Getting the Best of Me

My family (husband, three kids) and I sat down to watch nearly ten years worth of home movies the other day. A love marathon. It began with our wedding, and then moved quickly on to the kids. They appeared magically into our lives one by one, growing bigger and changing before our eyes by the minute. It was a sweet time for us, reminiscing and laughing and waxing poetic about chubby cheeks and funny firsts. But I was also faced with an ugly reality. In many of the videos, I noticed myself giving irritated glances to the photographer (aka my husband), as if his meticulous documentation of these wonderful years were somehow putting me out. Sure, we women worry about how our hair looks, or if we need a touch up on our lipstick, or the ominous unflattering angle. But to see myself from the other side, giving quick little huffy eyes to my husband, well... yuck.

I turned to him on the couch next to me. "Am I always such a turd?"

He attempted a quick smile, "Well, yeah." Then quickly thought to ease the blow, "I mean, sometimes. But I love you."

After I smacked him a good one, I softened. "I'm so sorry."

Why do I do that? I know we all do, sometimes. We give our best away, and leave our crappy, raw selves for the people we love the most. Over the next few days, I thought about who I was at home, and what a different person I can be with my friends. I started to wish my husband could see how sweet and caring and hilarious (and humble, too) I am around others.

Isn't that idiotic? Why do we give more to those, who -- quite frankly -- mean less? Why wouldn't my husband get the smoothed over, even-tempered, lovely and charming version of me? Even if only SOMETIMES. I know we get to be 'ourselves' around our spouses. There's a beauty in that, don't get me wrong. But we need... I need... to be careful not to abuse that private privilege. Sometimes, I need to give him -- and my kids too -- the 'me' that I use to charm my coworkers, acquaintances, and even strangers. Imagine that.

Think about it. I am willing to spend the extra fifteen minutes getting ready for a lunch date with a girl friend, and even after the most horrific morning with the kids (c'mon, it happens), I can somehow manage a winning smile and a funny story. So how hard is it, then, before my husband walks in the door after a long day, to at least do a quick fix-up in the mirror and put my attitude in check? It just might remind him that I'm a person who puts out a little extra effort for the ones I love. I do love him so dearly, after all.

And I'm sure going to remember it the next time it's recorded for posterity!

Service Contract

Let me start by saying, please disagree with anything I'm about to say, or tell me if you have some new insight. I'm begging to be wrong.

I attend a missional church, a group of Jesus-lovers who want to make an impact on their immediate community by acts of love and service. It is a right and honorable thing, and is rooted deeply in scripture.

Our church leaders were wrought with real conviction to start this church, and their heart is for the poor, the downcast, the neglected, the widow, the orphan, the 'least of these'. And I am in total agreement. Yes, yes, yes.

Everyone in my small group (a subset of our church) , then, has decided to volunteer for an organization that meets the needs of individuals and families who are struggling with terminal cancer or AIDS, and who don't have a support community in place already. My husband and I went through a weekend training, with videos that showed real people giving testimony to the vital help and friendship their caring volunteer partner provided when they had no one else to turn to. Examples of help included taking the person to and from doctor appointments, providing home cooked meals, and occasionally, some light housework. The general goal is to lighten the burden of someone in desperate need.

Why, then, has my old crappy minivan been sputtering to a halt between sculpted lion heads to a nearly-million dollar property to go clean someone's bathrooms and dust their wine glasses? How did helping those in need turn into being 'the help'? I don't know how I got here, dusting chandeliers and praying to God I won't break something that I'll have to mortgage my house to replace. And the terminally ill patient and family? Nowhere to be found. No real connection* has been made in nearly four months. Even if what I was doing felt meaningless in the face of what the family was struggling through, I felt I needed to at least get a "thank you" every now and then to know that it mattered to them, that it was helping in some way.

So, I went through all the thoughts I could think: I know that this family had to go through the same approval process as everyone else, and they were in fact approved by the organization. I know that it is probably easing their minds to have a clean house. I mulled over 1 Peter 4:9, "Offer hospitality to one another without grumbling." And Philippians 2:14, "Do everything without complaining or arguing." So I pressed on, but inside I continued to grumble in my spirit. I got angry, frustrated, and even a little indignant.

So I went to the scriptures to justify my irritation, give validity to my cause, like an idiot.

I read in Luke 17, about when Jesus healed the ten lepers. Only one came back to thank him, and Jesus says, "Were not all ten cleansed? Where are the other nine? Was no one found to return and give praise to God except this foreigner?" I identified myself with Jesus, performing great acts for thankless return. But then I got puffed up. Awesome, what else you got, God? And I started to read the rest of the chapter. Well, right before the ten lepers, Jesus just finished telling a quick story about servitude. Wah, wah. My bubble deflated. "So you also," Jesus says in v10, "When you have done everything you were told to do, should say, 'We are unworthy servants; we have only done our duty.'" Oh, right. Yeah. I'm NOT Jesus healing lepers, here. I am... the servant, doing what Jesus asked me to do. Serve.

So, while I may have opened a can of worms last night in my small group by exposing my true feelings on the matter (and finding that many felt the same), I continue to seek a servant's heart. I know that service isn't about me and my fulfillment. But I also don't want to do trivial pseudo-service so I can 'check the box' in my spiritual walk. And I definitely don't want to do something that I'm not passionate about. It just doesn't make sense to.

I'm seeking the Lord. Praying for guidance. I want to do what He wants me to do. Something I can commit to in my heart. Something more than, as George Patterson put it recently, "trying to shove the camel through the eye of the needle."

In the meantime I'll wear my rubber cleaning gloves and press on. (I've committed to serve in this organization for one year.) And I'll pray. A lot.

*Afterthought: I've had many people start to question the organization, thinking I had never met the client. I guess I should clarify 'no real connection'. I have met and spoken with both the client and spouse. They're legit. It just isn't the mutually enriching relationship that the training videos exemplified. Please look for my comments below for more info.

Brick

It's really tough when someone you know gets struck by tragedy.

But then life goes on. We get distracted. When you have hundreds of thousands of media stimuli daily and life happens, it's easy to let things get pushed down on the list. Like an email inbox loaded with spam -- we tend to forget the important message that has scrolled off the page.

My friend Jim is dying.

He has an aggressive, malignant, inoperable brain tumor. Stage IV Glioblastoma Multiforme. But more importantly, Jim has a wife and three children (2, 4, and 7). He was diagnosed in November, when he felt general fatigue and dizziness. Without treatment, Jim would have been dead by now. But they are fighting every day with anything that's left to do.

I had let Jim slip from my prayers.

why...

how...

Life. Numbness. Distraction.

Then I saw him on Sunday at a Superbowl party. And I apologized to him profusely (instead of lying and telling him that I had been praying) and told him I would take up his burden in prayer. Every day.

If we stand close enough to someone when they get hit by a ton of bricks, we can take some of the hit. Jim may literally feel like he's been hit by bricks, and his family is dealing with this on a minute by minute scale. I just happened to catch one of the bricks by proximity on Sunday, and I'm walking around with the bruise. Even in these last two days of prayer for him, I feel wasted, worn out, sad, physically ill, angry, hopeful, depressed.

I'm wrestling with the idea that our God is the SAME GOD who delivered the Israelites out of Egypt, who sent his son to live out our death for our sins, and raised him to life. The same God who protects, heals, transforms. He created the universe and everything in it. He could heal Jim. But he also takes away. Sometimes, he chooses not to heal. And His name should still be praised. There's the struggle.

I can't imagine three months of this, and trying to deal with the potential loss, and explaining it to the children who are too young to understand, and the one that isn't too young. I can't imagine what his wife, also my friend, must be going through and what her daily life must be like right now.

I'm just so sad for them. I'm trying to be hopeful. But mostly I'm just sad.

I've taped his name to a prominent place in my house so I'll be reminded to pray. I'm going to move it around, so I don't get used to it in one place. I feel like I should do this for so many things: Haiti, poverty, my uncle's dad, my friend's grandmother, slave trafficking, my friend's mother-in-law, the peace of Jerusalem, my husband's brothers, orphans, my children, their teachers, etc etc, and the list is too too too long.

I can't tape up everyone's name -- It'd start to look a little bizarre to the outside world. "The Crazy Post-It Lady." That's what they'd call me. But when I start to push away the distractions in the controlled space of my home, the few things I allow to stay in my inbox will mean more, command more attention, and will move me repeatedly -- to prayer, to work, to action.

I praise God that I have never been struck with tragedy. My burdens are light. But that's why I can help carry someone else's. I have the arm room. I need to try not to fill it with stupid things. I'll be able to carry more. Praise His Name.

"Naked I came from my mother's womb, and naked I will depart. The LORD gave and the LORD has taken away; may the name of the LORD be praised." Job 1:21

I'm an Alien

Okay, so I'm beginning to think that this sobriety-from-the-distractions-of-the-world thing stinks. I'm not entirely there, mind you. It's near impossible to eliminate everything. But in being obedient to the Lord's calling in this, I'm really tearing away at myself. It's totally against the everything my head wants to do.

Not to mention people think I'm a freak.

(Which, I admit, is both fun and unsettling.)

It's weird how people react -- mostly my Christian friends -- when I tell them I'm not following American Idol this year. (I've never missed an episode before.) It's not like it's a bad show. Most people watch it with their kids, even. But it's the total dedication two hours a week for over four months. It's the setting aside of whatever else needs my attention, laundry housecleaning kids husband God, for this show that is about creating an Idol for America to worship. ... and now you hate me. But it's true. I, too, deceived myself into thinking it was about hearing beautiful singing. Sorry. It isn't. (Watch Celtic Women or listen to Carmina Burana instead.)

Or JJ Abram's "Lost". Oh, Lost. My abusive boyfriend. How you have toyed with me for five years. You have abused my patience, you have taken advantage of my intelligence, and you have drawn me back with lulling sweet promises year after year. And now you want me back for one more fling. You have promised me all the answers. You have given your word that this is the last time. But alas, my heart cannot take one more abusing. My nostrils refuse to inhale your intoxicating lure. I will not come back to you. My decision is firm. In fact, I should have left you long ago.

Okay, this is helping.

And those are the shows that I watch. Except for the righteously violent, heart-rate stomping, teeth gritting, adrenaline-packed "24". And the jury's still out on "24". I'm asking God to take away the desire. It's pretty deep, and He's working overtime.

And "Glee". But this one is packed with ridiculosity and inappropriate content. And it's wonderful. And I want Jane Lynch to be in my posse. I'm praying about this one, too.

Oh, and "House". But only because I have a major actor-crush on Hugh Laurie. He's a brilliant actor. Genius, even.

(Okay, so I'm only divulging a fraction here of what I actually end up watching.)

See, the more I dig, the more I realize how much time I have dedicated to this magic glowing box.

"'Meaningless! Meaningless!' says the Teacher. 'Utterly meaningless! Everything is meaningless'... All things are wearisome, more than one can say. The eye never has enough of seeing, nor the ear its fill of hearing. What has been will be again, what has been done will be done again; there is nothing new under the sun." Ecclesiastes 1:2, 8-9

But now I'm an alien. Now I induce the blank stare. Now I'm the conversation killer. Now I am the party pooper, fer real y'all.

You: "Hey, did you see that..."
Me: "No. Sorry."
You: "Oh."
(crickets.)

You: "Wasn't that hilarious when..."
Me: "Oh, I didn't see it."
You: "Oh."
(chirp chirp.)

Me: "But I was reading in Jeremiah and it's so cool, did you know..."
You: "Oh... Cool."
(eyes shifting, looking for the nearest exit.)

But whatever. It's cool. Because you know what? I'm praying for you, too. Because this is a good place to be. There's no flashing lights or enticing previews. But the rewards of this obedience are already starting to whisper into my ears.

The obedience has brought me to my knees in repentance over the slightest hint of anger, jealousy, selfishness, or laziness.

The obedience is changing the way I perceive holiness, purity, love.

The rewards have come in the form of crying, heartbroken for other people's pain and loss, instead of a forced sympathy.

Doesn't that sound fun?

Okay. I know. My face is green. It's a side-effect, too.

I'll retreat back to my home planet now.

Devastating

What a day, yesterday. I had three major cries.

One was for a joyous and emotional occasion.

One was for love and friendship even through difficult times.

And one was for the death of tens of thousands of Haitians and the confusion and chaos that remains.

I don't know what to say.

It's just... too much...

with Haiti...

They need help. And they need comfort. And I can't imagine the frustration and sadness and brokenness. And the loss.

Oh, Haiti. I am so so sorry.

"'Go out and stand on the mountain in the presence of the LORD, for the LORD is about to pass by.' Then a great and powerful wind tore the mountains apart and shattered the rocks before the LORD, but the LORD was not in the wind. After the wind there was an earthquake, but the LORD was not in the earthquake. After the earthquake came a fire, but the LORD was not in the fire. And after the fire came a gentle whisper." 1 Kings 19:11-12

Lord, now is your time. Send your breath of holiness to bring peace amidst the chaos. Send your spirit to comfort the loss. And send your servants to repair the broken. You are good and faithful.

Some links to take action: Heartline Haiti Orphanage, Haiti Disaster Relief, Haiti Relief Donation by Cell Phone Charge

Be Sober

I'm sure there's plenty of folks who are also thinking "be sober", especially after some pretty rowdy New Year's parties.

But that's not what I mean at all.

When I completed Pick Five, a spiritual exercise in simplicity, people would ask me what it is that I gained. It was hard to put my finger on it exactly, but it felt like sobriety. It felt like, in life, I had been drunk, fuzzy. And now I was seeing clearly the charade that had once been so entertaining. I saw the man behind the curtain. Things were... just clearer.

This is not an enviable position. It makes you the official party pooper. It causes anguish in your mind. It makes you fight with God (in vain) over the details.

But it didn't stop then. EVERY time I sit down and am still in the silence of the Lord, and I give him my attention, I hear it again. "Be sober."

The letters are full of this warning -- especially the Ts: 1 and 2 Timothy, Titus, 1 Thessalonians. And most prominently 1 Peter.

"But the end of all things is at hand; therefore be sober and watchful in your prayers. And above all things have fervent love for one another, for 'love will cover a multitude of sins.' Be hospitable to one another without grumbling." 1 Peter 4:7-9

Sobriety in the bible carries the meaning of calmness, clarity of mind, and above all, watchfulness. In fact, the Greek word νήφω (nepho), appears in the New Testament six times. Twice as the word "watchful", and four times as the word "sober". Of the four "sober" verses, three of them also contain the word "watchful" in close proximity.

There are plenty of things in this world to which we can lose our sobriety. There are distractions beyond compare in the west. In fact, our distractions have become the norm. Prayer and time in the Word have become distractions to our otherwise busy life.

But the time for sobriety is at hand.

We cannot afford to drink the nectar of the gods any more. We cannot bow (read: sit on our couches) to the idols that pervade the world in which we live. We cannot cloud our minds and our vision with meaningless fodder. The party, my friends, is over. It's time to sober up.

I am the worst offender. I'll admit. But no matter how much I desire to see the ending season of Lost, or the next American Idol (um, hello?), or Jack Bauer take on New York City, I cannot get it out of my mind that I won't be able to afford the consequences. This is time that I won't give to God, but I'll give to the god of Hollywood.

And these are the details about which I fight with God. But I want to, I tell God. I mean, really? When sobriety strikes, it's easy to see these things as meaningless. Vanity. Wasteful. Ugh.

But let me tell you something. It really isn't a big price to pay to let them go. In fact, it's freedom.

No, really.

"Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the devil walks about like a roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour. Resist him, steadfast in the faith, knowing that the same sufferings are experienced by your brotherhood in the world. But may the God of all grace, who called us to His eternal glory by Christ Jesus, after you have suffered a while, perfect, establish, strengthen, and settle you. To Him be the glory and the dominion forever and ever. Amen." 1 Peter 5:8-11

Lord, it is so stupid of me to think that I need the things of this world. You have given me eyes to see and ears to hear. Help me not to waste them on meaningless things. Help me to be watchful, and sober. That I might hear you and see you clearly.

Discipleship and Discipline

So, it's the first day of a New Year. And it's a fresh start. We've all got the "Starting Monday" syndrome, which is to say that we've suddenly taken on the desire to do more, be more, mean more. We've denied all our weaknesses, forgotten all our shortcomings, and are filled with hope and surety for a new direction.

When Jesus chose his disciples, it was a fresh start for them, too. Jesus was a rabbi, and he took on disciples just as any rabbi would. Except His method of choosing was, well, unconventional at best. Most rabbis chose their disciples according to the pupil's religious fervor, or purity, or dedication to the teachings of the Torah. But Jesus chose those who didn't even know they wanted to be a rabbi's disciple. He simply said, "Follow me." And they did.

But the story doesn't end there. Read through the gospels. Dang, did those disciples mess stuff up. If they had the illusion of a new life free from mistakes and dedicated to perfection, they would have banged their heads against walls for a good three or four chapters.

But the "follow me" part of their journey is what kept them going. Discipleship isn't perfection, it's growth. It is following Jesus' teaching, and dealing with consequences when we mess up. It's asking for forgiveness, and continuing to sit at His feet.

One of my Facebook "friends" (for what that's worth) spoke of his new positivity. He said he woke up on this first morning of 2010 singing a new song -- literally. He walked over to the mirror to perform his morning groom, and realized he was singing. He said that this year, he'll be "a whole new me". That's great, and I hope his year is filled with joy, but it's important to remember that the positively-charged "Starting Monday" syndrome is temporary. After all the talk of resolutions, and new beginnings, we've got to put one foot in front of the other. We've got to actually live life, and deal with unpleasant people and situations. We've got to love our neighbor and try to promote justice.

Being a disciple of Jesus is a clean slate. Don't get me wrong. But it's a clean slate that requires discipline, and forgiveness. It's asking for a clean slate every morning, not just once a year. And it's following Him daily, but never actually arriving. It's a process.

So, as I make my resolutions for the year, instead of doing my normal thing -- deciding what I'm going to do, what I'm going to be better at -- I'll ask Him what He would have me do, and I'll ask Him to make me better for His kingdom's sake. I realize that asking for God's discipline is a dangerous thing. But I also know it will make me a better disciple.

God, allow me the privilege to sit at Your feet, that I might learn more. Allow me also the privilege to get up and walk in Your footsteps, so that the work might be done.