As a freshman at Purdue studying Fine Arts, I spent an entire semester drawing the same structure. Three days a week. Every week. Four months. The same thing.
There is this place right in the middle of campus where a number of walkways, corridors and buildings converge into an open space. Architecturally and from a space planning sense, it is really quite stunning.
Right in the middle of the open space are these fountains, that seem to be oddly misplaced in the context of what surrounds them. To one side are the buildings that house the schools of engineering. On another side there is the pharmacy school and to yet another side are administrative buildings that house the dean of students and other official types.
But there are these fountains. They seem to spring up from nothing. Whimsical and playful and completely unexpected.
The assignment for the entire semester was to build a portfolio that showed this spot on the map from every possible perspective. To be honest, I liked the idea of spending warm afternoons out on the grass drawing rather than in the studio being lectured. I liked that part far more than I did the idea of drawing it repetitively.
It didn't take me very long to figure out that there were places that I could plant myself that made drawing the space pretty easy. Finding a spot where I could look at the fountains straight on made rendering it in perspective a breeze. Everything looked right. There was no need to measure angles and figure horizon lines and vanishing points. The view from that spot was aesthetically pleasing.
It was the perspective that mattered.
It took me just about as much time to figure out that there were places that I could plant myself that made drawing that space a nightmare. A spot where lines and angles and forms converge and twist and becomes nearly impossible to replicate. The view from that spot was gritty and tangled.
It was all about the perspective.
It could be where one sidewalk would crash into another, both coming from opposite angles. Or where the slope of the walls of the fountain would intersect visually with the overhang from the roof of a building in the background. Or looking down on them from the corner of a roof top of Schleman Hall where, when you stare for too long, your eyes begin to play tricks on you, like you have been staring at an optical illusion and soon you don't know which lines are real and which ones are imagined.
I learned so much about composition and technique and scale and art in general that semester.
I learned perspective.
Little did I know at 20 years old that the lessons that I learned sitting in the grass with some paper and a a pencil would not only encourage me later, but at times sustain me.
I learned perspective.
Perspective isn't this static thing. It's not a feeling. It's not an emotional state. It's not the way you view things.
It's the way you see them.
Objects don't change.
A building is a cube. That doesn't change. No matter where you plant yourself, that building will always have the same walls and roof and windows and doors. The angles and the slope and the pitch of things will always be the same.
If you can't make sense of what you see, closing your eyes and opening them again is not going to help. If you try it enough times, eventually your eyes may begin to play trick on you. They may begin to see things that aren't really there. Just like an optical illusion, you can think you see it a different way. But you don't. It didn't change.
There is only one way to make what you see in front of you different. You have to get up. Up from where you planted yourself. You have to stand up and move to another spot.
It doesn't change things.
The building is still a cube. The walls and roof and the windows and the doors. They didn't change. But the way you see it has.
My life is just like that spot. All around me are things that are black and white. They are schools of thinking that have only one answer. They are diagnosis and diseases and relationships that have no room for interpretation. They are what they are. That will never change.
But there are these fountains. They seem to spring up from nothing. Whimsical and playful and completely unexpected.
If you plant yourself at many spots around them, they don't make sense. You have to squint your eyes just to even begin to see where one form starts and the other stops. It's gritty and tangled and nearly impossible to reproduce in any way that would be recognizable, let alone pleasing.
But then there is this other spot. This one place where if you stand and look at just the right time and in just the right way, what you can see takes your breath away. These two concrete forms begin to take on life and they don't just exist in the same scape, they begin to interact with each other, almost as if they have this dialog that doesn't need words. The juxtaposition of the two forms as they swirl and dance around and among each other is beautiful.
You can capture that image on paper, it is aesthetically pleasing and it makes people stop to stare into it. An image that, had you not moved, would have been lost forever.
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Make a Move
I am really good at being mad at other people. I am a master of placing blame and feeling frustration when other people disappoint me or let me down. I am really good at angry.
Where I am having a hard time is when the person that I am frustrated with is myself. When I am the one that let me down. That I am not good at. Not at all.
For the last several weeks I have had this feeling inside me. Frustration. Angst. Confusion. It has been building to the point where I can't pretend that I am happy. People don't do well with that version of me. The one that isn't silly and fun. I am not really sure what to do with her either.
I have been reading tons of stuff and praying a lot lately and the more I read and the more time I spend with God, the more I feel like I am failing.
If there was on characteristic I could change about my self, it would be the speed at which I fall. Fall in love with ideas, fall in love with ideals, fall in love with programs and concepts and models and systems. But mostly, fall in love with people.
It doesn't take me very long before I meet a kid and I love them like they were my own. I worry about them. I wonder about them. I pray and plan and dream for and about them.
I want the same thing for them that I want for my own boys. I want them to be healthy. I want them to be happy. More than that, I want them to fall in love with Jesus. Not just hear about him, not just believe about him. Believe in him, with everything that they are and with their entire lives. I want them to recklessly love the one that created them.
That's is where I feel frustrated. That is where I know that I have failed. I have stood in front of a room full of kids over and over and over again and I have told them that Jesus loves them. I have told them with songs and puppets and silly games that Jesus wants to be their best friend.
I have told them. I have been working with them long enough, that for many of the kids in our church, I have told them a hundred times how much Jesus longs to to be number on in their lives. They know it because they have heard me say it.
But many of them don't believe it. The don't believe that Jesus really changes things. They don't believe that Jesus can come into some one's life that was screwed up and change them. They don't believe me, because they haven't seen me live that way.
Research shows that by the time kids turn 18, they are aren't just slowly dropping out of the church. They are running. As fast as they can, they are deserting a culture that cared more about telling them how to live right than it did showing them. They don't leave the church because we didn't tell them. They leave because we failed to show them a life that would cause them to believe us.
That makes me sick to my stomach. That keeps me up at night. That makes my heart so sad that I simply can't pretend to be happy. That makes me wanna scream and fight and more importantly, it makes me wanna change.
It means that I believe the things that I tell them are true. It means I believe that God can show up in my own screwed up life, and make it better then OK, make it right. It means that I stop living everyday as a sentence and start living it as a story. It means I let go of some things that I have become far too good at holding on to.
It means that I have to move. To be honest, I am not even sure I know what that means. But I do know that not doing it is not an option. The stakes are too high not to make a move.
Where I am having a hard time is when the person that I am frustrated with is myself. When I am the one that let me down. That I am not good at. Not at all.
For the last several weeks I have had this feeling inside me. Frustration. Angst. Confusion. It has been building to the point where I can't pretend that I am happy. People don't do well with that version of me. The one that isn't silly and fun. I am not really sure what to do with her either.
I have been reading tons of stuff and praying a lot lately and the more I read and the more time I spend with God, the more I feel like I am failing.
If there was on characteristic I could change about my self, it would be the speed at which I fall. Fall in love with ideas, fall in love with ideals, fall in love with programs and concepts and models and systems. But mostly, fall in love with people.
It doesn't take me very long before I meet a kid and I love them like they were my own. I worry about them. I wonder about them. I pray and plan and dream for and about them.
I want the same thing for them that I want for my own boys. I want them to be healthy. I want them to be happy. More than that, I want them to fall in love with Jesus. Not just hear about him, not just believe about him. Believe in him, with everything that they are and with their entire lives. I want them to recklessly love the one that created them.
That's is where I feel frustrated. That is where I know that I have failed. I have stood in front of a room full of kids over and over and over again and I have told them that Jesus loves them. I have told them with songs and puppets and silly games that Jesus wants to be their best friend.
I have told them. I have been working with them long enough, that for many of the kids in our church, I have told them a hundred times how much Jesus longs to to be number on in their lives. They know it because they have heard me say it.
But many of them don't believe it. The don't believe that Jesus really changes things. They don't believe that Jesus can come into some one's life that was screwed up and change them. They don't believe me, because they haven't seen me live that way.
Research shows that by the time kids turn 18, they are aren't just slowly dropping out of the church. They are running. As fast as they can, they are deserting a culture that cared more about telling them how to live right than it did showing them. They don't leave the church because we didn't tell them. They leave because we failed to show them a life that would cause them to believe us.
That makes me sick to my stomach. That keeps me up at night. That makes my heart so sad that I simply can't pretend to be happy. That makes me wanna scream and fight and more importantly, it makes me wanna change.
It means that I believe the things that I tell them are true. It means I believe that God can show up in my own screwed up life, and make it better then OK, make it right. It means that I stop living everyday as a sentence and start living it as a story. It means I let go of some things that I have become far too good at holding on to.
It means that I have to move. To be honest, I am not even sure I know what that means. But I do know that not doing it is not an option. The stakes are too high not to make a move.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
No one can fathom....
Do you not know? Have you not heard? The Lord is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth. He will not grow tired or weary, and his understanding no one can fathom. He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak. Even youths grow tired and weary, and young men stumble and fall; but those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint. Isaiah 40:18-31
I really love this verse. I love the comfort that it offers, the assurance that it brings, but most of all, I love that it calls me out EVERY time. The truth is I don't need anyone to feel sorry for me. I can handle that all by myself. I can throw a pity party like no one else.
No body understands how it feels.
No one understands the hurt.
No body knows what it is like to live this life of mine.
This verse shows up right in the middle of my party for one and guts me.
Today was awful. Brutal even. Isaak lost control of himself at the dentist office and we left behind a path of destruction. There were those looked on in disgust, some in pity, others in fear. His behavior goes against everything that we as adults know how to deal with. There is no reasoning, no waiting it out, no calming him down. At that minute, the most you can do is hold him so he doesn't hurt himself, me or anyone else.
I've been trained how to restrain him so that he doesn't hurt me physically. I've yet to figure out a way to protect my heart.
It hurts. More than hurts, it crushes me.
I'll be honest, in those moments it is impossible for me to think that there could be anything redeeming about the hurt. That there could be anything good that could come from it.
That God is even there at all. In my mind and in my heart, I convince myself that God has turned his face, not because he doesn't care, but because maybe he cares so much that he can't bear to watch it.
And then I read this.
Do you not know? Have you not heard? The Lord is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth. He will not grow tired or weary, and his understanding no one can fathom.
His understanding no one can fathom. On the days where I just want someone to understand how I feel. His understanding no one can fathom.
Today was awful. But I wasn't alone. And I will be OK. Not because I am strong. In fact,in spite of how weak I am. The Everlasting God. The Creator of the ends of the earth. Not alone, but held. Held by The One who, in those times, doesn't turn his face but instead leans in as close as he can and just waits with me.
I am thankful to be reminded of that today. Incredibly thankful.
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Paint By Numbers
Even as a little girl, I loved to create.
Paper, crayons, paint.
Anything that could be transformed.
Anything that could be made into something else.
Some of my favorite things to do were paint by numbers.
There was something magical about that white paper canvas.
Segmented into tiny shapes.
Individual boxes.
Each waiting to be filled. Waiting to be changed.
Waiting to be turned into something beautiful.
As an adult, my life mirrors that paper canvas.
Unrefined.
Blank.
Unfinished.
Numbered.
Segmented.
[63] [12] [73] [262]
[3] The age Isaak was diagnosed with Autism [6] [14]
[180] The number of pills he takes each month [9] [122]
[80] Estimated divorce rate among parents with Autistic child [2] [17]
[7] [18] The age kids go off to college...most kids...probably not ours [262] [4]
Numbers. Boxes
Segmented.
Individual.
Stand alone.
Isolated.
Sterile.
Until you begin to add color.
Each box begins to fill.
Each color merges into the one next to it.
Shapes turn into objects.
It begins to be something else.
It begins to be something different.
Cohesive.
Connected.
Interdependent.
Consecutive.
Coherent.
Transformed by the hand on someone.
One with a plan.
One who knew the color scheme.
One who took the time to color within the lines.
One that changes things.
Meticulous.
Aesthetic.
Imaginative.
Intact.
Whole.
A painting.
Not just a painting. A masterpiece.
Brush strokes that on their own are not beautiful.
In fact, some are ugly.
A piece of art created for the purpose of being shown.
Not created by someone. Created by the Creator.
Paper, crayons, paint.
Anything that could be transformed.
Anything that could be made into something else.
Some of my favorite things to do were paint by numbers.
There was something magical about that white paper canvas.
Segmented into tiny shapes.
Individual boxes.
Each waiting to be filled. Waiting to be changed.
Waiting to be turned into something beautiful.
As an adult, my life mirrors that paper canvas.
Unrefined.
Blank.
Unfinished.
Numbered.
Segmented.
[63] [12] [73] [262]
[3] The age Isaak was diagnosed with Autism [6] [14]
[180] The number of pills he takes each month [9] [122]
[80] Estimated divorce rate among parents with Autistic child [2] [17]
[7] [18] The age kids go off to college...most kids...probably not ours [262] [4]
Numbers. Boxes
Segmented.
Individual.
Stand alone.
Isolated.
Sterile.
Until you begin to add color.
Each box begins to fill.
Each color merges into the one next to it.
Shapes turn into objects.
It begins to be something else.
It begins to be something different.
Cohesive.
Connected.
Interdependent.
Consecutive.
Coherent.
Transformed by the hand on someone.
One with a plan.
One who knew the color scheme.
One who took the time to color within the lines.
One that changes things.
Meticulous.
Aesthetic.
Imaginative.
Intact.
Whole.
A painting.
Not just a painting. A masterpiece.
Brush strokes that on their own are not beautiful.
In fact, some are ugly.
A piece of art created for the purpose of being shown.
Not created by someone. Created by the Creator.
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
I Love You Lord
There have been so many times, when in a room surrounded with 30+ kids...
kids that are loud and don't always pay attention,
kids that need to be reminded to stay in their seats, to raise their hand, reminded to use their inside voices,
kids that need reminded over and over and over again....
It's in this space that I have met God in a way that I have never experienced before.
We have been learning a new song, Children and Kings, by Gungor.
If you don't think that kids get it.
If you don't think they are grown up enough or sophisticated enough or mature enough to really get it.
If you have ever thought that what happens in a room full of kids isn't really church....
isn't really worship....
isn't really that important....
Well, you have never stood in the back of the room and watched kids sing out these words...
"I Love You Lord"...
And not just sing them.
Mean them.
You have never watched a 4 year old little girl close her eyes and lift up her hands as she sang.
Not because she saw someone else do it first.
Not because she knew she was supposed to.
But because she was made to love Him.
Because her heart knows no other way than to lose herself in a song about loving Him.
It is easy to separate us.
To divide us into groups.
Adults. Students. Kids.
And all for very good reasons.
The truth is that in the end...
we all singing the same song.
kids that are loud and don't always pay attention,
kids that need to be reminded to stay in their seats, to raise their hand, reminded to use their inside voices,
kids that need reminded over and over and over again....
It's in this space that I have met God in a way that I have never experienced before.
We have been learning a new song, Children and Kings, by Gungor.
If you don't think that kids get it.
If you don't think they are grown up enough or sophisticated enough or mature enough to really get it.
If you have ever thought that what happens in a room full of kids isn't really church....
isn't really worship....
isn't really that important....
Well, you have never stood in the back of the room and watched kids sing out these words...
"I Love You Lord"...
And not just sing them.
Mean them.
You have never watched a 4 year old little girl close her eyes and lift up her hands as she sang.
Not because she saw someone else do it first.
Not because she knew she was supposed to.
But because she was made to love Him.
Because her heart knows no other way than to lose herself in a song about loving Him.
It is easy to separate us.
To divide us into groups.
Adults. Students. Kids.
And all for very good reasons.
The truth is that in the end...
we all singing the same song.
Friday, March 11, 2011
Some Thoughts About Lent....
I gotta be honest with you and tell you that until about a month ago, I really had no idea what lent even was. I knew it was a time when people gave up things, but that was the extent of it.
I grew up in a church where the Easter season began on Palm Sunday and included Maundy Thursday foot washing and an Easter Sunday sunrise service and breakfast. It took far longer for us to pick out what we were going to wear on Easter then it did to prepare our hearts for it.
This year is different. This year I am totally embracing lent for what it is. A time to confess my sins, to make changes in my life to ensure that those bad habits and behaviors are less likely to reappear and a time to prepare for what is about to come.
I do remember when I was younger and kids in school would give up bubble gum or Coke for lent. For them, I am sure that was a sacrifice. I know lots of people who are fasting from those things in order to spend more time with God or to donate the money that they would have spent on those things to a charity. God knows their hearts and they know what God has called them to give up.
But I know me.
If I am anything, I am predictable and I know how that would play out. I would give up Diet Pepsi for lent and spend the next 40 days lamenting about my withdraw. I would complain about it on Facebook and gain some encouragement from those that would spur me on, reminding me that I was fasting from caffeine for the Lord and that he would bless me for my sacrifice.
The sacrifice of going without Diet Pepsi each day when nearly half of the people in the world don't even have clean water to drink.
Easter Sunday would come and I would spend the next few days in a caffeine induced inebriation as I binged to make up for the last 40 days.
In the end, I would not come out of lent any different than I went into it. Still the same person that resists God at every turn and is constantly looking for a way to follow God on my own terms. Looking for the easy way.
To fast from, what to most people is a luxury, just doesn't seem to be what God is leading me to do.
Trust me, I have picked enough fights with God to know better. He always wins. Always.
And so this year, I have chosen to fast on the things in my life that continue to distract me from God. Instead, I will feast on the ways that God is constantly pulling me towards him. Looking for me, searching for me, longing for me to back to him.
I will fast from becoming so absorbed in this life of mine, from being the center of my own world. Instead of texting or talking on the phone while I am in public, I will stop and have a genuine conversation with the person behind the checkout counter. I will feast on human interaction. I will feast on the power of eye contact. Of a smile. I will feast on connecting with people, not because I think I have something to give to them, but because that is how God created us. I will feast on hearing other people's stories.
I will fast from being so busy or selfish that when someone shares a need with me, I tell them I will pray for them. Instead, I will feast on spending time with them and with God in that moment. Not praying for them. Praying with them.
I will fast from the words that cut people. Words that, even when whispered and in private, shred away at who a person is. Instead, I will feast on speaking loud. Letting everything that comes from my mouth be an encouragement and not a slap in the face. I will chose my words carefully at times and at other times, I will not censor what God is telling me to say simply because I don't want to overstep my boundaries or get something started.
I will fast from using God. From going to him after my own best efforts have failed. For treating him as that person that only gets an occasional update from me, not because I want them to know about my life, but because I feel obligated to. Instead, I will feast on spending time with God. Instead of reaching for my iPhone in the morning to see what I missed during the night, I will feast on going first to my Heavenly Father, to thank him for the safety of another night and the blessing of another day.
I am looking forward to this time of intentional disruption in order to make changes that are long past due.
What about you? What are you getting rid of in your life during lent in order to make room for the life God has planned for you?
I grew up in a church where the Easter season began on Palm Sunday and included Maundy Thursday foot washing and an Easter Sunday sunrise service and breakfast. It took far longer for us to pick out what we were going to wear on Easter then it did to prepare our hearts for it.
This year is different. This year I am totally embracing lent for what it is. A time to confess my sins, to make changes in my life to ensure that those bad habits and behaviors are less likely to reappear and a time to prepare for what is about to come.
I do remember when I was younger and kids in school would give up bubble gum or Coke for lent. For them, I am sure that was a sacrifice. I know lots of people who are fasting from those things in order to spend more time with God or to donate the money that they would have spent on those things to a charity. God knows their hearts and they know what God has called them to give up.
But I know me.
If I am anything, I am predictable and I know how that would play out. I would give up Diet Pepsi for lent and spend the next 40 days lamenting about my withdraw. I would complain about it on Facebook and gain some encouragement from those that would spur me on, reminding me that I was fasting from caffeine for the Lord and that he would bless me for my sacrifice.
The sacrifice of going without Diet Pepsi each day when nearly half of the people in the world don't even have clean water to drink.
Easter Sunday would come and I would spend the next few days in a caffeine induced inebriation as I binged to make up for the last 40 days.
In the end, I would not come out of lent any different than I went into it. Still the same person that resists God at every turn and is constantly looking for a way to follow God on my own terms. Looking for the easy way.
To fast from, what to most people is a luxury, just doesn't seem to be what God is leading me to do.
Trust me, I have picked enough fights with God to know better. He always wins. Always.
And so this year, I have chosen to fast on the things in my life that continue to distract me from God. Instead, I will feast on the ways that God is constantly pulling me towards him. Looking for me, searching for me, longing for me to back to him.
I will fast from becoming so absorbed in this life of mine, from being the center of my own world. Instead of texting or talking on the phone while I am in public, I will stop and have a genuine conversation with the person behind the checkout counter. I will feast on human interaction. I will feast on the power of eye contact. Of a smile. I will feast on connecting with people, not because I think I have something to give to them, but because that is how God created us. I will feast on hearing other people's stories.
I will fast from being so busy or selfish that when someone shares a need with me, I tell them I will pray for them. Instead, I will feast on spending time with them and with God in that moment. Not praying for them. Praying with them.
I will fast from the words that cut people. Words that, even when whispered and in private, shred away at who a person is. Instead, I will feast on speaking loud. Letting everything that comes from my mouth be an encouragement and not a slap in the face. I will chose my words carefully at times and at other times, I will not censor what God is telling me to say simply because I don't want to overstep my boundaries or get something started.
I will fast from using God. From going to him after my own best efforts have failed. For treating him as that person that only gets an occasional update from me, not because I want them to know about my life, but because I feel obligated to. Instead, I will feast on spending time with God. Instead of reaching for my iPhone in the morning to see what I missed during the night, I will feast on going first to my Heavenly Father, to thank him for the safety of another night and the blessing of another day.
I am looking forward to this time of intentional disruption in order to make changes that are long past due.
What about you? What are you getting rid of in your life during lent in order to make room for the life God has planned for you?
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Everyday
Some people wake up to the sunshine. Some people wake up to the smell of coffee. Some people wake up the sound of giggling kids.
I wake up to Autism. We wake up to Autism. To loud, screeching, screaming, pounding Autism. To furious, fists clenched, teeth grinding Autism. To a hundred reasons why that day isn't worth even fighting for.
Everyday.
Everything is wrong. The room is too dark. The light is too bright. The house is too warm. The chair is too cold. The cereal is too crunchy. The bowl is too full. The pants are too tight. The shirt is too scratchy. The socks are too stretchy. The coat is to hot.
Everything is too much. Every single day.
The first hour of my day is hell. I begin everyday like this. Every single day.
Every single day we fight over just getting out of bed. Everyday I fear this might be the day when he stops threatening to hurt me or himself and actually does.
Everyday I wake up with this monster that lives inside of a little boy that never asked for this. Everyday I watch as the medicine kicks in that will tame that monster, if even for a little while. Every morning I watch him eat and then throw up because his stomach is a mess after the chaos of the first few minutes of the day. Everyday. Every single day.
Everyday we struggle just to get out the front door and into the car. Every morning we drive to school as I watch the color drain out of his face as the medicine begins to take him captive. Every morning I drop him off at school, knowing that the next
6 hours could go well or he could fall apart at every chance.
Everyday I take a deep breath as I drive out of the parking lot and remember that in that last hour I have been held. Through the chaos, through the noise, through the darkest hour of my day, I have been held by the One that understands.
With out fail. Everyday I am held. Every single day, when I don't even have the words to ask Him for help. Every singe day when I am so mad at Him that rather then trust Him, I want to scream at Him. Every single day.
Everyday.
I wake up to Autism. We wake up to Autism. To loud, screeching, screaming, pounding Autism. To furious, fists clenched, teeth grinding Autism. To a hundred reasons why that day isn't worth even fighting for.
Everyday.
Everything is wrong. The room is too dark. The light is too bright. The house is too warm. The chair is too cold. The cereal is too crunchy. The bowl is too full. The pants are too tight. The shirt is too scratchy. The socks are too stretchy. The coat is to hot.
Everything is too much. Every single day.
The first hour of my day is hell. I begin everyday like this. Every single day.
Every single day we fight over just getting out of bed. Everyday I fear this might be the day when he stops threatening to hurt me or himself and actually does.
Everyday I wake up with this monster that lives inside of a little boy that never asked for this. Everyday I watch as the medicine kicks in that will tame that monster, if even for a little while. Every morning I watch him eat and then throw up because his stomach is a mess after the chaos of the first few minutes of the day. Everyday. Every single day.
Everyday we struggle just to get out the front door and into the car. Every morning we drive to school as I watch the color drain out of his face as the medicine begins to take him captive. Every morning I drop him off at school, knowing that the next
6 hours could go well or he could fall apart at every chance.
Everyday I take a deep breath as I drive out of the parking lot and remember that in that last hour I have been held. Through the chaos, through the noise, through the darkest hour of my day, I have been held by the One that understands.
With out fail. Everyday I am held. Every single day, when I don't even have the words to ask Him for help. Every singe day when I am so mad at Him that rather then trust Him, I want to scream at Him. Every single day.
Everyday.
Saturday, January 29, 2011
A Note
I recently started this little box that I keep at the church where kids can leave me notes. These can be comments, questions, prayer requests, really anything they want to tell me. I was sure to let them know that what they write to me isn't something that I am going to share with the other kids or their parents. It's really just meant to be a way for kids to share things with me in a space where they feel totally safe.
It is just a box. A plain cardboard box with a slit cut in it.
In the last two weeks I have gotten some really sweet notes from kids telling me that they had fun or what their favorite part of Kid's Worship is. I love reading them and it always makes me smile. There is one little girl who just leaves me notes with her name on them, because that is all that she knows how to spell.
It blows me away how much these amazing little kids just want to be connected to someone that loves them. Someone who isn't their parent or a family member. Someone that doesn't love them just because they are supposed to, but because they want to.
This morning when I got to the church I found a little piece of folded up paper in my box that I must have missed on Wednesday night. I unfolded it to read this...
It was signed Love and then the girls name.
Wow.
I have developed a relationship with this little girl over the last couple of months since they started coming to church. I knew that her father was not living, but I don't know any of the details. I have never asked her about it because, honestly, when is the best time to bring something like that up.
For this little 5 year old girl, that is such a huge part of her story. The idea that she feels so loved and so safe in this space, safe enough to share that with me, means more than I have words for.
There is a reason why I spend my Saturdays in this building. There is a reason why I am here late at night during the week once my own kids have gone to bed. There is a reason why I would give my life for this church, not 5 or 10 years down the road when it is perfect, but today.
This morning I was reminded what that reason is.
It is just a box. A plain cardboard box with a slit cut in it.
In the last two weeks I have gotten some really sweet notes from kids telling me that they had fun or what their favorite part of Kid's Worship is. I love reading them and it always makes me smile. There is one little girl who just leaves me notes with her name on them, because that is all that she knows how to spell.
It blows me away how much these amazing little kids just want to be connected to someone that loves them. Someone who isn't their parent or a family member. Someone that doesn't love them just because they are supposed to, but because they want to.
This morning when I got to the church I found a little piece of folded up paper in my box that I must have missed on Wednesday night. I unfolded it to read this...
I want to tell you that my Dad is not alive.
It was signed Love and then the girls name.
Wow.
I have developed a relationship with this little girl over the last couple of months since they started coming to church. I knew that her father was not living, but I don't know any of the details. I have never asked her about it because, honestly, when is the best time to bring something like that up.
For this little 5 year old girl, that is such a huge part of her story. The idea that she feels so loved and so safe in this space, safe enough to share that with me, means more than I have words for.
There is a reason why I spend my Saturdays in this building. There is a reason why I am here late at night during the week once my own kids have gone to bed. There is a reason why I would give my life for this church, not 5 or 10 years down the road when it is perfect, but today.
This morning I was reminded what that reason is.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Quiet Time
The more I think I have everything figured out, the more I realize that I really don't even have a clue. Now I know that is going to be a shock to most of you, so take your time getting over that, and read on at your own pace.
I could go on for days and days listing all the ways that I have been proven wrong over the past year, but you would get bored after the 213th one, so I decided to narrow it down to a bit and share a few of them, one at a time. These are in no way ordered by philosophical importance, just things that finally cracked through this stubborn brain of mine.
Quiet Time
I have grown up hearing that term, but I'll be honest and tell you that I have never been really sure what "quiet" time is. I was fairly sure of a few things. First, it always took place before the sun woke up and was best acquired if you traveled to some sort of mountain top each morning. On the way to the mountain top you would listen to Sandi Patty and after a few hours of prayer God would lean down and kiss the earth, the sun would then break the horizon line and angels would sing and you would know that you had spent time with the Creator.
Another favorite term I remember from my childhood was going to your "prayer closet". Now this one really freaked me out. I imagined the old people of my church climbing in their closet each morning to have their quiet time with God. As I got older it made me chuckle a little to think that each morning they then "came out of the closet".
Anyway, there have been so many times in my life when I have made the decision to wake up before the sun and spend time reading the bible and praying. To do what real Christians do, the kind that not only get to live in Heaven, but get to live in the part that is a gated community past the standard pearly gates, the diamond studded gates. Like the houses that are down the street from Max Lucado and Carmen, where Ray Boltz sings every night at the all you can eat buffet. Super Christian territory.
As many times as I had tried it, I had failed. The reasons are varied. Sometimes quiet time....early morning....in the dark ....in the quiet....would often turn to sleeping time. When I was able to stay awake I would play that Bible game that everyone has played at sometime in their lives, where I would close my eyes and open it up to a random page and expect pixie dust to fall out and angels sing as God reveals something special that only my eyes would ever see. That never happened. I tried doing devotionals or "just" praying, but it never seemed to have the power that everyone else talked about. It was like maybe I was just so close to God that He really didn't need a special time with me. He was busy moving in the lives of the other sinners and he just wanted me to sleep an extra hour. In my delusional mind it all made perfect sense.
And then something changed. Committed to figuring this whole thing out, I began to experiment a little with quiet time. I usually spend an hour or so every evening reading through the lessons that I am going to teach to the kids on Sunday mornings and Wednesday nights. Slowly, what happened is that I started to not just see them but to look into them in a way that I had not before. Those same scriptures that were part of the lesson to be taught to 2nd and 3rd graders had an all new meaning for me. I had found a space to do my quiet time, it just looked nothing like I had expected.
At 5 am in the morning, I still think that I can do it all on my own. In the quiet darkness of a new day, Matthew 5 was written for someone else, someone less fortunate than me. Before the day starts, I have a plan in place for how and where I will allow God to work and be seen.
At the end of the day I am beaten up, I am drained of every ounce of feeling like I could ever control this life. At the end of the day Matthew 5 is not only for me, it often is the only thing that makes doing it all over again the next day a possibility. At the end of the day I am able to look back over the last 12 hours and know that none of it was of my own strength, to see all the places where I was held.
So it's not in the morning, it's not structured, I never go into my closet, but it's our time. I'm ok with not living down the street from Billy Graham in heaven. Hopefully I will be able to hear the Winans from my chic little studio apartment.
I could go on for days and days listing all the ways that I have been proven wrong over the past year, but you would get bored after the 213th one, so I decided to narrow it down to a bit and share a few of them, one at a time. These are in no way ordered by philosophical importance, just things that finally cracked through this stubborn brain of mine.
Quiet Time
I have grown up hearing that term, but I'll be honest and tell you that I have never been really sure what "quiet" time is. I was fairly sure of a few things. First, it always took place before the sun woke up and was best acquired if you traveled to some sort of mountain top each morning. On the way to the mountain top you would listen to Sandi Patty and after a few hours of prayer God would lean down and kiss the earth, the sun would then break the horizon line and angels would sing and you would know that you had spent time with the Creator.
Another favorite term I remember from my childhood was going to your "prayer closet". Now this one really freaked me out. I imagined the old people of my church climbing in their closet each morning to have their quiet time with God. As I got older it made me chuckle a little to think that each morning they then "came out of the closet".
Anyway, there have been so many times in my life when I have made the decision to wake up before the sun and spend time reading the bible and praying. To do what real Christians do, the kind that not only get to live in Heaven, but get to live in the part that is a gated community past the standard pearly gates, the diamond studded gates. Like the houses that are down the street from Max Lucado and Carmen, where Ray Boltz sings every night at the all you can eat buffet. Super Christian territory.
As many times as I had tried it, I had failed. The reasons are varied. Sometimes quiet time....early morning....in the dark ....in the quiet....would often turn to sleeping time. When I was able to stay awake I would play that Bible game that everyone has played at sometime in their lives, where I would close my eyes and open it up to a random page and expect pixie dust to fall out and angels sing as God reveals something special that only my eyes would ever see. That never happened. I tried doing devotionals or "just" praying, but it never seemed to have the power that everyone else talked about. It was like maybe I was just so close to God that He really didn't need a special time with me. He was busy moving in the lives of the other sinners and he just wanted me to sleep an extra hour. In my delusional mind it all made perfect sense.
And then something changed. Committed to figuring this whole thing out, I began to experiment a little with quiet time. I usually spend an hour or so every evening reading through the lessons that I am going to teach to the kids on Sunday mornings and Wednesday nights. Slowly, what happened is that I started to not just see them but to look into them in a way that I had not before. Those same scriptures that were part of the lesson to be taught to 2nd and 3rd graders had an all new meaning for me. I had found a space to do my quiet time, it just looked nothing like I had expected.
At 5 am in the morning, I still think that I can do it all on my own. In the quiet darkness of a new day, Matthew 5 was written for someone else, someone less fortunate than me. Before the day starts, I have a plan in place for how and where I will allow God to work and be seen.
At the end of the day I am beaten up, I am drained of every ounce of feeling like I could ever control this life. At the end of the day Matthew 5 is not only for me, it often is the only thing that makes doing it all over again the next day a possibility. At the end of the day I am able to look back over the last 12 hours and know that none of it was of my own strength, to see all the places where I was held.
So it's not in the morning, it's not structured, I never go into my closet, but it's our time. I'm ok with not living down the street from Billy Graham in heaven. Hopefully I will be able to hear the Winans from my chic little studio apartment.
Friday, January 7, 2011
One Word
One Word. Not a list of the things I wish I could change, but probably won't. Not a list of resolutions that will last through January. Not a list of unreachable goals. Just one word.
One word that will guide and shape the decisions that I make. One word that I will live out everyday. With lots of contemplation and even more prayer, I have decided on my one word.
Story.
I have a story. I actually have many stories.
I have an inner story. The story in my heart. The one that is an improvisational portrayal of what it looks like to be completely loved and adored by a God that lavishes favor upon me despite my despicable behavior.
I have another story. The narration that is told through my actions. The story that is ever changing to fit in with my surroundings. Fiction. Sarcasm. Slander.
In 2011, I want to live an authentic story. I am not even completely confident that I know what that means at this point, but it is my one word.
Story.
Friday, August 20, 2010
iNFUSE
The last few months we have been trying to come up with a new name for our Children's Ministry. I mean, not that Lafayette First Church of the Nazarene Children's Ministry isn't catchy, it just sounds more like a dental procedure than a fun place to come and hang out and learn about Jesus.
I wish I could say that coming up with a new name was easy. It was anything but. There are lots of implications that come with naming something. Think about when you named your kids. We went through every possible scenario when choosing our boy's names. What does the name mean, what are the possible nicknames, will they ever be able to find a pencil at Cracker Barrel with their name on it, how does it sound with our last name, how does it sound when the teacher calls it out, is it easy to spell, will other kids beat them up for their name, does it rhyme with a bad word?
The process was the same with a Children's Ministry name. I knew early on what I was not ok with. Nothing where the letters "c" or "s" were replaced with "k" or "z". That automatically eliminated the Kool Kidz Klub. I figure, if we are teaching kids, we probably should at least teach them how to spell correctly.
We have also been going through the process of figuring out exactly what our goals as a ministry are. We believe 200% in the church mission statement of encouraging all to be passionate followers of Christ, but what does that mean to a 7 year old?
After lots of thought and discussion and prayer, here is what we came up with:
Our mission is that every kid that comes through our doors would experience the WONDER of God, DISCOVER what is means to have a personal relationship with Jesus Christ and that they would begin to see themselves in light of who God created them to be and live that out with a PASSION for loving God and loving others.
Wonder. Discovery. Passion.
These three words are at the core of our Children’s Ministry and the driving force behind everything we do. From infants to preteens, our mission is to infuse the elements of wonder, discovery and passion to help them see God for who He is and to see themselves in the way God sees them so they can love others the way God does.
And so.....wait for it......wait for it.........(drum roll)............
iNFUSE
That is gonna be our new name. I know, the lower case i is a little cheesy, but hey, kids like cheesy and it worked for Apple. What do you think? Would you wanna hang out with us?
I wish I could say that coming up with a new name was easy. It was anything but. There are lots of implications that come with naming something. Think about when you named your kids. We went through every possible scenario when choosing our boy's names. What does the name mean, what are the possible nicknames, will they ever be able to find a pencil at Cracker Barrel with their name on it, how does it sound with our last name, how does it sound when the teacher calls it out, is it easy to spell, will other kids beat them up for their name, does it rhyme with a bad word?
The process was the same with a Children's Ministry name. I knew early on what I was not ok with. Nothing where the letters "c" or "s" were replaced with "k" or "z". That automatically eliminated the Kool Kidz Klub. I figure, if we are teaching kids, we probably should at least teach them how to spell correctly.
We have also been going through the process of figuring out exactly what our goals as a ministry are. We believe 200% in the church mission statement of encouraging all to be passionate followers of Christ, but what does that mean to a 7 year old?
After lots of thought and discussion and prayer, here is what we came up with:
Our mission is that every kid that comes through our doors would experience the WONDER of God, DISCOVER what is means to have a personal relationship with Jesus Christ and that they would begin to see themselves in light of who God created them to be and live that out with a PASSION for loving God and loving others.
Wonder. Discovery. Passion.
These three words are at the core of our Children’s Ministry and the driving force behind everything we do. From infants to preteens, our mission is to infuse the elements of wonder, discovery and passion to help them see God for who He is and to see themselves in the way God sees them so they can love others the way God does.
And so.....wait for it......wait for it.........(drum roll)............
iNFUSE
That is gonna be our new name. I know, the lower case i is a little cheesy, but hey, kids like cheesy and it worked for Apple. What do you think? Would you wanna hang out with us?
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Indifferent
Lately church for me has been a struggle. I have spent lots of Sunday's faking it, not being fully committed. Just feeling indifferent. Times where I have stood in front of a group of kids and not been sure that anything that I was saying or doing really mattered. No sure that I was in the right place, that God had surely screwed up when He told me this was His plan for me. Today, if even just for a minute, that changed.
It has been something that was coming. Something that God has been stirring in me for quite awhile. Something that I was no longer able to avoid.
Some people hear God in a whisper..in the wind..in a quiet voice. None of those are really God's style with me. It's like he knows he has to scream if I am going to hear Him over the chaos I've created.
Today, He screamed at me through the hand of a 12 year old boy that I have gotten to know since his family moved to the church. A 12 year old boy that got out of his seat and walked to the front of the church, breaking every rule that 12 year old boys have about being noticed or showing emotion.
I was at the alter dealing with so many of the things that have convinced me that being indifferent with God is better than not being with God at all. As I was there praying, I felt a small hand on my back. A small, 12 year old boys hand that had come to pray with me.
I am not sure I have ever felt so humbled...so loved...so sure...so anything but indifferent.
The truth that I have been trying so hard to resist is that I have a passion for the kids of our church. A passion that sometimes doesn't have words, doesn't make sense and most definitely is far beyond anything that I would ever be capable of carrying out without God leading me.
A passion for loving God by loving these kids that has no room for indifference.
It has been something that was coming. Something that God has been stirring in me for quite awhile. Something that I was no longer able to avoid.
Some people hear God in a whisper..in the wind..in a quiet voice. None of those are really God's style with me. It's like he knows he has to scream if I am going to hear Him over the chaos I've created.
Today, He screamed at me through the hand of a 12 year old boy that I have gotten to know since his family moved to the church. A 12 year old boy that got out of his seat and walked to the front of the church, breaking every rule that 12 year old boys have about being noticed or showing emotion.
I was at the alter dealing with so many of the things that have convinced me that being indifferent with God is better than not being with God at all. As I was there praying, I felt a small hand on my back. A small, 12 year old boys hand that had come to pray with me.
I am not sure I have ever felt so humbled...so loved...so sure...so anything but indifferent.
The truth that I have been trying so hard to resist is that I have a passion for the kids of our church. A passion that sometimes doesn't have words, doesn't make sense and most definitely is far beyond anything that I would ever be capable of carrying out without God leading me.
A passion for loving God by loving these kids that has no room for indifference.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Orange Thoughts
A week from today(6 days, 5 hours and 45 minutes to be exact)I will be in Georgia for the opening session of Orange Conference 2010. To say that I am excited is an understatement. I still don't think it has set in yet that I am actually going. I got so excited earlier today when I got the link for the live broadcast of Orange 2010 and then I had to remind myself that I would actually be there.
As excited as I am, I am also terrified. I will let you in on a little secret, one that probably really isn't that much of a secret to those of you that really know me. For all the swagger and ego and self confidence that I seem to have, I am so very easily intimidated. I still have fears that at the opening session they are gonna sing the song I sing with the preschoolers that goes "One of these things is not like the other...." and then the spotlight will land on me.
I mean really, who am I kidding? I have no business in a room with people like Reggie Joiner, Donald Miller, Jim Wideman, Kendra Fleming...the list goes on and on. I am going to the official Orange Tweet Up Wednesday night where I will meet people who's blogs and tweets I have followed for the past year and who I feel like I already know. But seriously, what in the world would they have in common with me. I image that all conversations will start with small talk like..... "Where did you graduate from....how many campuses does your church have....how many thousand kids do you serve each week...which of your Ph.D's is your favorite" The thought of that numbs me.
I don't even have the words to express the passion I have for serving in Children's Ministry and how much I have fallen head over heels in love with our church and it's people. I have this crazy dream for kids and their families, one that I know has to have come from God, because I'm just not that brave or bold on my own. But still, there is so much fear in owning that and letting other's know about it. There is an accountability that comes with spending three days with the most brilliant minds in family ministry.... and it is overwhelming.
I really want this experience to be transformational for me. I don't want it to be about changing to be more like a book or buying into a "system", but truly and honestly changed. And not like Jr. High church camp changed. The real thing that lasts more than a weekend.
I know that in order for this experience at Orange 2010 to really impact me, I am gonna have to get over the fact that alone, I really don't belong there. There is nothing that I have or ever will do that will warrant be being in such incredible company. I get that. I need constantly reminded that it most definitely isn't about me.
My prayer is that even though I know I will say dumb stuff and look out of place and at least once or twice have the urge to retreat due to just being overwhelmed, that I will take in every second of it and not just be there, but really BE there. And I pray that God, who most defiantly has a crazy sense of humor, will use the things that I learn about ministry and the things that I learn about myself during this time to move in ways that right now I'm unable to even fathom.
I can't wait.
As excited as I am, I am also terrified. I will let you in on a little secret, one that probably really isn't that much of a secret to those of you that really know me. For all the swagger and ego and self confidence that I seem to have, I am so very easily intimidated. I still have fears that at the opening session they are gonna sing the song I sing with the preschoolers that goes "One of these things is not like the other...." and then the spotlight will land on me.
I mean really, who am I kidding? I have no business in a room with people like Reggie Joiner, Donald Miller, Jim Wideman, Kendra Fleming...the list goes on and on. I am going to the official Orange Tweet Up Wednesday night where I will meet people who's blogs and tweets I have followed for the past year and who I feel like I already know. But seriously, what in the world would they have in common with me. I image that all conversations will start with small talk like..... "Where did you graduate from....how many campuses does your church have....how many thousand kids do you serve each week...which of your Ph.D's is your favorite" The thought of that numbs me.
I don't even have the words to express the passion I have for serving in Children's Ministry and how much I have fallen head over heels in love with our church and it's people. I have this crazy dream for kids and their families, one that I know has to have come from God, because I'm just not that brave or bold on my own. But still, there is so much fear in owning that and letting other's know about it. There is an accountability that comes with spending three days with the most brilliant minds in family ministry.... and it is overwhelming.
I really want this experience to be transformational for me. I don't want it to be about changing to be more like a book or buying into a "system", but truly and honestly changed. And not like Jr. High church camp changed. The real thing that lasts more than a weekend.
I know that in order for this experience at Orange 2010 to really impact me, I am gonna have to get over the fact that alone, I really don't belong there. There is nothing that I have or ever will do that will warrant be being in such incredible company. I get that. I need constantly reminded that it most definitely isn't about me.
My prayer is that even though I know I will say dumb stuff and look out of place and at least once or twice have the urge to retreat due to just being overwhelmed, that I will take in every second of it and not just be there, but really BE there. And I pray that God, who most defiantly has a crazy sense of humor, will use the things that I learn about ministry and the things that I learn about myself during this time to move in ways that right now I'm unable to even fathom.
I can't wait.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
A Love Movement
About a year ago I became involved in an incredibly cool organization called To Write Love On Her Arms (TWLOHA). In their own words:
More impressive than their mission is their vision.
A Love Movement.
That's what they call it. It sounds simplistic and yet it is transforming lives. Lives that have been broken, overcome by sadness, cut and consumed by substance. People that would be the last to be loved, the last to expect love, the last to ask to be loved. And yet A Love Movement is what is saving their lives. Every month I get to send handwritten letters and art work to people that have turned to TWLOHA for help and have entered residential treatment just to tell them that they are loved. Me, a stay at home Mom in Indiana, telling people that I will never know that they are valued and that they are loved. That blows my mind.
A Love Movement.
Tomorrow is To Write Love On Her Arms day. A day where we will write Love on our arms to raise awareness about the struggle that millions of people all around us are dealing with. I think that sometimes it is easy to look at someone who faces addiction, depression or self injury and think that could never be you.
But I know it could be me. I know just how close I am to it being me. To want to feel something so badly that even feeling pain is better than being numb. To deal with noises that are loudest in silence. To crave an escape from things real and imagined. I can look back at my life and I can rearrange circumstances and experiences like puzzle pieces and all of the sudden I am there. I am that person. The one that breaks to bleed. The one that gets high to forget. The one that hurts to feel.
And yet it's not me. It's them. It's those people that I feel so drawn to. I can't help but to think that if Jesus were giving the sermon on the mount today, these are the ones that he would point to when he spoke about the meek. These are the people for whom the blessing would be given, those that would inherit the earth. That is incredible to me.
To Write Love on Her Arms is a non-profit movement dedicated to presenting hope and finding help for people struggling with depression, addiction, self-injury and suicide. TWLOHA exists to encourage, inform, inspire and also to invest directly into treatment and recovery.
More impressive than their mission is their vision.
A Love Movement.
That's what they call it. It sounds simplistic and yet it is transforming lives. Lives that have been broken, overcome by sadness, cut and consumed by substance. People that would be the last to be loved, the last to expect love, the last to ask to be loved. And yet A Love Movement is what is saving their lives. Every month I get to send handwritten letters and art work to people that have turned to TWLOHA for help and have entered residential treatment just to tell them that they are loved. Me, a stay at home Mom in Indiana, telling people that I will never know that they are valued and that they are loved. That blows my mind.
A Love Movement.
Tomorrow is To Write Love On Her Arms day. A day where we will write Love on our arms to raise awareness about the struggle that millions of people all around us are dealing with. I think that sometimes it is easy to look at someone who faces addiction, depression or self injury and think that could never be you.
But I know it could be me. I know just how close I am to it being me. To want to feel something so badly that even feeling pain is better than being numb. To deal with noises that are loudest in silence. To crave an escape from things real and imagined. I can look back at my life and I can rearrange circumstances and experiences like puzzle pieces and all of the sudden I am there. I am that person. The one that breaks to bleed. The one that gets high to forget. The one that hurts to feel.
And yet it's not me. It's them. It's those people that I feel so drawn to. I can't help but to think that if Jesus were giving the sermon on the mount today, these are the ones that he would point to when he spoke about the meek. These are the people for whom the blessing would be given, those that would inherit the earth. That is incredible to me.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Week 3 of the Kindgom Experiment
I sat in a room last night with people who were sharing openly about some of the hardest times in their lives. Times when they mourned. Their stories were honest and personal and raw....and all in the past tense. Mourning. Something they did. Something that they worked through. A time in the past when they were comforted. Their words and their faces and their tears were beautiful.
Those that shared last night lost something or someone that was important to them. It happened one day, one time, either expected or out of the blue. But it was still that one time. The day their parent died. The day they had to say goodbye. The end of a marriage. The day they got divorced. A single event. Something that can be marked on a calendar and grieved and remembered and honored. That one day.
...but blessed are those who still mourn? Who still, day after day after day live in the same place they were originally broken. I don't know.
One of our experiments from FCU this week is this:
Going. Going. Gone
Worship pastor Mike Crawford sings these words:
Consider yourself and those you know who mourn the loss of a future that will never be realized. Spend a week considering how God redeems the dreams and futures of those he loves.
And so I will.
Those that shared last night lost something or someone that was important to them. It happened one day, one time, either expected or out of the blue. But it was still that one time. The day their parent died. The day they had to say goodbye. The end of a marriage. The day they got divorced. A single event. Something that can be marked on a calendar and grieved and remembered and honored. That one day.
...but blessed are those who still mourn? Who still, day after day after day live in the same place they were originally broken. I don't know.
One of our experiments from FCU this week is this:
Going. Going. Gone
Worship pastor Mike Crawford sings these words:
"Blessed when plans
that you so carefully laid
end up in the junkyard with
all the trash you made"
Consider yourself and those you know who mourn the loss of a future that will never be realized. Spend a week considering how God redeems the dreams and futures of those he loves.
And so I will.
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Kiva
Mukono, Uganda is a place that I will never probably visit. To be honest, it was a place that I didn't even know existed until early last week, and yet it is a place that I can't get off of my mind. Apolot Grace is her name and she has four kids and a husband who works a job as a civil servant. She works as a tailor, a farmer and runs a General Store. She lives in a country that has an average life expectancy of 45 years, a literacy rate of 60% and an average annual income of $1,700. By my standards, she would be poor in spirit. Not by hers. The first line of her profile reads.."Apolot Grace is a hard working lady with lots of vision.."
Vision.... I immediately fell in love with her in one sentence.
One of the challenges from week one of FCU was to pick an experiement, a sort of experiential learning opportunity, to put into practice the things that we have been talking about. One of the options was to participate in this incredibly cool micro-lending program that provides loans to people in underdeveloped places all over the globe through kiva.com.
In this upside down, backwards, counter intuitive Kingdom, the notion that Apolot Grace's and my paths would intertwine is nothing but ordinary. Nothing special, nothing to blog about or go on about. Just normal. That might be the coolest thing about it.
Vision.... I immediately fell in love with her in one sentence.
One of the challenges from week one of FCU was to pick an experiement, a sort of experiential learning opportunity, to put into practice the things that we have been talking about. One of the options was to participate in this incredibly cool micro-lending program that provides loans to people in underdeveloped places all over the globe through kiva.com.
In this upside down, backwards, counter intuitive Kingdom, the notion that Apolot Grace's and my paths would intertwine is nothing but ordinary. Nothing special, nothing to blog about or go on about. Just normal. That might be the coolest thing about it.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
First Church University
One of the many really awesome things that has happened at our church over the last year of so is the introduction of First Church University, or FCU. It is this powerful, intimate, reciprocative time of not just studying the scripture, but dissecting and discussing and deliberating in order to make sense of it in a way that changes not just our thinking, but our lives. It has come to be the highlight of my week and we just began a new study of the Beatitudes called The Kingdom Experiment.
I have to admit that I kind of felt like I might be burnt out on the Beatitudes. I have been listening to Rob Bell and friends at Mars Hill while I am at the gym and they have been doing a lengthy study of the Sermon on the Mount. When Pastor Troy announced that the new FCU study was going to cover the Beatitudes, I might have ......yawned. However, I am finding out more and more that God knows how I think and more importantly how I don't, and this feeling like my iPod is stuck on replay with the Sermon on the Mount is no sort of accident.
We began our first FCU session last week and were challenged to really discover what Jesus meant when he referred to those that were poor in spirit. As happens every week, there are people that offer ideas that cause me to think in ways that I haven't before. One thing that last weeks discussion really reiterated for me was more of what the poor in spirit are not. It's not someone who has tried and failed and is open to God moving through their lives. It is not someone who is humble enough to raise up their hands and give their situation to God. It's not the sad or the scarred or those that feel life's uncertainty. I believe that Jesus was talking about those who struggle to merely exist in a consuming sense of depravity. Those who would lift their hands up and give in if they had the strength, but for them just the act of taking a breath is almost more than they can do. It's a state that is beyond broken, but decimated.
If this is true, if these are the people to which Jesus announces the inheritance of the Kingdom of God, then it changes everything. It flips upside down this idea I have of what living is all about. If the Kingdom of God is so extravagantly different than the world I exist in, I have no choice but to change the way that I live. It's like I have been given this incredible secret, I was given the first and last chapters of the story, to write the middle with no regard to the final scene would be insane.
And so that is where I am. In that place that is all too familiar, where thoughts, feelings, the need to do something, the need to do anything differently.... all collide. One of the really cool parts of the Kingdom Experiment study is to chose an experiment, or challenge, to live out each week. I have finished my challenge for the first week and will be posting a blog about it later. I am excited and overwhelmed and just a little bit scared about what the next several weeks will bring. But I'm open.
I have to admit that I kind of felt like I might be burnt out on the Beatitudes. I have been listening to Rob Bell and friends at Mars Hill while I am at the gym and they have been doing a lengthy study of the Sermon on the Mount. When Pastor Troy announced that the new FCU study was going to cover the Beatitudes, I might have ......yawned. However, I am finding out more and more that God knows how I think and more importantly how I don't, and this feeling like my iPod is stuck on replay with the Sermon on the Mount is no sort of accident.
We began our first FCU session last week and were challenged to really discover what Jesus meant when he referred to those that were poor in spirit. As happens every week, there are people that offer ideas that cause me to think in ways that I haven't before. One thing that last weeks discussion really reiterated for me was more of what the poor in spirit are not. It's not someone who has tried and failed and is open to God moving through their lives. It is not someone who is humble enough to raise up their hands and give their situation to God. It's not the sad or the scarred or those that feel life's uncertainty. I believe that Jesus was talking about those who struggle to merely exist in a consuming sense of depravity. Those who would lift their hands up and give in if they had the strength, but for them just the act of taking a breath is almost more than they can do. It's a state that is beyond broken, but decimated.
If this is true, if these are the people to which Jesus announces the inheritance of the Kingdom of God, then it changes everything. It flips upside down this idea I have of what living is all about. If the Kingdom of God is so extravagantly different than the world I exist in, I have no choice but to change the way that I live. It's like I have been given this incredible secret, I was given the first and last chapters of the story, to write the middle with no regard to the final scene would be insane.
And so that is where I am. In that place that is all too familiar, where thoughts, feelings, the need to do something, the need to do anything differently.... all collide. One of the really cool parts of the Kingdom Experiment study is to chose an experiment, or challenge, to live out each week. I have finished my challenge for the first week and will be posting a blog about it later. I am excited and overwhelmed and just a little bit scared about what the next several weeks will bring. But I'm open.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
..blessed are the poor in spirit..
At least 100 times before, I have read or heard the verses of Matthew 5, the Beatitudes. At least 100 times I have thought they weren't written for me. I convinced myself that the "conditions" that Jesus spoke of are those of non believers and that as a Christian, I was automatically excluded from them. For the first time I am learning to see them for what they are. Not a suggestion or instruction or excuse. Instead, a simple and extravagant announcement. No conditions, no fine print. Made in general to all mankind and specifically breathed just for me.
Blessed are the poor in spirit, when I swore that the last time was the last time and yet here I am. Unsure of how I got here. Unclear of what draws me back time and time again. Ashamed and guilty. Tired of asking for forgiveness from you and yet unable to forgive myself. Ready to promise again but not sure if I mean it or if I even want to. When words and conversations play over and over again in my mind as a constant reminder of failure. When I lay down to sleep and the darkness only makes them louder.
Blessed are the poor in spirit, when the most painful place to exist is in my mind. When I allow myself to dream and get lost in a place that doesn't exist. There in my subconscious is the life I have convinced myself I deserve and it looks nothing like the life I live on the other side. Just like punching your fist through a glass window, it hurts to go through it but the real pain is in pulling your arm that is already cut,vulnerable and raw back through the jagged glass to only be gashed even deeper. And yet, I still do it. Comparing becomes obsessive and only adds to the scars.
Blessed are the poor in spirit, on days when being his mom feels anything like a blessing and more like a sentence. On days when my "religion" tells me that I have failed because I serve a God of an empty tomb, and with that comes only joy and yet I am stuck in the sorrow of three days before.
Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
"Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven." Matthew 5:3
Blessed are the poor in spirit, when I swore that the last time was the last time and yet here I am. Unsure of how I got here. Unclear of what draws me back time and time again. Ashamed and guilty. Tired of asking for forgiveness from you and yet unable to forgive myself. Ready to promise again but not sure if I mean it or if I even want to. When words and conversations play over and over again in my mind as a constant reminder of failure. When I lay down to sleep and the darkness only makes them louder.
Blessed are the poor in spirit, when the most painful place to exist is in my mind. When I allow myself to dream and get lost in a place that doesn't exist. There in my subconscious is the life I have convinced myself I deserve and it looks nothing like the life I live on the other side. Just like punching your fist through a glass window, it hurts to go through it but the real pain is in pulling your arm that is already cut,vulnerable and raw back through the jagged glass to only be gashed even deeper. And yet, I still do it. Comparing becomes obsessive and only adds to the scars.
Blessed are the poor in spirit, on days when being his mom feels anything like a blessing and more like a sentence. On days when my "religion" tells me that I have failed because I serve a God of an empty tomb, and with that comes only joy and yet I am stuck in the sorrow of three days before.
Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Annoyed.....
I love lots of things. Lots of things make me happy and giddy. Lots of things make me wanna smile and laugh. There are also lots of things that don’t. Here is a very short list of the things that are rubbing me the wrong way today….
~Pants that come with the back pockets sewn closed. Isn’t that ridiculous? Does this happen with men’s pants? And what it the name of Jelly Beans is the reason for it? Even more annoying than the stitching is that the only time that I think about taking them out is when I am wearing the pants, which is most inconvenient. It is not only inappropriate, but also almost physically impossible to be able to cut the stitches when you are wearing them. Ugh…
~Parents in the drop off lane at school that take 27 minutes to get their kids out of the car. I mean, seriously, your kid is gonna be at school for 6 hours, just slow down and push them out. There is a whole line of people behind you waiting to do the same. And then you always get that one renegade parent who doesn’t have time to wait behind the loiterer and then they get out of line and mass vehicular chaos ensues. Let’s get it together people.
~I really love to watch MLS soccer, but I very strongly dislike the fanatics, aka fans. Why in the world do they let them bring confetti and toilet paper rolls into the game? I mean, I know that it would be hard to look through their tents and base drums and fire pits and such that they bring into the stands, but come on. If they absolutely insist on being crazy, please keep them away from both the goals and the corners. Or at least get an umbrella for the poor guy that has to take a corner kick while being pelted with toilet paper and confetti.
~Then and than. I really can’t figure out when to use which one. Why is that so hard? Do we really need two words that mean basically the same thing? Can’t we all just agree to use either one or the other? It would really make my life much easier.
~People who write checks in a retail store. I have no tolerance what so ever for this. If you don’t have cash you have two options, either use your debit/credit card or don’t buy it. If you have to write a check for it, then you really weren’t prepared enough to even deserve the right to buy it. And on the off chance that you are prehistoric enough to need to write a check, for the love of Todd, have it filled out before the cashier gives you the total. The point where the lady says $26.37 is not the point where you should begin to dig in your patchwork leather purse with the tassels to find you checkbook.
~And finally, and maybe most importantly because it is today, Wal - Mart on the day Social Security checks come out. Enough said.
~Pants that come with the back pockets sewn closed. Isn’t that ridiculous? Does this happen with men’s pants? And what it the name of Jelly Beans is the reason for it? Even more annoying than the stitching is that the only time that I think about taking them out is when I am wearing the pants, which is most inconvenient. It is not only inappropriate, but also almost physically impossible to be able to cut the stitches when you are wearing them. Ugh…
~Parents in the drop off lane at school that take 27 minutes to get their kids out of the car. I mean, seriously, your kid is gonna be at school for 6 hours, just slow down and push them out. There is a whole line of people behind you waiting to do the same. And then you always get that one renegade parent who doesn’t have time to wait behind the loiterer and then they get out of line and mass vehicular chaos ensues. Let’s get it together people.
~I really love to watch MLS soccer, but I very strongly dislike the fanatics, aka fans. Why in the world do they let them bring confetti and toilet paper rolls into the game? I mean, I know that it would be hard to look through their tents and base drums and fire pits and such that they bring into the stands, but come on. If they absolutely insist on being crazy, please keep them away from both the goals and the corners. Or at least get an umbrella for the poor guy that has to take a corner kick while being pelted with toilet paper and confetti.
~Then and than. I really can’t figure out when to use which one. Why is that so hard? Do we really need two words that mean basically the same thing? Can’t we all just agree to use either one or the other? It would really make my life much easier.
~People who write checks in a retail store. I have no tolerance what so ever for this. If you don’t have cash you have two options, either use your debit/credit card or don’t buy it. If you have to write a check for it, then you really weren’t prepared enough to even deserve the right to buy it. And on the off chance that you are prehistoric enough to need to write a check, for the love of Todd, have it filled out before the cashier gives you the total. The point where the lady says $26.37 is not the point where you should begin to dig in your patchwork leather purse with the tassels to find you checkbook.
~And finally, and maybe most importantly because it is today, Wal - Mart on the day Social Security checks come out. Enough said.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
An Inadequate Arguement
"The other function of your journal is to show you to yourself"~Kim AddonizioI have been trying really hard to write happy. I wish it wasn’t so hard. I mean, it isn’t hard to fake it, to write of rainbows and lollipops and unicorns. It just isn’t me.
I am not even sure why it matters so much to me. Why do I want to open my journal and fairy dust fall out. I think the why has to do more with perception then it does with reality.
I am a happy person. I really am. I swear. I am secure and safe. I am not a suicidal serial killer. I am not 13-year-old girl drama. I am not melodramatic or angry or depressed. Ok, maybe a little dramatic. But when I write from my soul, one might think otherwise.
I am trying to come to terms with this. Trying to accept it as just how I am. That it isn’t a sign of depravity, contamination or pollution. I have been trying. Trying really hard.
The following poem that I wrote today does no justice to my argument.
Starved, but not yet hungry
Innate, but not yet inherent
Contagious, but not yet infected
Tangible, tethered.
Autonomous
Stentorian, blatant
Inaudible
Canonical, orthodox
Defiant
Real, but not yet authentic
Permeable, but not yet translucent
Transitional, but not yet altered
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