out of the mouth of my babe

Last night at bedtime, Israel was complaining of is foot hurting. It was a minor issue, so I pulled out that line my dad used on me as a kid: "Do you want me to cut it off?" (As I child, I thought this was stupid, because of course it would hurt more to cut off your foot than it would to deal with the minor boo-boo. Kids can't realize this is the point of the question. So I add an explanation.) "Your foot can't hurt you if I throw it over there somewhere."

This led immediately into a string of questions from my son that ended up with a discussion of prosthetic limbs and how it is possible to live and not die from losing a limb and how it is possible to walk, even if you're missing a leg. And then, of course, it led to giving an account of what has happened in Boston. It was time for prayer, anyway, and the subject seemed the logical bridge from hurting foot to prayer. Pat and I looked at each other and I dove in:

"So tonight we can pray for people who have been hurt and are missing their legs. Lots of people in a city far away called Boston got their legs cut off by a bomb."

The kids looked at me, waiting for further explanation for a second, so I continued to answer the silent "why" question by saying, "A couple of men left a bomb around a lot of people and it exploded and lots and lots of people were hurt really badly. It was a very bad choice for them to make...a very bad choice that really hurt a lot of people."

I always hesitate before letting my kids know about such horrible events. Israel still prays for Syria lots of evenings after Pat informed him of that one world event something like a year ago. I don't want him to know about every bad thing that happens, because he does not forget them. I don't want my kids to be afraid of bad things happening. But since ignorance doesn't tend to make unafraid people, I try to tell them SOME bad things that I think they will hear about as we listen to the news. (As we have one starting kindergarten next year, we skipped Sandy Hook for the most part.) So I drop these things on them in a context of something to do about it. "You can pray about this because...." and then they aren't powerless; I'm telling them so they can do something about it. Even if it's for people far away. But I wait to see how this will affect them. Israel didn't ask any further questions, but sat thinking about it for awhile. Eden, who, has a completely unsuppressible spirit, piped up immediately about the people who had made the really bad choice that hurt a lot of people: "But Jesus still loves them."

And so we prayed for them, too.

I'm not the most filled-in on the details and on how different media outlets have portrayed the young men presumably responsible for creating the need for all the heroism we've read about. I have read people being upset that they were initially described in terms of skin color. As I tuned in today, there was mostly talk about ethnicity, religion, and place of birth. Would we make such a big deal of these things if the person was born and raised here and had light skin? I can't say for sure.

But I do notice, on many levels in society, in times of tragedy and times of relative peace, we like to distance ourselves from people who make bad choices. We like to point out how people we would label "bad guys" are different from us. It's easier to find some way to cut them off from "us." We say to each other: "Here. You want me to cut it off for you so it won't hurt you?" I can't say for sure that's what is happening here. What I can say is that we need to guard against that. As humiliating as it is, Christians have to admit that we don't have anything up on

And so we pray for EVERYONE'S hearts and lives who have been changed (or not) by this horrible choice/event, recognizing that the best thing that can happen is for God to be at work in the lives of all involved.

Instead of focusing on why "that person" is different from us, Eden honed in on the very powerful and humbling thing that we have in common. The most basic and wide-reaching truth about me is the same for Dzhokhar Tsarnaev: "Even when we make bad choices, Jesus still loves us." And if I can't affirm this about him, I cannot truly believe it for myself. I don't know what Jesus's love will mean for Dzhokhar in his life or the next, but I know he wasn't created less in the image of God than I was. And Jesus didn't only die and rise again for people who meet some basic moral standard. I am no more worthy of forgiveness than he is. (Can one be "worthy" of forgiveness?) As an adult, I have a whole list of theological questions about this, but none of them advance my knowledge any further than what my daughter already knows: "Jesus still loves us, (all of us,) even if we do something wrong."

where I'm writing

I haven't been blogging as much these days. It's not that life isn't still happening. It is. It's not that I don't have anything to say. I do. Sometimes it's a bit difficult to figure out just one thing to say. But I have been writing in a less-structured sort of way and thought I'd share it for anyone who's interested.

My friend Chad put up this website called Ask Two Questions. It's based on reading through the common lectionary. Every day, there is a brief passage and you're asked to think about what it's saying about God and you. (Sometimes I have a hard time teasing those two questions apart.) It's not overwhelming at all. If you don't get lost in writing like I do, it can take 5-10 minutes to prayerfully think it through. I'm a verbal processor, so it takes me awhile to "talk it out." But if you want to read where I've been writing, check it out. You are welcome to join in the discussion...or not. It has been beneficial to me, though, and if I think something's good, I'm going to share it.

I'll list out for you a few of the topics that I particularly enjoyed as way of providing a sample for you. Maybe some one of you will enjoy it as much as I do. I'm titling them by my summary of what I took from the passage on the left, followed by the site's title for the passage on the right.

My God! Is that alive?! - Treasure in Jars of Clay

That was then, this is now. - God Will Do A New Thing

Not sure even I'm controlling enough for this - Live In Love

I'll just keep that to myself - The Joy of Forgiveness

Feeling labled - Diving Mercy for Ephraim

Getting a free meal - Return to the Lord

The only thing - The Lord is My Light

Martyr 1: The Stoning of Zechariah
Martyr 2: The Stoning of Stephen

The destructive safe place - The Valley of Decision

floor

Last week, as a combination Christmas/parting gift for two girls close to us, a friend and I took two teenage sisters to a Indianapolis Museum of Art. We all loved it. (Having recently taken my own children there -- it's free -- I stand by my belief that the IMA is great for all ages. That is not the point of this post, but this isn't English class, so I can include it as a parenthetical if I want.) I was particularly excited to show the girls a particular work of art called, "Floor."

I was floored the first time I experienced it. Excited to finally be able to touch something in the museum, I hurried up onto the Floor. (*Spoiler alert.* You may click to see a far-away view of the piece I'm talking about. I'm writing to give you a better picture of it, but you can skip this paragraph if you want to truly have your own first experience of it at the IMA.) At first I didn't notice anything special about it besides the weird, multi-colored shag carpet standing straight up under the casing. Then I saw a little face, frozen, looking up at me. It startled me. I bent down. He was a plastic figurine similar to a G.I. Joe, dressed in street clothes, pushing upward on the casing. He looked trapped. I felt sorry for him. And, come to think of it, the person next to him. And, WHOA! The thousands and thousands of people all stuck under the casing, looking up at me as they held up the entire floor. All these little figures, frozen in their time, supporting my weight. Such tremendous effort just to give me a place to walk.

I thought of how many people must've gone before me, devoted their entire lives to something or someone that has served to support me now. How many people has it taken to give me my standing in this time and place? I thought of the "great cloud of witnesses" watching my path in life. I thought about how not everyone is so fortunate as me to have so many people who have done things merely to see me succeed. How many people have completed their journey and are now holding up the ground, looking to see what I will do from here? How many people's work did it take to give me all the advantages I have? How many slaves? How many civil rights leaders? How many parents and parents and parents? How many people I never met? How many people in the communities where I've lived? How many people's teaching, provision, prayers? How many? This many? More? I was overwhelmed with gratitude.

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Today, I attended a funeral of a man who has gone before me. Larry Bianco was a man who welcomed a much younger Pat McCrory into his home during a time he really needed some extra adults in his life. I had the pleasure of meeting him and of him serving me some of his famous-among-those-who-know-him hand made pizza. I watched him enjoy my kids and had what I learned was the common experience of being made to feel like part of his Italian family. The man did not scream perfection, but he did scream love and acceptance. Though he met Pat during some of Pat's more foolish years, Larry had this kind of rough, happy way of saying, "Eh...I always liked Pat," that felt like a hardy pat on the back and put all inadequacies to rest. I can't speak for what hearing those words did to Pat, but they made me exceedingly happy to hear. I've had some foolish years, too. It's amazing what just seeing good in people can do.

Pat shared a bit at the funeral about how Larry Bianco had impacted his life by inviting him in, liking him, and being a consistent man in his life. I see Pat making pizza with Israel or  inviting in a gang of kids who show up at the door or just plain liking people other people might not like. Those actions could be just part of who Pat is. But I also think he may truly have inherited some of Larry Bianco's loving hospitality. With that thought, I realize the deep gratitude I have for this man, though I only met him a couple of times. This man, remembered by many as a pillar in his own family, helped form the young man who would grow to be a wonderful husband and father in our own family. And now, from where we stand, he is frozen in time, having joyfully done what he could to raise the standing of those in his life...including Pat and me.

I'm not trying to be someone who gives too much credit to the deceased. However, I really will never know where I would be without this man who made a difference in my husband's life, affecting who he became. As I'm standing on the Floor that is the platform of my own life, taking the time to really see this one man's face and the work of his hands to provide support helps me to see just how many more there may be, holding us up, making all this possible. So today, as Larry Bianco joins that cloud of witnesses for a great feast, I thank God for His faithfulness through this man that was able to make a difference even in my own life. Thanks for Larry, who chose to be a gift to Pat so that he is now a gift to me.

celebration of lines

Pat and I recently celebrated our ninth wedding anniversary. We have a tradition most years of spending the weekend in Red River Gorge in Kentucky. We love it there. I am a huge fan of tradition, so going to the same place to do the same thing each year is pretty meaningful to me. Seeing the same incredible rock formations, walking the same paths. (Okay. We tried a new one this year, but we're going to go back to the old rough trail again next time.) This year, I noticed that the enormous fallen tree that had been uprooted my first time there now looks fairly unimpressive. Some things change, I guess.

At one point, I turned the camera around and snapped a picture of myself. Glancing at the picture, I realized my face is to be counted among the "things that change." I hadn't really noticed it. Some of you will say you still don't, but it's happening. I have some places eager to wrinkle here. A couple places have made a habit of it. Part of me wants to panic; part of me wants to just say that the corners of my eyes and my forehead are just settling into the shape that suits them. It's just that I looked pretty much exactly the same for ten years and, well, now I don't.

You may have seen a video circulating that compares the marks children leave on women's bodies to various beautiful marks in nature. Maybe it's because I had seen the video. Maybe it's because I've always enjoyed noticing the lines growing and eroding in the Gorge. Maybe it's because I like taking too many pictures. But I spent a bit noticing the lines of time and change around me that weekend while realizing in a new way how time, growth, impact, friction, and movement leave their marks. Rising up and eroding away, growing and decaying, stretching and shrinking back can have a way of beautifully occupying the same space. Too bad it's a struggle to appreciate the beauty of time on a face (especially our own) in the same way we appreciate the way these forces impact the rest of the natural world. Of course we grow in wisdom and beauty on the inside, but I'm going to choose to believe what happens concurrently on the outside serves only to emphasize the goodness of that inward progression.

Here are my observations on lines of growth and change in Red River Gorge. Lines marking growth, lines of imperfection and idiosyncrasy, lines from holding on, lines from letting go, lines of protection, lines of newness, lines from fading away, lines that help you see, lines marking great feats, outlines of tear-drops, lines of companionship, lines of separation, lines from miles traveled, lines going deep. 

 

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P.S. For another of my gleanings from this time in nature, head over to my other blog: godsmountainpeople

finding things to celebrate

Last year, we purchased the lot next door from our neighbor. It has a pole barn/garage building (which we will not use for our car for a few years...) and all kinds of various things on it. We've been tearing down all the stuff and trying to clear the lot so we can have a yard and garden. Our neighbor did a lot of gardening, but you know how life gets sometimes when you get digging. You find all kinds of stuff that needs cleaned up. (Did I mention the lot used to be some kind of service garage for cars?)

When we were visiting my friend Rhys, she sent Pat and I out on a walk with her camera lens to go find things worth a picture. It is a dark time in her life -- darker, perhaps, than people should have to experience. When your toddler is pronounced terminally ill, it doesn't leave much of a view for whatever else may be going on in the world. There wasn't much of a view of the world from the house they're in temporarily, either, but I started from their front porch and worked my way out into the world, looking for things to celebrate. It was a good 20 minute life lesson for me.

I am convinced there has to be beauty to be found in even the most dire of circumstances and that part of my job is to find it.

My yard is certainly not the most dire of circumstances, but even so, I thought I'd apply myself to finding things worth celebrating in it, especially since this working season leaves me prone to complaint. Spring has offered a few small bursts of celebration, even in my own yard. I thought I'd share them with you.

one of the cherry trees in bloom

the serviceberry bush we transplanted from next door
(it's beautiful in the fall, too!)

yes, even the dandelions, which have provided some tasty springtime food for us.
and they don't look too shabby, tastefully taking root in a border with the daffodils.


blooming apple tree

the last daffodil standing (it is time for the tulips, after all.)

What are some of the things worth celebrating in your very own (literal or metaphorical) backyard?

questioning leadership

Recently, I've been encountering situations of various magnitudes that put before me a choice: hope or despair. These are situations that cause me to wonder about my own purpose in life and my relationship with God. I wonder about what I can do and what God can do and what it means to pray. I have questions about what being rescued or "saved" means for people who continue to lead difficult lives. It can really weigh me down at times, even when my own life is fine. I see children with very difficult home situations, adults with children who break their hearts, children born with conditions that make life more difficult, and the myriad ways people are affected by other people's sin.

These are things I really wrestled with in college. The difference is that back then, most of these situations were hypothetical. I knew they were probably happening somewhere. So I had it out with God over the "problem of evil," also sometimes put as "Why do bad things happen to good people?" or "Why do bad things have to happen to ANYONE?" I was really calling unto account God's ability to make good decisions. I promised myself two things during that time: 1.) I would never be afraid to question things down to that level again, and 2.) I would question thoroughly so I would never have to do it again.

So when I find myself asking similar questions now, some 10 years later, I do what I can to keep both promises. I decide to just go ahead a lay it all out there, knowing I likely will get no more answers this time than I did the last. And I didn't get ANY answers during that crazy time of questioning God. I just got to know Him. He didn't explain Himself to me or anything. What's different now is that I don't expect Him to.

Something else that is different this time around is that I am some manner or other of spiritual leader. While I am re-wrestling with God over the things I see going on in the lives of my girls or their friends, or others, I'm also trying to lead them through their wrestling, too. When I'm having my own questions about how to know I've heard God, I'm being asked questions about how to hear God. When someone asks why God hasn't answered their prayer for rescue, I'm asking the same question. Don't hear me wrong. I don't think it's a human's job to know all the answers. Somehow I was just expecting to know a few more....

This Sunday, the girls were over. We've been learning stories that go straight through the life of Christ, which I'm trying to conclude before our Christmas party. This means that I had to teach the entire week of the Passion in one hour. In order to simplify, I made a sort of virtual felt-board to help keep track of the characters and who was where when. Starting out, we have Jesus and his 12 disciples. (I don't really think Jesus was a head taller than everyone else....)

He's washing their feet and sharing what he knows will be his last meal with them. He also knows that one of the guys whose feet he just washed, named Judas, is going to betray him. He tells him to go ahead and do it. (I don't think I'd do that.) So then it's Jesus and the 11.

He tells them about how he's preparing to die and how he will go to prepare a place for them so they can be together again. He takes the bread and says, "This is my body," and rips it in two. He takes the wine and says, "This is my blood," and pours it out. He has to be kind of freaking out inside. They sing together and he asks his close friends to come and pray with him up on the Mount of Olives. I can imagine he wants some company on what he knows is going to be a very difficult night. So there we have Jesus with Peter, James, and John going to pray.

But the guys keep falling asleep instead of praying. And Jesus has gone to talk to His Father, to ask if there's not some way for life to go well without this awful stuff happening to him. He asks three times. That makes me think that maybe He's not hearing anything back. Either that, or He's getting an answer He doesn't like. But he decides to believe God knows better and says, basically, "Do it your way, not mine." That's pretty intense. And cause for all kinds of theological unrest within the trinity, but I'm glad to understand Jesus as fully human here, because that makes sense to me...praying the same thing over and over, not sure if you're hearing (or not hearing) right, hoping you've heard wrong, hoping more prayer will change God's mind anyway. And then you're interrupted by more bad news.

So there is Jesus with his three sleepy friends and then here comes Judas back with the Roman soldiers to arrest Him.

Peter chops off the ear of one of the soldiers. Jesus says, "No, that's not how this is going to go down," puts the ear back on the soldier, and lets them take him away to be tried and killed. And he knows that's what He's doing, because where does he end up? At the house of the high priest, Caiaphas, who had already been talking with his friends about how it's be better for Jesus to die than not. I don't think anyone's expecting a fair trial, here. Peter and John follow along to the house and wait outside to see what's going to happen. It's there that Peter, in a weird rush of self-interest, calls down curses on himself and swears he's never had anything to do with Jesus in his whole life. Peter was one of Jesus's closest friends.

He's then taken alone before Pilate, who tries to release him. But then all those people who had been praising Jesus the week before, who thought He was going to come and be their king by overthrowing the Romans, show their disappointment in Him and His methods by asking for the release of a violent revolutionary instead. So then, when Jesus gets to the cross, He's up there all by himself, with the rest of the world either against Him or powerless to be for Him.

And while He's up there, He yells, "My God! My God! Why have you forsaken me?" I know there is a big discussion to have about that. How is God not really with Jesus? Is it because of the sin of the world? Maybe Jesus is just saying that and God the Father didn't really leave Him, after all. I don't think it matters...at least not for me right now. What matters is that, in the hardest time of His life, Jesus at least feels all alone. No one is helping Him. No one is saving Him. And, because He decided not to do it His own way, He's not even saving Himself. And He's going through that so He can later be with us forever. But He wasn't in the euphoric forever yet. No. He did all this in the, "Why, God?" where the rest of us live.

And then, with His last words, He trusted His soul to the one He didn't understand. "Into Your hands I commit My spirit."

Now, none of my questions are bigger than the one Jesus was asking. And none of my deciding to trust God anyway has such high stakes for me. But I was so grateful to be reading through this story with the girls and learning myself how there's nowhere I go in life where Jesus hasn't gone before me to show me how to do it. Even when being an example for us, He still asked, "Why?" He still tried to come up with a better way for the world to work than what He saw coming down the line. And it's because I can follow Him there that I can follow Him to hoping against all hope that somehow all things really will work for good. Somehow.