Superfluous Debris

The poor oceans… They are so full of planes, rockets, bombs, missiles, alien spacecrafts, and otherwise exploding or extraneous debris, plunged into her for decades in order to save mankind. Well, at least since the dawn of movies and television. Like sunken ships weren't enough to clutter her sea bottoms.

I’ve also never understood how, in any movie, someone could justify the believability of annihilating millions of dollars worth of property and possibly—or probably—killing scores of people in an attempt to secure or face one bad guy. In “Man of Steel”, Superman races 100 mph with Zod in tow, and when he finally comes to a stop, he yells, “You think… you can threaten… my mother?!!” In his path are pillars he tore through, stores left in smithereens, cars exploding in freak gasoline fires, and although they don’t show broken or dead bodies, somebody got hurt, people.  All so he could scream at the alien antagonist.

Well, his name is Superman, not Perfectman. I guess.

A Civil Offense

Okay, this one's gonna be short 'n sweet. Both my parents owned handicap placards, even though only my mom used hers.

I love that handicapped parking is provided for people who need it. However, SO many drivers park as if their handicap is something other than or in addition to a physical one... Would they not get docked if they were taking a driver's exam?!  If someone was having a baby or bleeding out, and this was an emergency room, no problem!  I can't think of a single excuse for lazy, sloppy, or this kind of otherwise haphazard parking at grocery stores, vitamin shops, hardware stores, Papa Murphy's, or the library.

I could have taken a whole lot more pictures, but a dozen is quite enough to prove my point. It is an offense to common sense for this privilege to be taken advantage of in such a cavalier manner.  Come ON...

Jesus in Disguise

God loved His way around the world and across time,
enjoying shared secrets, simple disguises, and latent surprises.
He is finishing His work in us, through us, as us.

Speaking in Chinese.

Paying in lira.

Running in moccasins.

Swimming in the Amazon.

Eating plantains.

Forgiving trespassers.

Calming.

Dissolving stereotypes.

Healing.

Befriending the smelly.

Telling a joke.

Solving an equation.

Grinding maize.

Making sandwiches.

Riding a donkey.

Laughing.

Collecting seeds.

Touching a shoulder.

Fixing cars.

Catching planes.

Learning to cook.

Changing a tire.

Savoring creation.

Brushing hair. 

Baking bread.

Writing an essay.

Paying taxes.

Crying.

Ladling soup.

Planting rice.

Performing surgery.

Driving a cab.

Providing for a debt.

Believing.

Reminding.

Staying.

Enjoying just being...

"He completes Me."

"She completes Me."

We are complete in Jesus, and as His Holy Spirit headquarters Himself in us, we go out to be about the Father's business, wherever we are, whoever we are. We go and do and say and be as His Spirit leads, and we are Jesus with all kinds of different skin on in this world.  Jesus is present to someone as a 55 year-old half-Asian woman.  A thirteen year-old Kenyan brother.  A Korean businessman in New York.  A Hewa mother in Papua, New Guinea.  Jesus is all over the place!

Sometimes my own world feels pretty small, but as a thread in His design, it is the absolute right world. Every act and word done in and by Him will remain and have some measure of eternal notice and significance.

The Normal Extraordinary

I turned down the handle on the hydrant, satisfied enough with the water level for now.

The soft click made me know it was shut off all the way.

I walked partway to the house on grass. What do you call the sound my footfalls make?

Partway on gravel. It was kind of a muffled crunch. Like trying to eat potato chips in the library.

I looked to the last orange cotton ball cloud in the western sky and smiled at the Artist.

I tugged off one glove and stuffed it into my pocket.

I fed the cats, emptying what was left in the five-gallon bucket.

I fed Guido and made a mental note to put dog food on my grocery list.

I turned off the garage light and stepped into the wash room.

I firmly pulled the door shut behind me and peeled off my jacket.

I hung it on the nail that was like all the other nails all down the row, each hidden by a coat.

I laid Guido’s dinner bowl on the towel that covers his part-time bed.

I took in the quiet. Not even the furnace was on.

I was alone.

I was not alone.

All these things are so extremely banal.

They are each extraordinary when examining one single element at a time.

They are my normal vanilla day.

They are five hundred gifts that bundle to make a Present.

Everyday is like a birthday.

Or a rebirthday.

The Period.

There was a memorial service on Saturday, the leading up to which took over the life of a dear friend for a week. It was for her father-in-law, an enigma of a man and one who remains two-dimensional to me for all his unfamiliarity. I'll call him Jack.

His body was completely saturated with MRSA, a recurring condition for him, and finally, obese and fatally ill, he apparently died of heart failure. I was told that his wife is now experiencing what appears to be a celebration as she finds herself free of him and her years-long obligation to caregiving and to all his health issues. I'm left to wonder about his personality. No one wanted his ashes, not his wife or one of his three children. Brother, sister, cousin, friend...? My friend's husband eventually had to pick them up at the insistence of the providing facility. Their eventual resting place is as yet undecided.

A life lived on this earth is one sentence long. I imagine some kind of punctuation at the end of that sentence. Most of us get a period, others an exclamation point. The unborn may get parentheses. Some whose influence affects history for eons may have an ellipsis. I’m not sure what kind of life would end with a question mark, and certainly no one's ends with a comma.

For Jack though, I reckon the punctuation to be an image and a sound. It is the picture of a sad, frowny emoji. Granted, the only commentary I’ve ever received on his life was one-sided from my friend. It was never with bitterness or anger, just a straightforward account of some past occurrence. I cannot recall even one positive statement about him though in the almost-20 years I have known her.

Jack and his wife were part of a church that was constructing its building at one point. Because of his love of food, he ensured it would contain a large kitchen by financing that particular portion of production and furnishing. That's something. I would venture that most of us haven't done that.

I've never heard my friend's husband talk about his relationship with his parents. The few times the subject of them came up, it was a simple declaration of facts, eg., that they were moving to Arizona or moving back here or wanted someone's address. I never got the sense in any way that they were warm-fuzzy relations. In fact, it was exactly the opposite. I was always left with a kind of vacant feeling against the backdrop of the pleasant relationship I enjoyed with my own parents. Like opening a box you think contains a donut, only to see there's nothing in it but the filmy paper used to fish one out of the bakery case. A dab of frosting on it and the after-aroma of a donut, but that's all.

A life focused on self, resulting in the disdain and thorough disregard from those in his life who most woulda coulda shoulda loved and honored him…? If sadness is a sound, then I hear utter silence, the opposite of love being apathy. The absence of laughter at the retelling of favorite stories, quotable lines, the best holidays, fatherly moments, sentimental recollections. No nods of agreement at sharing the list of values, traits, and encounters that mark a man’s character. No missing his countenance or the sound of his voice, no wishing for just five more minutes, no savoring of his last words.

There is no grand sustaining of the last note as the credits fade.  No sniffling, smiles, or wet sleeves, no anticipation of the sequel or lingering hope because of the film's essential message. The final, sad comment on Jack's life is a shrug. When the dim lights come back up, the theatre is simply empty. The soundtrack of a life lived here to the exclusion of what God embodies and embraces can only close with a soft click of the power button.

The End

Dark Night of the Soul

The time may come when you must undergo your own dark night of the soul, when you must shadowbox your own demons and pray for the sweet relief of silence. If that time must come—and for all who would know Him for your own selves as He truly is and can manifest Himself in your life in all His fullness, it must come—I pray for you the tsunami of grace and Presence that are His heart gifts to His own floundering, suffering, bleeding lamb-child.

May you feel His tender care over you, the evidence of His fantastic Love overcome you in the darkness and life-save you in the slime pit. May you experience the same fantastic degree of kindness and forgiveness that were my own silken-wrapped presents. And may the full knowledge of your unworthiness cement the fact of your capacity for unspeakable evil apart from His glorious salvation. Then He can take those wretched pieces of you and restructure the foundation of your belief system, so you can truly believe and begin to live the Abundant Life you always knew was possible for others but not for you, as you victoriously limp now as His very own Beloved, the entirely new species He created in His Son, the only One in whom He is well-pleased, and in whom we abide and have our being and so are safe and Home.

This may sound like so much cotton candy, poetic license, and twaddle while you bear the bruises and sores from tethers of your own construction, but do this:  Stay in the battle. Be still and know that He is God. This is so not about you. Jesus is the hero. He is the protagonist, the main character in what you always thought was your story. Marinate in that. Let its truth flow into your deepest, lowest cracks. As it flows, as it pools, its holy acid strips the corrosion of lies and unbelief and replaces them with a coating of His own holy armor, cast and forged for you by His own precious blood, utter holiness, and furious Love.

This dark night will not be for nothing. It will be for your everything-from-now-on. Tozer said, “It is doubtful whether God can bless a man greatly until He has hurt him deeply". Let this painful experience have its way in His faithful, tender, good hands. The most influential people in my life have been those who have encountered suffering as a constant companion, an unwelcome guest in what seemed an otherwise a decent existence. The light shines brightest in the darkness and all that. It's true. I pray you own this for your own self and the exquisite, priceless bounty that will be its legacy to you.

Godspeed, beloved...

This Ministry of Reconciliation

Ours is the ministry of reconciliation (2 Cor. 5:18, a frequent mention in yesterday’s sermon).  It doesn’t seem like the church believes that though. Too many of us are as full of grudges, resentment, and hostility as nonbelievers. There’s something seriously wrong with that. There's a leak in the dam, and it's leaving us lonely and separated, tearing us apart. Church, we're better than this.

We are one Body, but we walk around like islands (some bigger, more deserted, or harder to find than others). We ignore that vital truth of our oneness. What’s wrong with me is what’s wrong with you.  What’s wrong with you is what’s wrong with me—because we are one Body. Christ is the only Head of the only one Body. It is the work of the enemy to make us exclusive from one another. As much as God desires reconciliation and healthy relationship, the enemy desires utter devastation.  "The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly" (John 10:10).  Let that make us hate our defeated foe enough to yank any success from him.

• Don't judge me because my sin is different from yours.
• Our past mistakes are meant to guide us, not define us. 
• How many of you have deeply offended someone? How many of you meant to?
• Don't desire that I grovel. Desire my restoration and healing.
• If you're feeling animosity toward someone, redirect it at God, because He's the one who allowed it to touch your life. Nothing of any eternal good comes from making it a horizontal thing. If you have a beef with anyone, ask Him what He wants to do with it in your life. Make it vertical.  There's the eternal good.
• Deny your "self", that natural man of our flesh. True discipleship requires it. We cannot understand spiritual things apart from our spiritual selves, the self God indwells and communes with.

Acknowledge the log in your own eye before you stone me.  Take up His heart, join hands with me, and dive into the wondrous grace of this ministry of reconciliation that is ours. He gave it to us, and He only gives good and perfect gifts. Embrace it. Own it. Model it. Promote it. Withhold from the enemy yet another victory.

From Corrie ten Boom:

‘You mentioned Ravensbruck in your talk,’ he was saying, ‘I was a guard there.’ No, he did not remember me.

'But since that time,’ he went on, ‘I have become a Christian. I know that God has forgiven me for the cruel things I did there, but I would like to hear it from your lips as well. Fräulein,’ again the hand came out—‘will you forgive me?’

And I stood there—I whose sins had again and again to be forgiven—and could not forgive. Betsie had died in that place—could he erase her slow, terrible death simply for the asking?

It could not have been many seconds that he stood there—hand held out—but to me it seemed hours as I wrestled with the most difficult thing I had ever had to do.

For I had to do it—I knew that. The message that God forgives has a prior condition: that we forgive those who have injured us. ‘If you do not forgive men their trespasses,’ Jesus says, ‘neither will your Father in heaven forgive your trespasses.’

I knew it not only as a commandment of God, but as a daily experience. Since the end of the war I had had a home in Holland for victims of Nazi brutality. Those who were able to forgive their former enemies were able also to return to the outside world and rebuild their lives, no matter what the physical scars. Those who nursed their bitterness remained invalids. It was as simple and as horrible as that.

And still I stood there with the coldness clutching my heart. But forgiveness is not an emotion—I knew that too. Forgiveness is an act of the will, and the will can function regardless of the temperature of the heart. ‘… Help!’ I prayed silently. ‘I can lift my hand. I can do that much. You supply the feeling.’

And so woodenly, mechanically, I thrust my hand into the one stretched out to me. And as I did, an incredible thing took place. The current started in my shoulder, raced down my arm, sprang into our joined hands. And then this healing warmth seemed to flood my whole being, bringing tears to my eyes.

‘I forgive you, brother!’ I cried. ‘With all my heart!’

For a long moment we grasped each other’s hands, the former guard and the former prisoner. I had never known God’s love so intensely, as I did then.

This glorious story of forgiveness and reconciliation from the life of Corrie ten Boom gripped me from the moment I heard it, and I knew I wanted it emblazed in the marble of my character (not saying that's a finished project, mind you).  I have experienced both sides of the miracle of extending a wooden hand and having it become an arm of forgiveness in full and genuine measure. She was an incredible, imperfect human who believed God at His word, and the fragrance of her faith still perfumes this needy world.

100 Things I Learned From My Dad

I don't or can't necessarily DO all these, but they are things I learned from the first greatest man in my life.

1. Work hard.
2. Rest when your knees hurt.
3. Say Thank You.
4. Take care of your family.
5. Love God.
6. Ask for help.
7. Pray.
8. Animals deserve our compassion.
9. Serve your wife.
10. Make gifts for your loved ones with your own hands.
11. Be on time.
12. Say “I love you” often.
13. Pay your bills.
14. Don’t eat too much.
15. Discipline your children.
16. Use the same old, used up line because it makes you laugh.
17. Watch “Mash.”
18. Study the map before you get there.
19. Eat ice cream and cookies.
20. Encourage others to eat ice cream and cookies.
21. Tithe.
22. Respect your elders.
23. Plan for the future, but don’t let it worry you.
24. Help your kids with the daunting task of moving.
25. Listen to one another at the dinner table.
26. Go camping.
27. Go fishing, even if you can’t eat the stuff.
28. Give generously and with no strings.
29. Pepperoni pizza is the best.
30. Watch the news, but don’t believe everything you hear.
31. Make up nicknames for children.
32. Eat the green beans, even if you don’t like them.
33. A lot of pain right now is better than a little pain over a long time.
34. No one is above the law.
35. Don’t be so self-conscious. No one’s thinking about you as much as you are.
36. Buy your wife the car she loves, except if it’s literally a Sherman tank.
37. Drink coffee every morning.
38. Pancakes for dinner is fun.
39. Bacon and eggs every morning for a week is fun too.
40. Mow the lawn.
41. Clear snow from the driveway.
42. Get the mail.
43. Don’t waste unused stamps.
44. Vote.
45. You can’t have too many hammers, magnets, flashlights, or ice cream buckets.
46. See your doctor if your wife insists.
47. Get up early.
48. You only need two sets of sheets.
49. If the soles of your slippers blow out, use duct tape.
50. Make letter openers and marshmallow sticks out of car antennas.
51. Pass out gobs of pens with your name on them.
52. Clean under your nails with a pocket knife.
53. Stay sweet when you’re old.
54. Use super glue as a liquid bandage.
55. Appreciate Christmas carolers.
56. Keep emergency cash in your glove box.
57. Honor this country.
58. Silence can be golden.
59. Actions speak louder than words.
60. Buy your daughter a horse when she cries herself to sleep for want of one.
61. Err on the side of compliance when you’re not sure you’re right.
62. Have picnics with your pardnur and his mom in the back of your pickup at work.
63. Keep several pairs of gloves in at least two places.
64. Get around stupid city laws as often as you can.
65. A toothpick can be used as a tiny shim.
66. Do the upright thing, even if it costs you.
67. Record your children's voices when they're little.
68. Bag balm cures skin cancer.
69. Passing the phone to your wife when your daughter is crying is a good idea.
70. Coffee and root beer are the only liquids you need to drink.
71. When you retire, be prepared to be busier than ever.
72. Stick to your guns, even if he’s wearing a badge.
73. Tell your daughter often how beautiful she is.
74. Brag on your sons in front of them.
75. Have your mother-in-law live with you if that’s what your wife desperately wants.
76. Send your female loved ones home with a freshly cut rose.
77. Press cider with your family.
78. When you make a mistake, don’t make excuses.
79. Send care packages.
80. Laugh at yourself.
81. Know your strengths.
82. Work on  your weaknesses.
83. Cheese is a food group.
84. Fly the American flag.
85. Forgive, and don’t bring it up again.
86. Carry a hanky and an extra one for someone else.
87. Save your coins, then give them away.
88. Manners are about respect.
89. If you make a mess, clean it up.
90. Tend a garden.
91. Send Christmas and birthday cards.
92. Make a list of all the most important phone numbers.
93. Stay up on technology.
94. Keep up the maintenance on your cars.
95. Make your words mean something.
96. Don't go on about yourself.
97. Allow your wife her piles and just keep your own space orderly.
98. Be a good steward.
99. Most things can be fixed before they have to be thrown out, including people.
100. Listen to a good preacher on the radio if you can’t make it to church. 

Some of these are cliches, but cliches stick around because of their truth. Many are specific to him, and the blend of both make this a personal and meaningful tribute to him in my heart and life.

There is only one thing on this list I learned to do because Dad did not, and that's to ask for help. His generation is one of privacy and independence. It was Mom who would call us to explain the problem or project Dad was working on all by himself, which usually ended up taking two or more of us to help him complete. He was always so thankful.

My dad was a good man. I will miss him everyday for the rest of my life. My gratitude for him being my father goes magma deep. I will always treasure that the last conversation I ever had with him was our regular greeting and benediction:

Dad:  I love you much.

Me:  I love you mucher.

Some Stuff I've Learned

My mom passed away in one sudden moment. My dad's passing was a more gradual, lingering journey. It may sound odd, but I have the privilege of having experienced both ways to lose a parent. Fortunately, my dad's lingering was really short compared to some--only a month. Through their deaths, I have experienced a few new things.

1.  There is a beauty in fragility. Pain brought out the sweetest trust in Jesus in my mom. She wrote this on a tablet by her chair, "Please Lord heal me. But if that is not Your will, then please Lord grant me the strength to accept it. Amen." With my dad, not eating caused him to lose a lot of weight. He was never a large man to begin with, and he'd already started to thin way down when he was still at home. His malnourished body and loss of teeth caused his cheeks to shrink. His vulnerability was exactly like that of an infant. Unable to speak or to even make minor body adjustments as he lay there, everything had to be done for him. That helplessness evokes compassion and the desire to comfort--both beautiful Christlike traits.

2.  There is no uniform way to grieve. The news of my mom's condition as my dad informed me by phone landed on numb ears. Even after I hung up and said the words out loud to Kev, I felt nothing. Can tragedy have an anesthetic effect? We all left her room when attendants came to disconnect the respirator. Afterward, I asked Dad if he wanted to keep waiting in that room or go back to Mom's room. I'll never forget the depth of despair on his face when he answered, "It doesn't matter. Nothing does anymore." I walked in and saw her still body and Wayneen's tears. I ran to her side and kept repeating, "My mom! Oh, my mom!" as I ran my hands over her arms and face, tears raining down. We were all crying silently as we left the hospital en masse. Grief would ambush me after that. I never knew when it would overpower me like a flash flood--no warning, no mercy. I still don't know how I completed her obituary or arranged for her memorial service. A picture, a note, a memory, or a fragrance could pull the trigger. It was the hijacking of grief. It was the hammer of loss. It was my way to mourn.

Grief over the loss of my dad came like a tsunami--crushing, devastating, and pounding. My cries were primal, and I was unable to do anything but cling to the kind, comforting soul holding me as I grasped for something solid to land on. My body tensed with the force of a seizure, and all I could do was ride it out and hope for dry ground soon. I spent the month after my dad's death exhausted, nauseous, and asleep. It was the sleep of sorrow. It was the fog of grief. It was how I mourned the last four years of investing in my dad's well-being and living with no regrets. It was my way to grieve.

3.  God's Presence is never nearer to me than when I am helpless. There was never one moment during these two experiences that I did not feel His Presence, save those blinding, deafening minutes I just described. Even then though, I never felt alone. I know I was cocooned by Love, enveloped in Tenderness, and cared for by Mercy, safe in the Rock.

4.  God's timing is flawless. I was able to ride into town with Kev or one of the kids the first week Dad was at Regency. It worked out that well. We had such a mild winter with fog instead of snow, so the roads were always good, not the norm for our January. Friends visited or wrote something encouraging just when I needed it. A song would play on the radio with lyrics written specifically for me. Kev received some really uplifting remarks from students who wanted him to come back. That was a 2-for-1 blessing for us both. Brett and Lydia were living with us at the time of my dad's stroke and decline. They took care of everything and everyone when we couldn't. Lydia had breakfast and dinner for us nearly everyday. They made three offers on three different homes, and they all fell through. That was the limit they set before deciding to rent, but Kev encouraged them to keep looking. As my fog began to lift and I began to feel human again, the fourth house became their new home. Lydia had been praying that I would be functional by the time they left, and indeed I was.

5.  There is a chance to encounter Jesus in every moment. When Dad started going downhill, I asked Him to "please help me eat and drink at this table He set before me, just as He has helped me with every other table in my life. There is food and drink and His heart to take up in this, no matter what my eyes and ears tell me." I saw Him caring for my dad in the hands of the nurses and aides. I heard Him in the warm words people offered. I felt Him in the many reassurances of love from friends and family. I smelled Him in our fresh country air, in the dryer vent with its clean clothes, in the sweetness of the hugs from my friends who all bear His fragrance. I even tasted Him--in the scores of meals Lydia made with such love, the ginger ale from Tina, and the coffees, gifts, treats, and sandwiches from loving souls. I wish I was always aware of encountering Him, but I forget. Thankfully, He never does, and the opportunities are always there.

6.  When people offer their help, they really mean it. We're so used to either going without or cramming it into our schedules, so most of the offers of help go unused. I decided to start saying Yes. The first things I asked for were lip balm and mints. (Thank you, Cheryl!) The second thing I hinted at was another necklace with beads and doodads. (Thank you again, Cheryl!) The next thing was ginger ale. (Thank you for both those times, Tina!) The next thing was offered to me so I didn't have to ask, but I did have to accept, and it was my first Jimmy John's sammie. (Thank you, Betty!) The next thing was also offered--a Ya-Ya visit at Regency complete with British fascinators (although I forgot mine... Thank you, Glenice!). They indeed fascinated wherever they went! Rosie visited my father twice, and both times I missed her. She read to him and left me the sweetest note. I couldn't have asked for a more thoughtful gift. Lydia and Barb both brought me coffee.

These weren't humongous things, but I wanted to start somewhere, and I will treasure every remembrance of them. (What I actually need is help cleaning my house! A month of sleep and five dogs have left it in desperate shape.) We truly do want to help someone going through difficulty, but most of the time we don't know what to do. Experiencing the other side of the fence opened my eyes to the opportunity that asking or saying Yes gives to people. We both win.

I'll learn more stuff as time goes on, but I wanted to list these while they're still fresh on my mind. I'm grateful for the insights and the garden of truth they are in this potential time of drought. How kind He is. Always.

To Strangle

Worry:  Old English wyrgan ‘strangle.’ In Middle English the original sense of the verb gave rise to the meaning ‘seize by the throat and tear,’ later figuratively ‘harass,’ whence ‘cause anxiety to’.

I did something foolish, something I know better than to do. A dear friend unburdened herself and shocked me with a terrible secret. I promised not to tell anyone, not even my Kevin. Instead of leaving it at lifting her up in prayer, however, I slung her on my back and started carrying her around. By the next night, I was a basket case. I couldn't stop crying. I was so bone weary that when I stood to get out of bed, I fell.  I have a bruise the size of a grapefruit on my hip with every color in it. I bruise easily anyway, so this is a doozy.

Kev reminded me of something I learned and practiced years ago--not to take on other people's burdens, no matter how dear they are to me. We were never designed to play God.  Only He can help her.  I can take up up His heart for her and commit to pray, and that's enough.   I did no one any good by worrying myself sick. I didn't make her feel better. I didn't solve her problem. I caused my husband stress. In fact, it ruined our evening and what could have been a really sweet time.

Okay, lesson learned.  Again.  I have an owie now to remind me.  Help it stick.