Remembering

It is funny what we remember and what we forget.

I was scrolling through the pictures of our recent trip to Haiti and thinking to myself, "I don't ever want to forget!" I posted a picture from the trip to my desktop as a constant reminder. I am trying to position Haiti in my mind and heart in ways that I will not forget.

Since coming home from Haiti, Dustin and I have been making some changes around our house. We have totally gone through our clothing and cut back on all we are keeping. Basics, necessities, and important things only. "Why do we need so much?" we keep asking ourselves.

I have been in the process of organizing our memorabilia to get things cleaned up. Each person has a Tupperware with their stuff in it. Andrew and Ethan both have some of their teeny tiny preemie clothes, little things they have made, pictures and other memories of their little lives. Dustin and I have baby clothes in ours too, precious reminders of what once was. Dustin has a heap of crazy things I drew, weird books I illustrated and a bunch of other odd things I made for him while we were dating. As I have carefully gathered these things up and gently placed them in their boxes I have done a lot of remembering. I have smiled, cried a little and laughed out loud at some of the things that we have so that we can "remember!"

I found a paper from when I was a senior in high school. We went to Romania when I was a junior and it forever changed my life. I wrote about that in Senior English. I remember that time. I remember that I felt God calling me to the ministry so strongly. I remember the places, the faces, the experience of Romania. But as I read that paper there was something that I had forgotten.

When we went to the orphanage the children didn't know what my braces were. I was embarrassed to have all of that metal in my mouth just to make my teeth straight. I wrote in that paper, "$3600 for straight teeth! $3600 could have bought 3600 loaves of bread." I had forgotten that. Had forgotten that feeling. Forgotten my own angst. Forgotten the desire to have less. How could I have forgotten? How?

I don't want to forget things like that anymore. I don't want to become comfortable with how things are here and forget how things are there. I don't want to remember just what happens to me and to forget what is happening to them. We know so much, have seen so much, and yet we so quickly forget. Life gets in the way. That stupid tyrannical urgency of our society fogs our memories and blinds us to what is important. How can I forget anymore? I can't.

$3600 could have bought 3600 loaves of bread. I don't want to forget that.

The $4 I used to spend on a cup of coffee could mean life for Haitians. I don't want to forget that.

The money spent on my birthday and Christmas gifts could provide food, education, and hope for countless people. I don't want to forget that.

Haiti has changed me, again. It has helped me to remember things I already knew but had forgotten. From now on I'm working on remembering.

www.haitiwaterproject.com

Tears

I'm thankful for tears...

They pour out passion. When I hear a song that resonates with my soul, tears form in the corners of my eyes. I'm thankful for the visible sign of the deepness in my soul that is otherwise hidden by smiles, skin and words.

I'm thankful for tears...

The tears Jesus shed over Jerusalem and her wayward, destructive, confusion fill me with a sort of thankfulness I can't explain. Thank you for those tears, that passion, that poured from Your eyes over their lostness and mine.

Those eyes wept for a friend too. Thank you for the story of Lazarus and how it shows that you are like me although vastly different in Your sameness.

And I'm thankful for the tears in the Garden of Gethsemane. The sorrow You held in Your bosom couldn't stay captured there. It broke free and burst forth, flowing freely down your face! Flowing for me, and for You and for the world. Those tears remind me that my salvation wasn't easy for You.

I'm thankful for tears...

Tears are always a sign of love really. I'm thankful for the words they speak as they leave a glistening trail down my cheeks. I'm thankful for the puffy eyes they leave behind, physical signs of the spiritual, internal, emotional.

I'm thankful for tears...

I'm thankful for tears of joy, tears of anger, tears of fear, tears of wonder, tears of thankfulness.

Thorn in the Flesh

I'm thankful for a thorn in the flesh.

I wish it was thornier really. I wish it would cause me more angst. I want to be more thankful for it.

I want to be more mindful of it's pain, more moved by it's prick, more shaped by it's stab. I wish the thorn gave me a limp or something! If it caused me to limp maybe I would do more about it. Maybe if I had to wear a lift in my shoe I'd care more. Because then I'd have to more carefully choose my shoes. Maybe I'd have to fork over extra money for American made shoes, or fair trade shoes, or sustainably made shoes. No Chinese sweat shop shoes when your feet hurt. Maybe if it was a constant dull pain I'd try to do something to relieve it. Pain so strong I wouldn't want it to come back so I'd prevent it. I want to be more thankful for the thorn in my flesh.

But as it is, I just have a stabbing pain occasionally, and so I take my reusable bag to the store. I have that ache and so I string up a clothes line but only use it one summer. I feel bad about conflict diamonds and want to sell mine even though it's certified but I forget. It's like a pulled muscle, it's uncomfortable but it also feels good to squeeze it--it hurts good. I massage that pain with these little remedies but it does nothing to cure the cancer. I do green, organic things and the pain feels good like in my tiny sacrifice I've done something good for the earth, good for myself, good for my family, good for all of the above. I use my RED card at Starbucks EVERY day. I should feel good about that. I'm helping with AIDS in Africa after all. But wait, I contribute to the landfill as I throw away my cups as my reusable one collects dust in my cupboard. Something is wrong there. I wish the pain was deeper, the tumor bigger, the treatment rigorous, if I don't take chemo and radiation I might lose this battle! I wish the prick was permanent, lasting, constant, that I never could forget. I want to be thankful for the thorn in my flesh.

But I'm so busy. I'm so tired. I'm doing good in other ways. I'm okay.

But I'm not. I have the cancer of consumerism growing in the cells of my body and squelching my soul. I have the infection of apathy bad. I'm not okay. I know it. What I do isn't fine. How I spend my money isn't right. What happens to animals, land and people because of me is sick and sinful. I want to be thankful for the thorn in my flesh.

I am thankful for the thorn in the flesh. But I want to do something about it. I want to be thankful for how that thorn spurred me on to change the world, to live lighter, to be a whole person in a whole world. I want to be always seeing others and be mindful that my gain could radically rob someone else somewhere of a good, rich and true life. I could be the thorn in someone's flesh, and more than that I could be the cancer that kills them body and spirit. I don't want that. I don't want to forget that. I don't want to live like that. I want to be thankful for the thorn in my flesh.

Bridges

I'm thankful for bridges. Thankful for their strength. I'm thankful for their shape and beauty. The curve and form of the bridge high above, the smooth surface, sleek and serene spanning the rough waters below, thankful. The uniqueness of design all for one function: the bridge keeps you on the road, keeps you dry, no fording the river for you. Thanks bridge.

I'm thankful for bridges. Thankful for people who span great divides. Their shape and form are equally beautiful but they are varied and surprising! I'm thankful for those who bring two sides together. Thankful for people who raise me up, who lift me above the raging sea of life, keep me safe and dry, thankful. When the chaotic waters of life swirl around me, when I can't wade through, when my covered wagon has tipped over in my attempt to ford the waters I need those bridge folks. Thanks bridge.

I'm thankful for bridges. Thankful for Jesus Christ who bridged the divide between me and You. Thankful that He sacrificed Himself, laid Himself down to span the distance, thankful. Thank You for the beauty of His humble form, His majestic grace, the serenity His selfless gift brings. I'm thankful for the bridge of Life. Thanks bridge.

Light

I'm thankful for light. Thankful for the beauty of sunbeams bursting out of the clouds, their long arms stretched to the heavens and illuminating the earth. The sight of sun resting on the rolling hills, casting shadows, birthing bright hues of greens and blues and browns, reflecting on glassy waters, brings light to the soul. I'm thankful for the warmth of the sun and how it toasts my skin to a gentle brown.

I'm thankful for the light that reflects through prisms and takes a simple piece of glass and casts a rainbow of colors and light about the room. From simple to complex. From ordinary to extraordinary.

I'm thankful for the sparkle that halogen brings to everything. The twinkle in eyes, the glitter of glass, the flash of teeth, the sheen of metal, the crisp beauty that comes with the crisp light.

I'm thankful for the lights that can be dimmed. As a child I loved the dimmer switch in our dining room. There is something about that darkened light that makes it feel more important, like the room itself has a secret. The depth that comes when the lights go down is almost palpable. The intimacy of a dimmed bulb is strange and beautiful.

I'm thankful for the flickering light of a candle. Thankful for the shadows it makes on the wall as it throws it's meager light across the room. I'm thankful for light's ability to cast shadows. For the things that appear dark in the site of light. It can be a dark darkness or a deepness--a contrast that is a reminder of the light. In the absence of light we are mindful of it's power, it's importance, it's illuminating quality.

I'm thankful for the crackling campfire and the memories that pop into my mind in the way the kindling pops it's hot embers into the night sky. Thankful for the flaming marshmallows that bring laughter and delicious treats, the smell of pine needles ablaze, the sparks escaping the heat of the flame and disappearing like the blurred tail of a shooting star.

I'm thankful for the myriad of stars, the little light they shine that constitutes a largeness I can't even comprehend. Their ancient light landing upon my retina, my cornea, my rods and cones. I'm thankful for their massive galactic light, but a pin prick in the sky.

I'm thankful that Jesus is the Light of the world, The Light, the True Light. All that is beautiful or noteworthy of light is truest in Him. I'm thankful that in my darkness He has shown His loving, merciful, hope filled Light. Thankful for the Light He continues to shine on me.

I'm thankful for the light that allows me to see, to live, to function. Thankful for the process of light bringing me health and happiness. Thankful for the light that gives me life, body and soul.

Music

I'm thankful for ears to hear. Thankful for the vibrations as the sound enters narrow canals. Tiny bones working together to process waves are something to be thankful for. I'm thankful for the pounding in my chest when the bass drum pounds. Literally I hear with my heart. I feel the music inside of me. For this I give thanks.

I'm thankful for the rise and fall of the notes in their melodic tones warming me heart and soul like a cozy blanket, a warm fire and a hot drink. Something about the tune sings within me. There is a primal sense to it. It is a song I was born to hear. Not just me, but all people from all time. Something about the purity of a note speaks of the purity of my Lord and Savior. His grace like a beautiful melody sings in my soul. For this I give thanks.

I'm thankful for the myriad instruments that sing in varied voices. Thankful for the sobbing of the violin. I'm thankful for the depth of emotion from the heavy strings of the cello. Thankful for the haunting song of the oboe. Thankful for the beat of the drum like the beat of my heart bringing life to the music, carrying it forward. I'm thankful for the sweet plunk of the piano keys that lift the melody. I'm thankful for the delicate guitar strings that ring true like the words of Jesus. For this I give thanks.

I'm thankful for the sound of singing. For the variety, the creativity, the unifying ability of the voice lifted in song I am thankful. So many voices singing songs that move the heart and change the world. I'm thankful for voices lifted together in praise--goosebumps! I'm thankful for the intricacies of harmony. The same words are sung but the layered notes add richness, depth, emotion to one another. Even though the notes are different they belong together, knit together. For this I give thanks.

I'm thankful for the acoustics in old chapels, auditoriums and hallways--the echo chambers that make one voice sound like many. The reverberations of voices and instruments don't merely echo in a room, they echo in the soul. For this I give thanks.

I'm thankful for the words of songs that speak what my heart longs to cry out. I'm thankful for the faithful teachers who hand down the passion to not merely know music but to love it as well. I'm thankful for the voices of my children singing. I'm thankful that I can open my mouth and sing. Thankful that I can express what is within me through song. I'm thankful for generations of musicians who have brought glory to our God and king. Thankful for songs of Redemption that ring in my ears, cause my heart to pound stronger, flow through my very veins and carry me through this life. For all of these I give thanks.

I am thankful for music, for songs, and for the melody of Jesus Christ that sings to me, in me and hopefully through me. For this I give thanks.

Thankfulness

Try to spend fifteen minutes being thankful. Don't do anything else but list the things you want to say thanks for. Thanks for this, thanks for that, thanks for them, thanks for those. Try it. Some of the women I meet with for accountability group tried it and found it very difficult. "That is a long time!" one of them said with a look of exhaustion on her face. "I was thanking God for green grass, leaves on trees, trying to find anything to be thankful for," another piped up. They were discouraged by this exercise. I was surprised really. 15 minutes doesn't seem like that long to be thankful. Certainly I could find things to thank God for that amount of time. So I took it on as a challenge.

I decided to write my thankful thoughts in my journal. I sat down. Pen in hand. Time to be thankful. This should be a piece of cake. I touched the tip of the inky pen down and lifted it up without drawing a stroke. What am I going to write? What do I want to say? How do I want my thanks to come across? I'm thankful for the green grass but why am I thankful for it? Is this a list of thanks or is this a river of thanks?

I think I prefer the river. I am, after all, thankful for rivers. I love how they flow up and down, side to side. I am thankful for the way they shape and form rocks and banks. I am thankful for the sound of the rushing water that takes me back to my childhood and draws me forward as it surges by. I'm thankful not for a list of good things but I am thankful for life and all it is about. It is more than a list, that's for sure.

So in my quest to spend time being thankful I decided to choose something that I knew I was thankful for. I guess I started to make a list in my head, maybe there won't be that artsy river after all. Hmmm, I'm thankful for my family, my church, for all kinds of things. But I don't just want to say what I'm thankful for, I want to say why! Focus! So I started with music. I am thankful for music. I am. That is a fact. But that didn't take me fifteen minutes to write, more like 15 seconds. I am thankful for music... and then I kept on writing.

Here is my thankful journey. I want to express my gratitude, not in a wooden list of facts but rather like a gushing brook, babbling and snaking through my heart and life. Cause that is what true thankfulness is, moving, shaping, growing in us as we acknowledge it and acknowledge it's source. I really am thankful.

A piece of land

My mom always tells us kids that she wants to be buried in a piece of land. Even if we cremate her, she wants to be buried. To have a place, a plot, a spot marked out. We will honor this for her.

I was just thinking about this. I want a piece of land too. I want it before I die. I don't mean an acre to live on. I want a piece of land, a place, a plot, a spot marked out.

My piece of land will have fertile ground. I want to turn it over with a shovel. Oh to feel it in my hand. Feel it's velvety brownness sifting through my fingers, clinging under my fingernails. I want fertile ground.

My piece of land will grow things. I want to plant seeds in that rich earth. Carefully placing them in the ground. Carefully covering them with the soil. Carefully watering them and nurturing them and watching them and protecting them. I want to plant seeds.

My piece of land will grow a good crop. I'm not a farmer, but I want crops. Corn, tomatoes, potatoes, carrots, lettuce, beans, strawberries, melons, my crops. There will be fruit trees too, on my piece of land. Apples, oranges, lemons, pears, cherries hanging from the trees, ripe and ready to eat. I want crops.

My piece of land will have flowers. All around the border of my crops I will plant flowers. Beautiful flowers to beautify my little piece of land. I want flowers.

My piece of land will have a line of people on it. Hungry people. They will be in line for my crops. But they will really be our crops. They will help to work that fertile soil. They will help to plant those seeds. They will help to harvest the crop. With our hands we will feed ourselves. In our hands will be the fruit of our labor. In our hands will be a bouquet of flowers. In our hands will be a solution. I want a line of hungry people.

I want a piece of land. I want it before I die. I don't mean an acre to live on. I want a piece of land, a place, a plot, a spot marked out.

Accountability

Accountability.

When someone wants to hold me accountable how will I respond?

With excuses?
With lies?
With accusations?
With defensiveness?
With turning my back?

Proof that I need accountability.

Too bad my excuses cloud my vision.
Too bad lies build walls that destroy community.
Too bad accusations seem to take the light of truth off of me but leave me in shadows.
Too bad defensiveness makes me feel like I have the power.
Too bad turning my back means I will never have been held accountable.

Proof that I need accountability.

Without accountability I will never grow.
Without accountability I will never blossom.
Without accountability I will never have the chance to die;
the chance to die so that new life can come.

Oh, I'll die with or without accountability, but I will never have truly lived.

Proof that I need accountability.

When someone wants to hold me accountable how will I respond?

With graciousness.
With honesty.
With humility.
With hopefulness.
With an open hand.

Proof that I need accountability.

What is that sound?

So, my husband is out of town. When he leaves I have trouble sleeping. I have to leave the back patio light on, just in case. I wake up easily. I don't like it. Last night, the first night he was gone, I went to bed around 12:30 and was brave enough to shut the patio light off. I snuggled down in my lonely bed and went to sleep.

At around 1am I was awakened by a noise. Now, I'm not the only one that doesn't sleep well when Dustin is gone. My little boys have trouble too. In a groggy voice I say outloud to what I assumed was Andrew, my seven year old, "It's okay buddy, you can get in bed with me for a while." No answer. I dozed back off.

I heard the noise again and looked at my cell phone. 1:27am. I looked over the edge of the bed on both sides. No child laying there with pillow and blankie. I heard the noise again. My heart began to pound. I prayed the sound was coming from outside and I listened hard to be sure. Alas, not coming from outside. It was inside. What was it??? I turned on the lamp and looked in the direction of the rustling. Perched on the edge of child's shoe box was a palm sized frog. My eyes bulged in horror.

Now, I'm not afraid of frogs. I picked one up in the backyard not that long ago. But Dustin is gone, it is 1:29am by now, I'm all alone and there is a frog in my bedroom! This is not right. Heart pounding and ears ringing I got up to search for something to capture it in. Racing through my mind was, "Think like Dustin! Think like Dustin!" It didn't work. He would know what to do, he always does. I couldn't find anything that seemed like a good option.

What if I miss and scream and wake the children. What if it hops under the bed, I'll never sleep. What if it gets on me and pees or something. What then? I decided to throw a towel on it and strap it around the box and run out the back door and fling it into the lawn. Seems good enough, maybe my husband would approve. Maybe not.

I decided to open the backdoor so that I would be completely ready for this event. That is when I remembered Squeaky. I closed my eyes, my face grimacing, chills running up my spine. Squeaky. Squeaky was a giant five inch moth that someone in the church gave my two little boys earlier in the week. I hate moths that measure 2 centimeters, let alone five inches. When we turned out the lights Squeaky flapped his freakishly large mothy wings inside his Tupperware prison and I thought I might die of horror.

Why was I remembering Squeaky? Because he was humanely released back into the wild a few days ago. He sat on the pine tree for a day and a half and then disappeared. I am sure that he is lurking under the eaves of the house or in the garage waiting for the perfect moment to attack me. This would be the perfect moment. Frog in the bedroom, moth planning an ambush. It seems like anything could happen.

I opened the sliding glass door in spite of my concerns about Squeaky and went back into the bedroom. By this time the frog had moved into a higher position on the box and was perched like he was going to hop off and escape somewhere. I hollered out, "No!" like you would to a dog who was peeing on the side of the couch.

The frog didn't move but I did. As fast as I could I chucked a towel over that creepy creature and knocked it inside the box. With shivers racing up and down my spine I tucked the terry cloth under the cardboard. You would have thought the box had the plague or was on fire with the horror in which I touched it. The frog was leaping about under the towel giving me a breakdown! I ran for the door. Dropped the package carefully and pulled the towel back in horror, looking to the sky for any sign of Squeaky's attack, I was safe. The frog jauntily hopped into the grass and there was no moth madness. I got back into bed and couldn't sleep. Every noise worried me.

Maybe there is a colony of frogs under the bed... You never know!

Listen to me!

Ethan is three. He is getting very smart. He has a problem listening. The latest thing is when he gets in trouble and a punishment is given he says, "I'll listen now. I'm listening." He even said today, "When you get in trouble and then you listen you are a good boy." The problem is he hears. He doesn't listen. Two very different things. He hears but he doesn't act. He still kicks the wall. He still kicks his brother. He still kicks dirt. He still kicks the babysitter. And that is just kicking. He hears us say, "Don't kick!" but he doesn't listen.

Ethan is three. I'm thirty. I think I'm pretty smart. I have a problem listening. The latest thing is I hear the voice of God pulling at my heart and I don't do what that tugging is asking of me to do. I hear it, but I don't always act.

If I want my baby boy to do it, how much more does God want me to do it?

Investment

Why do we make investments? I mean I know what an investment does. I can see how they are valuable in the financial world. I understand that they can make life much easier down the road because you will have a nest egg, a cushion, something to rely on. I get that.

We are living in times when investments have gone south for countless people. The economy, the economy, the economy. It's all we hear about. It's bad. It's going down the toilet. It's a recession. Could it be a ghastly second Great Depression? I get that too.

I understand the value of investments but I also understand the risk.

The truth is I don't want to talk about money. I'm not interested in the stock market. Investments of those kinds aren't what is causing me angst tonight. It is personal investment, life investment, relational investment that confuses me. Not only confuses, but conflicts and confounds, irritates and hurts. It hurts. It really does.

Certainly a bad investment in the financial world can hurt me. But a bad investment in the relational world, how do you recover from that?

If my 401k tanks, I can work past retirement, take out a loan, start scrimping and saving all the more now so I can live better later. I can do those things.

But if a friendship tanks, what then? How do I recover? If I have given my life to someone, offered them the care they deserve, showed them the love of God, dedicated myself to their well being and then things don't go the way that I wish, my investment doesn't have a positive return so to speak, what now?

But I suppose the real issue is that these kinds of investments are radically different from one another. In fact, in my heart I know that I don't invest in the lives of others with the hopes to get some positive return. That is a bonus, but that isn't the motivation. I invest in others because I love them. I really love them.

I want certain outcomes. But there are no guarantees. Relational investing is really a bad investment when we look at it through the world's eyes. The likelihood that I will lose is way higher than that I will gain. And yet, I still want to give, to share life, to journey, to take the time with others on the slight chance that something radically new will take place in their lives. It has in mine.

To be honest, the return is much slower than I would like. In reality, the return is sometimes a statement that reads losses instead of gains.

I still think it is an investment worth making. I do. Countless investments have been made on my behalf. I'll still invest even if the relational market is tanking.

The Love of God

A new hospital is being built in our town. It is a much needed addition. Mercy is currently the worst hospital I have ever entered in the US. I have seen third world hospitals, and there is something about Mercy that feels third world. You go into a time warp. The shape of the elevators, the four bed rooms with people coughing and calling out all around feels like a foreign country, a foreign place, foreign.

When I walked into Susie’s room this morning she looked at me as if I was a foreigner. I could tell by the look in her swollen eyes that she didn’t recognize me. She spoke sweetly and knew she should know who I was but she couldn’t figure it out.

I sat down on the bed, took her hands in mine and said, “Hi Susie, it’s Pastor Olivia.” She immediately knew who I was then. She felt terrible that she couldn’t recognize me right off the bat. She was embarrassed. I wasn’t upset at all. After all, here she is in a foreign place—she’s used to being home. She has foreign substances coursing through her veins. She is under an unusual amount of stress because of the health problems she is facing. It didn’t bother me at all that I wasn’t recognized.

It wasn’t just me that wasn’t recognizable. As the conversation continued it was clear that her mind was not cooperating with her. She forgot names of family members. Tried to remember my husbands name and was frustrated that she could not. This was a different Susie than I know. Her behavior was foreign to me.

We visited for a while and I could tell that the pain medication was causing her to get drowsy so I figured I better wrap things up. I pulled out my purse Bible that I had marked to Romans 8. I unsnapped the worn leather cover and flipped through the delicate pages.

I read to Susie, “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love Him who have been called according to His purpose…” She nodded her head and closed her eyes.

I kept on reading to the rise and fall of her breathing. “What, then, shall we say in response to this? If God is for us, who can be against us.” She gripped my hand rhythmically as I read. Her heart may be failing but her hand pumped mine in time, like a firmly beating heart.

“For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels or demons…” Her lips slowly moved, trying to follow along with me. “Neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, not anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us form the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

She opened her eyes, looked me squarely in the face, squeezed my hand and said, “Amen.”

In a place that seems so foreign, in situations that are uncomfortable and disquieting, in a locale that is filled with distractions the Word of God is familiar. Susie might not have ever recognized me but I know that she would have recognized the Word of God. When everything else was foreign around her, everything else was in shambles, when everything else was confusing, she knew, clearly, as plain as day that what I read to her was God’s Word. There is something comforting and comfortable about that. Right there in that hospital room, in our terrible facility, the Word of God was revealed as true. No pain medication, no circumstance, no illness could separate Susie from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus, and she knew it.

No, I Do It Like Daddy

My son Ethan is two and a half and fantastically potty trained. I thought it was going to be a nightmare when we started but I was wrong. It went well. It didn't take long. He even gets up in the night to go potty. That is good boy behavior but not good sleeping for me.

On the day in question he was in the nursery at church and he had to go. We have this tiny little toilet in there, tiny little thing. No adult should use it. I know from experience. It is so low to the ground that you think you might fall into a black hole before you finally find your resting place on it. That is probably too much information but I want you to picture that cute little tiny commode. It is so tiny. It was time to go and the nursery attendant got him ready to sit right down on the kid sized potty. But that wouldn't do. Even though that is what he always does, he wouldn't do it. No sitting for this little boy. No sitting today. Instead he said to her, "No, I do it like daddy."

We had a good laugh over that. Probably once again, too much information, but it is in little moments like this that suddenly my heart is stretched. "No, I do it like daddy" is funny coming out of the mouth of a little boy who wants to be a big boy. It is also powerful. It demonstrates the vast amount of trust, respect and awe that a little boy has for daddy. It reminds me of Jesus and how he talked about how his actions show us the face of the father. Jesus lived the perfect life of "doing it like daddy." Now, Jesus and God are one so it might feel a little bit like a no brainer that Jesus would be able to pull that off. But Jesus was also fully man, right. Fully man and fully God. I am fully human. But I have this God glimmer in me, this imago Dei, this Divine Spark that calls out in the midst of my life: "I wanna do it like Daddy. I wanna be like Jesus."

I talked on Sunday about the Shema and how when the Jewish people used the word "hear" it didn't just mean, "Listen up!" it meant "listen and then act." The most powerful thing I can do as a Christian is to listen to the Words of Jesus and then do them. I don't want to sit on my hands anymore. I don't want to wrestle with sin anymore. I don't want to objectify others, categorize people, or make judgement calls that are none of my business. I want to be like Jesus. I want to do what Jesus did. I want my trust in Him to be so strong, so deep, so rich that no matter where I am or what I am doing I will say, "No, I'm gonna do it like Jesus."

I got all of that from a little boy who wanted to pee like his dad, isn't God funny!

Compact Fluore-Yucky Light Bulbs

I hate fluorescent light bulbs. I know that hate is a strong word and that is why I chose to use it here. I hate them. They cause my brain to buzz like their obnoxious humming ballasts. They cause my eyes to twitch along with their garish, pulsating light. They make me curl my lip up in disgust like their--sorry there is nothing they do that looks like that. I really do hate them.

When we moved into our house here in Atwater, the kitchen had one of those huge, elementary school classroom, fluorescent light fixtures. It had to go. Why would I want that hideous thing lighting up my kitchen. When it got left on and I was sitting in our living room it would shoot it's ugly light directly into my eyes. I would have to go shut it off or have a seizure--either from the light or my own issues with the light. Sadly, almost four years later, it remains. And even more sad than that, almost every light, lamp, and fixture in my home has a compact fluore-yucky light bulb in it.

I told you I wanted to be green. Getting those compact fluore-yucky bulbs is a great first step. They dramatically save on energy and they last for eons--sounds like a great green solution. They are even getting cheaper and cheaper, that's a bonus. And the truth is they are coming out with more and more options for people like me who hate that freakish blue-white light and that vicious humming. Follow this link to find out a little more of the science behind these bulbs. Get to changing your bulbs, it will make a difference!

http://www.energystar.gov/index.cfm?c=cfls.pr_cfls

Adventures in "Going Green"

So, we have been trying to get "greener" as they say.

I grew up in Seattle where the green grows between your toes. That could be because of the rain or it could be because of the "tree huggers" that live there. If you lived there you would hug the trees too, so beautiful.

Atwater is brown. Brown in many ways really. We have been in a drought for over three years. Brown. This is really an arid place even though it is one of the highest agricultural centers in the nation--they pipe in the water. Brown. So we are literally brown. But there is also the figurative brown that comes with a small town that doesn't yet have a recycling program or other avenues for cleaning up our act. That doesn't mean these things won't happen, aren't happening or can't happen. Green is coming, whether we like it or not, and I happen to like that squishy green stuff between my toes and running through my veins.

For the next few weeks I will be sharing with you some of our "Adventures in Going Green." I have found that there are lots of little things we all can do that will make a difference and that there are also some big things that cost a lot that we can do if we are willing to sacrifice. I hope you enjoy this little travel log of our adventure. Maybe you too will have a little green between your toes before you know it.

Kings...

I am reading 2 Kings right now, from the Bible, you know. It is all about the kings of Israel messing up and messing up and messing up. It is all about the kings of Judah messing up, sort of messing up and messing up again. Whenever one king is killed the new king likes to kill all of that king's family, advisers, priests, etc. Clean house so a new administration can start. The funny thing is that the new administration continues the work of the old administration. Now, things might be a little bit different, the health care plan might be more substantial, or this king might like reform on this issue. Yet, the pattern is the same. There might be changes but none of the changes get the people or the administration out of their rut of continual sinning. They may get rid of one bad policy but they replace it with another. They might make one good choice but in turn they make three bad ones.

Does that sound at all familiar? Does that sound like our world? I think so. We continue to make the same choices--different administration, different policies, same pattern. Sin.

Throughout 2 Kings and in countless other passages of scripture the people are called on to kill one another. To destroy, to maim, to annihilate. Now, I have my opinions about all of that but I will save that for another post. The deal is when they do this killing it doesn't change anything. The people don't get better, they don't make right choices, just because they killed. Maybe that is something we should learn from.

The Israelites asked God for a king so they could be like everyone else. The king, God told them, would subject them to all kinds of kingly things--taxes, taking their daughters, enlisting their sons. The people didn't care. Give us our king, give us our king. And with a king comes killing because a king, after all, has a lot to protect. Protect our borders, our stockpiles, our people, our way of life says the king. When God was ruler there was a lot to protect too. Protect widows, the poor, the raped, the alien, protect them God said.

We need to let God be our ruler again. We need to operate in God's protective plan.

As of 2005--that's a long time ago, now--our nation had spent $160 billion on the war in Iraq. That is a lot of money. On the website "war by the numbers" you will find these statistics in regards to the kind of impact this spending could have on the world. With $160 billion we could pay for:

• 6 years of global anti-hunger programs

• 1,446,714 additional units of public housing in the USA

• basic immunization for every child in the world for 53 years

• paid for 21,281,000 kids in Head Start

• funded worldwide AIDS programs for 16 years

Appalling really. You are welcome to have whatever view you want politically. That is how it works. The issue is this, as a Christian I am not free to view things however I want, I am to view them through the eyes of God. What does God see? Hungry people, sick kids, families who need shelter, kids who need an education, the sick in need of medicine.

Maybe we should adopt a nation. One that is struggling. Instead of offering them democracy let's offer them health care. Instead of Western ideas let's get them some clean water. Instead of being their overbearing father, let's be their friend and share ideas, methods, plans, one with another. Instead of killing them, let's offer life. That would be different than the pattern of ancient Israel and our pattern too. I'm ready for something different, aren't you?

I recognize her smell

As I told you my son Andrew is tenderhearted. It is interesting because this sensitivity to emotions seems to make him sensitive to his senses too. I wonder if there has been a study on such things.

When we moved to Atwater, CA the air was a little bit hard for us to get used to. In case you are in need of an olfactory experience just sniff dairies, feed lots and chicken farms. There is the occasional smell of roasting garlic and onion in the air when the wind blows the right way from that processing plant, but the other smells...oh my.

Drew has always been sensitive to smells. From the time he was tiny smells have attacked his little nostrils with a vengeance. He was two and a half when we pulled into town and every time he smelled the stinky air he would ask, "What is that?" We got used to telling him, "It's cow poopoo." Well, it is! For a while he would ask and we would give the same answer. It didn't take long until he would just say, all on his own, "Oh, cow poopoo" when the air was especially noxious.

His odor detecting ability has gotten sensitive to something else lately. There isn't any getting away from the stinky things but he is beginning to appreciate more and more the beautiful things.

This summer we partnered with our school district to serve food for families in need. It was a wonderful experience. Some of the people we had helping got really involved--they came almost everyday! Incredible. Lisa helped the kids with some crafts while others ate. Drew loved being near Lisa, helping her, learning from her and apparently smelling her. I will admit that she always smells very good. She is one of those people that has selected just the right fragrance--it isn't too strong but it is memorable. Drew leaned over to me in our kitchen one day and said, "I can recognize Lisa by her smell." I loved it.

But it wasn't just cute kid stuff it brought tears to my eyes. He never would have recognized Lisa's smell just from Sunday morning church. He had seen her many, many times before this summer and he never commented on this before. It took that day to day interaction with her for him to put a name, a person, a love with a certain fragrance. But as the summer went on that very thing happened.

I want to be the kind of person that people recognize by my smell. Now, I am not talking about the lotion I wear, but the scent of love coming from me. I don't want to be the kind of person that enters a room or a place and someone says, "Oh, cow poopoo." Instead I want to share life, be so close to people and to God, that people will say, "I can recognize Olivia by her smell and I can tell she has been with Jesus."

With everyone in the whole world tonight

My six year old son is tenderhearted. He is sensitive about lots of things. I was telling someone that something in the past had been hard on me. He hugged me so tight I thought I would choke and with a tearful little voice said, "I'm so sorry mom." Very sweet, very empathetic, very tenderhearted.

When he prays at bed time he often prays these words, "Jesus, will you be with everyone in the whole world tonight?" For many of us we would say, "Oh kids, they don't understand what they are saying." We might even encourage him to be more specific, "Drew, you should pray for your Grammy and Papa."

I mean, what does a blanket prayer like that mean anyway? Yes, it is sweet. Yes, it would make the old ladies ooh and ah. But it isn't specific enough really. There are real needs that should be prayed about. Real people, with names, with problems that we could pray for. What about Aunt Sue who is having surgery? What about our friend Jack who is going on a trip? What about your little brother who is in his terrible two's and needs God to zap him into the terrific three's? Let's pray for those things. Real things. Things we know about. This, "be with everyone in the whole world tonight" isn't good enough.

Or is it the best prayer possible? "Jesus, will you be with everyone in the whole world tonight?" I don't know her name but I know someone is touching her in the wrong way, protect her. I don't know the town but I know that there is war there, save them. I don't know what the strain of bacteria is but I know it is making children sick and die, heal them. Jesus, will you be with everyone in the whole world tonight? I can't, but you can.

Sitting on the stool beside Drew's bed I hear that prayer and I am convicted. Maybe he is not just tenderhearted but a bit of a prophet. After all the Bible says that from the mouths of babes truth will flow...

And the truth of that prayer flows over me like a raging river. Conviction that I don't help to answer that prayer threatens to drown me. Conviction that I don't use my hands to protect scalds my spirit like boiling water. Conviction that it isn't my feet bringing good news, it isn't my voice speaking up for the silenced, it isn't me offering a cool drink, it isn't me...it is a wave so big, so big, I might die. Do I show my child the way that God can answer his prayer? Or do I "ooh and ah" over the tender heart of a six year old, believing he will grow out of that and face reality by the time he is 14?

In Psalm 46 it says, "Come and see the works of the Lord, the desolations he has brought on the earth. He makes wars cease to the ends of the earth; he breaks the bow and shatters the spear, he burns the shields with fire."

My sons prayer is really a prayer that God will be who God is, and that God will do what God does. The answer to the prayer is in my life and yours. How are we working with God to make peace? How are we living lives that answer that tenderhearted prayer?

May I be one who joins God in His conquest for peace. May I be one who prays and lives with the little revolutionary, "Jesus, will you be with everyone in the whole world tonight." And let me be one who helps to answer this prayer.

Honesty

I would like to think I am an honest person. I know that there are times when I am not as truthful as I should be. Generally this happens when I want to protect someone. I often feel like this is right. I often feel like this is wrong. I guess it is a bit of a battle for me. 

Is it better to tell the truth and hurt someone? Sometimes. 

Is it better to keep something from someone to protect them? Sometimes.

This isn't just a battle in the way I treat others, it is an "in my heart" kind of battle too. I tell myself that I shouldn't tell someone how I really feel because they might not like me anymore, they might fight me on it, it might make my life more difficult--here I am seeking to protect myself. And yet it isn't really protection. I don't feel safe, I feel frustrated, conflicted and feeling like a hypocrite. 

If I really believe it, if it really matters to me shouldn't I be willingly sharing, talking, discussing these things. If they are the truth about me isn't it really a lie to just smile and not add a comment, or to add a comment that carefully beats around the bush to prod people to think in a different way? Again, protecting myself...

The funny thing I find is the people that I don't want to know the truth about me are those that I know too much truth about. They are more than willing to blab, often in belligerent and confrontational ways, the truth about what they think. They don't care who they hurt, or what others think--they'll tell you their politics, their opinions, their anger, their truth. Interesting.

If I am not honest with my opinion does that mean I am living a lie? Sometimes.

If I am honest about my opinions does that mean I am living the truth? Sometimes.

It isn't very black and white is it? But sharing life with people never is. And that is it, isn't it. I want to share life. I want to have a conversation. I don't like to have a debate. Conversation connotes relationship and debate connotes competition. There is a place for competition and I want to win at Wii Sports as much as anyone else. But when it comes to the truths in my life, the experiences, the values that I hold I want to have a relationship. I don't need to dominate, I don't need to point out someones errors, I don't need to win. To me, the truth I am talking about is not about winning, conquering, points or converts. 

Would I like people to believe that the poor matter? Of course. Would I like people to consider Jesus as the true representation of God to us on earth? I would lay my life down for it. Would I like people to work alongside me to rid the world of injustices, to free those that are in bondage, to grow in the likeness of God everyday? Yes, yes, yes. But I don't want to do that apart from community, relationship, and love. 

If I am true about who I am and what I believe people will certainly be put off. It doesn't matter how kind or generous I am. It won't count that I am longing for community. For those that want a debate they will find one. But I want to tell the truth about who I am in a way that births community and conversation. I want to be honest so that I don't have to feel like I am hiding who I am just so I don't rock the boat. 

If I really believe it and the boat gets rocked, maybe that is what is necessary for me to be authentic and for the world to change. Maybe I will find out that I am wrong, that's life. Maybe I will find out that I should have spoken up sooner, I know I will. But maybe I will find like minded people--not just those who agree with my points but that agree that sharing life is better than winning--wouldn't that be beautiful?

I am striving to be honest, to be real, it isn't going to be easy, but I imagine it will be freeing. I imagine that it will be scary. I imagine that it will be painful. But isn't that what community is? All of us, together, sharing life, sharing joy and pain, hope and loss. Altogether now, that sounds like true life.