Friday, May 18, 2012
The Little Cardboard Sign
The summer after my junior year of college, I had the privilege of visiting the Blue Bird Café in Nashville, TN. While I was there, either Allen Shamblin or Steve Seskin (I can’t remember which) debuted their song, “Don’t Laugh At Me.” When I first heard the song, it moved me to tears. To this day, I find it very powerful. The concept of each of us being a person of dignity and worth is a concept that I stand on, yet how easy is it to forget this fact.
One of my favorite verses of, “Don’t Laugh At Me,” says:
“I lost my wife and little boy when
Someone cross that yellow line
The day we laid them in the ground
Is the day I lost my mind
And right now I'm down to holdin'
This little cardboard sign...so…”
Every time I see a homeless person now, I think of these words and remember that I don’t know his/her story and that underneath the dirt, grime, and cardboard sign, there is a person just like me.
And so…after suggesting the idea on both the Acteens and SC WMU Student Facebook pages (one year apart) and feeling very convicted that I had not taken my own advice, I finally purchased the supplies for and made five bags of food to keep in my car so that I’d have something more than random change to give the homeless men and women whom I see standing by the street.
As I walked the aisles of the grocery store, I asked myself what I would like to have if I did not have a home. Because I don’t know when I’ll give away the bags, I couldn’t fill them with perishable items, items that would melt, or items that couldn’t easily be opened, so that limited my options…yet I tried to find things that I might want. I must admit that I’ve never had potted meat or sardines but I knew they would last, so I bought those. I bought Vienna sausages, beans and weenies, green beans, fruit cocktail, granola bars, raisins, and juice boxes. I thought something sweet might be good, so I bought peppermint and Starbursts and threw in those little flosser things with peppermint flavor. Finally, I bought plastic ware, rolls of paper towels, and rolls of toilet paper. I figured that eating can be messy…and I know that I don’t like for my hands to be dirty when I eat.
As I purchased those supplies on Tuesday night and placed them in reusable shopping bags—I thought a reusable bag might come in handy—I prayed for the people who will receive them and filled the bags with blessings of God’s love. I also filled them with a separate Ziploc bag stuffed with personal hygiene items because I’m so fortunate to have them lying around. I prayed that for at least in that one moment when I hand him the bag, the homeless man whom I will call sir will feel as if someone has seen him and deemed him worthy of the time and effort that it took to make the bag.
We’re all in this world together, you know…and we all deserve to be seen and respected…because we really are all the same in God’s eyes…
Thursday, May 10, 2012
Determined Dreamer
I spent a majority of my childhood at Tabor City Baptist Church. To this day, I dream about the halls and rooms of TCBC and feel certain that I could draw a floor plan if I were architecturally gifted.
I spent a majority of my early adulthood at Gentry Primary and Erwin Elementary Schools. I dream about each of these schools—my classrooms and huts—my students—and my Barb. Barb was my art teacher. We ate together, moved a lot of furniture together, produced performances together, made thousands of tie-dye t-shirts together, handed out fruit-cake together, ran down the halls of Gentry together, and pretty much lived our working lives together for 8 years.
I suppose that my dreaming about TCBC, Gentry, Erwin, and Barb could have a deeper meaning of unresolved issues and feelings or something else. I feel certain that if Dr. Brock is reading this, then he’s thinking beyond the surface of my dreams. But that’s not my focus today. My focus today is that I’ve been working in my sleep for the past few months and I’m therefore exhausted.
Take this morning, for example. I woke up late because I was determined to keep educating my students at Erwin about capitalism and human exploitation. There’s no way to write out the entire dream, but, in short, we had had an assembly—during which Barb and I sat in the back, giggled, and I wore no shoes—and I had decided to have my students write a poem or song about what they had learned. When we got to the classroom, however, we ended up debriefing the assembly and I tried to help my students visualize things, know how to use their imaginations, determine options for solving problems, compare something to a roller coaster, and understand capitalism as it related to dry erase boards vs. chalk boards.
In my dream, I guided the students to realize that the inventor of dry erase boards had created the need for them and thus wiped out (no pun intended) the need for chalk boards. In doing this, he forced schools to purchase new white boards, erasers, cleaner, and pens—the latter of which would easily run out, demand that schools constantly purchase new ones, and thus create hazardous trash that would fill landfills for thousands of years to come.
Each time I’d come close to making the connection to how this relates to human exploitation and what the students could do to stop it, a teacher would come get her class. During one period, entire families came with their students, but one family had left their baby at home because each parent thought the other had her. I assured them that the baby would be okay, that she was probably sleeping and didn’t even know she’d been left alone. So they went to get their baby, escorted by a childhood friend. And I taught. Through all six periods of the day, I taught. When I finally woke up, I realized that the teachers had been my alarm clock trying to get me out of bed.
There are days when I miss teaching. I miss the students and I miss the teachers. I miss the classrooms that I worked so hard to make quality learning environments and I miss the diversity of persons whom surrounded me. I miss singing and I miss music. But mostly, I miss my Barb.
I think it’s interesting that I spent last night teaching about human exploitation. It’s been a hard week. It’s been a week of heartache, division, slander, exposed lies, sadness, questions, judgment, and weaponry—God’s name being the biggest, most misused weapon of them all. I have doubted what I’m doing with my life and if my work and passions make any difference at all. I’ve felt overwhelmed and defeated more moments than not, and I’ve wept painful tears of brokenness and lost hope.
And yet…I dreamt of enduring friendship and the unwavering determination to educate about human exploitation—to educate about standing up for those who cannot speak for themselves. I dreamt of persevering when it would have been easier to give up. And I dreamt of jumping high enough to literally touch the ceiling and being surprised when my students told me that they didn’t start each day trying to do the same. I told them that they should—that it was fun!
Sometimes I struggle with the faith that was planted and nurtured at Tabor City Baptist Church. And sometimes I struggle with my call out of the public schools and into full-time vocational ministry. This week has been full of struggle. But I guess, at the end of the day, when I couldn’t see anything but four walls of limitation, my dreams showed their power and released me and gave me the strength—but not the peaceful sleep!—to go on.
Amen.
I spent a majority of my early adulthood at Gentry Primary and Erwin Elementary Schools. I dream about each of these schools—my classrooms and huts—my students—and my Barb. Barb was my art teacher. We ate together, moved a lot of furniture together, produced performances together, made thousands of tie-dye t-shirts together, handed out fruit-cake together, ran down the halls of Gentry together, and pretty much lived our working lives together for 8 years.
I suppose that my dreaming about TCBC, Gentry, Erwin, and Barb could have a deeper meaning of unresolved issues and feelings or something else. I feel certain that if Dr. Brock is reading this, then he’s thinking beyond the surface of my dreams. But that’s not my focus today. My focus today is that I’ve been working in my sleep for the past few months and I’m therefore exhausted.
Take this morning, for example. I woke up late because I was determined to keep educating my students at Erwin about capitalism and human exploitation. There’s no way to write out the entire dream, but, in short, we had had an assembly—during which Barb and I sat in the back, giggled, and I wore no shoes—and I had decided to have my students write a poem or song about what they had learned. When we got to the classroom, however, we ended up debriefing the assembly and I tried to help my students visualize things, know how to use their imaginations, determine options for solving problems, compare something to a roller coaster, and understand capitalism as it related to dry erase boards vs. chalk boards.
In my dream, I guided the students to realize that the inventor of dry erase boards had created the need for them and thus wiped out (no pun intended) the need for chalk boards. In doing this, he forced schools to purchase new white boards, erasers, cleaner, and pens—the latter of which would easily run out, demand that schools constantly purchase new ones, and thus create hazardous trash that would fill landfills for thousands of years to come.
Each time I’d come close to making the connection to how this relates to human exploitation and what the students could do to stop it, a teacher would come get her class. During one period, entire families came with their students, but one family had left their baby at home because each parent thought the other had her. I assured them that the baby would be okay, that she was probably sleeping and didn’t even know she’d been left alone. So they went to get their baby, escorted by a childhood friend. And I taught. Through all six periods of the day, I taught. When I finally woke up, I realized that the teachers had been my alarm clock trying to get me out of bed.
There are days when I miss teaching. I miss the students and I miss the teachers. I miss the classrooms that I worked so hard to make quality learning environments and I miss the diversity of persons whom surrounded me. I miss singing and I miss music. But mostly, I miss my Barb.
I think it’s interesting that I spent last night teaching about human exploitation. It’s been a hard week. It’s been a week of heartache, division, slander, exposed lies, sadness, questions, judgment, and weaponry—God’s name being the biggest, most misused weapon of them all. I have doubted what I’m doing with my life and if my work and passions make any difference at all. I’ve felt overwhelmed and defeated more moments than not, and I’ve wept painful tears of brokenness and lost hope.
And yet…I dreamt of enduring friendship and the unwavering determination to educate about human exploitation—to educate about standing up for those who cannot speak for themselves. I dreamt of persevering when it would have been easier to give up. And I dreamt of jumping high enough to literally touch the ceiling and being surprised when my students told me that they didn’t start each day trying to do the same. I told them that they should—that it was fun!
Sometimes I struggle with the faith that was planted and nurtured at Tabor City Baptist Church. And sometimes I struggle with my call out of the public schools and into full-time vocational ministry. This week has been full of struggle. But I guess, at the end of the day, when I couldn’t see anything but four walls of limitation, my dreams showed their power and released me and gave me the strength—but not the peaceful sleep!—to go on.
Amen.
Monday, May 7, 2012
A Family Thing
I knew that they collected Breyer Horses, but I didn’t really know what that meant or have any clue how big the collection was until last night. Hundreds of horses were placed all around the house—all three daughters’ bedrooms were full to overflowing and the dad’s office was evidently the same. Neatly arranged and carefully taken care of, the Breyer Horse collection that I saw at the Legendre house looked like something you’d see in a collectible store. I didn’t dream about Breyer Horses last night, but I’m surprised!
I had the privilege of helping with a commissioning service at Pleasant Hill Baptist Church last night. [In case you’re wondering, Pleasant Hill is in the middle of nowhere, but it’s a lovely church outside of Hemingway, SC.] I was asked to attend the service by one of my former SC WMU Youth Panelists, Sarah. She told me that she and her sister Elizabeth, also a former panelist, were being commissioned for a full summer of summer missions work and that her mom, Johnna, was being commissioned as well. What I didn’t realize was that her other sister, Hannah, also a former panelist, was being commissioned for a week-long missions trip with her college and that her WMU Director was on the program, too!
As I sat on the Legendre family pew and listened to each of the girls, their mom, and the WMU director—who, incidentally, has had a huge impact on their lives—speak about the work they would be doing this summer, I couldn’t help but feel honored to be there. It was a beautifully humbling experience to be able to show my support to the girls and stand with church members and Johnna’s dad in unity and prayer. It was also a funny experience to hear the entire Legendre family say “Amen” after the special music with the exact same timing and voice inflection!
On Saturday, I spoke at a Mother/Daughter banquet that hosted women from four generations. I spoke to 4-year-olds and 84-year-olds and various ages in between. I spoke of love and Christ and missions and giftedness and not being alone and I watched as God’s spirit moved among generation to generation.
This faith we hold…it’s a family thing. True. We must individually choose faith for ourselves and sometimes people choose to walk away. One of the women at the Mother/Daughter banquet came to the banquet alone. Her son has refused to speak to her for years and will have nothing to do with the faith in which he was raised. Yet the woman came. And she ate with and had her picture made with a young lady who “adopted” her as mom for the day.
I don’t know about you, but I’m grateful for this family of faith—for those who have gone before me like my G-Daddy who died 23 years ago today but who made an impact on so many lives—for those who walk beside me now, for those who will walk beside me in the future, and for those who will continue walking long after I’m gone. I don’t know about you, but I’m grateful that I’m not alone on this journey.
At the end of the service last night, Pastor Jim, the girls’ dad, asked me to say the benediction. I remembered that the benedictions that speak the most to me are the ones that my dad takes straight out of scripture. I’ve always loved how he blesses and charges the congregation as he walks down the aisle with his hands raised upward, in an open, sending forth posture. I didn’t walk down the aisle as I spoke last night, but I did say raise my hands and say this:
I thank my God every time I remember you. In all my prayers for all of you, I always pray with joy because of your partnership in the gospel from the first day until now, being confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus. And this is my prayer: that your love may abound more and more in knowledge and depth of insight, so that you may be able to discern what is best and may be pure and blameless for the day of Christ, filled with the fruit of righteousness that comes through Jesus Christ—to the glory and praise of God. May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit. And may God himself, the God of peace, sanctify you through and through. May your whole spirit, soul and body be kept blameless at the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ. The one who calls you is faithful, and he will do it.
Amen.
I had the privilege of helping with a commissioning service at Pleasant Hill Baptist Church last night. [In case you’re wondering, Pleasant Hill is in the middle of nowhere, but it’s a lovely church outside of Hemingway, SC.] I was asked to attend the service by one of my former SC WMU Youth Panelists, Sarah. She told me that she and her sister Elizabeth, also a former panelist, were being commissioned for a full summer of summer missions work and that her mom, Johnna, was being commissioned as well. What I didn’t realize was that her other sister, Hannah, also a former panelist, was being commissioned for a week-long missions trip with her college and that her WMU Director was on the program, too!
As I sat on the Legendre family pew and listened to each of the girls, their mom, and the WMU director—who, incidentally, has had a huge impact on their lives—speak about the work they would be doing this summer, I couldn’t help but feel honored to be there. It was a beautifully humbling experience to be able to show my support to the girls and stand with church members and Johnna’s dad in unity and prayer. It was also a funny experience to hear the entire Legendre family say “Amen” after the special music with the exact same timing and voice inflection!
On Saturday, I spoke at a Mother/Daughter banquet that hosted women from four generations. I spoke to 4-year-olds and 84-year-olds and various ages in between. I spoke of love and Christ and missions and giftedness and not being alone and I watched as God’s spirit moved among generation to generation.
This faith we hold…it’s a family thing. True. We must individually choose faith for ourselves and sometimes people choose to walk away. One of the women at the Mother/Daughter banquet came to the banquet alone. Her son has refused to speak to her for years and will have nothing to do with the faith in which he was raised. Yet the woman came. And she ate with and had her picture made with a young lady who “adopted” her as mom for the day.
I don’t know about you, but I’m grateful for this family of faith—for those who have gone before me like my G-Daddy who died 23 years ago today but who made an impact on so many lives—for those who walk beside me now, for those who will walk beside me in the future, and for those who will continue walking long after I’m gone. I don’t know about you, but I’m grateful that I’m not alone on this journey.
At the end of the service last night, Pastor Jim, the girls’ dad, asked me to say the benediction. I remembered that the benedictions that speak the most to me are the ones that my dad takes straight out of scripture. I’ve always loved how he blesses and charges the congregation as he walks down the aisle with his hands raised upward, in an open, sending forth posture. I didn’t walk down the aisle as I spoke last night, but I did say raise my hands and say this:
I thank my God every time I remember you. In all my prayers for all of you, I always pray with joy because of your partnership in the gospel from the first day until now, being confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus. And this is my prayer: that your love may abound more and more in knowledge and depth of insight, so that you may be able to discern what is best and may be pure and blameless for the day of Christ, filled with the fruit of righteousness that comes through Jesus Christ—to the glory and praise of God. May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit. And may God himself, the God of peace, sanctify you through and through. May your whole spirit, soul and body be kept blameless at the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ. The one who calls you is faithful, and he will do it.
Amen.
Thursday, May 3, 2012
As I Struggle Through This Faith
A preacher in Fayetteville, NC, preached a sermon that went viral this week. As part of a campaign to encourage persons to vote “protect marriage” in NC—there is an Amendment up for vote—the pastor explained his views on the hot topic of homosexuality, including his view that a dad should crack his son’s wrist and give him a good punch if he ever starts acting a little girlish. The preacher also preached that the reason we rely so heavily on products from overseas is that we, in America, aren’t reproducing enough children to work, because of homosexuals, and that we need to start having more children lest Muslims take over.
To me, this sermon was awful. I must confess that I didn’t listen to the whole thing—it was over 45 minutes long—but I listened to enough of it to know that it went against my understanding of God’s redemptive story. And even if I could agree with parts of what he was saying, the manner in which he delivered the sermon—yelling and with what came across as arrogance—shut me down. While I know that there are some who uphold this pastor's views and like his style of speaking, I’m blessed that the majority of people that I know and spend my life with do not agree with this pastor and that his yelling teachings do not reflect our comprehensive understanding of the bible and God's story. I’ve come to learn that, quite often, persons like this preacher are living out of a fear, judgment, and hurt that are not cornerstones of Jesus' teachings or the whole of God's redemptive story…
It is true that Christians have done some stupid, damning, things over the course of history. Persons have used their religion as a means of gaining power and control more times than I care to think—and not just Christian persons but persons from other religions as well. I've read Christopher Hitchens' book, “God Is Not Great.” I know what he is saying—that humanity has done a lot of damage in God’s name. It's human nature to fight for power and control—to fight to survive. And religion is made up of humans. And humans do stupid things in God’s name. Yet God’s name is love.
Breaking your children’s wrists and punching them for being who they are, to me, and to even the conservative Christians I know, is not love. I know. There's the spare the rod, spoil the child verse that so many people use. I’m not arguing the merits and anti-merits of spanking. But the rest of the verse says that a parent who loves his child is CAREFUL to discipline him. I can't help but believe that being careful in discipline is being wise in helping a child learn when his/her actions are right and wrong as they influence other people...not trying to beat a child into submission by forcing him/her to change the very core of their being…
I've come to believe that we humans are looking for something to believe in—something to give our lives meaning and purpose—something around which we live, breathe, and make our choices. Religion is the formalized system of belief in a higher being. Humanism is the formalized system of belief in humanity. Sports teams are the formalized system of belief in athletics. The American Dream is the formalized system of belief in financial prosperity in America. Charity. Community service. Family. Anything can become the driving system around which we build our beliefs. Even if that anything is nothing. Nothing is still something.
And so...I decided at the end of Hitchen's book that I'd rather believe in God than fall back on nothing. And I go from God to nothing because my belief in humanity is so entrenched in my belief in God that they cannot be separated. I believe that God is alive and working in and through humanity—that we humans are co-creating with God and partnering with God for the good of the world and redemption. I believe that everything good comes from God because I believe that God is good. God is love. And that as part of that love, God allows us to work out our junk and make stupid decisions and suffer the consequences without always swooping down to interfere. I say always because I think that maybe God sometimes does swoop down and perform miracles—although that confuses me a bit so I try not to think about it too much. I believe that there is power in humanity's words and actions, just as there was power in the Word that spoke creation into being. I believe in a loving, alive, steady God whose existence gives me life, whose Spirit reminds me to breathe and spreads peace, and whose humanity in Christ gives me a loving, rebellious, strong, humble, sacrificial example to follow.
How in the world this God can accept "praises" from someone like the preacher whom I wrote about at the beginning while accepting them from someone like me while seeing people suffer around the world, I have no idea. It's so far beyond me that it hurts my thinker and pretty much shuts me down when I think upon it for too long. The best I can do is something I learned from my non-Christian massage therapist. In talking about compassion, I admitted that I have trouble having compassion on people like this pastor and that I don't understand how God can be okay with them and she said, "Maybe God has compassion on them." Maybe like I had compassion toward my students who came from horrible families and acted out of the only brokenness they knew, God has compassion on each of us—including this man who makes me so angry that my heart-rate increases—because it's the only thing we know...until...with time, and self-awareness, and the example of other people who teach a new way, we finally "get it." And "it," to me, is love...
To me, this sermon was awful. I must confess that I didn’t listen to the whole thing—it was over 45 minutes long—but I listened to enough of it to know that it went against my understanding of God’s redemptive story. And even if I could agree with parts of what he was saying, the manner in which he delivered the sermon—yelling and with what came across as arrogance—shut me down. While I know that there are some who uphold this pastor's views and like his style of speaking, I’m blessed that the majority of people that I know and spend my life with do not agree with this pastor and that his yelling teachings do not reflect our comprehensive understanding of the bible and God's story. I’ve come to learn that, quite often, persons like this preacher are living out of a fear, judgment, and hurt that are not cornerstones of Jesus' teachings or the whole of God's redemptive story…
It is true that Christians have done some stupid, damning, things over the course of history. Persons have used their religion as a means of gaining power and control more times than I care to think—and not just Christian persons but persons from other religions as well. I've read Christopher Hitchens' book, “God Is Not Great.” I know what he is saying—that humanity has done a lot of damage in God’s name. It's human nature to fight for power and control—to fight to survive. And religion is made up of humans. And humans do stupid things in God’s name. Yet God’s name is love.
Breaking your children’s wrists and punching them for being who they are, to me, and to even the conservative Christians I know, is not love. I know. There's the spare the rod, spoil the child verse that so many people use. I’m not arguing the merits and anti-merits of spanking. But the rest of the verse says that a parent who loves his child is CAREFUL to discipline him. I can't help but believe that being careful in discipline is being wise in helping a child learn when his/her actions are right and wrong as they influence other people...not trying to beat a child into submission by forcing him/her to change the very core of their being…
I've come to believe that we humans are looking for something to believe in—something to give our lives meaning and purpose—something around which we live, breathe, and make our choices. Religion is the formalized system of belief in a higher being. Humanism is the formalized system of belief in humanity. Sports teams are the formalized system of belief in athletics. The American Dream is the formalized system of belief in financial prosperity in America. Charity. Community service. Family. Anything can become the driving system around which we build our beliefs. Even if that anything is nothing. Nothing is still something.
And so...I decided at the end of Hitchen's book that I'd rather believe in God than fall back on nothing. And I go from God to nothing because my belief in humanity is so entrenched in my belief in God that they cannot be separated. I believe that God is alive and working in and through humanity—that we humans are co-creating with God and partnering with God for the good of the world and redemption. I believe that everything good comes from God because I believe that God is good. God is love. And that as part of that love, God allows us to work out our junk and make stupid decisions and suffer the consequences without always swooping down to interfere. I say always because I think that maybe God sometimes does swoop down and perform miracles—although that confuses me a bit so I try not to think about it too much. I believe that there is power in humanity's words and actions, just as there was power in the Word that spoke creation into being. I believe in a loving, alive, steady God whose existence gives me life, whose Spirit reminds me to breathe and spreads peace, and whose humanity in Christ gives me a loving, rebellious, strong, humble, sacrificial example to follow.
How in the world this God can accept "praises" from someone like the preacher whom I wrote about at the beginning while accepting them from someone like me while seeing people suffer around the world, I have no idea. It's so far beyond me that it hurts my thinker and pretty much shuts me down when I think upon it for too long. The best I can do is something I learned from my non-Christian massage therapist. In talking about compassion, I admitted that I have trouble having compassion on people like this pastor and that I don't understand how God can be okay with them and she said, "Maybe God has compassion on them." Maybe like I had compassion toward my students who came from horrible families and acted out of the only brokenness they knew, God has compassion on each of us—including this man who makes me so angry that my heart-rate increases—because it's the only thing we know...until...with time, and self-awareness, and the example of other people who teach a new way, we finally "get it." And "it," to me, is love...
Life is Breath
The speaker in chapel on Monday spoke about the Titanic. As he was talking, I found myself struggling to catch my breath. I cannot hear about the Titanic—or write about it even—without struggling to catch my breath.
Breath is life.
Drowning is not breath.
And to think about so many people losing their lives by drowning is just, well, suffocating.
To make matters worse, I have this image from the movie Titanic stuck in my head. It’s not of Kate Winslet or Leonardo DiCabrio but of a little old couple lying in bed beside one another as the ship was sinking. I’ve only seen the movie once—because it’s not wise to intentionally spend three hours struggling to catch my breath—but from what I remember, the couple was gazing into one another’s eyes with deep love and affection. Their bed was sliding as the ship was sinking and the couple had chosen to hold on to one another and die together instead of trying to escape the ship.
And then they drowned.
It wasn’t in the movie that they drowned. The director did not depict that scene. But it’s clear that the drowned.
And…that thought makes me struggle to breathe.
Breath is life.
Drowning is not breath.
A lot of people drowned when the Titanic hit the ice burg.
I don’t like to talk—or think—or write—about the Titanic.
I like to breathe.
Because breath is life.
And I’m thankful for life.
Breath is life.
Drowning is not breath.
And to think about so many people losing their lives by drowning is just, well, suffocating.
To make matters worse, I have this image from the movie Titanic stuck in my head. It’s not of Kate Winslet or Leonardo DiCabrio but of a little old couple lying in bed beside one another as the ship was sinking. I’ve only seen the movie once—because it’s not wise to intentionally spend three hours struggling to catch my breath—but from what I remember, the couple was gazing into one another’s eyes with deep love and affection. Their bed was sliding as the ship was sinking and the couple had chosen to hold on to one another and die together instead of trying to escape the ship.
And then they drowned.
It wasn’t in the movie that they drowned. The director did not depict that scene. But it’s clear that the drowned.
And…that thought makes me struggle to breathe.
Breath is life.
Drowning is not breath.
A lot of people drowned when the Titanic hit the ice burg.
I don’t like to talk—or think—or write—about the Titanic.
I like to breathe.
Because breath is life.
And I’m thankful for life.
M&M Casserole
At my final spring meeting last Monday night, the associational ministry assistant made a plea for those who hadn’t already done so to buy a Pee Dee Association Cookbook.
[Yes. I shared with the good folks in the Pee Dee Association how my brother, sister, and cousin used to torture me when we drove across the Pee Dee, or should I say Dee Pee, River.]
Out of the 800 cookbooks they’d ordered in 2006, there were only 11 left, and as soon as those 11 were sold then members of the association wouldn’t have to hear about them again. The assistant encouraged persons to buy a cookbook even if they didn’t know how to cook—to read it for the associational history printed inside and to use it as a reminder of the saints who have gone before us and still surround us today. She also encouraged persons to buy cookbooks for wedding or graduation gifts—since it is that season after all.
After the meeting was over, I was presented with a cookbook. I thanked the assistant and shared with her how my favorite cookbook is the one from where I grew up. I told her I’d be sure to look through my new one…and I did…and it’s a recipe from that cookbook that I want to share with you today:
M&M Casserole
Ingredients Needed:
• 1 one-pound bag of plain M&Ms
• 1 one-pound bag of peanut M&Ms
• 1 one-pound bag of peanut butter M&Ms
• 1 one-pound bag of almond M&Ms
• 1 one-pound bag of pretzel M&Ms
• 1 one-pound bag of dark chocolate M&Ms
• 1 one-pound bag of any other type of M&Ms
Empty M&Ms into a large bowl. Mix together. Serve.
Now…aren’t you grateful that I was given one of those Pee Dee Association Cookbooks?! [Even if this recipe is not endorsed by the Project Help police :-p.]
[Yes. I shared with the good folks in the Pee Dee Association how my brother, sister, and cousin used to torture me when we drove across the Pee Dee, or should I say Dee Pee, River.]
Out of the 800 cookbooks they’d ordered in 2006, there were only 11 left, and as soon as those 11 were sold then members of the association wouldn’t have to hear about them again. The assistant encouraged persons to buy a cookbook even if they didn’t know how to cook—to read it for the associational history printed inside and to use it as a reminder of the saints who have gone before us and still surround us today. She also encouraged persons to buy cookbooks for wedding or graduation gifts—since it is that season after all.
After the meeting was over, I was presented with a cookbook. I thanked the assistant and shared with her how my favorite cookbook is the one from where I grew up. I told her I’d be sure to look through my new one…and I did…and it’s a recipe from that cookbook that I want to share with you today:
M&M Casserole
Ingredients Needed:
• 1 one-pound bag of plain M&Ms
• 1 one-pound bag of peanut M&Ms
• 1 one-pound bag of peanut butter M&Ms
• 1 one-pound bag of almond M&Ms
• 1 one-pound bag of pretzel M&Ms
• 1 one-pound bag of dark chocolate M&Ms
• 1 one-pound bag of any other type of M&Ms
Empty M&Ms into a large bowl. Mix together. Serve.
Now…aren’t you grateful that I was given one of those Pee Dee Association Cookbooks?! [Even if this recipe is not endorsed by the Project Help police :-p.]
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
The Creative Process: You Matter
Three weeks ago, I was given a tremendous honor. I was asked to write a song for my friend Ruby Ann Jones Fulbright in honor of her life, work, and retirement from WMU NC. Most people call Ruby, Ruby Fulbright. But I call her Ruby Ann Jones Fulbright because I stumbled upon her full name when trying to write her bio for an event and I thought that her full name was lovely—and a more accurate representation of who she is.
To say that I was nervous about writing the song is an understatement. How do you summarize someone’s life and influence when it has been so rich and deep? How do you put into song emotions that are far beyond words? Yet I prayed for the freedom to write. And I wrote. And I probably wasn’t the safest driver in the world as I jotted down lyrics on a bank envelope because it was the only thing I had to write on in the rental that I was driving the night the song was birthed.
The creative process is beyond me. It is alive, organic, moving, and something that amazes me every time I experience it. I experienced it on birthing night when I began to put a piano part with the lyrics and the lyrics began to rearrange themselves for a better song. I experienced it when I went home and was told that I had to stop playing the piano at 1:30 in the morning and that what I was playing sounded like, “When I Survey The Wondrous Cross” and I realized I needed to change it to something else. I experienced it with a friend as she worked to design a canvas on which to give Ruby the words. I experienced it over the weekend when I asked my friends Allison and Jen if they wanted to sing harmony with me and a harmony part emerged that made the song so much richer than it had been just two hours before the song’s debut. The creative process is very much a spiritual process. And it’s so very beautiful and alive. And it’s so very…well…God.
I didn’t see Ruby Ann as we sang her song, but I heard that she was touched. I’m so very grateful. And humbled. And amazed…at our friendship…and our lives…and the journeying process that brought them together.
--------
“Ruby Ann”
2012
Your courage started young when you played underneath the sun
With your three brothers right behind
Following close
How could you have known then that those cliffs that you were jumping
Would reappear upon your journey
Later on
But when the time came you knew what to do
Take a leap of faith and trust God to
Guide you safely to the other side
On truth you stood, on God alone as guide
In your daily life you became mother, leader, wife
And it was easy to get lost
And forget yourself
Cause the world, it pulls you thin, demands your work and time and then
Leaves you to wonder if it all
Matters in the end
But oh you believe in me
When the world was dark your light helped me to see
The love of Christ and God’s will just to be
Oh you matter to me
How quickly years have passed and now the moment’s come at last
When you must do the hardest thing
You’ve ever done
Release your hopes and dreams, walk away from unstitched seams
Onto a future path that leads
To the unknown
But you will never walk alone
‘Cause love surrounds you like the love you’ve shown
The prayers, the grace, the hope, the peace, the quest for integrity
Are all coming back to set you free
Oh I believe in you
You’ve shined a light in darkness and guided us to
Hear God’s voice and stand upon God’s truth
Oh you matter to me
Yes, Ruby Ann, you matter...
To say that I was nervous about writing the song is an understatement. How do you summarize someone’s life and influence when it has been so rich and deep? How do you put into song emotions that are far beyond words? Yet I prayed for the freedom to write. And I wrote. And I probably wasn’t the safest driver in the world as I jotted down lyrics on a bank envelope because it was the only thing I had to write on in the rental that I was driving the night the song was birthed.
The creative process is beyond me. It is alive, organic, moving, and something that amazes me every time I experience it. I experienced it on birthing night when I began to put a piano part with the lyrics and the lyrics began to rearrange themselves for a better song. I experienced it when I went home and was told that I had to stop playing the piano at 1:30 in the morning and that what I was playing sounded like, “When I Survey The Wondrous Cross” and I realized I needed to change it to something else. I experienced it with a friend as she worked to design a canvas on which to give Ruby the words. I experienced it over the weekend when I asked my friends Allison and Jen if they wanted to sing harmony with me and a harmony part emerged that made the song so much richer than it had been just two hours before the song’s debut. The creative process is very much a spiritual process. And it’s so very beautiful and alive. And it’s so very…well…God.
I didn’t see Ruby Ann as we sang her song, but I heard that she was touched. I’m so very grateful. And humbled. And amazed…at our friendship…and our lives…and the journeying process that brought them together.
--------
“Ruby Ann”
2012
Your courage started young when you played underneath the sun
With your three brothers right behind
Following close
How could you have known then that those cliffs that you were jumping
Would reappear upon your journey
Later on
But when the time came you knew what to do
Take a leap of faith and trust God to
Guide you safely to the other side
On truth you stood, on God alone as guide
In your daily life you became mother, leader, wife
And it was easy to get lost
And forget yourself
Cause the world, it pulls you thin, demands your work and time and then
Leaves you to wonder if it all
Matters in the end
But oh you believe in me
When the world was dark your light helped me to see
The love of Christ and God’s will just to be
Oh you matter to me
How quickly years have passed and now the moment’s come at last
When you must do the hardest thing
You’ve ever done
Release your hopes and dreams, walk away from unstitched seams
Onto a future path that leads
To the unknown
But you will never walk alone
‘Cause love surrounds you like the love you’ve shown
The prayers, the grace, the hope, the peace, the quest for integrity
Are all coming back to set you free
Oh I believe in you
You’ve shined a light in darkness and guided us to
Hear God’s voice and stand upon God’s truth
Oh you matter to me
Yes, Ruby Ann, you matter...
Thursday, April 19, 2012
To Love Another Person
Like a typical teenager, I was angst filled when I found out that my youth group was going to see Les Miserables instead of Phantom of the Opera on Broadway. I didn’t want to see Les Mis; I wanted to see Phantom. Unlike many teenagers, however, I was on the edge of my seat as the lights came up for intermission that night. I didn’t understand a lot of the story line at that moment, but I understood the power of music and emotion…and both had swelled to a high peak during, “One Day More.”
Since that night in 1992, I have seen Les Miserables four more times—one of those times being last night in Greenville—and I’d love to see it again in coming years. I think it’s obvious that my teenage angst was misplaced. I’ve seen Phantom twice in the past couple of decades, and, well, I don’t really like it. But I digress…
While my coworker, Sandra, and I shared a nice meal at a downtown restaurant before the show, I said, “I’m going to cry. I don’t know when or at what point in the show I’ll be moved to tears. But I will cry. I’m a crier.”
And a crier I am…only…I didn’t cry when other people cried last night. Instead, I cried for Javert.
Extremely basic partial plot summary, no love story included: Jean Valjean served 27 years in prison for stealing a loaf of bread for his sister’s starving child. Upon his release, a priest granted him mercy and “bought his soul for God.” Valjean breaks “parole” to give himself and his “adopted” daughter a chance at life and becomes known as a fine, upstanding citizen and leader. Javert is a policeman who is set on justice. To him, the law is life and he seeks to enforce it at all costs. As his quest for justice—his desire to do what’s right in the eyes of God—comes face to face with Valjean’s life of mercy, Javert’s life begins to crumble…
I’ve been thinking a lot about scripture this week—about how Christians often tend to reduce understanding of scripture to one of moralistic standards and absolute proofs. But scripture is so much more than that. It is God’s word. It is alive, active, and powerful. It is always changing yet somehow staying the same. Scripture is God’s story of redemption in this world.
When we focus only on the moral elements of God’s story, then we tend to become a legalistic people. Our quest for holiness tends to become one of “Thou shalt nots” instead of one of “Thou shalts” (unless it is thou shalt attend church every time the doors open, wear only certain things, and listen only to Christian music). We tend to become so focused on the law that we miss the greater picture of relationship and love.
When Jesus declared the greatest commandment, he said that it was to love God with heart, soul, mind, and strength AND to love neighbor as self. When he spoke of the sheep and the goats, he didn’t say that the sheep would sit on his right because of following a moralistic, legalistic code. He said that they would take their inheritance in the Kingdom of God because they fed the hungry, gave drink to the thirsty, welcomed the stranger, clothed the naked, cared for the sick, and visited those in prison.
Jean Valjean was a rescued sheep. Javert was a crippled lamb. Jean Valjean lived a life of service to others, spreading hope in a broken world despite his “criminal” past. Javert lived a life of serving the law and instilling fear despite being a man of unwavering moral principle. Both desired to be in God’s service—to do God’s work. As Valjean loved another person and saw the face of God, Javert sank into darkness, unable to accept grace.
So I cried for Javert last night. I cried for the Javert in me and for all of the Javerts in this world who want so desperately to be “holy” and to do what’s “right” that we limit ourselves from experiencing the full depth—and divine messiness—of the Kingdom of God. I cried for the crisis of belief—for the moments of brokenness when life becomes a question and faith becomes silent. I cried for those, like Javert, who feel that they have nowhere to turn when everything they’ve believed comes unraveled.
“Don’t give up,” I wanted to say. “God is there in the grace. God has always been there in grace. You’ve done your best. You’ve fought for justice. You’ve done what you knew to do. God is proud of you. God loves you. But God wants you to understand a different way. God wants you to know that you can live alongside mercy.”
I don’t know what will make me cry the next time I see Les Miserables. The tears come at different points each time I see the show, depending on the circumstances in my life. It’s kind of like scripture, I suppose—Holy Spirit speaking through the story, to the parts of me that are ready to hear, challenging me to let go of my angst…teenage or not.
Since that night in 1992, I have seen Les Miserables four more times—one of those times being last night in Greenville—and I’d love to see it again in coming years. I think it’s obvious that my teenage angst was misplaced. I’ve seen Phantom twice in the past couple of decades, and, well, I don’t really like it. But I digress…
While my coworker, Sandra, and I shared a nice meal at a downtown restaurant before the show, I said, “I’m going to cry. I don’t know when or at what point in the show I’ll be moved to tears. But I will cry. I’m a crier.”
And a crier I am…only…I didn’t cry when other people cried last night. Instead, I cried for Javert.
Extremely basic partial plot summary, no love story included: Jean Valjean served 27 years in prison for stealing a loaf of bread for his sister’s starving child. Upon his release, a priest granted him mercy and “bought his soul for God.” Valjean breaks “parole” to give himself and his “adopted” daughter a chance at life and becomes known as a fine, upstanding citizen and leader. Javert is a policeman who is set on justice. To him, the law is life and he seeks to enforce it at all costs. As his quest for justice—his desire to do what’s right in the eyes of God—comes face to face with Valjean’s life of mercy, Javert’s life begins to crumble…
I’ve been thinking a lot about scripture this week—about how Christians often tend to reduce understanding of scripture to one of moralistic standards and absolute proofs. But scripture is so much more than that. It is God’s word. It is alive, active, and powerful. It is always changing yet somehow staying the same. Scripture is God’s story of redemption in this world.
When we focus only on the moral elements of God’s story, then we tend to become a legalistic people. Our quest for holiness tends to become one of “Thou shalt nots” instead of one of “Thou shalts” (unless it is thou shalt attend church every time the doors open, wear only certain things, and listen only to Christian music). We tend to become so focused on the law that we miss the greater picture of relationship and love.
When Jesus declared the greatest commandment, he said that it was to love God with heart, soul, mind, and strength AND to love neighbor as self. When he spoke of the sheep and the goats, he didn’t say that the sheep would sit on his right because of following a moralistic, legalistic code. He said that they would take their inheritance in the Kingdom of God because they fed the hungry, gave drink to the thirsty, welcomed the stranger, clothed the naked, cared for the sick, and visited those in prison.
Jean Valjean was a rescued sheep. Javert was a crippled lamb. Jean Valjean lived a life of service to others, spreading hope in a broken world despite his “criminal” past. Javert lived a life of serving the law and instilling fear despite being a man of unwavering moral principle. Both desired to be in God’s service—to do God’s work. As Valjean loved another person and saw the face of God, Javert sank into darkness, unable to accept grace.
So I cried for Javert last night. I cried for the Javert in me and for all of the Javerts in this world who want so desperately to be “holy” and to do what’s “right” that we limit ourselves from experiencing the full depth—and divine messiness—of the Kingdom of God. I cried for the crisis of belief—for the moments of brokenness when life becomes a question and faith becomes silent. I cried for those, like Javert, who feel that they have nowhere to turn when everything they’ve believed comes unraveled.
“Don’t give up,” I wanted to say. “God is there in the grace. God has always been there in grace. You’ve done your best. You’ve fought for justice. You’ve done what you knew to do. God is proud of you. God loves you. But God wants you to understand a different way. God wants you to know that you can live alongside mercy.”
I don’t know what will make me cry the next time I see Les Miserables. The tears come at different points each time I see the show, depending on the circumstances in my life. It’s kind of like scripture, I suppose—Holy Spirit speaking through the story, to the parts of me that are ready to hear, challenging me to let go of my angst…teenage or not.
Monday, April 16, 2012
The Only Constant
A little over a month ago, I tried to get out of my car at the exact same moment she was trying to unlock. In that one short second, something inside my door snapped and made it impossible for me to let myself out of Gigi the White Ant without rolling down the window and releasing the door from the outside. Thankfully I COULD let myself out from the outside or else I’d have been pulling a Dukes of Hazard…which I imagine isn’t proper protocol for WMU.
A little over a year and a half ago (give or take a few months because I don’t really remember when it started), I started renting cars for work when renting was more cost effective than driving my own car. Since that time, I’ve driven quite a few cars—some brand new, some high end luxury cars that I could never afford, some that I really didn’t like, and some that stink (like today’s Camry that smells like smoke)—and I’ve become cordial acquaintances with Doc the Car Delivery Man, Isaiah the Assistant Manager, Julio the Manager, Jessica the Trainee, Mike the Assistant Manager, and Mike the Trainee.
I took my car to the Toyota place for an oil change and fluids check on Friday. Jerry the Service Assistant (whom I work with each time I go to the Toyota place) said that they would need to keep GiGi the White Ant overnight to fix the door so that they wouldn’t have to take it apart twice if they needed to order a part. Since I needed Gigi the White Ant over the weekend so that I could go to Blowing Rock and find that Toms had adopted my font for one of their ad campaigns (see Facebook picture from Saturday), I decided to leave her at the Toyota place tonight because I needed to rent for work anyway.
Today when I went into Enterprise, I spoke to Mike the Assistant Manager and Mike the Trainee, met Corrina the Management Trainee, and saw John The Bald District Manager. Doc the Delivery Man was out on a delivery. Isaiah the Assistant Manager has long been gone to another branch. Julio the Manager recently left for another company. And Jessica the Trainee moved to another branch to work in car sales today. Corrina the Management Trainee will likely be at our branch for 90 days. We’ll probably become cordial acquaintances, too, and then she’ll move on. I’m not sure about the Mikes. I’ll try not to get too attached, though, because I’m sure they’ll leave too.
As a salesman talked to John the Bald District Manager, he asked about Julio. The salesman didn’t know that Julio the Manager was gone. When John the Bald District Manager told the salesman that Julio the Manager had left for another company, the salesman responded with, “The only constant in life is change.”
I agree. Especially at Enterprise.
I’m hoping really hard that when Jason the New Manager comes from Irmo in May (I heard John the Bald District Manager say this to the salesman and I confirmed its truth with Corrina the Management Trainee who said that Jason the New Manager was really good and really organized) he’ll stay for longer than a few months. But again, I’ll try not to get too attached…
Because the only constant in life is change…
And I’m looking forward to GiGi the White Ant’s broken door handle being changed to one that works.
A little over a year and a half ago (give or take a few months because I don’t really remember when it started), I started renting cars for work when renting was more cost effective than driving my own car. Since that time, I’ve driven quite a few cars—some brand new, some high end luxury cars that I could never afford, some that I really didn’t like, and some that stink (like today’s Camry that smells like smoke)—and I’ve become cordial acquaintances with Doc the Car Delivery Man, Isaiah the Assistant Manager, Julio the Manager, Jessica the Trainee, Mike the Assistant Manager, and Mike the Trainee.
I took my car to the Toyota place for an oil change and fluids check on Friday. Jerry the Service Assistant (whom I work with each time I go to the Toyota place) said that they would need to keep GiGi the White Ant overnight to fix the door so that they wouldn’t have to take it apart twice if they needed to order a part. Since I needed Gigi the White Ant over the weekend so that I could go to Blowing Rock and find that Toms had adopted my font for one of their ad campaigns (see Facebook picture from Saturday), I decided to leave her at the Toyota place tonight because I needed to rent for work anyway.
Today when I went into Enterprise, I spoke to Mike the Assistant Manager and Mike the Trainee, met Corrina the Management Trainee, and saw John The Bald District Manager. Doc the Delivery Man was out on a delivery. Isaiah the Assistant Manager has long been gone to another branch. Julio the Manager recently left for another company. And Jessica the Trainee moved to another branch to work in car sales today. Corrina the Management Trainee will likely be at our branch for 90 days. We’ll probably become cordial acquaintances, too, and then she’ll move on. I’m not sure about the Mikes. I’ll try not to get too attached, though, because I’m sure they’ll leave too.
As a salesman talked to John the Bald District Manager, he asked about Julio. The salesman didn’t know that Julio the Manager was gone. When John the Bald District Manager told the salesman that Julio the Manager had left for another company, the salesman responded with, “The only constant in life is change.”
I agree. Especially at Enterprise.
I’m hoping really hard that when Jason the New Manager comes from Irmo in May (I heard John the Bald District Manager say this to the salesman and I confirmed its truth with Corrina the Management Trainee who said that Jason the New Manager was really good and really organized) he’ll stay for longer than a few months. But again, I’ll try not to get too attached…
Because the only constant in life is change…
And I’m looking forward to GiGi the White Ant’s broken door handle being changed to one that works.
Thursday, April 12, 2012
Sometimes
Sometimes I want to cut on the lights in my office, but unless it’s stormy out or I’m here past dark then there’s really no need because of natural light. So I don’t. I haven’t since the Caring for Creation Conference a month ago. I figure that my sitting in natural light is one very simple way of reducing demand for electricity and standing in solidarity with those affected by mountain top removal.
Sometimes I want to go through the drive-thru at Chick-Fil-A and get food and a drink. I like Chick-Fil-A. I have for years. So I go. But I feel guilty receiving a Styrofoam cup and lots of packaging and not cutting of my car and walking inside to get my food.
Sometimes I want to use the dishwasher instead of hand-washing my dishes. So I do.
Sometimes I want to use the Styrofoam cups provided by a church or work place even though I know that I have a reusable cup in the car. But I don’t. I walk to my car and get my cup even if it’s not the cleanest in the world.
Sometimes I want to take a long, hot shower. So I do. But I try to justify by it by not taking a shower every night (don’t gasp—I really don’t get that dirty sitting at my desk every day). Ideally, I would not shower every night AND not take long showers when I do.
Sometimes I want to stop shaving my legs because of the amount of life-time trash produced by razors. But I don’t. Contrary to how it might seem, I actually enjoy the feeling of clean shaven legs and sometimes do care what people think when they see my unshaved legs.
Sometimes I want to adjust the heat or air in my apartment. But I don’t. I leave it at 68 in the winter and 72 in the summer…and I haven’t cut on the air yet.
Sometimes I want to call the National Trafficking Hotline when I drive by spas, gentlemen’s clubs, or truck stops where I have a hunch that trafficking victims are being held. But I don’t. I have no idea why. It’s a free, anonymous phone call.
Sometimes I want to roll down my window and talk with the homeless man or woman standing at a stop light or pick up a hitch-hiker from the side of the road. But I don’t. Stereotypes and horror stories have done their jobs of exploiting my fear and selfishing my kindness.
Sometimes I want to buy Hershey’s chocolate. But I don’t. Usually. Okay. So I do when/if it’s a gift and I haven’t planned ahead and located a Fair Trade alternative. Sorry Boss.
Sometimes I want to take a road trip to see friends and family members. So I do. Even though I know that I am using gas and contributing to carbon emissions. One day, I will get a hybrid.
Sometimes I want to speak up when persons or people groups are being bullied by religious or political organizations. But I don’t. Not often. I’m such a people pleaser that I don’t want to make anyone mad or risk a reprimand if my personal beliefs don’t align with organizational ones.
Sometimes I want to talk to my nephews about bullying and pornography. But I don’t. I don’t want to risk tempting them with the latter…although I know that they’ve most likely already been exposed because of the internet and the soft-porn in advertisements and on apps and that an addiction could have already began. It makes me sick to think about it.
Sometimes I want to sequester my niece (and nephews, too, actually) and make sure no one ever touches her inappropriately or manipulates or sweet-talks her into doing things she doesn’t want to do—cheating, drugs, sex, alcohol, illegal behavior, bullying. But I don’t. I know they can’t live in isolation.
Sometimes I want to watch movies or TV for hours and get lost in comedies and dramas beyond myself, even when they include violence, language, questionable morality and suck away time that could be used for something productive. So I do. I lay on my couch and escape.
Sometimes I want to write my political leaders and share with them my convictions. But I don’t. The political process intimidates me and makes me feel like my vote doesn’t matter…though I know that it does.
Sometimes I want Starbucks. So I go.
Sometimes I want to feel like I’m saving money in a fast, convenient way. So I do. Or least pretend that I do since I know that cheap food and clothing and other items are either subsidized, shipped, or produced with slave labor.
Sometimes I want to buy things for people even when they don’t need them because I love people and show my love through gifts. So I do. Even when I know that my item purchasing will raise demand for manmade products that will eventually fill a land fill.
Sometimes I want to forget everything I’ve learned about human exploitation and live my life as I lived it before. But I don’t. I can’t.
Sometimes I want to succeed. But I fail. But I keep trying. And sometimes I find myself at peace with the fact that sometimes trying is what matters.
Sometimes I want to go through the drive-thru at Chick-Fil-A and get food and a drink. I like Chick-Fil-A. I have for years. So I go. But I feel guilty receiving a Styrofoam cup and lots of packaging and not cutting of my car and walking inside to get my food.
Sometimes I want to use the dishwasher instead of hand-washing my dishes. So I do.
Sometimes I want to use the Styrofoam cups provided by a church or work place even though I know that I have a reusable cup in the car. But I don’t. I walk to my car and get my cup even if it’s not the cleanest in the world.
Sometimes I want to take a long, hot shower. So I do. But I try to justify by it by not taking a shower every night (don’t gasp—I really don’t get that dirty sitting at my desk every day). Ideally, I would not shower every night AND not take long showers when I do.
Sometimes I want to stop shaving my legs because of the amount of life-time trash produced by razors. But I don’t. Contrary to how it might seem, I actually enjoy the feeling of clean shaven legs and sometimes do care what people think when they see my unshaved legs.
Sometimes I want to adjust the heat or air in my apartment. But I don’t. I leave it at 68 in the winter and 72 in the summer…and I haven’t cut on the air yet.
Sometimes I want to call the National Trafficking Hotline when I drive by spas, gentlemen’s clubs, or truck stops where I have a hunch that trafficking victims are being held. But I don’t. I have no idea why. It’s a free, anonymous phone call.
Sometimes I want to roll down my window and talk with the homeless man or woman standing at a stop light or pick up a hitch-hiker from the side of the road. But I don’t. Stereotypes and horror stories have done their jobs of exploiting my fear and selfishing my kindness.
Sometimes I want to buy Hershey’s chocolate. But I don’t. Usually. Okay. So I do when/if it’s a gift and I haven’t planned ahead and located a Fair Trade alternative. Sorry Boss.
Sometimes I want to take a road trip to see friends and family members. So I do. Even though I know that I am using gas and contributing to carbon emissions. One day, I will get a hybrid.
Sometimes I want to speak up when persons or people groups are being bullied by religious or political organizations. But I don’t. Not often. I’m such a people pleaser that I don’t want to make anyone mad or risk a reprimand if my personal beliefs don’t align with organizational ones.
Sometimes I want to talk to my nephews about bullying and pornography. But I don’t. I don’t want to risk tempting them with the latter…although I know that they’ve most likely already been exposed because of the internet and the soft-porn in advertisements and on apps and that an addiction could have already began. It makes me sick to think about it.
Sometimes I want to sequester my niece (and nephews, too, actually) and make sure no one ever touches her inappropriately or manipulates or sweet-talks her into doing things she doesn’t want to do—cheating, drugs, sex, alcohol, illegal behavior, bullying. But I don’t. I know they can’t live in isolation.
Sometimes I want to watch movies or TV for hours and get lost in comedies and dramas beyond myself, even when they include violence, language, questionable morality and suck away time that could be used for something productive. So I do. I lay on my couch and escape.
Sometimes I want to write my political leaders and share with them my convictions. But I don’t. The political process intimidates me and makes me feel like my vote doesn’t matter…though I know that it does.
Sometimes I want Starbucks. So I go.
Sometimes I want to feel like I’m saving money in a fast, convenient way. So I do. Or least pretend that I do since I know that cheap food and clothing and other items are either subsidized, shipped, or produced with slave labor.
Sometimes I want to buy things for people even when they don’t need them because I love people and show my love through gifts. So I do. Even when I know that my item purchasing will raise demand for manmade products that will eventually fill a land fill.
Sometimes I want to forget everything I’ve learned about human exploitation and live my life as I lived it before. But I don’t. I can’t.
Sometimes I want to succeed. But I fail. But I keep trying. And sometimes I find myself at peace with the fact that sometimes trying is what matters.
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