Living for and by the GOSPEL

It rained last night. I absolutely love the smell of raindrops… I even love the smell of almost-raindrops, when the sky is busy in all its natural rain-making splendor. Last night the storm hovered and hesitated with bold, bright streaks first painting the sky. I used to watch storms in Iowa and we could see the storm churning for miles over the soft, rolling hills. Every once in a while my fright reminded me of the strength of the wind and rain – how the unwieldy power of nature is held together on the fingertips of the Most Powerful. I’ve been thinking a lot about the Most Powerful lately, as well I should be – can I really say something else is more worthy of my thoughts?

Just over a week ago, I attended a conference in Chicago. I’m still dumbfounded in trying to process, explain, or express the blessing of even attending. My mentor tipped me off and encouraged me to go, but it was only days before the conference started. By the time I mustered the financial faith to register, it had already closed. God (in all His grace) provided a way for me to get there, so I quickly emailed the coordinators with my best “college student-desperate-to-learn-and-grow” plea and a wonderful man named Matthew assured me a spot! In a cozy room of only about 500, I listened to pastors and theologians expound on what is and has always been the main thing: the GOSPEL. Yes, I know. It seems cumbersome and almost redundant to go back to the ‘assumed’ central claim of the Christian faith. But, oh how critical and completely necessary it is!

I listened to some very wise men speaking not from their own wisdom, but pointing directly to the only True wisdom, unfettered by culture or norms or comfort or relevance. Is it a stretch to say that this Wisdom (of God, in Scripture) need not be manipulated, changed, adapted, or morphed into something this generation can understand and declare as easily as ordering grilled instead of fried chicken? Lord help us if we begin to survey our spirituality as a menu, picking and choosing what best suits our desires for ‘growth’ and ‘development.’ My stomach just churns at the deception that so many of my peers have fallen into… even more unsettling are the churches signing on by the thousands to ministries that use the Gospel only peripherally. Some pastors/churches manipulate the Scripture and emphasize only the Word incarnate – Jesus’ life. But, how much are we missing when we forget Jesus was there in the very beginning? Eternally before the foundations of the world, Father, Son and Holy Spirit existed beautifully in the Trinity and will exist eternally in the new heavens and new earth.

While I was at the conference I picked up “Becoming Conversant with the Emerging Church,” by D.A. Carson. Though the book arguably strays from simply conversation, I think what I’m realizing is most important is becoming familiar with terminology. Language is such an incredibly powerful thing. Foucault (as I understand him..?) argued that language begets power and power then begets what is acceptable in language… that we are limited in what we know by what those in power allow us to say. Now, I once got lost in all that this implies (I actually think I was near-crazy), but in this situation it makes complete sense.

Everyone’s seen it done before. You’re in a conversation and this person (or maybe a speaker, or maybe even your parents) starts stringing multiple, impressive words together. Not just words, though. They employ the art of persuasion by pulling things from history, present day politics, and beautiful verses to sing harmoniously in support of their argument. Unless you are well-versed yourself, you may start to assume they have a commendable grasp on the subject and, although you do not know exactly why you start to believe them, you do. You give them credit for their vocabulary and finesse and before the discourse is over, they’ve sold you the idea in such a way that you’ll try your hardest to articulate it to the next person who will listen.

Back in the day (5th century BC), these people were called Sophists. These masters manipulated the language to woo their audiences into agreement and submission. Dissected, their speeches seem incoherent and absurd at best, but in front of a crowd they received multiple standing ovations (this is a sweeping generalization, some Sophists are rightly commended for their impact on the intricate and intellectual study of rhetoric!). I’m not forcing a parallel, but merely using history to remind us of the oft disregarded deception that sneaks it way into our worldviews. I’ll give one example from Carson’s book (though I am still in the middle and really recommend you read it to grasp its entirety!). One of the leaders of the emerging church movement is Brian McLaren, whose book “A New Kind of Christian” sparked many debates and many more followers. Carson quotes McLaren when he described postmoderns (the present age) being, “postconquest, postmechanistic, postanalytical, postsecular, postobjective, postcritical, postorganizational, postindividualistic, post-Prostestant, and postconsumerist.”

Imagine if you were listening to McLaren, or reading these words for the first time. I could easily see myself nodding in agreement, an occasional “hmm” escaping my lips. Though I consider myself severely grounded, I like to think I’m “open-minded” in that I listen to philosophies and ideas, even those contrary to my own opinion. I can tell you that after graduating from a liberal arts institution, hindsight tells me I still succumbed to words artfully formed and presented. McLaren’s words especially hit home with my cohorts, who say “Nay! Not us!” to every label – refusing to be confined to any certain box of philosophical or theological thought. So, where does that leave us? Well, it leaves us very susceptible to McLaren’s words and argument that we postmoderns are postlabel. BUT, as Carson points out, this string of what we are ‘beyond’ is in itself a contradiction. The problem again arises with definition. Are we really postconsumerist? Carson calls to mind the credit card debt and I would add the materialism that drips out of media and culture. Are we really postmechanical? Carson sites the digital advances, if mechanical, are more than a small part of our ‘postmodern’ lives. McLaren’s list needs more than clarification – how is he defining these terms and still grouping all of them together when they seem to contradict? I pray that people don’t believe we are postobjective – that’s a statement that is beyond absolutism. Postobjective drops us right in the middle of relativism. And postindividualistic? Really?

I realize I just jumped into ‘postmodern’ terminology and I had to start using an unseemly amount of ” in my definitions. But this really just further explicates the necessity of examining both epistemology and terminology when it comes to understanding what postmodernism is, with special attention to where the definition is coming from, and using this understanding to inform how the Gospel (yes, the historical, redemptive, central and unchanged Gospel) might be preached and heard today.

I feel terrible that this is my attempt at such an enormous subject. I fully encourage anyone who reads this to look into Carson, Piper, Taylor, and any number of other solid theologians who have a heart for the Truth (and access to publishing!). The conference was exciting because it was a gathering of these types of folks – folks that are about the GOSPEL of Jesus Christ. There indeed ARE churches out there with a vision for the TRUTH. My sister, a fellow blogger, has found ample audio material (she’s now a self-proclaimed web-sermon addict) on this subject and her insight has been refreshing – the momentum and urgency indeed gains strength as more of God’s children understand that it is the Gospel, not the children, that is central to our place, our praise, and our joy.

All the lectures from the conference will be available for free download from www.thegospelcoalition.org in the second or third week of June as well as the foundational documents of the organization. This is a movement I can fully and energetically jump into! This isn’t the kind of new-age, feel-good, acceptance movement, but a movement founded solely and completely on the GOSPEL and its aim is to make central the beautiful picture of grace (in light of the weight of sin) of the GOSPEL.


I am spent.

Anecdotes: Part II

Okay, I’ve got to plunge into the anecdotal archives to retrieve one of the arguably funniest things that has ever happened to me. Funny because of how it happened, but maybe more funny because it was my first kiss. Don’t worry – it’s rated way G, so you can read on if you are wondering.

It all started freshman year of college. I was bright with assuming promise of a new life in a new town with new friends. Newly independent and absolutely basking in my freedom, I quickly made friends with Meghan, who was having a slightly less joyful transition. I realize now that I rushed at the opportunity to feel needed and lavished all of my home-grown Iowa loving onto her hurting spirit. We were late to a few orientation events as I listened to her sad stories, but when I asked what her favorite movie was and she responded tearfully, “The Newsies,” well, let’s just say we become attached. Some of our other friends that year thought it unhealthy, but we were lost in the wonder of a new friendship – I’ll never forget when after about a month Meghan turned to me in her room and said, “I want to know everything about you.” I was a little thrown off by the bold proclamation, but it didn’t stop me from surprising my newfound kindred spirit every chance I got.

Meghan wasn’t one to wake up early, but I was up and moving hours before she’d hit snooze the first time. I was anxious to prove my discipline and dedication, so I would leave crafts, verses, and eventually breakfast on her desk to welcome her into the new day. At first it was just muffins or bagels, but then I started thinking she would benefit from a hot meal, so would you believe I snuck an omelette out of the cafeteria and placed it carefully on a napkin next to her chemistry book?

Well, apparently my antics had not only endeared her poor soul, but also that of her family. They were worried about the mournful child they’d left on Hope College’s doorstep and were apparently grateful that someone had gone to the trouble to make sure she was eating breakfast (It really wasn’t that hard – the cafeteria did most of the work). I grew to love her family from the stories, but because her grandparents lived so close we would also go visit them on occasion.

I fell in love with them the first time I met them. Her grandpa admired my farm heritage (I truly think that is something I’ll end up ‘milking for all it’s worth’ in my life!) and her grandma was a sweet soul that never failed to bring a smile. I instantly knew I was welcome and accepted as part of the fold and spent four years grateful for that connection. But this story is really about the second time I met Ken and Barbi (because, of course those really were their names).

Eager to chat and laugh with the family on a particular afternoon, we walked up the deck and Meghan pulled the slider open. She stepped in first and there were excited (always loud) greetings all around, and I followed her into the dining room area. Before I knew what was happening Barbi was reaching for an embrace that ended all wrong.

I know some families have different ways of showing love and I understand we don’t all have to be the same. What I wasn’t ready for was the crossing-over. See, apparently my family doesn’t share some of the traditions that Meghan’s family has and that’s really okay, but when Mrs. DeWitt went in for a smack right on my lips I was slightly confused. Actually, I didn’t know what to do – so I didn’t do anything. Her love met its mark on my stunned lips and I had officially experienced my first-ever kiss.

If I had just turned my cheek ever so slightly things would have turned out differently. But in my stunned confusion, Barbi DeWitt planted her well-meaning affection right on my face!

I’m sure not many can say that their first kiss was their best friend’s grandma. But, I can and whether that makes me lame or hilarious, it is what it is.

Anecdotes

Okay – out with it. Though I wanted to save these for “The Life and Trials – Humorous Stories of an Imaginative, Grown-Up Child” (to be my life’s memoir), I resolved that the publishing of such a book would likely get tangled in editing because of its whimsical and nonsensical nature. So, I’m content to settle for the only slightly smaller glory of having the material published in a different way – well, actually there is no glory involved at all. For the few who read this, I can only hope my antics will raise at least one corner of your mouth into a smirk and perhaps a chuckle might bubble out to disrupt the boring silence in which you are now staring at the computer.

Desperate Graduate
So, I’ve graduated. I have a degree – two actually. I have officially felt the comfortable, welcoming screen door of dependence close behind me, knocking as its springs settle. I think I’m still on the porch, looking out into the big expanse. I see big city lights and wind-swept seas, rolling fields and crowded streets, clusters of community and quiet solitude. All this and I’m still just staring, knowing that a few steps down I’m on my own. I feel like one of those blinking dots on a radar screen, wandering around with a little less identity tied to me and a lot less security. I don’t even have insurance right now. I also don’t have a job. Which, amazingly, has not sent me tailspinning into confusion and hyper-active mode, but instead into a joyous search for a beautiful thing called “odd jobs”. Yep, I posted my first ever personal ad on our college marketplace website. It read something like this:

BABYSITTER, HOUSE-SITTER, ODD JOBS: I am a recent graduate and looking for work in the Holland area. I love kids and the outdoors and I have my lifeguard and first-aid certificates. I have extensive experience with children of all ages. I am also a very hard worker.

Well, I waited and waited and got one response. I now randomly babysit a couple hours for two adorable little ones. The funny thing with odd-jobs is 1. you’re never sure you’re going to have work and 2. one random job isn’t really enough.

So, I did my own perusal of wanted ads on the college website and just a week before I graduated I found the perfect job: weed picking. Not just any weed, though. An alien plant called garlic mustard. This was originally an herb brought over from Europe for medicinal purposes, but its introduction onto American soil went awry when it neither provided any beneficial remedies nor gave any hint of being contained. Apparently, the weevils in Europe keep the resilient beast under control, but there is no such willing herbivore west of the Atlantic. As sad as this sounds, I was actually quite pleased with the predicament, because it provided me temporary employment! I instantly budgeted for what was advertised as a month of work at $12/hr and saw the cartoon dollar signs leap from my eyes. But, before a week had ended, we (there were others responding to this cry for help) had picked ourselves right out of a job. We were relentless, though. We knew the season ended in May, so I made flyers – an article telling of the horrible fate of garlic mustard infested forests and the names of experienced and willing garlic mustard pickers. I didn’t hear any replies, but it was a commendable effort!

Pleasant Biking turned Tour de la Holland
One ambitious morning, I decided to make the 20 minute car ride into 1 hour and 15 minutes biking to get to my temporary weed job. What a beautiful idea for a spring morning! My friend Tricia thought otherwise, once we were about 30 minutes into it – so many hills! She kept motioning for me to go on ahead, but how could I after I had conned her into making the trip with me? We finally made our way to the garlic mustard forest, winded, but ready to pick with a fury. Tricia had already decided biking back was not an option – at the end of the day she was opting for the passenger seat. Me, on the other hand, I had on the brightest of bright grins as I swung my leg over my sister-in-law’s mountain bike. I never did know why I choose to mount a bike like I was getting on a horse, it probably has something to do with the bikes always being slightly too big.

Anyway, I had my headphones in and I was thoroughly enjoying the scenery when I randomly decided to think about the day – a Tuesday. Tuesday and almost 4:00 and I’m biking my way down the lakeshore. Tuesday, 4:00. All of a sudden, as I was repeating the time to myself I realized that I was supposed to BE somewhere at 4:00 on Tuesday. It wasn’t just any commitment either, it was watching children! I immediately freaked out and called Tricia in a panic and asked her to meet me on the road. Meanwhile, I called my friend (who I was standing in babysitting for) and asked her to call the house so the girls would know I’d be just a tad late. THEN, in all my huffing and anxiety, I got a call from Austin, Texas wanting to make sure the 4:00 interview time was still going to work. I managed to keep my cool and calmly ask for a reschedule for the next day. When I got off that phone call, I was asking myself, “HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?” Everything was going so well, until I realized I’d left half my mind in the middle of all that garlic mustard. I wonder what they ever meant by medicinal herb.

Well, in any case, Tricia got me to their house, where the girls had only been home a few minutes (PTL). We unloaded my bike and I collapsed for a short moment, before helping with spelling, piano, and baritone. When the parents arrived, I mounted my fast friend and rode again – winding around bike paths and crossing busy intersections. I laughed over and over to myself – thinking how much enjoyment other people would have at the spectacle I’d become. When I finally reached home, I calculated that I must’ve been on that bike a total of 3 hours that day!

Mulching Surprise
With the weeds cleared, I moved on to my calling as a gardener – a mulcher to be specific. My mentor found it in her heart to provide me with a couple days work laying mulch in her garden. To make things interesting – and slightly intimidating – my mentor is possibly the most dedicated and successful gardener I know. Her house stands out beautifully on her street and is the envy of any passers-by. But, she was asking me (an inexperienced admirer) to mulch! So, I was determined to learn quickly and adhere to the rules: generally 3 inches of mulch (more in the sunnier areas), but about 3 centimeters from the plants, and watch out for ground cover. I think I did a decent job, although half-way through I did start to worrying over the proper amount and distance and trenches and edging. I got over it, because, I didn’t really have any other option.

So – I suppose this is the funny part. I got real intense about this mulching business. I felt rustic with the ground under my knees and my garden-gloved hands gently spreading rich smelling bark in the flower beds. Every time I would come to a weed, I’d yank with accomplished finality, as if to say to the gnarly plant, “Hmmph!” I think having my hands deep in nature had the same effect as snapping beans back in my little Chicago apartment last October – useful, productive, things as they ought to be. Anyway, I was intense. So intense, that I think minutes would go by without my looking up from my work. I was working on a certain area, spreading and adding just so when I saw a spot needing attention around the corner. I aptly moved with determination – even swiftly, I might say – right around that corner and BAM! I felt a punch deep in my left cheekbone. I mean, it really penetrated and after I opened my stunned eyes they grew real big and my face drew back. I was extremely confused at my encounter, after working by myself all morning I had yet to meet anything but my own sing-a-long voice to the music in my headphones. As my eyes got even bigger, I took in my adversary: the sturdy, wooden handle of the wheel barrow. I just sat for a moment with my hand on my cheek silently thinking that I could mumble some words to ease my folly and my opponent’s direct hit. Then my friend stopped by and I told her about my little scuffle. She instantly said, “I know, I can see it!” Later, I realized that not only was it noticeable, but I could’ve been in a bar fight, for the sad look of my left side!

True life begins with a resounding DONE.

I guess this means it’s over. We had the ceremony and I got all dressed up and put on a ridiculous blue bag of a gown to walk across a stage and accept a beautiful leather cover with a paper that said in many words, “You might receive your diploma, if your final grades permit.”

Today I received my grades and it looks like its final. Yep. Done, accomplished, finished, completed, ended. I’ve already moved in with my brother and sister-in-law (I couldn’t be more blessed!) and I’m busy pulling an alien plant called garlic mustard… more on that later.

I just wanted to post a song that is dear to my heart right now, where I am. With decisions about the fall hanging in the balance, I just want to come to the Lord with a heart that is His. I want to wake up with a joyful peace that THIS day is a blessing where I can in turn bless others! I have been reading the book “The Normal Christian Life” by Watchman Nee… and there is beautiful redemption in the Cross. .. beautiful, perfect, complete redemption. He says the Christian life does not start with a “do,” but with a RESOUNDING “DONE!” Christ accomplished the work on the cross. There is nothing -absolutely nothing I can add to the perfect work already completed in his sacrifice. By God’s grace, I can take part in the special work of gathering the nations to praise the God of all redemptive work. What a glorious blessing it is!

And now, if I could just surrender my feelings of completedness; my desires for accomplishment; my understanding of contentedness…

Holland is absolutely and wonderfully gorgeous right now. I’ve been blessed in spending time outdoors with friends, at the beach, and yesterday on a ridiculous 3 hours of biking…again, more to come.
Well, for now, back to the song. Charlie Hall sings it and I’m pretty sure it’s called Marvelous Light:

I once was fatherless,
a stranger with no hope;
Your kindness wakened me,
Awakened me, from my sleep

Your love it beckons deeply,
a call to come and die.
By grace now I will come
And take this life, take your life.

Sin has lost it’s power,
death has lost it’s sting.
From the grave you’ve risen
VICTORIOUSLY!

Into marvelous light I’m running,
Out of darkness, out of shame.
By the cross you are the truth,
You are the life, you are the way

My dead heart now is beating,
My deepest stains now clean.
Your breath fills up my lungs.
Now I’m free. now I’m free!

Lift my hands and spin around,
See the light that i have found.
Oh the marvelous light
Marvelous light

Lift my hands and spin
See the light within…
—-

made up words

Tonight I learned a new word. I’m not sure quite how to spell it because it was a made-up word. It means that your ear is “wobbly and has lots of parts.” Well, that’s what Jack told me anyway when he described his ears as faubnoddle. I’m still not exactly sure if that’s what it was, but he was entirely convinced. He said that you can’t give a zerbert on someone’s ear because they are faubnoddle. And that was that.

Wow. I have to say Paul had some kind of foresight to write “forgetting what is behind and strain toward what lies ahead.” Cap and gown lies just ahead. And, yes, it’s all those things – you know – all those things that are written neatly and cleverly on greeting cards. It’s a ‘new beginning’ and a ‘great achievement’ and the first steps in the ‘real world.’ Really, anything can be made fuzzy and sentimental, but what is the point of this whole charade?

What a question to ask, right? I mean, you’d think I have enough theses, models, and paradigms mixed up in my brain! As I’m looking around, we’re just trying to get past this week. We’re just trying to finish, get to the other side, take pictures next to tulips and on the beach, and smile with that accomplished grin.

I better just lay it out right now. I am no more accomplished than I was as a feisty, blue eye-shadowed middle-schooler (I was actually probably more confident then). If there’s anything in me working towards something I can attain, my sorrow will always shadow my joy. Woe is me! For I am a woman of unclean lips and I live with a people of unclean lips. I can’t wait to one day see what Isaiah saw when he came before the Lord. The whole of his being knew conviction and became aware of God’s righteousness.
Praise God! For we are redeemed and called His children by name. I still can’t fathom it.

My wish to write more will soon give way to worry over stresses, so I’ll have to leave off. There’s a whole lot stirring in the Spirit. I want to leave the lyrics of a beautiful song we sang in community last week:
There is a sweet,
anointing in the sanctuary
There is a stillness
in the atmosphere
So come lay down
the burdens you have carried
for in this sanctuary
God is here

He is here
God is here
To take the yoke
and lift the heavy burden
He is here
God is here
To restore the wounded heart
and bless the broken

So, come lay down
the burdens you have carried
for in this sanctuary
God is here

Amen and amen.

Headed for a Breakdown

I’m more than headed there – I think I’ve parked and lost the keys (which would NOT be surprising, because lately I have darn near watched things disappear right before my eyes).

My mind feels like a webpage – so many stimulating, flashy buttons and colors. I don’t know where to go next or what to push. I am scrolling up and down for the information I need, but I realize I’m not on the right site at all and when I try to backtrack I come to deadends. Stress? Sure, probably. Anxiety about graduation? Not completely sure. Just plain old misdirected energy? For certain.

The more crowded the pages of my mind become, the less I turn to the only Source for peace. We all know where that leads you: to the breakdown dead-end with no keys, no excuses, and no good reason to be asking for or accepting pity.

Let’s be straight about this, folks. At this point, all I need is a good talking to – the old fashioned kind that grandmother’s would lovingly give when they found out you’d been taking “breaks” from helping in the garden to sneak cookies in the kitchen. But don’t worry – I’m managing a pretty good war of words in my own mind, admonishing, advising, and alerting when I stray.

Oh, how I wish I could actually sit and think… and then type. I know it would be more productive and useful – and FUN – I so enjoy a good romp on the open-air, word terrain (see, it’s times like these that even you wish I had more time!). But, I have officially self-diagnosed (something you’re never supposed to do) myself with ADD and I must return to a psychology lab report.

I did have a wonderful chat with my sister today – it’s amazing that even states away God can give us experiences and lessons that encourage and build up one another. She seems to be thriving as only a well-dressed, office cubicle up-and-comer ought to be. The joy and pride she finds in her work speaks so much of her character… but I also have to smile to myself because I’ve seen glimpses of big and bold dreams coming from that girl that I can’t wait to see unfold!

My mom had contest today for her students and my thoughts drift back to when I would tag along, her cloth music bag on my left shoulder, heavy with contest pieces. I always tried to be thumbing through important papers or adding a clever remark about judges, contests, or sound-proof rooms. I absolutely loved those times – so special! We would drive the school bus home and we would go through each student’s performance, naysaying judges and praising the hard work of her tight-knit group. A teacher could not be more fond or attached! Go Cougar Vocal!
—–
See – I AM distracted!

winter furballs

Okay – so last night was a first. I was standing there, in my print media professor’s kitchen, looking up at Copper, who had perched on top of the stove and had obviously been in the cupboards. I felt like I was negotiating with a jumper in one of those movies – pleading that he would just jump down gently and peacefully. I know, I know – I grew up on a farm, right? I shouldn’t be scared of animals, least of all cats! Well, how many cats do you know that take prozac? This one does! AND I couldn’t get it to take its pills Friday night or Saturday morning! I’m not even sure what all the reasons are, but it’s also GIANT! I think it weighs about 35 pounds. I reached up to help it down and before I got too far I realized it wasn’t declawed! So, let me lay it all out again: I had a disobedient, possibly crazed, prozac-needing, still clawed cat that could very well plummet to its demise on my watch! Suffice it to say, I was a little stressed out.

I brought my friend over later and it took both of us coax that little pill down — and I’m convinced the twitching isn’t normal, but Cara didn’t seem to think it was a big deal. She assured me that the cats were fine… I guess I’m just used the cats on the farm who just run free. I should also note that I am taking care of FIVE cats this weekend!! That’s right – quite a collection, eh?

Can I also just add that Mr. Winter is not through with Michigan – after a couple days of 70 DEGREE weather, we’re back to being snowed in and scraping windshields!
SOOOO much to write on, with a more serious tone, but that will have to wait til later. I am feeling love in Michigan and praising the Lord for His Son, sacrifice, and eternal victory!!

Life Suggestions from the Mouths of Babes

So, I’m pretty open to what’s in store for my future. So open, in fact, that I decided to see what Jack (4) and Julia (6) would suggest – they know me pretty well after three years of babysitting and I knew their imaginations could stretch further than mine. I sure was right.
Here is what they said when I asked what I should do with my future….Well, actually the first thing Julia said was, “Buy a car!” But, after that here’s the list they came up with:

1. make candy
2. ballet teacher
3. baker
4. soccer coach
5. firefighter
6. night dreamer
7. doodle bear maker
8. teacher (I had to prompt this one!)
9. toy store maker
10. robot maker

Yep, there it is. My best future life through the eyes of children. .. Actually, I could just about jump on board with #6 night dreamer. I suppose it’s conveniently ambiguous and I hardly know of anyone with such a job title, but is that really required?

Anyway, this made me laugh a little.

Lemon Ginger Zinger

So, I’m sitting here sipping on Lemon Ginger Zinger and babysitting again as my Spring Break finishes up. I have my regulars Jack and Julia to babysit tomorrow morning and then Sunday brings a new week and a fresh start. Tonight it’s Elinore, who sadly had to retreat to bed shortly after I arrived. She is a stunning and impressive 16 month old – someone I would much prefer to my lonesome, save the cats earlier this week. It really has been interesting, though, looking at my life left to its own devices. I actually don’t really like it.

I’m looking forward to my housemates coming back if for nothing else the consistency of seeing faces and engaging in interaction every day. I kid myself that I’m a real loner – that I belong in the dark, quiet places where I can think. The funny thing is – when I actually find myself there, it’s all I can do to stay put and be useful. I realized this in Chicago as well. I need people. Sure, we all need people, but I know that in order for me to fully function in the body of Christ I need to be in contact with the body as a community. Without accountability I’m unpredictable and unreliable.

On the way back from Indy last weekend, I battled the long stretches of silence. I don’t know if anyone can relate to those times in the car where no music is the right kind. Every CD I put in or radio station didn’t seem to connect. When it comes down to it, I was strangely unsettled when I wasn’t moved or inspired by the music. I wanted something to connect – gratify my desires and feelings for that specific time.

I ended up shutting off the music completely and painting the road with my own words and rhymes. I’m glad I didn’t record what followed, but I stumbled upon a few things that put me again in the role of student. I remember one phrase that came up:
I’ve got a pocket full of problems and a heart heavy with dreams. There are visions dancing on the backdrop of my eyes…

Sure – it’s sappy. Given time, I’m sure a writer could make it into a killer radio single. But, then again you could give anything that slightly rhymes to writers these days and they’ve got 13-year-olds belting out the chorus within weeks. That’s not where I was going, though.

In some ways, it describes the struggle I have – we all have – with what lies ahead. There will never be a time in our lives where we are problem free. Really – never. And as much as we are weighed down with earthly agendas, we are burdened with the weight of an all-consuming glory – a glory that opens the curtain and sets the stage for the most brilliant play that ever was.

There’s that… and then there was something else. It started with a seed. In one of the bible studies I’m a part of, we recently studied the parable of the sower and the seeds (I think I wrote on this awhile back). I started thinking about birth, growth, and the anticipation involved in the whole process. What a wondrous thing it is to have a beginning, to take root and claim space for your existence. Really – to think on life and creation is so beautifully wound up in beginnings.

The seed – so small, seemingly vulnerable is put into the ground, inches down and covered with soil. What assurance have we that this small piece of matter will produce anything of substance? Yet, creation is fed by the harvests of many fields and zillions of tiny, precious seeds. After the seed is planted, the sower starts the first of many impatient phases. Oh! The things we find to fret about – rain, no rain, too much rain, animals, insects, fertilizer, good soil, run off, weeds… I grew up between rows of corn and soybeans. I know what it is to have conversation begin and end with a report on the coming crop.

But, back to that tiny, tender beginning planted just so.
(From this point on, I may sound naive and a bit amateur to the way of plant life and green growth, but maybe it will make sense to someone else as it does to me.)
We can not control at precisely what moment that seed is ready to sprout. Sure, we’ll know about when it should happen. But, when all is quiet above the surface, that little seed is going about making roots… roots that will sustain the future plant. Only when the roots have stretched far and deep enough for precisely that plant will the wondrous sprout appear. Enter impatient phase #2 (and so on).

Now, not ever actually having the burden most farmers carry about their crops almost as if they are children, it may seem hard for me to relate. But, the way I see it, I get so impatient for the plant first to break ground. I want to see that something is happening. I want to know that I didn’t plant a dud – the only evidence, save digging up the poor thing, comes after waiting. I might say to myself, “If I could just see it come above ground. I just want to know it’s taken root – that’s all. I just need to see that I’ve done this work for nothing. Really, then I will trust the rest.”

Sure enough, when that solitary green shoot emerges in a bed of brown, I get excited. I know I’ve done something right. But now, I’m only more tormented with anticipation. “Why is the process so painfully long?” I might say, “Why can’t we skip to the part where there is fruit and leaves and life coming from this thing I planted?”

But, more waiting. Funny that with each stage of growth I forget more and more about the spreading roots of the beginning. I spend little time wondering at the process of growth and much time impatient for its completion.

Let’s say this seed I planted was a tree. What a long, excruciating process – one that I will never see complete in my lifetime. I can almost see myself, hunched over, whispering words of encouragement with great urgency. “Can’t you grow any faster? Friend, I’ve given you water and sun and all those things they say to give in the magazines. I’ve done it – now when will you grow?”

Winter comes and ice decorates the cold, bare branches. Even though I know the season will pass, it’s hard for me not to lose hope. To see the infant tree in such a poor, paralyzed state is quite a harsh thing to encounter from a snow-glazed window. Yet, as death and dormancy melt away on its gray exterior, impatience grabs hold once again. “When, oh when will the leaves come? Those are such a sure sign of life and a welcome assurance of spring.”

I could go on – and this would turn into a very sad tale. I would be somewhere in the range of 68 years old, staring out the same window, rocking gently in the soft groove on the wood floor, maybe preoccupied as I knit mittens for a grandchild. My gaze would be fixed on that same tree, now grown and sturdy, but still waiting, hoping, and anticipating.

Oh, that is quite enough! The question is: what are we – what am I really impatient for? If I am waiting and anticipating the sprout, the leaves, the blooms – if these drive my anticipation and excitement than I am missing completely the joy and beauty of things created. I will time and again be disappointed and never satisfied. Why? Because what I’ve missed is that everything, from spreading roots to the shade-giving branches, is merely a reflection. If I’m impatient for more of the reflection, then I will never see the true beauty.

When the children of Israel begged Moses to petition God they asked that He remove the snakes biting at their heels. They were getting sick from the venom and were desperate for a cure. God answered by not removing the snakes, but by asking His children to simply shift their gaze. Because snakes, too are a part of His creation, and if we are distracted for even a moment we are looking at a mere reflection. God told them to look up to the bronze serpent and those who obeyed found instant healing! I won’t go into the symbolism in this passage, but it is clear that we are far too easily consumed with created things. If I spend my life anticipating things in the created realm I will never be satisfied. Yet, if I shift my gaze toward Christ, the author and perfector of my faith, I am no longer looking at a reflection, but at the True, Real Beauty.

I am almost embarrassed at how long this is… I know I could have said everything in a couple sentences, but like it or not, the words just come. There’s so much more to these blessings – and also their role in my burdens right now. But, this is quite enough for tonight! I am going to finish up A Great Divorce by C.S. Lewis – what a marvelous and enchanting read!

This week has been long and revealing. I am thankful for even the ugly parts brought to the surface when no one is looking. I need only shift my gaze to know that the God of all the universe waits to lavish his love and laughter on this child.

peace and grace.

Snail Mail Blessings

Well, I’ve written and re-written this entry at least 10 times but it never published. I wanted to just share that merely a day after I wrote about losing $20, I received a bright spring-pink card in my grandma’s familiar hand. Folded between stories of spring, grandpa’s bus tales, and the new garden was $20. And just in time for my trip to Indy.

It always amazes me when others are especially attuned to those nudges!

Thank you grandparents!