A New Year's Resolution (Of Sorts)

 

Tuesday was Barb the Great’s birthday.

I always spend the day with her to celebrate

And Tuesday was no exception.

Except it was. 

 

I drove up to Barb’s midday. 

we had lunch and then we drove to Starbucks to get the most expensive free birthday drink we could think of.

Afterwards, we went to a plant store and looked at plants for ourselves and our loved ones. 

When I tried to send a plant picture to my sister, I noticed that I didn’t have signal. 

Figuring that I was just in a dead zone, 

I was annoyed,

But I didn’t think too much of it. 

When we left the store, though, and I still didn’t have signal, I began to realize that something was weird. 

I restarted my phone, 

As one does when there are technological issues, 

And I got a message that said

No SIM card detected. 

That’s what I knew that something had gone really wrong.

Barb said that the same thing had happened to her awhile back and that she had to go to the Verizon store to get it fixed.

So she told me to go.

Immediately.

So I went.

Immediately.

 

Without cell signal,

I felt weird.

I worried that I would wreck or break down and not be able to contact anyone.

I worried that someone would need to contact me and not be able to reach me.

I worried that I would lose my way and not be able to get directions. 

I couldn’t listen to my music or a book. 

I couldn’t mindlessly check my texts or Facebook when sitting at a stoplight.

My normal creature comforts had been taken away and 

I was all out of sorts. 

 

But it made me think.

I think maybe we’ve become too connected,

Or at least too dependent on the possibility of instant connection.

I think maybe we’ve lost the ability to sit and wait and be bored. 

I think maybe we’ve succumbed to a culture of fear that plagues us with thoughts of what if

If we’re not instantly connected.

And I think maybe we would grow a little if we could live counter culturally 

And put our phones down.

Some. 

I think maybe I could anyway. 

But I think that doing so will be very very hard.

 

I got a taste of it, 

by accident, 

on Tuesday

And I didn’t like it.

But I survived. 

And I think maybe I can survive a little each day

With a few simple modifications. 

 

I’m not going to make any promises.

I’m not going to make any resolutions. 

But I am going to try, 

To be counter-cultural and not let fears and what-ifs control me, 

Especially around technology, 

Which I know we need,

But that can too easily take over our lives. 

 

I’m thankful that my SIM card issue was an easy fix. 

I’m thankful that I got back to Barb in time to have her birthday dinner. 

I’m thankful for technology and all that is allows us to do. 

And I’m thankful for the ability to grow and change. 

Especially when it makes us better. 

 

Amen. 

Gracious Release

 It’s taken me a long time,

But I’ve finally come to accept the reality that friendships come and go—

That people are active in our lives for a season,

But that seasons change—

Whether it be a school change, a job change, a church change, a change in marital status, or any other life change.

Very few friendships are meant to actively span the years,

And that’s okay.  

 

Our goal is to be grateful for our active friendships when and while we have them,

And then to graciously release them to social media friend status, or acquaintance status, or sometimes just someone that I used to know.

 

A gracious release, I think, should happen naturally in time—

No major falling out, no in-depth discussion on growing apart,

Just a natural fading of intensity

That may or may not rekindle.

 

But every once in awhile,

A gracious release isn’t possible.

There IS a falling out.

There IS an in-depth discussion on growing apart.

There IS an unexplained cut-off.

There ARE harsh words.

And then it hurts so very badly.

 

Last Monday, 

I ran into a harsh cut-off at Walmart.

I hadn’t seen the friend in years,

But there she appeared,

An hour away from home.

When she saw me,

She quickly moved away.

We did not reminisce about the past.

We did not catch up on the present.

We did not speak at all.

And yet ever since that moment,

I have spoken to her every night in my dreams…

 

I haikued:

 

May our spirits reach

What our bodies cannot touch

A mutual goodbye

 

Friends: If you have ever had a not-so-gracious release,

Know that you are not alone.

One day you WILL heal.

Just give yourself time.

Give yourself space.

And give yourself active friendships…

Because they will push you through this season…

And some of them may even stay the course of time.

 

Amen.

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.

So Much Boils Down To Feeling Safe

Have you ever had a conversation that helped you realize something that you didn’t know you needed to realize?

As I chatted with a friend yesterday afternoon and said something that seemed a bit too random to be truly random—although it was something that had just popped into my mind—I found myself being faced with this request: “Tell me what you know. Because that was a bit too random.”

So. I started talking about all of the things that I know. I said things like, “I know you’re a tremendous person and leader. I know that you’re very capable of doing good and that you add something important to this world. I know that I hope good things for you and that you will be an excellent mom when you choose to have kids and if you are able to have kids. I know that I think baby humans and puppies are super cute but that I don’t think I could successfully raise either. And I know that I sometimes I wish I could go back and start over again so that I could be a better friend to people. Steady. Stable. Strong. And…safe.”

Steady. Stable. Strong. Safe.
Safe…
So much boils down to feeling safe.

When people think of me, I want them to feel safe.
Not afraid that
I’ll ask too many questions,
Want to know too much,
Offer too many gifts,
Share overwhelming information,
Think too deeply,
Come on too strong,
Demand unrealistic outcomes,
Be too mean.
When people think of me, I want them to feel safe.
Comfortable.
Loved.
Believed in.
Free to be fully themselves.
Safe.

So often, when things go wrong in friendships, in relationships,
It’s because someone has made someone else feel unsafe—
Plain and simple…
Though it’s really not simple at all.

I didn’t know I needed to realize this. But. I did.

So much boils down to feeling safe.

God, forgive us (forgive me) for all the times we’ve (I’ve) made someone feel unsafe.
And God, help us mend what’s been broken,
Slowly, steadily, securely,
Until we feel safe again.
Amen.

------

My friend Holli came to visit today. She arrived at school just before car rider duty ended—just in time to see my J and L go to their car. My J is the student who brought me lunch the Friday before Spring Break. He is also the student who won the county writing competition and who I went to the reception to support. Furthermore, he and L own my favorite car rider duty dog, Zoe.
Since Holli had her dog with her, I introduced them all to one another. “J and L—this is my friend Holli and her dog Julius Caesar.” J’s response, “You didn’t tell me you had friends!”

He sounded truly offended that I hadn’t shared this bit of information with him!

I smiled and said, “Well, yes. I have friends, J.” He approved.

Then Holli said, “This is going on the internet later.” I said, “It sure is.”

And there it is, my friends. My cute school story from the day.

Chased only by this cute story: I love dogs. My dad loves dogs. Holli loves dogs. My mom doesn’t love dogs. Who has Julius Caesar gravitated toward since he’s been at the house?
As he jumped on the couch with my mom, we heard this laughing statement, “Out of everyone in this house, why did you choose me?”

Then he came to me. And slept on my hand as I finished this post.

A Celebration of Life

Today is B’s birthday. At midnight, I wished her Happy Birthday on her FB wall. This morning at 9:30, I left my house to drive to hers. We spent the day together—running errands with the kids, hanging and rearranging art work, drinking coffee, eating birthday food, exchanging Christmas gifts, celebrating life.

I’ve exchanged Christmas presents with B and remembered her birthday every year since I’ve known her; she has remembered mine as well. But our gift exchanges, remembrances, and celebrations of life haven’t been exclusive to Christmas and birthdays. B and I communicate frequently, hang out when we can, and buy each other gifts every time we see something that reminds us of the other. It’s actually a minor miracle that I was able to wait until today to give B her Christmas present. I bought it for her sometime this past spring!

Today was also another of my friends’ birthdays. When I saw her birthday notification on my FB page, I wrote Happy Birthday on her wall. I like Mrs. Georgianna. We’ve known each other for many years. I went to her house as part of progressive dinners in high school. We used to have tiny handwriting competitions with one another.

Over the years, though, Mrs. Georgianna and I have remained in contact only distantly. This reality is no fault of either of ours. Mutual respect still exists. Distance has just happened over the years. I’m remembering her birthday today because FB suggested that I do so, yet I wouldn’t have known that today was her birthday had it not been for FB’s announcement. I may remember Mrs. Georgianna’s birthday in the future because I’m writing about it now, because I’ve formed a connection with it, but unless something changes, which it could, our lives still won’t be intimately connected throughout the year…

One of my biggest blessings of 2012 was the 2012 Advent and Christmas Seasons. For the first time in many years, because I wasn’t so busy doing the work of or studying ministry, I was able to step back, relax, and truly live with a spirit of openness in the waiting and celebration. I’ve written about a couple of things I’ve pondered in previous weeks—realizing that Jesus had grandparents and an aunt, accepting the fact that Jesus’ birth-night was both a non-silent and silent night—but I need to write about one more thing for this season’s revelations to be complete:

It seems to me that Christmas has become the universal Facebook announcement of Jesus’ birthday.

For some people, the reminder isn’t necessary. Some people have an ongoing, intimate relationship with Jesus so his birthday isn’t something they can forget—like I can’t forget B’s. Other people have a distant relationship with Jesus—they may have once been close to him but found that the friendship has drifted apart—so the reminder makes them pause and remember—like happened with me today with Mrs. Georgianna. Still other people don’t have much of a relationship with Jesus at all—they may have heard his name, been introduced to him at some point in their lives, but not ever have formed anything more than a distant connection with him—like happens to me sometimes when a name pops up on FB that I’m not very familiar with—so the reminder is just that—a reminder—a simple thought of good wishes.

For some people, Christmas is a simple thought of good wishes. The season comes, it goes, and it ends. For other people, Christmas is a time for pausing and remembering. The season comes, Jesus’ birthday is remembered, the remembrance reignites thoughts and feelings, it lingers for awhile, but unless something changes then it gets lost in the busyness of life. But for other people, Christmas is a focused day of remembering Jesus’ birth—of what Jesus’ life meant—of the hope, peace, joy, and love that came to earth and still lives today. For those people, Christmas may be a universal season of celebration but it is also an individual spirit that is chosen every day…a reality that does not die…a promise that is not forgotten when the decorations come down.

Birthdays are important because they celebrate life. But to truly celebrate life, day-in and day-out relationships must be nurtured.

I’m thankful for this birthday that I was able to spend with B, but I’m more thankful for the friendship that causes me to keep an eye out for Chinese and Japanese art and that causes B to keep an eye out for orange fish for me. I’m thankful that we’re so far in debt to one another that we’ve given up on keeping a tab. But most of all, I’m thankful that I actively get to celebrate life with B…and Mrs. Georgianna…and my family…and my friends…and you…because of the life that was born in Jesus and continues to live today.

Is It Really Like Falling In Love?

The other morning as I stumbled around my apartment in the zombie-like state into which I awaken almost every day, I caught myself singing along to the song on the radio.

When I first moved to Columbia, the radio at Mary’s house (where I first lived) was set to the Christian music station. Even though they play the same songs over and over again, I got used to the morning show and have listened to it ever since—subconsciously learning the words to a whole bunch of songs that I otherwise would not know.

So there I was singing, “It’s more like falling in love than something to believe in. More like losing my heart than giving my allegiance. Caught up, called out, come take a look at me now. It's like I'm falling, oh, It's like I'm falling in love,” when I suddenly thought, “Wait a minute. No it’s not. Let me listen to more words.” So I did. And I thought, “I don’t really agree with the words to this song…” but I kept singing anyway because the chorus is catchy.

I think the point of the song is that religion alone does not sustain us—that we must have a relationship with God in order to live a life devoted to God and God’s redemptive work through Christ—and I can agree with that point. We will fail religious doctrine—we will cross inappropriate lines, misuse words, break obligations, abandon creeds, and just flat out goof. If doing everything right by doing nothing wrong is our ultimate goal, then we’ll never achieve our goal. However, if feeling as if we’re in love with God and on an emotional and spiritual high all the time is our ultimate goal, then we’ll never achieve that goal either. God does move in powerful ways at various times in our lives, but mostly, I think, God is just quietly with us, day in and day out, guiding us and working with us as we seek to live into our understanding of who God has made us to be and how we can best share and live God’s message of love and redemption in this world.

There have been many times when I haven’t been able to feel God. I knew God was with me. I knew God loved me. But I couldn’t understand God. I couldn’t understand life. And I couldn’t feel anything other than the hurt and sadness that surrounded my heart. I don’t know about you, but if I don’t feel something when I’m falling in love—if I don’t understand it and coast on it in a state of elated bliss—then I think twice about how I’m falling. If, after long enough, I don’t feel anything in return, then I begin to walk away and toward another love. If, however, I believe in the love—if I believe in where it’s been and where it’s going and I’ve committed to seeing it through and there’s nothing fundamentally wrong or unhealthy about the love—then I will stay—because I believe in something more than the warm fuzzy feelings and elated laughter and tears of joy that I feel in that initial period of falling in love.

In those times when I can’t feel God, it’s not because I’m not trying. It’s not because my life is racked with sin. It’s not because I’m doing anything wrong. I pray. I read. I write. I keep seek. I try to stay grounded by Christian community. I ask for spiritual direction. I sit in silence. I talk to God all day, every day—sometimes even praying for characters in books I’m reading!—and I know that God is with me. I know that I am loved. But it’s not because of a feeling. It’s because of a quiet, gentle presence that is steadily living, moving, and breathing into my life… even when I cannot see or hear or feel or understand.

Yesterday, a friend of mine posted one simple word: Balance. I jokingly responded with the word: Beam. But in all actuality, I thought, “Yes. Balance. Balance is what we need so desperately in this world.” And balance is what we need in faith, too. Like I said, I agree that religion cannot sustain us. But I also believe that relationship based off of feeling alone cannot sustain us either…and I fear that too many of us are relying on our emotions these days—on our feelings—and that we’re doing the body of Christ damage to the body of Christ. As I finish my Cookie Mocha Frappuccino lite, I liken feeling-based relationship to living solely off of caffeine and sugar. It’s really good while it lasts…but what happens when it wears off? What happens is that we must keep eating vegetables and fruits and proteins to sustain us every day and allow Starbucks to be a special treat.

Chances are good that I’ll sing along the next time I hear, “It’s More Like Falling In Love.” Thanks to the Christian music station, the lyrics and melody are firmly planted in my mind. But chances are good, too, that I’ll think twice about what I’m singing and possibly even change the words to more accurately reflect my belief.

What about you? What do you believe? And have you heard a song lately that made you stop and question the words—Christian or not?

[What is Christian music anyway? If being a Christian means being a conscious follower of Christ, then how can music itself consciously choose to follow Christ since it doesn’t have a brain? Shouldn’t it be music written by Christians instead of Christian music? And can’t music written by Christians be music that doesn’t make it to the Christian radio station? And how did the radio station become Christian if it doesn’t have a brain? Isn’t it a radio station managed by Christians? Isn’t Christian a noun instead of an adjective? But that…that’s another note…thanks to another friend who posted a blog by Derek Webb :-).]

He Saw Them

I must confess. Every time I hear the song, “People Need The Lord,” I think of Kermit the Frog and Miss Piggy. When I was a teenager, a couple in my church sang the song as special music on Sunday night and they sounded exactly like Kermit and Miss Piggy. They weren’t trying to. They were being serious. They were singing out of a genuine heart and spirit. Yet their voices just came out...well...like Jim Hinson’s characters.

And so...when I hear, “People need the Lord, People need the Lord, At the end of broken dreams, He’s the open door. People need the Lord, people need the Lord, When will we realize, People need the Lord,” I think about a cute green frog and lovely pink pig. I know, I know, it’s bad. But it’s the truth. And I needed to confess.

However, once I get passed the initial giggles that come when the song begins, I am struck by the power of the words:

Everyday they pass me by, I can see it in their eyes, Empty people filled with care, Headed who knows where? On they go through private pain, Living fear to fear. Laughter hides their silent cries, Only Jesus hears.

Wow. What a profound lyric. We are surrounded by people, day in and day out, who are hurting—struggling—experiencing private pain—being swallowed by emptiness—that most of us never take the time to see.

The speaker in chapel on Monday morning focused his message on three words: “when he saw.”

Taken from Matthew 9, the story says: 35 Jesus went through all the towns and villages, teaching in their synagogues, proclaiming the good news of the kingdom and healing every disease and sickness. 36 When he saw the crowds, he had compassion on them, because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd. 37 Then he said to his disciples, “The harvest is plentiful but the workers are few. 38 Ask the Lord of the harvest, therefore, to send out workers into his harvest field.”

Seeing people—really seeing them—is messy. It takes guts and courage. It takes time and energy. It is risky and demanding and often does not involve neat straight lines or nice rounded edges. It is not black and white. It is not always pretty. It often forces us to see ourselves in ways that we have tried to avoid. Yet seeing people—really seeing them—is the most beautiful act of love that we can give.

Jesus saw people. And when saw them he had compassion on them. And when he had compassion on them, he was moved to action. He was moved to proclaim the good news of God’s kingdom—God’s kingdom of light, love, and freedom—and he was moved to heal disease and sickness because the people were harassed and helpless—they were lost and in need of a shepherd—they needed someone to show them a better way.

Jesus saw people. He didn’t care if they were green or pink or couldn’t sing very well at all. He didn’t care if they were ugly or smelled bad or had played the martyr/victim every day of their lives until that point. Jesus saw people and did the messy work of loving them…

Oh God, open our eyes to see what you see, feel what you feel, and act as you act. Grant us fresh vision so that we might see how to share your life, love, forgiveness, redemption, and freedom with a people who are dying to be seen and heard and loved for who they are now and who they can be the future. Amen.