Happy father's day!

I've been reading A Year of Biblical Womanhood by Rachel Held Evans. I have been refreshed reading what she has to say, especially about Proverbs 31. You may know that as the chapter in the Bible devoted to "The wife of noble character." I realize this seems like a funny place to start thinking about Father's day, but hang in there. As I was thinking about how to properly praise the fathers in our church today, I was reminded from Colossians 1 that our prayers for others spring out of our thankfulness for their good works. We are thankful for every good work that they do and we pray that God will cause each and every one to bear fruit.

So back to Proverbs 31. So often we women (and maybe the men, too...I don't know...) read it as a checklist of things a good wife needs to do. Read like that, the list is exhausting and defeating. But Evans quotes Old Testament scholar Ellen Davis who says Proverbs 31 was written "not to honor one particularly praise-worthy woman, but rather to underscore the central significance of women's skilled work in a house-hold economy." Evans later tells of a Jewish friend of hers who says men sing the chapter to their wives before sabbath meals. How affirming! Reading it like this, I thought it was a shame such a chapter doesn't exist in the Bible that helps women know how to really praise their good men. It's amazing how being told you are something in this way makes you feel appreciated and also makes you feel like rising to the occasion. We all need these sorts of praises sung over us from time to time, and today is the day for Fathers. 

In keeping with my current ideas about Proverbs 31, I didn't want to write about just one husband in particular, so I asked women and children in our church to let me know some of the good works the fathers in our church should be praised for. I got quite a response and easily filled verses with the good works fathers I know do every day. My hope is that men will see themselves somewhere in these words and know that they are appreciated and encouraged as they continue on in good works. Chances are we all have some valiant fathers in our lives. Let's give them the praise they deserve!

A valiant Father, who can find?
He is worth more than diamonds and gold.
His family has full confidence in him
and has everything that is truly valuable.
He brings good to his family
every single day.

He knows his way around the kitchen
and he grasps the grill lid with seasoned fingers.
With his own hands, he grows food
and guests and neighbors always have a seat at his table.
After dinner, he faithfully does the dishes.

He gets up while it is still night
to pray with and encourage his brothers.

He considers a business and buys it,
and out of his earnings, provides for the community.

He takes his work seriously.
His mind and body are strong for his work.

With excellence, he selects wood
to build toys that fuel his children’s imaginations.
All through the day, he goes with them on adventures,
showing them how to have courage and fight the good fight.
Even when they are grown, he works day and night
to help his children achieve their dreams,
working to ensure their success.

His car is profitable in his use.
He considers it nothing to drive miles and miles
to ensure his children can spend time with their family,
even with their mothers.
He opens the passenger door for those in need
and extends his mileage to help out.

He ensures his children love their mother,

leading by loving his wife,
And he gracefully shares her burdens.

His eyes eagerly seek out his children
and love is in his gaze.
His ears are always ready to listen.
They are patient in their task.

He sets out early to find work,
and is able to trade with neighbors.
When times are hard, he has no fear,
but faithfully uses all his abilities, laboring hard to provide for his family.
His teaches his children how to conduct business
and they are able to follow in his steps.

At bedtime, he kneels and prays.
He sings over his children. His voice is the delight of their ears.
All through the night, he provides relief for their mother
by answering their call for help and comfort.

He has a place among the decision-makers and do-ers in this city,
striving for a good place for children to learn and grow.

He is clothed in strength and dignity.
He can look forward to the years to come.
His advice is trustworthy,
for he speaks over his children the very word of God.

His children recognize him as a blessing
Their mother, also, praises him.
“Many fathers are good, but you are the BEST!”

Flattering words are deceptive and muscles are fading,
but a father who puts God first is to be praised.
Honor him for all that his hands have done,
and let his good works make headlines!

 

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.

-----

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.

miracle monarch

One day, about three weeks ago, I was pulling all the tangled vines out from among the flowers I'm trying to grow in my yard. In one fist-full of vine, I found a little black and yellow caterpillar. I found a second one just a few feet away. Since I had destroyed their home, I brought the caterpillars with some of the leaves they were on to look at them and see if I could figure out how to raise them. When Pat saw them, he said, "Monarch caterpillars!" That was the first thing to know. But since then, I have learned a great deal about these tiny creations that astounds me. I'm sharing with you my list of...

AMAZING THINGS ABOUT MONARCHS
1.) They start out as eggs that can only be laid on milkweed. (Good thing I had let the weeds in my garden go for a little while!)
2.) When the caterpillars hatch out of the eggs, they eat the milkweed, which is what makes them poisonous. (And I thought milkweed only killed out my vegetable plants!)
3.) The caterpillars grow to be pretty big. They have yellow and black stripes and antennae-things coming out both ends.
4.) When you see them hanging upside-down, they're just about to make their chrysalis. They hang and hang and hang and then, suddenly, in the span of half an hour (I know because I missed it happening...) they're encapsuled! Just like that! 
5.) This chrysalis looks a good deal smaller than the caterpillar that went into it. I was perplexed about this and then I saw body parts in the bottom of the container. Turns out, the head or the tail (can't tell which) falls off when they go into hiding. Crazy! It all looked so necessary half an hour before!
6.) The chrysalis starts out jade green with gold (like, metallic-looking) dots on it. How and why do they make these gold dots? I don't know! They're perfectly arranged just-so. Decoration? Maybe. They don't seem to have much to do with the entrance or exit, which was my first guess.
7.) Those dots start out white and yellow, actually. I know because I saw it. I have no idea how they change to gold.
8.) And then...nothing. Mine took 15 days of nothing. Both of them. 15 days.
9.) Then you start to see wing patterns -- swaths of orange, black, and white dots. I held it in my hand, then. It struck me as one of those capsules that turns into a foam animal when put in water. It was a butterfly-capsule! I could tell!
10.) Overnight, the whole thing turned black, minus the orange swaths. It got a bit of a bulge on one side. Even the gold dots turned black on the bottom. How was this happening? Nothing was going into or out of the chrysalis, and yet crazy magic was happening inside.
11.) It explodes. It must be a silent explosion, or at least a very quiet one, because I didn't hear it from the next room. But it's so fast and so much comes out that it has to be an explosion.
12.) And then, there's this monarch. It's got a polka-dotted body. Imagine that!
13.) Most monarchs live 2-6 weeks, laying their eggs and dying. There are three generations like that every spring-fall where we live. This is a lot of extravagance for such brief glory.
14.) Not all monarchs die off that quickly. For some reason, the fourth generation, born in September-October, (i.e. MY monarchs...) live 6-8 months. Why? What process knows to make these bodies sturdier? I'm amazed.
15.) These built-to-last monarchs make a trip all the way to Mexico to winter. This little creature sitting on my table, when I let it go, will fly all the way to Mexico. I am hundreds of times its size and am built to last a hundred times longer, and still I could not do it. How does it know where Mexico is? How does it not just end up lost over the Gulf? How does so much wind pass over its wings without breaking them? How can it weather storms on its way? I don't know.

I am amazed by this creation. So much work gone into this beautiful thing I've watched be born into the cage I have for it. I have nearly seen the entire process (though I admit to missing the precise beginning of the most pivotal moments) and I am left with more questions than I had before that day weeding my garden. Learning often leaves me this way.

 

one of the little caterpillars I found

 

getting ready to build its chrysalis

  

finishing up its chrysalis

  

from the back side, making its chrysalis

the yellow and white turned into the gold in the picture below

 just beginning to see the wings through the chrysalis (yesterday)

 it looked like this, minus seeing the wings, for 14 days

 butterfly capsule an hour before it emerged

 only now I realize this is part of its face looking through the chrysalis

 just coming out, unfolding wings

 curled wings and other things, floppy antennae

 

black and white underside before the wings unfurled to cover it

 first butterfly taking flight

I can see this second butterfly in front of me, hanging and drying its wings beside its empty chrysalis now. I have no idea how this birth just happened. I see it. It looks impossible. There's no way this creature just emerged from something 1/2 its size. I know it's true, but it's kind of unbelievable. It's one of the every-day miracles on this planet. Maybe it's ridiculous to go on this way about a butterfly. This happens all the time, after all. It's not like I've seen something never-before-seen. I could say, "Yes, I've known since The Very Hungry Caterpillar that this is what happens." Or I could watch, mouth gaping, scratching my head and praising whatever Being understands this and made it so. Maybe it's even more amazing that this is so common-place. How in this broken world can miracles like this happen every day? I stand amazed and believing.

Maybe we can all emerge from these cramped conditions stronger, more beautiful beings, taking flight.

on worms and little girls

not my picture, but it seemed a good illustration.

Life seems more full of great (or, you know, not-so-great) moments these days than trains of thought, but there is a very sweet moment I have to share from today.

     Eden and I were walking home and she happened upon a dead worm on the sidewalk. It was hard and flat. And dead. She picked it up, turning its two dimensions around, trying to figure out why it wasn't the way it was supposed to be, I guess. I didn't wait for her to ask.
     "It's dead," I told her.
     "We can put it in the shade," she said, since that's what we do with worms when we dig them up. We bury them in our compost pile. It makes for all kinds of small "good" in the world. I've taught her well.
     "No, don't touch it. You're going to need to wash your hands. It's dead."
     I took her hand to keep walking so she wouldn't stick her dead-worm-toting fingers straight into her mouth. She made some other hopeful sort of suggestion.
     "No, it's DEAD," I said, again. "It's not going to come back alive again. Dead things don't come back alive."
     "But people come back alive," she said in her matter-of-fact way.
     We just finished learning the story of Jesus raising Lazarus from the grave. And we talk about Jesus giving us new bodies when these die. And I've made up and taught the kids a song on the verse "All things are possible with God." I guess me saying that dead things don't come back alive sent these recent contradictory snippets running through both our minds. However, it's not generally the way things work. The girl is going to have to know that. But in a way that doesn't cancel out the truth of all those things I've taught her. How is it God works, anyway? I don't really know. What can I say?
     "Well, people only come back alive because Jesus makes them."
     We kept walking. Eden made another effort: "We could put water on it."
     I realized I had two choices. I could proclaim to her that there is never any hope for dead, dried-up things. We could leave the worm there and it would most certainly stay dead. Or we could take the worm back to our yard, stick it in some wet dirt, and let the conversation continue on its own without me having to drill into her the ugly truths about dead worms and dead things in general. I went with Option B.
     We went back to the worm. Eden remembered exactly where it was as I was still searching for it. Looking at it, I had to admit that, though it was completely dried up, it wasn't completely hard and flat. It had one little spot on it that looked like it might bend instead of break if you forced the issue.
     I let her pick it up again and I carried it home in a discarded McDonald's cup. We put it in the peat moss under our apple tree, poured some water on it, and buried it with a thin layer of the watered ground. Water. Shade. That's all we could do. I put the cup we had used to carry it home upside-down over it to mark the spot so we could check on it later. I didn't want the false hope offered by a bird finding it first or something.
     After naptime, I decided to have the first look. I took the cup away and the worm was gone. I dug around and spread out the dirt. Yep. Gone.
     What happened to the worm? I guess I can't say for sure. There's always some chance I'm wrong, but I told Eden it crawled away. (Wouldn't you know she was sad about this, crying that she wanted to keep it?)
     There are plenty of unpleasant things I'm going to have to teach my kids. Plenty of unpleasant things and downright horrible things I've already had to tell them about the world. But on this day, in this moment with my sweet little girl, she has taught me well.

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.