’ve accidentally created some little monsters.

I’m pretty sure that my favorite artist other than Barb the Art Teacher, Fabio Napoleoni, could sketch an image perfectly depicting the monsters’ creation. In fact, I’d commission him to do this sketch if I had the money to pay for it!

Picture me standing in the front hallway of the school, right in front of a set of double doors that are placed at the intersection of a T.

Picture a 36 inch stool in front of me, my Willard sitting on top of the stool, me working on morning announcements while monitoring the comings and goings around me.

I open the door for bus drivers, stop wayward parents from going too far into the building, speak firmly to kids loitering in the bathroom, say good morning to both students and staff over and over again, and give quite a few hugs.

It’s in the saying good morning that I’ve accidentally created little monsters.

I have one little monster who hugs me every morning and stays right beside me until I kiss him on his forehead. I’ve written about him before.

I have another little monster who slowly walks toward me every morning and pretends not to be waiting for me to say, “Good morning, handsome,” but is really waiting for me to say, “Good morning, handsome,” at which point a tiny, almost unnoticeable smile appears on his face and he proudly walks to class.

I have one little monster who expects to see me in place each morning, lest her morning start in anxious tears.

I have at least five little monsters who stop for a hug every morning and many more who stop at least a couple of times a week.

I have a handful of 5th grade boy monsters who like to walk past and speak to me about random 5th grade boy things. Last week, when the question of the week was to write about someone you admire, one of those boys wrote that he admired me for teaching him music and for always making his mornings better. Now. Sometimes I get answers that I’m pretty sure are written to sway my opinion toward that student’s writing because the student wants a prize. For instance, a student once wrote that if he could go anywhere in the world then he would go to Beethoven’s house :-). But what got me about my 5th grade morning monster’s answer was that he added the little detail of me making his morning better. Until that moment, I’d not considered my 5th grade boy conversations overly important. But evidently, they are. Right down to conversations about shoes and hair cuts.

Friends, I have accidentally created a bunch of little monsters:

Little love monsters.

It’s one of the greatest privileges I can think for a person to have.

To all of you, especially teachers, who daily create and influence little love monsters, too: Thank you. Thank you for giving love and receiving love and teaching others to love in such a way that differences are accepted and quirks embraced and personalities nurtured exactly as they are.

Amen.

Yet...So Much More

Yesterday during the children’s sermon, Rebecca The Children’s Minister introduced a picture of her two dogs, Starbuck and Mac—named after their respective companies. As she talked about her two dogs and how much she cared for them, I thought about Bullet. Naturally, when I stood to introduce the next hymn, I talked about the little guy.

I spoke about how much he loves my dad—how he is fully devoted to my dad above all else. I shared how I let Bullet off of his porch each morning, let him bullet through the garage to open the door, watch him speak to my dad, and then leave him either eating his breakfast with my dad or running around the yard marking his territory after speaking to my dad. If, for some reason, my dad isn’t home, then Bullet will not stay in the house. He usually chooses to keep watch in the garage—for my dad. If my dad takes a shower, then Bullet sits on a bathmat in the bathroom and waits—then he licks the water off of the bottom of my dad’s legs. If my dad goes outside to mow the grass, then Bullet either follows around the lawn mower or digs himself a hole, sits, and watches. If Bullet is ready for a nap, then he will not sleep peacefully unless my dad is napping beside him. Notice—my dad is the theme of Bullet’s life.

It doesn’t matter if my dad fusses at Bullet. It doesn’t matter if he ignores Bullet’s requests to go outside. It doesn’t matter if I am the one who walks the dog. It doesn’t matter that I am the one who most often releases him from his porch. Bullet loves my dad. Fully. Completely. Wholeheartedly. Unconditionally. Period.

And yet…God loves us so much more.

When I came home from school today, Bullet met me at the door. As I was speaking to him, my dad told me that Bullet did something new today: He dragged his entire dog bed to our house from his porch. Dad said it looked like he was moving in!

Friends: Bullet’s porch has a regular, hinged door; there is no dog door through which he enters and exits. When Bullet decides that he wants to escape from his porch—which my next door neighbor and I called Houdini-ing—then he has to use his little paws to pry the door open and then stick his hose in the door to open it enough to scoot out his fat little body—we guess—no one has ever actually seen him Houdini.

So for Bullet to somehow open his door and drag out his dog bed! Let’s just say that he must have been determined to get to our house to ride out the storms that have been raging this afternoon!

And yet…God has done so much more just to be with us.

I wish that I could take this metaphor further. I wish that I could invite everyone to meet the little guy and to receive warm, therapeutic dog love. I wish that Bullet were welcoming and affirming and accepting of all people. But he’s not. In fact, he is so protective of my dad that he’s quite mean to everyone other than my family. Most people who meet him want to kick him!

Evenso…God’s love is unwavering and fierce. And for this I am glad…

…maybe even more glad than Bullet when he hears my dad opening a package of food. And that, my friends, is dancingly glad!