To Resolve or Not to Resolve? That is the Question

By the time you read this, it will be 2013.  Hard to believe another year is gone… I mean GONE!  I find it crazy anymore how quickly a year comes, and a year goes.  But it does.  So I thought I would go back and read what I wrote last year this same time.  I knew what I was getting myself into, but hey, it’s a new year, right? 

If you’ve been reading my column for a while now, you might remember last year’s.  It was a list of New Year’s Resolutions basically summed up as 

1) get up earlier

2) put correspondence after spiritual disciplines

3) get off of sugar, get back to exercising, and get back on the healthy track before I turn 50 

4) and live a life of grace toward myself, accepting myself as good enough.  

Well, I’m not sure how good you did on your resolutions, but I did just as bout as good as most Americans: about 45 percent of Americans make resolutions, but only 8 percent keep them, according to 2012 statistics from the Statistic Brain Research Institute.  “The most popular goals are losing weight and staying fit, getting organized, spending less and saving more, and enjoying life.” Those sound so reasonable!  Why do 92 percent of us fail? 

Another study tracked 3,000 people and their new year’s resolutions. They found that men are 22 percent more likely to succeed if they set a specific goal or focus.  Women are 10 percent more likely to succeed if they tell their friends and family about their resolution or are encouraged not to revert to old habits.  Well piffle! I set specific goals AND told all of you and still didn’t succeed. 

It would be easy to just give up.  Walk away.  Be done with it.  Sleep as long as I want.  Allow emails and Facebook messages to consume my life, taking over all chance of a spiritual foundation.  Eat as much sugar as I desire, become a diabetic someday, and put on as much weight as naturally occurs from eating any way I want, any time I want.  And constantly beat myself up about what a failure I am, how I disappoint most everyone at least some of the time, and others most of the time!  Take that, New Year’s Resolutions!

But I would be even more a failure than missing three out of my four resolutions each year.  I would still miss out on all the great reading, prayer time, and special time with my Father each morning.  I would still feel sluggish and get those reoccurring stabs of pain in my left temple when I consume too much sugar, not to mention the muffin top that is quickly forming around my waistline, if I’m not willing to buy a new wardrobe at least one size larger.  And most of all, I would miss out on the incredibly beautiful and loving act we call grace.  Deserved or not with resolution accomplishment, I am a wonderful, beautiful, beloved child of God… and so are you. 

So, just as I didn’t quit quitting smoking for years on end, I won’t quit setting New Year’s Resolutions.  Heck! It paid off eventually!  I’m a non-smoker now.  The chances of me succeeding on some of my other resolutions are just as feasible.  And who knows, this may even be the year all of us accomplish more than just one!  So don’t give up and don’t give in.  Keep working toward a better, more healthy, more Spirit-led, grace-filled life.  You’ll be glad you did!  And so will all the friends, family, coworkers and neighbors around you.  

Cheers to 2013 and good riddance to 2012.  It’s a new year and I’m excited to see what it holds!  Game on with a new score card… to success and good health: body, mind, and soul.  Cheers! Happy New Year, my friends!  It’s going to be another good one.  

A Special Guest

Like so many of our older friends, a woman’s husband had died many years prior and her children had all moved away to find jobs and their children were off to school and starting their own families.  So each year near the Christmas holiday, her neighbors would watch her as she trudged through the snow in her rubber goulashes and old tattered fake fur coat.  She would slowly back out of the driveway and meander down the road to the nearest small town where she would buy enough ham for two and enough potatoes, milk, cheese, and flour to make a small dish of scalloped potatoes.  She would stand at the bakery counter and ask for the same two hot crossed buns that she had every year prior that her and her husband of 67 years were married.  She would stop by the dairy department for a fresh quart of milk and was sure to get all the ingredients she needed for her famous French Apple Crumb Top pie, that she made from scratch, even now with her tired, weary hands.  Before leaving she would assuredly stop by the flower department where fresh poinsettias had been arranged in glimmering pots of red and green and she would ask the young lady behind be counter if she would graciously lift one of the pots into her cart.  The girl always obliged.  She wondered if her grandpa, now alone as well in a city far off, was shopping alone for his holiday meals, as well. 

Once the woman arrived back home, one of her neighbors would beat her to the driveway and ask if they could help her carry in her bags.  Each year, no matter which neighbor it was, they would use this moment to personally invite her over to their home for Christmas dinner, but every year she declined.  She would smile genuinely and say the same words she had the year before: “Oh thank you. You are so kind.  But I have a special guest coming to join me for dinner.  So I will be busy preparing for his arrival.”  And once the bags were carried in and placed on her counter in her small meek kitchen, she would thank whichever neighbor had been so kind this year and allow them to show themselves to the door as she began emptying her bags. 

The kind neighbor would return home feeling sad for the elder widow, wishing she would stop eating alone and accept an invitation one year, anyone’s invitation, just so she wouldn't eat another holiday meal alone. 

One year, a young boy who lived next door to the elder lady was playing in his yard, tossing snow into the air and sticking out his tongue to catch it, like a frog would over a pond.  He saw the woman heading to her car and had heard his parents talking about her the night before, wondering if this would be the year she would join someone, anyone, for dinner.  So being the curious, honest, little guy that he was, he waddled over through the snow and onto her snow blown drive, stomping his boots as to not take snow in, on a clean, dry carpet. 

She looked up with a smile as he determined to make it to her before she reached the car-door handle.  Then he blurted, as most young boys would “Hey Mrs. Thompkins. Are you going to the grocery store to get your holiday dinner?”

“Why yes I am, James. How nice of you to kick off your boots before heading up my drive.  You are a very considerate boy.  Your mom must be very proud of you.”

“Some days,” he replied honestly.  “My mom and dad said you buy food every year for two but eat all by yourself.  Is it so you can eat leftovers the next day too? My mom does that sometimes… but we usually just throw them away when they get furry.”

Mrs. Thompkins smiled.  “Well I surely do buy for two but I never eat alone, especially on Christmas.” 

“You don’t?...” James asked, with a rather confused look on his face. 

“No I don’t, ever.  Ever since my husband died and went home to be with the Lord, I have asked Jesus to join me for Christmas Dinner.  After all, it is his birthday, you know…”

“Oh…” James replied.  “How does he know to come? Do you call him up or send him a party invitation or something?” 

“I guess I do.  Every year shortly after Thanksgiving Day, I get down on my knees and fold my hands tight.  I close my eyes and sit quietly until I can almost see Jesus’ face right behind my eyelids.  And then, I just ask him.  I just say ‘Jesus, I would love you to be my special guest at Christmas dinner this year.’ And then I sit quietly for a few more minutes… until my feet start to go numb…”

James giggled.  His feet did that too at night time prayers, when they got too long. 

“Jesus has never turned me down. He’s never too busy and never too full.  Every year he assures me I won’t be eating alone and he will join me gladly, for another of my scrumptious Christmas dinners.  Seems my husband must have told him all about them.”

James smiled even wider.  “Well, enjoy your dinner!  You and Jesus!  Let me know how he likes your pie.  My dad says it’s better than my mom’s” and he jumped two booted back over the snow line and plopped on his fanny, swooping up more snow as he tossed it into the air above him. 

Mrs. Thompkins continued on her way, smiling even more than usual.  It seems James shared their conversation with his parents later that day, because although they and other neighbors on their block continued to help Mrs. Thompkins carry in her groceries, and continued to invite her for Christmas dinner, they were no longer sad when she declined them.  They knew she was having dinner with a Special Guest, and truly, that’s all they could have ever really hoped for. 

A Child Was Born...

Yes, a child was born… but not necessarily in a stable.  My oldest son and his beautiful wife birthed their second child this week, an adorable little girl.  Her skin is as soft as silk and her features are all miniature, yet perfect.  She is amazing to look at.  She opened her little mouth like a baby bird does for a gift from her mother.  Precious, adorable, and sacred all come to mind.  Lying in her mother’s arms, I saw her in complete comfort, knowing she would be cared for.  When daddy held her, his tall, lanky, gruff self melted as he curled himself around her, holding her as if she was made of the finest porcelain.  And yet, she is. 

She is curious and listens as voices change.  She opens her eyes wide and tries to see what and who are surrounding her.  She snuggles in immediately and seems to fully trust each of us.  I am amazed at the detail in each digit of her fingers and the wonderful patterns that have already been created on her scalp as fuzzy hair swirls and twirls around her precious little head. 

Such care God, our Creator takes as he forms each of us.  God chooses the style of our bodies, the color of our hair and eyes, the tone of our skin, and the length of our eyelashes.  By the way, hers are quite long.  God takes a bit of him and a bit of her and mixes them up with such precision that we can honestly say, “Oh yes, I see her mommy in her” and “My, my, she looks like her daddy” and both are true.  In the coming weeks and months, she will become closer and closer to all that God created her to be: a beautiful, adorable, beloved child of the One who is Love. 

All at the same time, there is such melancholy in the air.  We have talked and heard and prayed all week for parents who no longer have their child in their arms.  They brought home a similar baby as ours and ooh-ed and aah-ed over them, as well.  They wrapped them in their first bundle and snapped them into their car seat for the first time.  They made promises to God to love them fully and forever… and meant it, just as we do.  But then, without a blink of the eye, they were gone… at least from this place and our gaze.  Hearts were shattered and lives will never be the same.  So sad.  So distraught.  So empty. 

The very same week, we prepare to worship the One who creates them all.  The One who came in such a tiny, precious, and vulnerable state as our very own.  His mommy laid there with him in her arms, just as our daughters and granddaughters do today.  She looked full of life and yet exhausted, joyous and yet scared.  I’m sure she passed the Christ Child from arm to arm as visitors arrived, marveling at the sight in their midst.  Could Mary have made it through those early years if she had known her child would be taken from her?  Could she have shared him with anyone if she would have known it was some of her very own who took him away?  Or did she simply dream her dreams as we all dream ours?  Our children will grow and prosper and be a delight to many, as they grow into adulthood, making us proud, as we are the ones who one day will leave their side. 

For some it is that way.  For others it is not.  Our world is broken.  Our God is not.  A Savior was born. Just as Mary saw her son alive again, so will the mothers and fathers who lost theirs this week.  Just as Mary loved on her son every moment she was given, we will all do the same with our little Evena` Mae.  And one day, we too will stand before the Christ Child, only he’ll be all grown up… a delight to us all.  Hold your child tight tonight.  God intended it so.  A child was born…

Where Would We Be?

My favorite Christian artist, actually my favorite recording artist period, is TobyMac.  Toby writes like a poet and plays music in the hip hop genre of fast beats and thumping bass.  Great music to vacuum to.  He never ceases to amaze me each time a new album arises.  He’s been making #1 songs from #1 albums since his original band, DCTalk, hit the stage in 1988.  And yet with each consecutive album, there it is again.  Solid Truth.  I say Truth with a capital “T” because it is the greater truth of God, not Toby’s. 

His latest album “Eye On It” and it’s respective single by the same name has really got me thinking this Advent/Christmas Season.  The chorus goes like this: And where would I be, without You? / I’d be packin’ my bags when I need to stay / I’d be chasin’ every breeze that blows my way / I’d be buildin’ my kingdom to just watch it fade away / It’s so true.  Have you taken a moment this season to think about where you would be if Jesus was never born?  How his life has affected you and your life?  How it has affected your family, your friends, those your life connects with every day?  I can answer those questions pretty easily.

Where would I be? I’d be packin’ my bags when I need to stay. I remember several times when my husband and I struggled.  It was the strength of Christ and all I learned from his life here on earth that gave me the courage to stay and not walk away.  Instead I worked at forgiveness, patience, and sacrifice in order to make my marriage work.  And the payoffs??  Oh my! My marriage is awesome and wonderful and full of love and grace and joy today.  I am so very thankful I didn’t pack those bags.

Where would I be? I’d be chasin’ every breeze that blows my way.  I have done it before I lived my life for Christ, and I know I would have done it again.  But since Christ came into my life and shared with me that I was a daughter to the King of all kings, a princess to the One who created all things, my need to chase breezes has subsided.  I still have urges from time to time to pick up and move on, but that urge is quickly replaced with reason, compassion, and thoughtfulness for why God has me where I currently am.  I can trust his Spirit to guide me and leave the breeze chasing to the fall leaves. 

Where would I be?  I’d be buildin’ my kingdom just to watch it fade away.  So true.  I have put hours and hours, seven days a week into building my kingdom and I’ll tell you what, it was for nothing.  It was my dream, but honestly, it was an empty dream.  When I wanted to own an art gallery and worked three jobs to do it, and moved into our third building in less than a year, I thought “this is it!”  But it wasn’t it.  I worked 12 to 15 hour days to create something that came deep from my heart, only to have others want me to create them another that matched their couch.  The consumer’s desire dictated my work and more often than not, by the time I did everything they wanted, it wasn’t my work anymore anyway.  Building my own kingdom left me empty and discouraged.  Now that I am doing what God called and created me to be doing with my life, my art doesn’t have to please anyone.  I can create what I want and it doesn’t have to match anyone’s couch! 

Those are just a few of my responses to Toby’s latest masterpiece.  What about you?  Where would you be without the One that was born to save you?  Where would you be without the baby Jesus being saved from genocide as a toddler?  Where would you be without Jesus’ mother raising her son to follow his Father in heaven’s will to go into ministry?  Where would you be without living a life of love here on earth, that we might know God in a much greater way?  Where would you be without Jesus giving his life that you might have life abundant, pushed down, shaken, and flowing over?  Spend some time at the manger this Advent/Christmas Season answering these questions and hope to see you soon, as we all celebrate together the coming of the One who changed it all.  Blue Christmas (for those struggling) at 5 pm and “It’s Not Your Birthday!” Candlelight Service at 7 pm this Christmas Eve at Concord United Methodist Church.  Where would you be without him?

http://youtu.be/8qGa5rIOB28

Family, Food, Faith, and Phlegm

Before getting started I need to say thank you.  A couple weeks back I shared my disdain with my son’s neighbor, a woman who struggles with paranoid schizophrenia, and the fact that her utilities had been shut off.  I also gave opportunity for you to respond in loving kindness and compassion.  And you did… to the tune of $965.  Heroes are not a thing of the past or only printed in comic books.  They are real and affect lives every day.  Thank you, heroes.  May your capes continue to flap in the wind and may the world be a better place to live because of your presence in it. 

As for me and my house, we are nestled under a quilt today with a hot coffee in one hand and a roll of toilet paper in the other.  Chap Stick has been laid out on the table in front of us, along with antihistamines and decongestants, antibiotics and glasses of orange juice.  Advent has begun and so has the cold and flu season.  I suppose you cannot expect to have 60 family members over to visit, a third of which are under age six, and not expect to get a bug or two. 

Thanksgiving weekend my mother came down from Oscoda, my sister and her family up from Georgia, and my brother and his family up from Onsted.  The twenty three of us had not gotten all together for a Thanksgiving gathering in more than thirteen years.  We connected four long tables so we could all sit together, passing the food family style.  My mother and I sat in the kitchen until 1:30 in the morning the night before as we peeled apples for the Dutch Crumb Top Apple Pies and chopped the walnuts, apples, celery, and cranberries for the Cranberry Jell-O Salad.  We laughed so hard at times we almost piddled.  I remember doing the same with my great grandmother years ago when I was just a young girl. There’s something about women in the kitchen together that, after so many hours, leads to deliriousness. 

Once everyone arrived we took them next door to Farmer Bob’s for a tour of the cows and calves.  The kids stuck their hands out for a long tongue lick and giggled as calves jumped like deer and moo-ed  quite different than they had ever learned.  After dinner, all the children gathered to make turkeys out of Oreo cookies, peanut butter cups, malt balls, candy corn, and frosting.  Adorable little gobblers… well, until you bit their head off.  Tasty little gobblers, either way. 

Just seven days later 47 additional family members descended upon our farm.  My husband’s parents, siblings, and their families had not gathered for Christmas in over 13 years as well (the year we left north and went into full time ministry).  We do our Christmas gatherings a little early due to the fact I get so busy once Christmas nears, so we invited them all for a Christmas dinner and worship the next morning.  The leftover turkey was just about gone from the Saturday before so three hams were glazed and baking.  We set aside the mashed potatoes and gravy and opted for Finley’s American Grill style sweet potatoes soaked in butter with brown sugar and honey.  What a hoot it was to see several of us picking up those hot potatoes, unwrapping them slightly, just enough to wedge two slabs of butter down their mid-section, drizzle on the honey, and drop a teaspoon of brown sugar on top for good measure.  Can you spell decadent? 

After dinner the kids gathered to frost their own sugar cookies.  Several licked their plastic knife each time they dipped it into another color of frosting.  Hmmm… maybe that’s where the germs got passed?  Or could have been the confusion of whose cup was whose during desert… or maybe the multitude of hugs and kisses that got handed out at every corner.  Doesn’t really matter.  It was all worth it.  Family, food, faith, and phlegm: the typical holiday combination.  Please pass the pie… and a tissue.  Aaaa-choo!  

Tasting Good!

What does a restaurant, a couple of musicians, a preacher, and a few hungry people have in common?... More than you think.  Each time I am on vacation from my own church, I enjoy finding other churches to attend for worship.  It’s nice not to lead and just slip in the back unnoticed.  Sometimes I attend a large mega church and belt out rocking praise songs as we sing to the Lord.  It’s easy to lose my not so perfect pitch in a crowd so large.  Other times I attend new forms of worship like a new church start that sets up and tears down weekly in a local school cafeteria.  This week I chose the latter. 

A friend of mine has taken worship out of the usual worship environment and into the world.  Literally.  It’s called “The Church in a Diner” and it actually meets in a… well… diner!  It also meets on Monday night at 7 pm, rather than the typical Sunday morning time slot.  These facts fascinated me for several reasons.  I never get to sleep in on a Sunday morning.  I enjoy learning new forms of worship.  And I love to eat out!  No brainer!  I was in. 

My husband and I arrived about 10 minutes to 7 and noticed a large mobile banner out near the road stating that the “Church in a Diner” worshiped here tonight.  When we opened the door to the restaurant, there was another banner, though this one was tall and vertical.  It not only stated the name of the church, but also the three simple words “Curious – Creative - Compassionate” clearly across the top.  We were greeted and immediately taken to a table.  Other than the two banners and two musicians in one corner, nothing looked any different than other restaurants I had visited. 

Soon one of the musicians welcomed us all and invited us to join in the singing, if we wished, as words were projected on a screen hung obscurely on one wall.  The projector was professionally mounted on the ceiling just like at Concord UMC.  About half way through the second song, I noticed we were worshiping.  One of the musicians led us in a simple prayer as he wrapped up the singing and soon the pastor was in the forefront.  He simply meandered among the tables, turning around to look directly at different tables at different moments.  He engaged me directly several times.  He did the same to others.  He began walking through the book of Jonah, all four chapters, like a buddy telling hunting stories across the Thanksgiving table.  At one point he got under a table and another he stood on a chair to make his points.  People laughed along with him as he kept everything informal and relational. 

Before he finished he showed a couple short videos of some of their newest church members as they shared how they either were invited or invited others.  They also shared why they liked this church so much.  Answers included that they worked on Sunday mornings, this church wasn't stuffy, and people were compassionate rather than stuck in surface chit chat.  One man shared directly with my hubby and I that his old church wouldn't allow him to talk about his daughter’s addiction with prescription drugs and that he and his wife were raising their grandkids until she came out of rehab.  He was told “this isn't the place for that.”  I thought (and said aloud with shock) “then where is?!”  He answered immediately “here.”  Another man shared with us how many times in scripture Jesus shared a meal with others as he taught his Father’s ways.  I thought, “true, true…” 

An hour or so later, a phenomenal hand-pattied burger and fresh cut fries later, and I was no longer hungry.  Both my spirit and my belly were filled to the rim.  Haven’t been to a church in a while?  Or maybe never?  You might want to try it.  God is up to something new and boy, does it taste good!

Everyone Needs a Hero

I rarely struggle over what to write about each week.  I just kind of wake up and know.  Today I was thinking about two different issues.  And then it hit me: it is not either or.  It is both, because the one leads to the other.

Allow me to explain.  I wanted to share the outcome of our Hometown Hero votes last week.  With over 120 nominees in the Concord area, one hero stood out above all the rest.  It was easy to see how Nancy Thompson was voted Girl Scout Leader of the Year and Jenny Purucker the Military Personnel of the Year.  It certainly didn't surprise me that Regis Klingler was voted Boy Scout Leader of the Year or that Brett Black was appreciated with votes claiming he was the Police Officer of the Year.  Yet when all twelve categories had their winner surface, one jumped out of the water. 

She actually took top honors in the category of Historian.  You can often find her putsying around town in her antique turn of the century car wearing a pooffy gown, complete with pantaloons and a bonnet.  She chaplains for the American Legion, is one of the volunteer day managers at the Open Door Free Store, and is always up to something between Concord United Methodist Church and her husband’s church, 1^st Presbyterian Church of Concord.  She’s a go-getter and can sometimes rub people as pushy.  But then again, nothing ever got accomplished by someone who was not.  There is never a question of whether or not she’ll accomplish what she said she would.  Rather, the question becomes what she’ll have YOU doing to make it happen. 

Beyond all her accomplishment and fortitude, is something even more heroic.  Brenda Walters is an incredible wife, daughter, and friend.  She allows Carl to meander and serve wherever his heart desires.  She supports her mom and dad in all their endeavors.   And somehow she knows when a friend like me just needs a special song and some hands laid on for prayer.  Yes, Brenda is the 2012 Hometown Hero and will continue to be a hero long after the ballots are faded and her engraved name on a plaque begins to tarnish.  It’s what she was created to be.  So if you see her floating around town with her cape all up in ruffles, congratulate her on another year of super-heroing.  The Concord area is a better place because of it. 

And as for the second thought of the day: More heroes are needed in our communities.  My heart broke last night for a woman in her fifties who had her electric shut off.  Her gas was shut off about six months ago (and remains so) but she was surviving with a small electric space heater.  She suffers from schizophrenia and has been living in the same run down single wide trailer for more than 25 years.  My son and his wife do their best to look out for her when they can.  They are a young couple with a baby on the way and a toddler to boot.  My son is in college full time, plus works so his wife can be at home and raise their children in ways that please our Lord.  So their resources are minimal, though their hearts are large. 

I remember my son sharing that their neighbor had been living without running water for months before he went over to do his best at getting the plumbing back in order and running again.  She lives on a mere $600 a month disability.  She talks to herself often and finds daily life scary and frustrating.  My question is simple.  Why was her electric turned off?  It was 29 degrees last night.  When we arrived to bring supper to the kids, my son was next door working on getting a kerosene heater filled and running, before she froze to death in her sleep.  He still had hours of homework to complete and a few hours of work to get in before he went to sleep.  But first things came first.  It always does for heroes. 

I know we've spent months talking about government programs, entitlements, and deficit spending but this is just plain wrong.  When we closed all the mental health hospitals in Michigan years ago and placed all our mentally ill neighbors on their own, I cannot believe we didn't have some other support plan in place.  We need a few more heroes in our communities like Brenda, my son, and daughter-in-law.  If you’d like to be a hero and help this woman get her utilities back on for the winter, I would be glad to get any gifts to the utility companies in her name.  You can send them to CUMC, PO Box 366, Concord MI 49237 with “Hero” in the memo.  God bless you… and your capes. 

Please Don't Wake Me...

I had a dream that I woke up the day after the elections and found that America had voted for more than a president or a few proposals.  We voted for a new day and a new way.  We voted that for the first time in a long time we would take our future into our own hands and stop looking at others to do it for us.  We voted to set aside not only partisanship, but bigotry, hatred, and negative doomsday attitudes. 

I woke to a nation that got out of bed and made a conscious choice to see if their neighbor was in need before living into their own excess.  I saw elderly baking for young couples, middlers helping with home maintenance for those handicapped, and young families taking it upon themselves to stop by and visit some of the people on their block who haven’t been feeling too well.  I saw a pot of soup being carried into a divorced man’s home and a retired man under the hood of a single mom’s broken down car.  Televisions were off, hobbies were set aside, and everyone woke to a new way of being neighbor.

I rubbed my eyes briskly and there, I still saw new life.  I saw an unemployed woman offered a job with benefits and equal pay at a company that decided enough profit was enough profit, while adding another person to the payroll would simply be an investment in their future profits.  I saw a school adapt their teaching styles to more than the top third of their students and I saw administrators giving their creative, passionate teachers more leeway in their curriculum choices.  I saw mediocre students being tutored after school by some retired neighbors who needed a purpose that mattered, and I saw poor students encouraged to find their strengths, even if that meant learning techniques well outside the box.  And I saw exceptional students, even the poor ones, given ample opportunity to earn a college education as others who were already afforded one assisted with the cost. 

I also saw people who were very different than each other, sitting down for coffee in each other’s homes as they listened to each other’s views and truly heard what their once-adversary was trying to explain.  Not only Democrats with Republicans, but Native Americans with Anglo Saxons, Mexican migrant workers with CEOs, and homosexuals with religious leaders.  Everyone was learning from each other and enjoying each other’s company, while their children played together in the next room.  The next generation wouldn’t know the hate that prior generations were bred to feed on.  And I also saw people of different faith going to worship together.  Signs had been pulled up in front of churches, synagogues and temples.  They weren’t needed any longer.  Everyone knew they were sacred places of worship, and that was enough.  Divisive names were no longer needed.  In fact, after worship let out each day, the people shared their coffee hours as Jews and Christians, Muslims and Buddhists, all sat around tables and shared their worship experiences that day. 

I knew it was all too good to be true but also realized we’ve been talking about peace on earth, goodwill toward all humankind, and being a nation where liberty and justice was truly for all.  So it actually made sense.  What didn’t make sense was why it took so long for people to wake up, like I did today, and realize that I could make it happen.  I could and you could and everyone could… if we simply decided to.  So really, it wasn’t too good to be true.  It was just good enough to become a reality, if we really want it and aren’t just giving it lip service. 

I woke up today and realized that today is the first day of the rest of my life, and the life of the great nation we live in… no matter who is president or what proposals got passed.  Please tell me I am not dreaming?  Please tell me we have all had enough sliding down the slippery slope and today we have all turned a new leaf?  And if you cannot, then please, just let me sleep… I don’t’ want this dream to ever end.    

A Nation Worth Leaving Behind

It is that time again.  Political signs have been on the street corners for months.  News stations have been fueling the fires daily, repeatedly, unceasingly.  Friends on Facebook have been clearly taking their stand and emails have been filling our inboxes with woes and warnings.  I’m ready for the election to arrive and our lives to get back on track. 

I am glad we are a democratic nation, one where we the people are allowed and even encouraged to join in the conversation when it pertains to our government.  I guess what I don’t like is the tone and the propaganda.  As Americans, we used to be able to have conversations about our political ideals, share our thoughts, and actually hear the other person’s thoughts all at the same time.  It’s almost as though we have forgotten why we became democratic in the first place.  One view government was not something we wanted to retain. 

I honestly hope we can return to our roots before we pull them all up and they die.  I know when I pull up a plant to replant it elsewhere, depending on the weather, I can get away with a few days or even a week before replanting… but that is really pushing it.  The roots need to be deeply embedded in the soil in order to not dry out, to be protected from harm, and to put all their effort into providing what the plant needs.  If we pull our roots as a nation and leave them exposed too long, I’m afraid those roots will dry up, as well.  We will be America, but not the America we were founded on. 

As a Christian, I have to always begin with Christ’s life and teaching.  So I do my best to line up issues and proposals to scripture.  And if scripture doesn’t address that particular issue, then I try to see underlying Christian principles that may apply.  I also try hard to listen to other views.  The reality is, I just might learn something… something that could help me make my decision more wisely.  I also lean on the Ten Commandments of the Old Testament.  For instance, when I get an email that is claiming something awful about a candidate or an issue, the first thing I do is Google it and run it through fact checkers like snopes.com.  If it is filled with false statements and has rearranged truths in order to produce a specific emotional outcome, I stamp it as it should be: propaganda.  And then I delete it.  That whole “Do not give false testimony” command is a real one. 

Ultimately, I cannot pretend to understand all the intricacies of any given election.  I’m not in politics for a reason.  I wouldn’t want any of their jobs.  Rarely is an issue black or white and the grays affect so many, I cannot imagine the burden these office holders carry.  Maybe what we could do more than anything these next few days before the election is this: listen more and talk less.  Pray every time we hear an argument, whether on social media, television, radio, or in our local diner, and ask God to give us all wisdom...  and then be quiet and just listen for God to answer.  No matter who wins this election, we’re going to need wisdom if we are serious about getting back to our roots and leaving a nation for our children’s children that they, and Christ, can be proud of.  

And don’t worry.  I won’t disdain you, make statements about you not being a Christian, or claim that you are being unpatriotic, no matter who you vote for.  It’s not who I am.  I hope it’s not who you are too.  See you in line on Election Day!  Our nation is counting on us. 

The Dance

Courageous. We don’t use that word much anymore.  We use it when we are talking about our men and women in the military.  We use it when people are fighting cancer.  But that’s about it. We just started a teaching series at Concord United Methodist Church called “Courageous” that is based on a film of the same name. 

The film is about four men who serve as police officers.  They are also friends and hang out in each other’s backyards on their days off.  They are courageous with villains, but not necessarily with their own loved ones.   And then something happens.  A tragedy hits home and something has to change. 

Isn’t that the way it usually goes?  Tragedy has to hit before many of us are willing to stand up and make something happen that should have happened long ago, but we were never quite at a crossroads that forced the change.  The sad thing is all that we miss prior to the change, prior to the tragedy.  Earlier in the film, one of the officers has an opportunity to dance with his young daughter. She hears a song and is filled with joy and silliness and just wants to express it with dance.  She asks her dad to join her but he is not interested.   She begs him but he seems embarrassed even at the thought. So he misses the opportunity… and eventually we find out he misses out on a lot more. 

I remember watching this moment in the film and thinking “been there, done that”.  My father left for another woman when I was two and my brother was three.  He had been in prison for several years when I was a bit older and wrote me a couple of times, but that was it.  When I was 13 and overdosed on alcohol before first hour had even let out, my mom called him and thought maybe I’d get my life back on track if he was around more often.  He came once and promised much, but then I never saw him again until more than 10 years later when he found out he had grandchildren.  We would see each other once a year or so after that for a few years… and then my divorce, and eventually a second chance at love and life, when I married my husband Darryl. 

I asked my father to walk me down the aisle.  He wasn’t around the first time so I had asked my brother that time.  But I had an opportunity to have my dad this time so I asked and he agreed.  He came and he did what I asked… but no more.  He never said a word about how I looked, he didn’t have any father/daughter moment with me prior to the service, and most memorable to me, he didn’t stick around for the dance. You know the one.  There is a dance at every wedding where the new bride dances with her daddy… seemingly for the last time before being handed off to dance all the rest of her life with her new husband.  Well, I hadn’t even had my first dance with my daddy, let alone my last.  But when it was time, he could not be found.  No explanations, no goodbyes.  He was just gone.  And so was any hope of a dance. 

He was courageous while serving his country in Vietnam at age 16, even lying about his age to get in.  He was courageous in prison, paying his dues before returning to the rest of civilization to live differently.  He was even courageous unto death as he battled a horrendous disease that eventually took his jaw, tongue, cheekbones, and eventually is brain stem.  But he never was courageous with me, his very daughter.  We never danced.  And seemingly never will.   Rise up O men of God.  Be courageous at home.  Don’t miss your son’s track meet or dancing with your daughter.  Trust me.  They’ll never stop hoping you will.  

Nice Helmet...

A good friend asked me this week, “What the heck is going on at your church?!”  Good question.  We’ve been ministering to a lot of people in need lately.  We’ve always helped people with gas and utilities when we are able, and the past couple of years we’ve helped people repair their homes when they haven’t had the income to do it themselves.  Those are the more visible ways a church helps those in their community, I suppose. 

Needs recently have shifted from the tangible to the spiritual: from the helpless and the hungry to the hopeless and the hurting.  Families are falling apart.  Divorces are being filed.  Addictions are being fought.  And along the way, people are finding that they can’t do it alone.  Most have tried.  They’ve pushed through in the past as they have stood back up and brushed off their bottoms.  But here they are again… or still.  Not only are their bottoms in the mud, but hands, faces, and heart, as well.  Some have fallen hard to temptation through lust.  Others didn’t pay attention to the warning signs and stepped over the fence to water the grass of another.  Some, especially our men, have falsely listened to the burgeoning dark industry of pornography and thought looking at a few images or watching a few videos wasn’t doing anyone any harm.  Such lies. 

But each has one thing in common: they lost sight of the One who can strengthen them for fights like these.  Paul or one of his followers wrote a letter to the early Christians in Ephesus, what would today be considered modern day Turkey.  Within that letter is a wonderful, tangible description of a very spiritual reality.  We call it the “Armor of God.”  It goes like this: “Finally, be strengthened by the Lord and his powerful strength. Put on God’s armor so that you can make a stand against the tricks of the devil. We aren’t fighting against human enemies but against rulers, authorities, forces of cosmic darkness, and spiritual powers of evil in the heavens. Therefore, pick up the full armor of God so that you can stand your ground on the evil day and after you have done everything possible to still stand.  So stand with the belt of truth around your waist, justice as your breastplate, and put shoes on your feet so that you are ready to spread the good news of peace.  Above all, carry the shield of faith so that you can extinguish the flaming arrows of the evil one.  Take the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit, which is God’s word.  Offer prayers and petitions in the Spirit all the time. Stay alert by hanging in there and praying for all believers. (Ephesians 6.11-18, CEB)” 

It’s a great reminder that so many of the struggles we face today are not human in nature; they are spiritual.  When we break a covenant with a spouse in order to satisfy a longing that isn’t being met otherwise, we are looking in all the wrong directions for that longing to be filled.  When we take that next drink, pop that next pill, or shoot up that next fix, we are searching for our next high in all the wrong places.  And when we are tantalized by one more XXX-rated image in order to feel intimacy with someone else, then we really don’t know what intimacy is all about.  It’s time to pick up our armor, the only armor that can do a thing to protect us.

So yes, there is a lot going on in our church… and probably yours too.  So when I see you on the streets or at a potluck or on the bleachers of the next home game, don’t be surprised if a bunch of us are wearing some new, yet ancient, accessories.  Holiness can’t be picked up from time to time.  It has to be worn from the moment we wake each day until we crawl safely back in bed at night.  If we are to remain a people who are set apart from the evils of this world, then we’re going to have to do it together.  By the way, nice helmet…

Then Go Take A Nap

I love the sense of accomplishment I get when a huge task is done… and done well.  Three months ago we closed on our retirement farm and ever since we’ve been busting butt trying to get what my husband calls “Phase One” done.  Because of the type of mortgage we were able to get, we were given a list of items that had to be corrected, repaired, or replaced within six months of closing.  Some we expected.  Some we did not.  Replace the roof: yep.  No brainer on that one.  It was raining indoors with areas as large as 6’ x 4’ rotted straight through the roof.  We had planned on taking off the new and replacing it with a metal roof immediately upon closing. 

Others we didn’t see coming until the list was placed in our hands, like paint several of the barns.  Really??  You would have to see these barns but it would be like putting on a brand new high gloss paint job on a car that was rusted through and needed Bondo first… a lot of Bondo first.  Just seemed crazy.  And then there were the three porches that needed to be scraped and painted.  Really?? I know I must have asked that same question far more times than the inspector had planned on answering.  Porches.  They were a priority.  On a farm.  Just made no sense to me whatsoever.  But hey, what the inspector wants the inspector gets.  (I learned that one from my husband.) 

We also expected to find on the list that one of the bathroom faucets needed to be replaced (leaking profusely) and an old stove pipe hole in one of the upper bedrooms needed to be covered, filled, or otherwise repaired.  No biggies for either of these.  One that continued to force my proverbial question was the requirement to paint the entire interior of the house.  This is not a small house, though we both thought our retirement home would be one of the little box homes you find in the halls of IKEA.  Instead, we fell in love with a five bedroom, two bath, over 2000 square foot home complete with a formal dining room, oversize living room, country kitchen and mudroom to boot.  Paint it all?  Now??  Really??  We honestly had planned on spending the next fifteen to twenty years painting a room here and a room there as we could afford to buy another can of paint and fit in the time to do it.  Nope. That was on the list too so it had to be done, all of it, along with the roof and the barns and the porches and and and…  Did I mention we also needed to pull out all the ceilings on the upper floor because they were water damaged from the roof leaking?  Yep.  That too.  So new drywall and ceiling insulation were also on the list. 

Oh, the list.  It’s at times like this you enlist all your friends, family, and even your faith family… and we did.  God bless each and every one of them.  We surely couldn’t have done it without them.  Now you might think six months to complete all this work really isn’t that bad.  Maybe.  But cut that in half.  Yes.  Half.  Come to find out, in order to get a mortgage that allows you to use some of the mortgage funds to complete initial work on the house (which we needed), you get two disbursements of funds, half when you begin and the remainder after final inspection.  That means you have to carry the second half of expenses, both materials and labor, on your own back until the job is done.  Really? Yep.  Really. 

So six months quickly was compressed into three and the race was on.  We finished this week.  We hit the finish line and received our ribbon.  Perfect inspection.  The barns had been scraped, primed and painted.  The porches the same.  The old roof was removed and the new was installed, along with new insulation in both the rafters and attic floor.  The rotted drywall was removed from the entire upper floor ceiling and new was installed, taped, mudded, sanded, primed, and painted.  Every wall in the entire house was mudded, sanded, primed and then painted… twice.  The faucet was replaced and the hole was filled.  And at 1 am before the 9 am we expected our inspector to arrive, we were done.  [sigh] Sometimes we don’t know what we are really capable of until we do it. 

What huge task do you have hovering over your head?  Don’t give up.  You’ll reach your finish line as well, if you just keep at it… and at it… and at it.  But I have to tell you, when you see the finish line and the ribbon is being dangled out in front of you like a carrot in front of a horse’s nose, just reach out your hand and grab it!  And then go take a nap.  

Destination Ahead!!

I work with a lot of people whose lives have fallen off the tracks.  Often they’ve been on a journey and some obstacle has fallen their way and knocked them off the tracks, now sitting in the ditch next to the tracks, but no longer moving down the road.  After we begin talking about the obstacle, what life road block knocked them down, I always ask where they were headed in the first place.  I am always amazed how many don’t have an answer for that question. 

I share with each off them it is like going on a trip without a clue of your destination.  How do you know what to pack?  How do you know what to bring?  How do you know what to set your GPS to??  That’s hard for a planner like me to understand.  Before I leave for a trip, I plan.  I make a list and I check it twice… okay… three times.  I list what I will need to wear (after checking the weather ahead, of course). I list what I will want to accessorize my outfits, and surely I will list which shoes would be best.  I will also list any food I might need to take along, any books or paperwork I may need, and I can’t forget things like phone recharge plugs, a laptop, or my MP3 player. 

But again, I can’t begin to make my list, I can’t begin to decide which clothes to wear, until I know my destination.  If I’m heading north to Kalkaska and it is late fall, then I had better bring along some long underwear, some fuzzy sweaters, and a pair of mittens.  But if I’m heading to the shores of Virginia Beach, I will pack a few sun dresses, some sarong or two, and at least two bathing suits. I can’t stand to put on a wet one.  Then I must finish my ensembles, depending on what we’ll be doing once we arrive.  No sense in bringing along some cute bracelets and matching beaded necklaces if I’ll be spending my time in the woods, walking trails, sleeping in a tent, or hanging around the campfire at night.  And surely if we are heading to the beach, some dangly earrings are a must and a comfy pair of worn-in flip flops would be on the list. 

Yet, how do you pack when you have no clue of the destination?  And how do you prepare? Are we going to kick back and rest? Then I’ll be sure to pack my e-reader with a few good books attached.  But if it’s a work trip, if we have a full itinerary and the day will already be packed with a list of To Do’s, then I wouldn’t waste my time packing additional items that will never be used.  I drive my husband nuts every time I begin the process of creating my packing list, but surely he reaps the benefits of my thoughtful planning, just as I do.  He is always the first to ask “Did you pack the whatever?” and of course I did.  He would be pretty bummed if I hadn’t. 

When people head out toward any destination, a plan is needed.  It’s one thing to get derailed; an unexpected divorce, a death of a loved one, a job lost… but it’s a whole other problem if you don’t know where you were headed in the first place! We all need to take time once in a while to ask the question, “Where am I headed?” and then begin creating a packing list to get there.  Most destinations have several routes of arrival, but who wants to be heading to Kansas when you planned on hitting the East Coast?  If your plan in life is to be whole, healthy, and happy, then your packing list may want to include things that will help you get there.  If your plan includes getting debt free and helping others, then buying stuff you really don’t need isn’t helping you get there.  Take some time this week to ask yourself some good questions: “Where am I headed?” and then “What do I need to be doing or not doing, obtaining or getting rid of, to get there?”  May our train tracks continue to cross paths as each of us continue our journeys to our destinations ahead.  

... and Who Is My Neighbor??

I’m preaching a new series this month: Radicals & Rebels.  It’s all about being radically hospitable.  Most will agree that the Great Commandment to “love God and love your neighbor as yourself” is a tall order. But is it so tall we pass it by altogether? 

Jesus gives us so many examples of what this radical hospitality and love look like. The Good Samaritan parable in Luke 10.25-37 is one of the classics.  Jesus is asked what one must do to gain eternal life.  After Jesus responds with a couple of questions of his own, the man replies that the Law of Moses says “you must love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your being, with all your strength, and with all your mind, and love your neighbor as yourself.”  Jesus agrees that he answered the question right and told the man to live that way and he will truly live. 

But the man couldn’t leave well enough alone.  He goes on, “… and who is my neighbor?”  Jesus always knows when it’s time for a parable; a story with a lesson.  So he begins the story of a man who is beaten, stripped of his clothes, robbed, and left for dead along the roadside.  After a priest (a servant of the Lord God Almighty) walks on by crossing to the other side of the road, and a Levite (a servant of the Temple, God’s house) does the same, the battered and desperate man is left to die in his own misery…

… until Radical Hospitality comes meandering by.  And then everything changes.  The man is not ignored.  He is not made to feel an outcast.  He no longer feels invisible because people walk right on by while saying/doing nothing.  In fact, the man’s life will be forever changed… and that’s not even in the story.  But how could he not be? 

The third person to come by is basically a no body, and yet he could be anybody.  He comes from Samaria, a region that is not thought of very highly. In fact, God’s people won’t even associate with Samaritans.  But God will.  In Jesus’ story, it was this outcast-labeled Samaritan who not only stays on the same side of the road as the man in need, sees the man and sees he is in great need, but he also loves the man.  He goes out his way to care for every need the man has.  Jesus says “the Samaritan saw the man lying there in great need, and was moved with compassion.”  He was moved.  He was moved to get closer to the man lying on the dirt covered in blood, not back away.  He was moved to bandage his wounds, not ignore them.  He was moved to transport the man to safety, not leave him to his own demise.  He was even moved to put up his own resources to pay for all of this, and more.  The man from Samaria gave the Inn Keeper where he stayed the night before, a full two days’ wages to continue the care that he had begun.  He also told the Inn Keeper he’d be back.  He didn’t say “if I return”, but with assurance he said “when I return”.  The man’s hospitality was not complete.  He had a responsibility to the care of this man so he committed to return.  He even offered to pay more when he returned, if more care was needed than the two days wages he was already giving. 

Now that’s radical: long term commitment to someone that others, even God’s people, ignore? …hands on nurturing? …financial support? …to a stranger??  Oh wait.  We need to remember why Jesus was telling this story: as a response to the question “who is my neighbor?”  This wasn’t a stranger.   This was a neighbor… even though they came from opposing backgrounds.  In spite of being rivals, love trumped all.  As it should.  Over the top, unbelievable, doesn’t make sense to most, but makes all the sense in the world to our Creator.  Love God and love your neighbor this week… and next.  And you will truly live

Putting the Old T-shirt Back Away

I have an old vintage faded orange t-shirt with a chest-wide yellow sunburst in the center.  In the middle of the sunburst is the phrase “School’s Out for Summer!”  If you’ve never heard it, it was a famous line in a rock anthem.  I only get to wear it for a couple of months and then it has to be put back in the closet for another year.  Well today, I had to put it back in the closet.  I heard the first school bus throw on its breaks as it picked up my neighbors’ kids.  A friend of mine told me she did a run through on her bus route last week.  It is that time.

I saw a Facebook status this morning where a mother who just saw her daughter off to college a few weeks ago was now wishing her son a wonderful first day as a freshman in high school.  I remember that year.  Whew!  Felt good to get middle school off my back.  The year before I had gotten in trouble for hanging with a group who was lighting firecrackers, smoking a cigarette behind a tree on school property, and passing out in the bathroom during first hour because I had drank enough whiskey before getting on the bus to knock a cow over.  I remember trying to fit in, trying to make friends and trying to numb any pain I had.  I also remember being grounded all but two weeks that year.   When I got to high school, I was singing a new tune.  No more firecrackers, smoking or drinking for me!

It’s easy to forget how much each child brings with them to school each day.  Some are coming from poverty so deep they are too hungry to learn.  Others come with no sleep… again… because they were up half the night listening to family members fight through the night.  Still others come with pain deeper than we can ever imagine: their mother died of cancer, their brother is incarcerated, their father is still out of work.  Some feel stupid simply because they don’t fit the system of education we use in America.  They aren’t stupid.  But they sure feel like it when they can’t pass a test or memorize a list of names and dates.  Some are just lonely.  They seemingly have all their needs met, and carry a smart phone in their pocket and the newest tablet in their backpack.  But their parents have to work more hours to pay for them both, along with the new shoes and the car in the parking lot.  Some of our students spend way too much time alone, waiting… waiting for parents to get home, for a friend to call, or stranger to care.  So many of them live online creating a whole new world there. 

As certain t-shirts are put away for another year and as backpacks get filled with everything from crayons to the latest electronic gadgets, let’s keep a few people in our prayers.  Each student needs prayers of hope and love.  There is nothing worse than losing hope and there is nothing lonelier than not feeling loved.  Each bus driver is carrying a load worth its weight in gold.  Remember to pray for each one you see drive by each day.  Their minds can be as easily distracted as any of ours.  And we certainly cannot forget the teachers… pre-school teachers wiping tears and running noses, middle school teachers helping show a better way to lost students, high school teachers inspiring our youth to new heights and a future of hope, and college professors who walk alongside students both young and old, as they search their path in this life.  And let’s not forget to pray for all the parents out there.  There is no harder job than to raise a child, and no greater joy than to see them succeed. 

Gracious and holy God, bless this school year for each student and teacher, bus driver and parent.  Walk close by and whisper sweet somethings along the way.  And when each day is done, allow them all to fall into your gracious and loving arms, so they may fully rest before a new day arises.  All honor be yours, forever and ever.  Amen.  

Really??

I love the sense of accomplishment I get when a huge task is done… and done well.  Three months ago we closed on our retirement farm and ever since we’ve been busting butt trying to get what my husband calls “Phase One” done.  Because of the type of mortgage we were able to get, we were given a list of items that had to be corrected, repaired, or replaced within six months of closing.  Some we expected.  Some we did not.  Replace the roof: yep.  No brainer on that one.  It was raining indoors with areas as large as 6’ x 4’ rotted straight through the roof.  We had planned on taking off the new and replacing it with a metal roof immediately upon closing. 

Others we didn’t see coming until the list was placed in our hands, like paint several of the barns.  Really??  You would have to see these barns but it would be like putting on a brand new high gloss paint job on a car that was rusted through and needed Bondo first… a lot of Bondo first.  Just seemed crazy.  And then there were the three porches that needed to be scraped and painted.  Really?? I know I must have asked that same question far more times than the inspector had planned on answering.  Porches.  They were a priority.  On a farm.  Just made no sense to me whatsoever.  But hey, what the inspector wants the inspector gets.  (I learned that one from my husband.) 

We also expected to find on the list that one of the bathroom faucets needed to be replaced (leaking profusely) and an old stove pipe hole in one of the upper bedrooms needed to be covered, filled, or otherwise repaired.  No biggies for either of these.  One that continued to force my proverbial question was the requirement to paint the entire interior of the house.  This is not a small house, though we both thought our retirement home would be one of the little box homes you find in the halls of IKEA.  Instead, we fell in love with a five bedroom, two bath, over 2000 square foot home complete with a formal dining room, oversize living room, country kitchen and mudroom to boot.  Paint it all?  Now??  Really??  We honestly had planned on spending the next fifteen to twenty years painting a room here and a room there as we could afford to buy another can of paint and fit in the time to do it.  Nope. That was on the list too so it had to be done, all of it, along with the roof and the barns and the porches and and and…  Did I mention we also needed to pull out all the ceilings on the upper floor because they were water damaged from the roof leaking?  Yep.  That too.  So new drywall and ceiling insulation were also on the list. 

Oh, the list.  It’s at times like this you enlist all your friends, family, and even your faith family… and we did.  God bless each and every one of them.  We surely couldn’t have done it without them.  Now you might think six months to complete all this work really isn’t that bad.  Maybe.  But cut that in half.  Yes.  Half.  Come to find out, in order to get a mortgage that allows you to use some of the mortgage funds to complete initial work on the house (which we needed), you get two disbursements of funds, half when you begin and the remainder after final inspection.  That means you have to carry the second half of expenses, both materials and labor, on your own back until the job is done.  Really? Yep.  Really. 

So six months quickly was compressed into three and the race was on.  We finished this week.  We hit the finish line and received our ribbon.  Perfect inspection.  The barns had been scraped, primed and painted.  The porches the same.  The old roof was removed and the new was installed, along with new insulation in both the rafters and attic floor.  The rotted drywall was removed from the entire upper floor ceiling and new was installed, taped, mudded, sanded, primed, and painted.  Every wall in the entire house was mudded, sanded, primed and then painted… twice.  The faucet was replaced and the hole was filled.  And at 1 am before the 9 am we expected our inspector to arrive, we were done.  [sigh] Sometimes we don’t know what we are really capable of until we do it. 

What huge task do you have hovering over your head?  Don’t give up.  You’ll reach your finish line as well, if you just keep at it… and at it… and at it.  But I have to tell you, when you see the finish line and the ribbon is being dangled out in front of you like a carrot in front of a horse’s nose, just reach out your hand and grab it!  And then go take a nap.  

A Radical & A Rebel

I’m preaching a new series this month: Radicals & Rebels.  It’s all about being radically hospitable.  Most will agree that the Great Commandment to “love God and love your neighbor as yourself” is a tall order. But is it so tall we pass it by altogether? 

Jesus gives us so many examples of what this radical hospitality and love look like. The Good Samaritan parable in Luke 10.25-37 is one of the classics.  Jesus is asked what one must do to gain eternal life.  After Jesus responds with a couple of questions of his own, the man replies that the Law of Moses says “you must love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your being, with all your strength, and with all your mind, and love your neighbor as yourself.”  Jesus agrees that he answered the question right and told the man to live that way and he will truly live. 

But the man couldn’t leave well enough alone.  He goes on, “… and who is my neighbor?”  Jesus always knows when it’s time for a parable; a story with a lesson.  So he begins the story of a man who is beaten, stripped of his clothes, robbed, and left for dead along the roadside.  After a priest (a servant of the Lord God Almighty) walks on by crossing to the other side of the road, and a Levite (a servant of the Temple, God’s house) does the same, the battered and desperate man is left to die in his own misery…

… until Radical Hospitality comes meandering by.  And then everything changes.  The man is not ignored.  He is not made to feel an outcast.  He no longer feels invisible because people walk right on by while saying/doing nothing.  In fact, the man’s life will be forever changed… and that’s not even in the story.  But how could he not be? 

The third person to come by is basically a no body, and yet he could be anybody.  He comes from Samaria, a region that is not thought of very highly. In fact, God’s people won’t even associate with Samaritans.  But God will.  In Jesus’ story, it was this outcast-labeled Samaritan who not only stays on the same side of the road as the man in need, sees the man and sees he is in great need, but he also loves the man.  He goes out his way to care for every need the man has.  Jesus says “the Samaritan saw the man lying there in great need, and was moved with compassion.”  He was moved.  He was moved to get closer to the man lying on the dirt covered in blood, not back away.  He was moved to bandage his wounds, not ignore them.  He was moved to transport the man to safety, not leave him to his own demise.  He was even moved to put up his own resources to pay for all of this, and more.  The man from Samaria gave the Inn Keeper where he stayed the night before, a full two days’ wages to continue the care that he had begun.  He also told the Inn Keeper he’d be back.  He didn’t say “if I return”, but with assurance he said “when I return”.  The man’s hospitality was not complete.  He had a responsibility to the care of this man so he committed to return.  He even offered to pay more when he returned, if more care was needed than the two days wages he was already giving. 

Now that’s radical: long term commitment to someone that others, even God’s people, ignore? …hands on nurturing? …financial support? …to a stranger??  Oh wait.  We need to remember why Jesus was telling this story: as a response to the question “who is my neighbor?”  This wasn’t a stranger.   This was a neighbor… even though they came from opposing backgrounds.  In spite of being rivals, love trumped all.  As it should.  Over the top, unbelievable, doesn’t make sense to most, but makes all the sense in the world to our Creator.  Love God and love your neighbor this week… and next.  And you will truly live.  

School's In Forever!

I have an old vintage faded orange t-shirt with a chest-wide yellow sunburst in the center.  In the middle of the sunburst is the phrase “School’s Out for Summer!”  If you’ve never heard it, it was a famous line in a rock anthem.  I only get to wear it for a couple of months and then it has to be put back in the closet for another year.  Well today, I had to put it back in the closet.  I heard the first school bus throw on its breaks as it picked up my neighbors’ kids.  A friend of mine told me she did a run through on her bus route last week.  It is that time.

I saw a Facebook status this morning where a mother who just saw her daughter off to college a few weeks ago was now wishing her son a wonderful first day as a freshman in high school.  I remember that year.  Whew!  Felt good to get middle school off my back.  The year before I had gotten in trouble for hanging with a group who was lighting firecrackers, smoking a cigarette behind a tree on school property, and passing out in the bathroom during first hour because I had drank enough whiskey before getting on the bus to knock a cow over.  I remember trying to fit in, trying to make friends and trying to numb any pain I had.  I also remember being grounded all but two weeks that year.   When I got to high school, I was singing a new tune.  No more firecrackers, smoking or drinking for me!

It’s easy to forget how much each child brings with them to school each day.  Some are coming from poverty so deep they are too hungry to learn.  Others come with no sleep… again… because they were up half the night listening to family members fight through the night.  Still others come with pain deeper than we can ever imagine: their mother died of cancer, their brother is incarcerated, their father is still out of work.  Some feel stupid simply because they don’t fit the system of education we use in America.  They aren’t stupid.  But they sure feel like it when they can’t pass a test or memorize a list of names and dates.  Some are just lonely.  They seemingly have all their needs met, and carry a smart phone in their pocket and the newest tablet in their backpack.  But their parents have to work more hours to pay for them both, along with the new shoes and the car in the parking lot.  Some of our students spend way too much time alone, waiting… waiting for parents to get home, for a friend to call, or stranger to care.  So many of them live online creating a whole new world there. 

As certain t-shirts are put away for another year and as backpacks get filled with everything from crayons to the latest electronic gadgets, let’s keep a few people in our prayers.  Each student needs prayers of hope and love.  There is nothing worse than losing hope and there is nothing lonelier than not feeling loved.  Each bus driver is carrying a load worth its weight in gold.  Remember to pray for each one you see drive by each day.  Their minds can be as easily distracted as any of ours.  And we certainly cannot forget the teachers… pre-school teachers wiping tears and running noses, middle school teachers helping show a better way to lost students, high school teachers inspiring our youth to new heights and a future of hope, and college professors who walk alongside students both young and old, as they search their path in this life.  And let’s not forget to pray for all the parents out there.  There is no harder job than to raise a child, and no greater joy than to see them succeed. 

Gracious and holy God, bless this school year for each student and teacher, bus driver and parent.  Walk close by and whisper sweet somethings along the way.  And when each day is done, allow them all to fall into your gracious and loving arms, so they may fully rest before a new day arises.  All honor be yours, forever and ever.  Amen.  

Happy Birthday!

What is it about birthdays that cause us to reminisce days gone by? My brother turned the big 5-0 a couple weeks ago. His wife planned a surprise “Mel’s Diner” party complete with A & W Root Beer, awesome burgers and chili dogs, and a DJ playing music from every decade my brother and I have lived through so far.  The invite said “No presents” with a large exclamation point after it.  I brought one anyway.  I wanted to give my brother something special, something meaningful.  After all, he had lived an entire half century and I hadn’t, well, not quite yet anyway.

I have this small 3” x 3” photo in a frame on a wall in my home.  It is a photo of my brother, my grandfather and grandmother, and myself.  We are probably 4 and 5 and we’re sitting on the couch snuggled next to our grandparents.  My brother is on the left, then grandpa, then grandma, then me on the right.  We are pretty dirty, even though my brother is in a white shirt and me in a dress.  My grandparents lived on a farm, after all.  As small as this photo is, it keeps a huge spot in my heart.  It has with it so many incredibly fun memories. I am the only one who has a copy of this photo so I took it in to see if it could be enlarged a bit, without distorting the image.  Unbelievably, they were able to take it all the way up to an 8’ x 10’ and it still looked great!  I placed it in a frame and wrapped it for my brother.  I included a card with these words inside, “Mel, you were my protector and my accomplice, my roommate and my confidante. I am so very thankful that God chose you to be my brother all these years.  I am blessed. Happy birthday! I love you.  Your sis, Melany.” 

He loved the photo and the card. He told me so several times throughout the night.  I saw him again this past Sunday at his granddaughter’s 5^th birthday party.  He said it again.  We watched my 3 year old grandson and my brother’s 3, 4, and 5 year old grandsons do incredibly brave and yet stupid things together.  They jumped in a little red wagon and rode it down a pretty steep hill with the tongue lying on the ground in front of it.  They rode down the same hill on little bicycles as fast as they possibly could without dumping it.  They laughed like crazy at each other and us old folks laughed right with them.  We could have stopped them, especially when we realized the wagon was filled with rocks, but we just didn’t have it in us.  The absurdity of what they were trying to pull off was too similar to some of the stunts we tried when we were younger.  It was kind of fun watching them be just as stupid. 

I turned a year older this week too.  There’s something about August birthdays in our family.  My grandpa always said the farmers came in from the fields in November.  It’s no wonder all the babies are born in August.  I suppose he was right.  Each year we celebrate another year aged.  Each year we realize another opportunity is lost.  Each year we realize another memory was created.  We celebrate because life is worth celebrating.  People die every day.  Loved ones go through really tough losses, despair, and pain on a regular basis.  Why not stop for a moment, look at the calendar, and say out loud “We made it another year.  It was sometimes hard, but it was good.  We could have gotten hurt worse than we did, but we didn’t.  And we laughed.  We laughed plenty.  Thank you Lord for brothers and sisters, for grandkids and friends.  Thank you for life and breath and wagons and bicycles.  Thank you for memories made and pains forgotten.”  Any of you having a birthday out there?  Happy Birthday, my friend… and yes, I’ll have another piece of cake.  

Simmerin' Soup

Blessings from the Michigan Area School for Pastoral Ministry.  If you’re a regular reader of my musings, you’ll know what that means, and if not, I can simply say I am away at school with 130 of my colleagues who are also pastors.  And what a morning it has been.  As I write we have just came out of our first morning sessions on the first day of school and have broken for lunch.  I could tell you about the motorcycle club that became the church to others in need, or reflect on some of the diverse images I have already seen on the large screens in front of me. 

Instead, I want to share soup with you.  Yes. Soup. Bishop Woodie White preached this morning during worship and he shared many illustrations, stories, and memories.  He was a young pastor in the Detroit area many, many years ago.  As a bishop in the United Methodist Church he’s a lifer.  Once called to be a bishop, always a bishop… even after retirement.  So Bishop White’s experiences are wide and deep.  He shared the story of a young seminarian in the south in the 60s who went to stand in solidarity with those who were being prevented from having a vote, even though they were Americans.  While standing in a crowd praying, he was shot by a police officer who was called to come “deal with the disturbance.”  It was not this young man’s fight, yet because it was his neighbor’s, he stood, and he died, in solidarity.  Bishop White also shared that this year was the first General Conference (worldwide meeting of UM churches) he had not attended since 1962.  I was born in 63.  I can only imagine all the issues he has seen the church deal with over those years. 

Yet I still come back to soup.  Bishop White shared that every Monday as a child his mother would make vegetable soup.  Only later in life did he realize why.  His mother cleaned the fridge each Monday and took all leftovers and created the soup.  He said there would be white potatoes and red tomatoes, yellow squash and even green okra.  His mother let it simmer together all day every Monday.  At dinner time everyone would join around the table and the pot of soup would be placed there in the middle of everyone… and the aroma would begin to waft by each of their noses.  Mom would then begin to ladle out scoop by scoop into their bowls. 

Bishop White, just a young boy then, would notice each time that the white potatoes were still white potatoes even though they had mingled with the other vegetables throughout the day.  And the red tomatoes would remain red tomatoes and the yellow squash would remain yellow squash, as well.  The okra, as Bishop told the story, sadly remained okra.  But something happened.  When he picked up his spoon and began to eat the soup, he would realize week in and week out that something had happened.  Something extraordinary had happened.  Although the potatoes remained potatoes and held all their integrity as potatoes, they were not the same potatoes for the tomatoes and the squash and even the okra had affected the potatoes… and made them even better.  And the tomatoes, though still tomatoes, were changed for the better as well.  And down the line this little boy would realize just how much being thrown in the same pot and spending time with each other throughout the day had made something spectacular happen.  He called it common ground.  A harmony of common ground had occurred; a ground where each could stand with integrity, but was transformed into something even more.  He admitted that even the okra had gotten better, yet of course, it was still okra. 

I hope you spend some time in a pot this week.  Simmer with those a little different than you.  I can’t wait to return home and inhale deeply.  The aroma will be stunning, I am sure.  

Out For Summer, But Not For Life

I am never too old to learn… and neither are you.  I just returned from a few weeks of Sabbath and then vacation, but am not headed back to work yet.  Instead, I leave on Monday for nearly a week of pastor’s school with over a hundred of my colleagues on the beautiful campus of Michigan State University.  There will be a workshop on how to use Facebook to minister to the unchurched and our own congregations.  There will be others on how to take better care of our bodies, how to manage conflict in our faith communities, and how to use drama as a spiritual discipline.  Bishop Woodie White will be sharing his insights on many of the intersections between race and religion, a conversation that is well needed in a polarized society of blacks and whites, rich and poor, “conservative Republicans” and “liberal Democrats”.  We live in a seemingly us and them society that isn’t much willing to even have a conversation anymore, not if it means we have to listen to someone else.  And Tom and Dee Yaccino will be teaching us all a thing or two about forming community. They have spent years in South America embedded in the lives of the people they have come to know.  They don’t wait for, or expect, these people to “show up” at the church.  Instead, they expect the church to show up in the lives of those who live in the communities around the church.  What a novel idea. 

I look forward to this school every year because I know I will be stretched, strained, and even worn to the bone by the time the school is over.  I will be expected to listen more than I speak, and talk with others about my reflections.  I will take pages and pages of notes and I will begin to make connections between what I will learn and how I will apply it back in my community, my church, and even my life at home.  And this is only one of three to four continuing education events I attend each  and every year as a Christ follower… in addition to ongoing reading and study.  This year one of the professors at Spring Arbor University, Dr. Richard Cornell, will be teaching a Sunday morning class at Concord United Methodist Church on the Book of Revelation.  I can’t wait!  I know I will learn a ton that I did not know before the class began.  We have another adult class that runs throughout the school year, as well.  It walks through a book of the bible, verse by verse, chapter by chapter, page by page.  It’s a great class for beginners who have rarely or never read scripture, or a great discipline for the person who has been reading the bible for years. 

On Sunday evenings, our youth have an opportunity to learn as well.  Free Methodists, Presbyterians, United Methodists, and even teens who don’t attend a church, all come together on Sunday evening to SECYM (Seek Him or Sunday Evening Community Youth Ministry).  They learn how to live with others who are different than themselves, how to serve others who are in greater need even than they are, and how to live like Jesus did when he was walking this earth.  It’s a daunting task. 

In just a few weeks, we’ll be kicking off our classes for kids as well.  Sunday mornings we have a couple of classes that teach kids how Jesus lived, and on Wednesday evenings we go a step further and claim how Jesus lived for ourselves.  Living like/for Jesus is a choice, you know.  It’s a choice when you are five and it’s a choice when you are fifteen.  And honestly, it’s a choice when you are fifty five or even seventy five.  As Christ followers, our learning never stops.  We can never really know all who God is, even with the example of Jesus… so we keep learning… we keep reading… we keep listening… and we keep growing.  Or we don’t.  What choice will you make as another summer comes to a close and a whole new plethora of opportunities fall into your lap?

Just Leave, Would You?!

Va-cate:  Leave (a place that one previously occupied); “rooms must be vacated by noon”. Give up (a position or employment).  Render void, to surrender possession or occupancy.  Synonyms: leave, quit, evacuate, empty, abandon, clear, void. 

Yes.  All of those.  I am on vacation right now and I left: my home, my community, my church, my responsibilities.  I gave up my position of employment: others are filling in, responsibilities have been shifted, the work will still be done, but not by me.  And I certainly have rendered myself void and surrendered possession of all kinds of garb that really had to go: baggage, hurts, guilt, exhaustion, excessive multitasking, and more.  Isn’t that what vacations are all about? 

It’s easy to get caught up in the “where are we going”, “how will we get there”, and “who will we see when we get there” stuff and miss the real point of a vacation.  Sure, we often go somewhere when we “leave” the place we typically occupy and we have to get there through some means of transportation, and often we do look forward to spending time with others we just don’t have time to when we are going full speed ahead.  But I have been on those vacations where I needed a vacation from the vacation when I got home from the first vacation!  I know you know what I’m talking about.  We pack so much into a mere three day weekend or week off that we are downright exhausted when we return home and are not sure we have anything left in us to return to our normal pace of work/family/responsibility. 

I’m not pointing fingers here… okay, I am pointing fingers, but I think the tourism industry and Chamber of Commerce are behind this lunacy.  And add to that the home improvement centers and hardware stores.  I mean, I say the word “vacation” and my hubby has a list started on the fridge of things he’d like me to get done before I return to my hectic I’ll-see-you-next-quarter lifestyle.  This week the list includes scrubbing walls so they can be prepped, prepping walls so they can be primed, priming walls so they can be painted, and then painting walls so they can be… well, painted!  Oh, that’s both upstairs and downstairs please.  The tools and supplies are all at here for you.  [big smile followed by big hug] … sigh… I need a vacation.  I know, I know, “You just got back from a week of Sabbath!” Right.  So I have to go back to work now??

I will admit though, the baggage falls off my back with each push of the scraper.  And all the hurts?  They begin to mend as I start applying the drywall mud.  And the guilt?  You know the “I wish I could do more to help more people and get more accomplished” guilt thing?  Not here. If the day whittles away with several walks out to the gardens or the kittens jump on my lap one more time to lick me clean or nibble on my shirt, there’s no guilt here.  I might get the painting done.  More than likely I won’t.  But I’ll get more done than I could if I wasn’t on vacation!  And the exhaustion?  Yes, that is gone too.  I notice myself walking slower, eating slower, and even thinking and talking slower. No exhaustion for this girl. And last but not least, that pesky old multitasking monger that rides my back like a freaked out monkey on steroids?  He’s on vacation too.  Been napping for a couple days now.  I think he was just as exhausted holding on as I was carrying him. 

Have you noticed the beautiful print on the wings of a butterfly and the elegance in their flapping?  Yah, me neither.  Not in a while anyway.  But I did today.  And will again tomorrow.  I hope you get a chance to vacate before summer is over.  Don’t worry. It doesn’t cost a thing… just your pride.  Your work, community, even your family, can live without you in the driver’s seat a few days… if you let them.