Right now I am kicking myself for procrastinating way too much on Christmas presents. I go through this process every year: I set high expectations, I lack in organizing a way to meet my own expectations, I procrastinate, I begin to dread Christmas, I get depressed, I drink a lot of coffee and maybe some wine (today), I get myself together and mail my cards and presents late. I am stuck between punishing myself for my own procrastination and cherishing these precious days previous to Christmas and while my children are ages 4 and 6. I fully expect to weep quietly to myself when they turn 5 and 7 this spring.
I get up at 4 am today to get my pictures together (pictures are always our presents to friends and family). Not only do I start way too late in the game, but I seem to be terribly inefficient once I do start. I sat in front of the computer for about 5 hours this morning…with not much to report. I promised myself as soon as I got home in the afternoon I would finish the job of weeding through a year’s worth of pictures for our calendar-gifts. Deep down I knew something would inevitably steer me off track.
After dinner Sam (my 4 year old) wants to make chocolate covered pretzels. “Okay, we’ll make them.” I say sweetly. How can I deny him? Sweets are his love language.
Not too long after that, I look up and see a purple hat atop an aging face outside my kitchen door. I inhale in a short moment of alarm as the wrinkled face with a half open jaw peers through the window. “Oh, Judy” I say to myself.
She is an elderly lady in my neighborhood. I began as her Shaklee girl, helping her order her vitamins and non-toxic cleaners. That began about a year and a half ago, and now she regularly stops by, calls, and asks me to stop by her house to pick her up sometimes. I take her to the bank, CVS when she’s sick, whatever she needs. She lives alone; she’s 74. She tells me about her problems—how she thinks her hair “looks like shit”; how her friends think they’re too good for her; how her son-in-law doesn’t like her. She walks slow for 74 and many times I think she seems much older than she is. Someone who drops in on her occasionally found her passed out in her bedroom a few weeks ago; her blood sugar had dropped too low.
I took her to church last week and she wants to go again. I ask her what’s wrong with her normal church. She says the people who live across the street from her went to the same church and never offered to take her. One day they even passed her on their way—she was walking, they were driving—and didn’t offer to stop. She said she thought that was very un-Christian of them.
I can’t make my mind up about Judy, but I help her out anyway and sometimes I think she has a point. I am sure the couple that drove by her on the way to church that day had the same feeling I did when she showed up on my porch tonight. She had been downtown and needed a ride home. I was reluctant at first, only because I was dishing dinner up, preparing chocolate for the pretzels and in the midst of chastising myself for all my Christmas procrastination.
But when I left her at her house tonight, she hugged me and said, “You’re my favorite person right now.” Although her words seemed too generous, I was glad that she said them…glad that my small efforts bring her a bit of company I suppose.
Besides, I have no excuse not to help. I’m a professional procrastinator and my Christmas cards and gifts are always late. And now, I sit and write this instead of finishing my picture project…with sticky chocolate fingers…
Monday, December 19, 2011
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Oh Santa...
“Christmas is only 11 days away Mom,” my 6 year old eagerly says to me this morning. I raise my eyebrows to show interest, while swallowing hard my bubble of guilt and procrastination. Things are right on track for me this year--I am behind on practically every gift and card I have set out to either buy or make. But this year I am also feeling the weight of Santa on my shoulders. Oh Santa....
This year I am gently attempting to blow the Santa myth out of the water.
Last year I tried as well, but I was unsuccessful. About a month in advance of Christmas, I broke the news to my then 5 year old daughter that there was no Santa, only God. I explained that Jesus gave us the real gift by conquering death and giving us a free ticket to eternal bliss. But that didn’t stack up to the wonder of Santa Claus. In fact, after our “talk” she set out to prove me wrong. Upon loading my bagged groceries into my shopping cart one afternoon, the clerk asked her: “Are you all ready for Santa Claus?” My daughter exclaimed, “My Mommy says there is no Santa! But there is a Santa. I know because I saw him sitting in a chair at the fire station.” How could I argue with her? She had publically exposed my parental cruelty and I was looked upon by the clerk in utter confusion.
Later that day I asked my daughter, “Addi, do you really want there to be a Santa Claus?” Her answer was an emphatic “Yes!” “Well fine,” I said, “then there is a Santa.”
Two weeks later Santa brought her a guinea pig. And every time I tell someone her bunk beds are from Ikea, she reminds me, “No Mom, Santa brought them to me.”
Why do I want to blow the Santa myth? Well because it’s worthless, that’s why. I desire only to give my children what is real and true and everlasting. But society thinks otherwise and I find myself challenged again this year.
This year I decided not to come right out and deny Santa's existence, but to ever-so-gently point out the flaws in the Santa theory. I read her the original story of Saint Nicholas…the one about the old man from the Netherlands who dropped gold down the chimney into the poor girls’ stockings. “After he died—oh well, I’ll be, look at that he’s dead—they named him St. Nicholas” I read.
We also didn’t make it to sit on Santa’s lap, but we did visit his reindeer.
I am a harsh cruel Mommy, I know. But I love her too much to build her up on lies, and the truth is this world is a harsh place where children go cold and hungry on Christmas. And those children who are so greatly suffering under the curse of the world are the ones who just may believe that Jesus brings a greater gift than Santa Claus.
One day Addi will see it this way, I pray. But as of today, I stand upon the shaky ground of neither building up nor tearing down her dreams. We’ll see what happens come Christmas….
This year I am gently attempting to blow the Santa myth out of the water.
Last year I tried as well, but I was unsuccessful. About a month in advance of Christmas, I broke the news to my then 5 year old daughter that there was no Santa, only God. I explained that Jesus gave us the real gift by conquering death and giving us a free ticket to eternal bliss. But that didn’t stack up to the wonder of Santa Claus. In fact, after our “talk” she set out to prove me wrong. Upon loading my bagged groceries into my shopping cart one afternoon, the clerk asked her: “Are you all ready for Santa Claus?” My daughter exclaimed, “My Mommy says there is no Santa! But there is a Santa. I know because I saw him sitting in a chair at the fire station.” How could I argue with her? She had publically exposed my parental cruelty and I was looked upon by the clerk in utter confusion.
Later that day I asked my daughter, “Addi, do you really want there to be a Santa Claus?” Her answer was an emphatic “Yes!” “Well fine,” I said, “then there is a Santa.”
Two weeks later Santa brought her a guinea pig. And every time I tell someone her bunk beds are from Ikea, she reminds me, “No Mom, Santa brought them to me.”
Why do I want to blow the Santa myth? Well because it’s worthless, that’s why. I desire only to give my children what is real and true and everlasting. But society thinks otherwise and I find myself challenged again this year.
This year I decided not to come right out and deny Santa's existence, but to ever-so-gently point out the flaws in the Santa theory. I read her the original story of Saint Nicholas…the one about the old man from the Netherlands who dropped gold down the chimney into the poor girls’ stockings. “After he died—oh well, I’ll be, look at that he’s dead—they named him St. Nicholas” I read.
We also didn’t make it to sit on Santa’s lap, but we did visit his reindeer.
I am a harsh cruel Mommy, I know. But I love her too much to build her up on lies, and the truth is this world is a harsh place where children go cold and hungry on Christmas. And those children who are so greatly suffering under the curse of the world are the ones who just may believe that Jesus brings a greater gift than Santa Claus.
One day Addi will see it this way, I pray. But as of today, I stand upon the shaky ground of neither building up nor tearing down her dreams. We’ll see what happens come Christmas….
Thursday, June 2, 2011
Joplin, MO
How can I possibly sum up my visit to Joplin, Missouri? When one witnesses such devastation it is very hard to sum it up in mere words. In fact, I thought many times about a book I read recently by Kurt Vonnegut entitled, “Slaughterhouse-Five”, especially when speaking to Carol—a newly homeless lady at the Red Cross shelter, who interrupted her own sentence to say, “Oh look, the birds have come back.” Vonnegut wrote about the bombing of Dresden, Germany and had a very hard time putting words to such an atrocity, but after 23 years he finally did: “Everything is supposed to be very quiet after a massacre, and it always is, except for the birds. And what do the birds say? All there is to say about a massacre, things like “Poo-tee-weet?”
A lifeless part of me feels like saying what Vonnegut and the birds say about the whole thing…their noise simply declares that there is nothing intelligent to say about an EF5 tornado shredding 12 miles of a city, trapping some in basements, sucking others out their sunroof, and leaving nothing recognizable in its wake. But, there is. In a world with a God, there are things to be thought, said, and a whole pile of things to be done. Let me explain.
I feel for people. I don’t know if you are like me and my husband, but when something catastrophic happens, we are glued to our computers, watching images and videos, reading articles of survival stories and others that only end in devastation. I can identify with those people on my screen because I realize they were probably much like me. It pains me to hear their stories and leaves me with an unsettled feeling. When I go through these phases that are brought on by either a tragedy on a large scale, or the death of someone close to me or my husband, I can’t quite return to life normally. Something in me changes.
Such was the feeling when I woke up Monday morning with an e-mail from World Vision asking for donations for disaster relief in Joplin, Missouri. My stomach turned as I realized there had been yet another deadly tornado. I didn’t want to see the images, and didn’t want to think of the harrowing night thousands of people in Joplin had. Like the young wife whose husband threw his body over hers in the bathtub and received a fatal puncture in his back as a result; or a man we met, whom 12 hours after the storm was found in his basement only to emerge from the rubble to see a decapitated body in his yard; or Will who left his High School graduation and moments later was sucked out the sunroof of the Hummer he was driving and was found in a pond filled with debris 4 days later. The thought of their horror was juxtaposed with my memory of what I was doing the previous night at the same time. I had had my son’s 4th birthday party. I was so happy and content and pleased with the evening, and felt extraordinarily blessed to have the friends and family I had, and was so thankful at the day’s end. What was I supposed to think now?
So I ended up going there, with a group of 4 other women from my church, The Bridge. Being in Joplin was very interesting. The destruction was stomach-turning, and I imagine that if it were my own home, or even if I had seen those very same houses before they were demolished, my stomach would turn even further. In some places walls were gone and just a bathroom was left standing; cars were crushed almost in half and lit on fire in others; or there was a pile of wood, or slab foundation that was left in lieu of a home. I can only image what these people went through when the monster tornado laid waste to their homes. Actually, thanks to our amazing technology today, you can listen to these people who piled into the cooler of a convenient store: http://youtu.be/cQnvxJZucds
…
…
For some, moments like these were final. The child crying is heart wrenching, and to think of some children left without parents is unbearable. In this moment, it seems like some of the people in the video became very real, perhaps very alive for the first time in a long time. In a matter of seconds, a man birthed the words “I love everyone” as another cried “Jesus, Jesus, Jesus.” Listening to their words is like hearing a heart in its moment of existence. Why does it take such great suffering to bring about our true selves? Why would we be content, every other day of our lives, to live half-awake, half-alive? What is it that numbs us?
What I was MOST surprised with when we visited Joplin only one week after the tornado hit, was the unbelievable amount of love, kindness and appreciation that was displayed through every single worker, volunteer, or afflicted person. It was truly unbelievable and I could have done better at accepting their more than kind gestures. I was taken aback by it and not sure how to respond. As we walked the streets surveying the damage and looking for people to give our gift cards and cash to, cars drove through the streets offering cold water, Gatorade and sandwiches again and again. Too often I declined their generosity, feeling as though I wasn’t doing enough to deserve such a kind gesture from a stranger—but my thinking was flawed. At one of the many parking lots set up as what looked like a mini bazaar, there was food being made all day for volunteers, clothing for tornado survivors to comb through, and counseling and prayer services offered. We were coerced by some firemen to get a plate and sit down to eat. They all seemed to be thankful we were there, without any further questions. The firemen we sat with wore shirts that said, “Firefighters for Christ” we learned that the 6 men only met each other upon arrival in Joplin. Lindsay, the head volunteer for the parking lot set-up, welcomed us and then confessed that Satan was getting to her and she could feel the spiritual battle taking place. She was sweaty and busy, pouring her life out for others. I feel that we could have prayed for her then. Thank goodness I still can pray for her. Luke was also a firefighter who was on duty during the tornado. He was sent home after it came through, to check on his house—about half of it was left. As he came down his street in his uniform, people ran to him for help. He could hear their cries and moaning. He eventually had to take off all of his gear so he could help the people in his neighborhood.
Steven wasn’t quite inside during the storm, and he was lifted up off of the ground but managed to grab onto a part of the garage door as his feet sailed parallel to his head. His son heard his feet knocking against the window and was able to pull him inside. Then there was Lorna who had a nasty bruise down the right side of her face, and she didn’t know what had hit her. Her husband hugged us all and teared up over losing the home he had spent years working on. There was Debra, whose Section 8 housing has now become unlivable; she won’t be getting an insurance check or relatives to pick her up. Debra’s friend was watching her two children plus two others during the tornado. She piled them all in the bathtub and closed the door tight and they were all kept safe. Debra and her friend threw a party for her 6 year old son in the shelter on May 28. They don’t know where they will go after they leave the shelter.
Don is 89 years old and rode the storm out by holding onto some oak cabinets he knew were made well. He recounted how he was not concerned about the sirens since he had been in five tornadoes in his lifetime. But then the sirens rang, the rain came, then the hail, then his neighborhood was left to piles of wood. Somehow his bench was still on his porch, and he sat there looking out at what surrounded him, never having seen anything like it in his life. He signed my book and wrote “Bless”.
We listened to local Christian radio in the car. There was a song dedicated to the storm survivors about hope. I heard a lot about hope and rebuilding. Things were said like, “We are down but not out”; “We are all strong and we will get through this”, “Thank God we are alive” and “Thank God we have each other”. I will have to say, that if God was anywhere, He was in Joplin. I have never been in a more kind and caring environment. It was like everywhere you looked, even the police and National Guard had this sort of understanding about them. People were unbelievably kind and thankful and it seemed like Kingdom workers, God’s church, was there and many people spoke of Him. But on the way home, I pondered some of those sayings and the Christian song we had heard.
Thank God we are alive.
What about the dead people?
Rebuild.
What if their house gets torn down again?
I had scrolled through many pictures of Joplin’s destruction online before our trip. There were quite a few pictures of messages people had spray painted on their homes. One read, “God Saved Us”. The comments below that picture and others like it questioned God, blamed God, fired God, and even cursed God. In our effort as humans to be painfully honest, to look at the world for what it is and not what we want it to be, I can somewhat relate to these mixed emotions about God. Death should sicken us and mass destruction should make us ill; it should make us question everything. It has for me. But the answer in which I have arrived does not make me curse or fire God, nor does it make me want to plant an American flag in a pile of rubble and rebuild my kingdom on this earth just like it was before. The people of Joplin were just so grateful to have each other, to have their lives. Their earthly possessions were gone, but it was as though—in light of their lives—it didn’t matter. The people in the convenient store shouting out to God and verbally expressing their love for others weren’t concerned about what others thought at that moment; those who spoke didn’t numb the moment with an old habit or rationalization. I think God wants us to have these real moments, these moments of awakening that rarely take place without some sort of suffering. Perhaps it is our suffering that finally allows us to block out all of the noise and become alive. This earth, no doubt, is falling away and one day, this place will crumble just like our Bible tells us.
I wonder what perspective God does want us to have on the reality of death and an obviously decaying world. Most of us feel that nothing is more important than our lives—and maybe God feels the same way, but not about our lives on this earth. His one and only concern is the place in which our eternal souls will rest. Maybe things like Joplin are supposed to send a message from heaven that says, “This earth is not your home!” Maybe God doesn’t want us to feel cozy and secure here after all. Maybe God’s top priority is securing our eternal state with Him, no matter what we may have to go through on this earth. Maybe God is like a caring father, who has carefully made a secure life insurance plan for his children and all we have to do is ask for it. Maybe we feel like God doesn’t care about the atrocities that happen on this earth, but maybe He does care…forever. I think forever is all He is concerned about. And if we don’t like that, and we want to live for this earth and this life instead, nothing will make sense. It will all be cruel and harsh and God will not make sense.
The people of Joplin must rebuild, or relocate—as will anyone who has been knocked down to nothing by an incredible force. But when we rise from the rubble, will we only put things back just the way they were before? Maybe some will attempt to seek safety on this earth, steering clear of “tornado alley” or fault lines or coasts where tsunamis could occur. Maybe in our fear and desire to live this earthly life we will surround our lives with seeming security. A good neighborhood, low crime, nice house, reliable car, maybe even low risk of natural disasters. But is that the response we should have or is that simply what we do because we don’t understand God and we can’t trust Him? What if God wants us to rebuild in an entirely different way? What if we truly lived our lives here on this earth knowing it won’t last, knowing it will crumble away and we will die, and asking our Father in heaven to give us what we need to live this life until we get to the next? I am beginning to feel like, for myself, the only security there is on this earth are the things that God gives me—not the things I fight and claw and manipulate to have.
People who are in the mission field or who are relief workers say, without out a doubt, we are experiencing birthing pains. Once labor starts, the contractions will only get harder and closer together. I have stopped holding my breath and waiting for a brighter day where I could finally claim peace and security on this earth. There is none. There is only security in knowing I have a Father in heaven who loves me, who has sought me out and challenged me more than I thought I could handle, and who has a plan for the days I live on earth. My security is found there—I accept that I live in a fallen and crumbling world, but yet I submit the days I do have to the one who knows when my last day will be. I realize I cannot find the peace and security I thought I could on this earth. It doesn’t exist and God is continually reminding us not to try and put down eternal roots on sinking sand. His eternity is secure and His plan for us as we live our days on this earth is secure—and that’s about it. It has taken a tremendous leap of faith to arrive here, but nothing makes sense to me without looking at it this way. However, having this seed planted within me allows me to worry much less and propels me to put all my eggs in God’s basket and to do the work He has for me to do while I am here. Up until about a year ago I was definitely putting my eggs in a basket with a hole in the bottom of it. When I am weak I repeat the words of my husband’s song, Sand into the Sea: “Lord not my will but yours be done. I’m throwing down this crown cause this is not my Kingdom. These plans fall through every time. These hands are yours but I’m always acting like their mine.”
http://www.thejeremyjohnson.com/
A lifeless part of me feels like saying what Vonnegut and the birds say about the whole thing…their noise simply declares that there is nothing intelligent to say about an EF5 tornado shredding 12 miles of a city, trapping some in basements, sucking others out their sunroof, and leaving nothing recognizable in its wake. But, there is. In a world with a God, there are things to be thought, said, and a whole pile of things to be done. Let me explain.
I feel for people. I don’t know if you are like me and my husband, but when something catastrophic happens, we are glued to our computers, watching images and videos, reading articles of survival stories and others that only end in devastation. I can identify with those people on my screen because I realize they were probably much like me. It pains me to hear their stories and leaves me with an unsettled feeling. When I go through these phases that are brought on by either a tragedy on a large scale, or the death of someone close to me or my husband, I can’t quite return to life normally. Something in me changes.
Such was the feeling when I woke up Monday morning with an e-mail from World Vision asking for donations for disaster relief in Joplin, Missouri. My stomach turned as I realized there had been yet another deadly tornado. I didn’t want to see the images, and didn’t want to think of the harrowing night thousands of people in Joplin had. Like the young wife whose husband threw his body over hers in the bathtub and received a fatal puncture in his back as a result; or a man we met, whom 12 hours after the storm was found in his basement only to emerge from the rubble to see a decapitated body in his yard; or Will who left his High School graduation and moments later was sucked out the sunroof of the Hummer he was driving and was found in a pond filled with debris 4 days later. The thought of their horror was juxtaposed with my memory of what I was doing the previous night at the same time. I had had my son’s 4th birthday party. I was so happy and content and pleased with the evening, and felt extraordinarily blessed to have the friends and family I had, and was so thankful at the day’s end. What was I supposed to think now?
So I ended up going there, with a group of 4 other women from my church, The Bridge. Being in Joplin was very interesting. The destruction was stomach-turning, and I imagine that if it were my own home, or even if I had seen those very same houses before they were demolished, my stomach would turn even further. In some places walls were gone and just a bathroom was left standing; cars were crushed almost in half and lit on fire in others; or there was a pile of wood, or slab foundation that was left in lieu of a home. I can only image what these people went through when the monster tornado laid waste to their homes. Actually, thanks to our amazing technology today, you can listen to these people who piled into the cooler of a convenient store: http://youtu.be/cQnvxJZucds
…
…
For some, moments like these were final. The child crying is heart wrenching, and to think of some children left without parents is unbearable. In this moment, it seems like some of the people in the video became very real, perhaps very alive for the first time in a long time. In a matter of seconds, a man birthed the words “I love everyone” as another cried “Jesus, Jesus, Jesus.” Listening to their words is like hearing a heart in its moment of existence. Why does it take such great suffering to bring about our true selves? Why would we be content, every other day of our lives, to live half-awake, half-alive? What is it that numbs us?
What I was MOST surprised with when we visited Joplin only one week after the tornado hit, was the unbelievable amount of love, kindness and appreciation that was displayed through every single worker, volunteer, or afflicted person. It was truly unbelievable and I could have done better at accepting their more than kind gestures. I was taken aback by it and not sure how to respond. As we walked the streets surveying the damage and looking for people to give our gift cards and cash to, cars drove through the streets offering cold water, Gatorade and sandwiches again and again. Too often I declined their generosity, feeling as though I wasn’t doing enough to deserve such a kind gesture from a stranger—but my thinking was flawed. At one of the many parking lots set up as what looked like a mini bazaar, there was food being made all day for volunteers, clothing for tornado survivors to comb through, and counseling and prayer services offered. We were coerced by some firemen to get a plate and sit down to eat. They all seemed to be thankful we were there, without any further questions. The firemen we sat with wore shirts that said, “Firefighters for Christ” we learned that the 6 men only met each other upon arrival in Joplin. Lindsay, the head volunteer for the parking lot set-up, welcomed us and then confessed that Satan was getting to her and she could feel the spiritual battle taking place. She was sweaty and busy, pouring her life out for others. I feel that we could have prayed for her then. Thank goodness I still can pray for her. Luke was also a firefighter who was on duty during the tornado. He was sent home after it came through, to check on his house—about half of it was left. As he came down his street in his uniform, people ran to him for help. He could hear their cries and moaning. He eventually had to take off all of his gear so he could help the people in his neighborhood.
Steven wasn’t quite inside during the storm, and he was lifted up off of the ground but managed to grab onto a part of the garage door as his feet sailed parallel to his head. His son heard his feet knocking against the window and was able to pull him inside. Then there was Lorna who had a nasty bruise down the right side of her face, and she didn’t know what had hit her. Her husband hugged us all and teared up over losing the home he had spent years working on. There was Debra, whose Section 8 housing has now become unlivable; she won’t be getting an insurance check or relatives to pick her up. Debra’s friend was watching her two children plus two others during the tornado. She piled them all in the bathtub and closed the door tight and they were all kept safe. Debra and her friend threw a party for her 6 year old son in the shelter on May 28. They don’t know where they will go after they leave the shelter.
Don is 89 years old and rode the storm out by holding onto some oak cabinets he knew were made well. He recounted how he was not concerned about the sirens since he had been in five tornadoes in his lifetime. But then the sirens rang, the rain came, then the hail, then his neighborhood was left to piles of wood. Somehow his bench was still on his porch, and he sat there looking out at what surrounded him, never having seen anything like it in his life. He signed my book and wrote “Bless”.
We listened to local Christian radio in the car. There was a song dedicated to the storm survivors about hope. I heard a lot about hope and rebuilding. Things were said like, “We are down but not out”; “We are all strong and we will get through this”, “Thank God we are alive” and “Thank God we have each other”. I will have to say, that if God was anywhere, He was in Joplin. I have never been in a more kind and caring environment. It was like everywhere you looked, even the police and National Guard had this sort of understanding about them. People were unbelievably kind and thankful and it seemed like Kingdom workers, God’s church, was there and many people spoke of Him. But on the way home, I pondered some of those sayings and the Christian song we had heard.
Thank God we are alive.
What about the dead people?
Rebuild.
What if their house gets torn down again?
I had scrolled through many pictures of Joplin’s destruction online before our trip. There were quite a few pictures of messages people had spray painted on their homes. One read, “God Saved Us”. The comments below that picture and others like it questioned God, blamed God, fired God, and even cursed God. In our effort as humans to be painfully honest, to look at the world for what it is and not what we want it to be, I can somewhat relate to these mixed emotions about God. Death should sicken us and mass destruction should make us ill; it should make us question everything. It has for me. But the answer in which I have arrived does not make me curse or fire God, nor does it make me want to plant an American flag in a pile of rubble and rebuild my kingdom on this earth just like it was before. The people of Joplin were just so grateful to have each other, to have their lives. Their earthly possessions were gone, but it was as though—in light of their lives—it didn’t matter. The people in the convenient store shouting out to God and verbally expressing their love for others weren’t concerned about what others thought at that moment; those who spoke didn’t numb the moment with an old habit or rationalization. I think God wants us to have these real moments, these moments of awakening that rarely take place without some sort of suffering. Perhaps it is our suffering that finally allows us to block out all of the noise and become alive. This earth, no doubt, is falling away and one day, this place will crumble just like our Bible tells us.
I wonder what perspective God does want us to have on the reality of death and an obviously decaying world. Most of us feel that nothing is more important than our lives—and maybe God feels the same way, but not about our lives on this earth. His one and only concern is the place in which our eternal souls will rest. Maybe things like Joplin are supposed to send a message from heaven that says, “This earth is not your home!” Maybe God doesn’t want us to feel cozy and secure here after all. Maybe God’s top priority is securing our eternal state with Him, no matter what we may have to go through on this earth. Maybe God is like a caring father, who has carefully made a secure life insurance plan for his children and all we have to do is ask for it. Maybe we feel like God doesn’t care about the atrocities that happen on this earth, but maybe He does care…forever. I think forever is all He is concerned about. And if we don’t like that, and we want to live for this earth and this life instead, nothing will make sense. It will all be cruel and harsh and God will not make sense.
The people of Joplin must rebuild, or relocate—as will anyone who has been knocked down to nothing by an incredible force. But when we rise from the rubble, will we only put things back just the way they were before? Maybe some will attempt to seek safety on this earth, steering clear of “tornado alley” or fault lines or coasts where tsunamis could occur. Maybe in our fear and desire to live this earthly life we will surround our lives with seeming security. A good neighborhood, low crime, nice house, reliable car, maybe even low risk of natural disasters. But is that the response we should have or is that simply what we do because we don’t understand God and we can’t trust Him? What if God wants us to rebuild in an entirely different way? What if we truly lived our lives here on this earth knowing it won’t last, knowing it will crumble away and we will die, and asking our Father in heaven to give us what we need to live this life until we get to the next? I am beginning to feel like, for myself, the only security there is on this earth are the things that God gives me—not the things I fight and claw and manipulate to have.
People who are in the mission field or who are relief workers say, without out a doubt, we are experiencing birthing pains. Once labor starts, the contractions will only get harder and closer together. I have stopped holding my breath and waiting for a brighter day where I could finally claim peace and security on this earth. There is none. There is only security in knowing I have a Father in heaven who loves me, who has sought me out and challenged me more than I thought I could handle, and who has a plan for the days I live on earth. My security is found there—I accept that I live in a fallen and crumbling world, but yet I submit the days I do have to the one who knows when my last day will be. I realize I cannot find the peace and security I thought I could on this earth. It doesn’t exist and God is continually reminding us not to try and put down eternal roots on sinking sand. His eternity is secure and His plan for us as we live our days on this earth is secure—and that’s about it. It has taken a tremendous leap of faith to arrive here, but nothing makes sense to me without looking at it this way. However, having this seed planted within me allows me to worry much less and propels me to put all my eggs in God’s basket and to do the work He has for me to do while I am here. Up until about a year ago I was definitely putting my eggs in a basket with a hole in the bottom of it. When I am weak I repeat the words of my husband’s song, Sand into the Sea: “Lord not my will but yours be done. I’m throwing down this crown cause this is not my Kingdom. These plans fall through every time. These hands are yours but I’m always acting like their mine.”
http://www.thejeremyjohnson.com/
Sunday, March 13, 2011
So, I have an idea. I don’t know if many of you get sort of consumed in huge disasters when they happen, but I do. I have been hardly able to tear myself away from YouTube, watching and re-watching Japan's tsunami and earthquake videos. It is absolutely incredible that we are able to actually see the destruction as it has taken place. It is shocking and gut wrenching if you ask me. It always poses the same questions and feelings for me…such as, “How could this happen?” “Why did this happen?” “Could something devastating happen where I live?” “What should I do about it?” Well, every time I begin this mental process, I arrive at the same conclusion. I realize how fleeting this life is and it makes me want to, again, release my life on earth to the only one who knows the number of days I have left…and I have to give it over again and again.
Secondly, since I am still here and breathing I figure maybe I could do something. As I watch people’s lives and possessions and even towns become blotted out, I do feel a sense of responsibility I guess you could say. A large part of my heart breaks for the families torn apart…for people who, though we live worlds away, probably have similar values as myself. I think of those who have either died or lost children or children have lost parents or sisters have lost brothers. This is a link to one of many clips showing the tsunami and the disaster it left behind:
When I think about it we are just people…we really aren’t that different. All that to say…I'd like to do something to recognize my place as a human being on this world, no different or better than anyone else. I would like to give something, to do my small part...but, I don’t have any money. Although that fact is relative, I can’t squeeze anything out of my budget (it just cost $60 to fill up my car for goodness sakes!) But I could sacrifice something…I think I would like to NOT buy groceries this week, and donate my grocery money to a relief organization. World Vision is trustworthy and unless anyone has a better suggestion, I think I will donate to them.
But what will I do without groceries??? Well, some of us have way too much crap in our cabinets anyway, so we could just eat off scraps and do ourselves a favor. OR--I, for 1 week of my life, could do what almost half of the world does, yes I said HALF of the world does, which is live off of $2.50 a day. (obviously I would just try to only spend $2.50/day on food). What is even more shocking is that 80% of the world's population lives off $10 a day...we that have a house, a job, enough money to eat are special. OR I could eat rice and beans for a week. Really, one weeks not gonna kill me or my kids. We'll still take our vitamins:) Check out this clip by Francis Chan:
So, I realize my measly $75 a week that I will donate to World Vision for disaster relief in Japan will really not make a big difference. The job will get done whether I choose to give or not. But, I don't believe that is that attitude I am called to have. Jesus was mostly concerned about those who were suffering on this earth. He poured his life out for those who suffered. There is something, for me at least, about realizing I am not that different than others...that we are all people suffering on this earth in one way or another. I don't believe it would kill me or my family to sacrifice our stomach's for 1 measly week. Heck, maybe people will join me. Or maybe someone else will feel the way I do, and we'll do it again...and give more than just one week. A reason for giving and sacrificing will never cease, Jesus did it every day of this life on this earth...and then gave himself in the end.
SO, is anyone else down with joining me? I have talked about doing this since the earthquake in Haiti, but turns our talking really doesn't accomplish much. Please let me know if so...maybe I will make a page or something.
Here's more of the sermon by Francis Chan...I listened to this and it really made a lot of sense to me.
See what you think.
Secondly, since I am still here and breathing I figure maybe I could do something. As I watch people’s lives and possessions and even towns become blotted out, I do feel a sense of responsibility I guess you could say. A large part of my heart breaks for the families torn apart…for people who, though we live worlds away, probably have similar values as myself. I think of those who have either died or lost children or children have lost parents or sisters have lost brothers. This is a link to one of many clips showing the tsunami and the disaster it left behind:
When I think about it we are just people…we really aren’t that different. All that to say…I'd like to do something to recognize my place as a human being on this world, no different or better than anyone else. I would like to give something, to do my small part...but, I don’t have any money. Although that fact is relative, I can’t squeeze anything out of my budget (it just cost $60 to fill up my car for goodness sakes!) But I could sacrifice something…I think I would like to NOT buy groceries this week, and donate my grocery money to a relief organization. World Vision is trustworthy and unless anyone has a better suggestion, I think I will donate to them.
But what will I do without groceries??? Well, some of us have way too much crap in our cabinets anyway, so we could just eat off scraps and do ourselves a favor. OR--I, for 1 week of my life, could do what almost half of the world does, yes I said HALF of the world does, which is live off of $2.50 a day. (obviously I would just try to only spend $2.50/day on food). What is even more shocking is that 80% of the world's population lives off $10 a day...we that have a house, a job, enough money to eat are special. OR I could eat rice and beans for a week. Really, one weeks not gonna kill me or my kids. We'll still take our vitamins:) Check out this clip by Francis Chan:
So, I realize my measly $75 a week that I will donate to World Vision for disaster relief in Japan will really not make a big difference. The job will get done whether I choose to give or not. But, I don't believe that is that attitude I am called to have. Jesus was mostly concerned about those who were suffering on this earth. He poured his life out for those who suffered. There is something, for me at least, about realizing I am not that different than others...that we are all people suffering on this earth in one way or another. I don't believe it would kill me or my family to sacrifice our stomach's for 1 measly week. Heck, maybe people will join me. Or maybe someone else will feel the way I do, and we'll do it again...and give more than just one week. A reason for giving and sacrificing will never cease, Jesus did it every day of this life on this earth...and then gave himself in the end.
SO, is anyone else down with joining me? I have talked about doing this since the earthquake in Haiti, but turns our talking really doesn't accomplish much. Please let me know if so...maybe I will make a page or something.
Here's more of the sermon by Francis Chan...I listened to this and it really made a lot of sense to me.
See what you think.
Thursday, January 6, 2011
The American Dream, This Life and The Next
Ah--I feel as though my heart has been constantly going through the aches and pains of this world. There is a lot of sadness out there, and when it intercedes my path of life, I guess I have two choices. 1. I could step around it, explain it away, and not allow it to affect me and go on with my life, or 2. I could stop, I could look at it, I could let the reality of it set in. Even though it isn't comfortable, I think I'll choose the latter.
God has been speaking to me lately about my security...about what is really secure and what isn't. I have, for a while now, been wondering when I will be able to settle down in a home that fits our family (and has lots of closets and ways to help me organize). I have driven around town so many times, imagining my life from the perspective of a cute, little well organized home, where I would finally be content and happy. A place I could rest and call home. I have many times been waiting for that time in our life to come when we make more money, can buy a newer car and afford a bigger house, when we can afford to put money away every month in a 401K. When we can finally make all those check marks on our list of "things to do" and finally be...secure. But, over the past two years, I have watched people who made seemingly good choices have the carpet pulled out from underneath them. Good jobs have been lost, homes have been foreclosed on, families have had to sell all their possessions and downsize. It started to make the think a little differently about how I would define my security. Part of my mind wants to think that doing things "the right way" or living the "America dream" can't fail...I mean we're supposed to go to college, land a good job, find a great spouse, buy a big house, have a few top notch children, go to church on Sundays, take long vacations...and be happy. Right? Isn't that what our life is supposed to be about? At this point in my life, I can firmly say, No. The Dream is a false, broken Dream...but for some reason people keep pursuing it.
Look around at who we are as a whole: our country is stressed out, overweight, over-sick and divorced. It just doesn't add up.
And let's not pretend like the only thing that could ever go wrong out there is that someone could lose their job (though that is huge). Let's not forget that we are mortal beings in a world that is crumbling. I am just completely struck by the fact that so many Christians that I know of live their lives like they have never read the book of Revelation. Come on--everyone reads at least that book. This world is a sinking ship, it is not going to last forever, nor are our lives on this earth, so why do we live our lives as though it is?
I think money does weird things to people. I think it gives us a false sense of security. I think it makes us feel stable, fail-proof and smart. When we were in Costa Rica, I was standing on the beach watching some of the locals and thier families. They were playing soccer, the kids were swimming and the mother's were overseeing the children. There were about 20 kids all sharing 2 small intertubes. The kids wore their cut off's and tank tops to swim in, rode rusty bikes, and wore no shoes. I laughed to myself when I noticed the gigantic armfulls of things we had brought to the beach. We had enough towels for everyone to have 2, a few bottles of sunblock, snacks, cameras, kick boards and boogie boards. My kids were wearing water wings and life jackets, water shoes and a water shirt. The simplicity of the locals struck me. They didn't have near as much as I did, their houses are very small, their possessions even smaller I am sure--yet they didn't seem to be any worse off for it. In fact, they seemed very happy and very content.
So--these are the things that God has been using to pull me away from putting my eggs in a basket with a hold in the bottom of it. I felt like I was getting it, understanding that this life can be very insecure despite our best efforts to build our earthly kingdom as strong as possible, and that money can do some very strange things.
Well, turns out the lesson was not over. My good friend Esther and I were driving home from church a few weeks ago and happend upon a man who had just been run over by a car. Two men were standing over him, one was just beginning to flip his phone open to dial 911. I didn't really know what I was doing, but we parked and got out of the car and walked over to him. He was lying still, body twisted, eyes halfway open, bleeding from the head and more significantly from the nose. Nobody was close to him, no one was comforting him, rather Jeremy and the two other guys were either talking to the dispatcher or trying to find out who did it. For some reason, I couldn't stand to see someone suffering alone. So I sat by him, I began to pray out loud, but honestly it felt very fruitless. I put my hand on his arm and told him to breathe, keep breathing. My eyes locked to his face. It was not pretty but for some reason I couldn't look away. Nor could I stop talking, stop encouraging him to keep breathing. Maybe he could hear me. Maybe he was going to die and I couldn't stand the thought of him going out alone. Later I realized, God wanted me to see that. I know He did. He wanted me to see, not just hear, but see, how mortal I am. One minute previous this man was alive and well, and now he was fighting for his life on the cold pavement. I am just as mortal as he. Even though I might not die till I'm 80, I'm still dying...I'm still mortal. Everyday I get closer to my own death and NOTHING I can do in this life can change that. He was no more mortal that I.
That happend three days before Christmas and as I was allowing these thoughts of death and life to circulate in my head, I was also telling my kids the story of baby Jesus. Immanuel. God with us. What is that all about?
I began to think about the fact of my own mortality, realizing that there was nothing I could do to prevent my own death...and then that we are all in that state of being mortal. And then I thought about Jesus, coming down from Heaven to be with us mortal beings whose lives are wrecked with sin and full of suffering at practically every turn. It was, to me, just like sitting there on the cold pavement with the bleeding man, encouraging him to breathe, to keep fighting. Jesus got off of His throne and came to be with us in our misery...in our mortality, in our struggle on this Earth. And not only did he come to walk along side us and to live life with us for all that it is and all that it isn't, but He came to show us the way to real Life. He came to show us how we can escape this mortal life all together and have an eternal one some day...but it isn't gained without a fight. This verse from Romans speaks this truth and it is by far my favorite:
God hopes we can make it through this life, He knows He has made us "strong enough to stand though free to fall" (thankyou John Milton). This is Satan's playground and many of us are decieved. I picture it just like that night. Jesus steps into a mess that He had nothing to do with, and encourages us to keep fighting all the frustration of this World and He shows us the way to be liberated, the way to life: "just breathe, keep breathing." Everytime I thought of baby Jesus this year, I teared up. He made it so real to me.
This has been a season full of death. Jeremy's granpa died in a plane accident in May, his best friend from High School in June, his Grandma a few days ago, I learned of the death of a classmate this week, and my heart has been broken for a mother with 4 children that has cancer in her breasts, bones and brain. Ah, this life. It is too much at times.
So, all that to say, where does my security lie? Not in me, not in the things I can do, or the money we can make, or the things I can buy. I only desire to be secure in the things God gives me, and everything I do have already, I hold with an open hand. He holds the keys to the only secure and eternal Kingdom. I will probably have to give it up on a daily basis, but I don't want to hold on to anything else. It's just not worth it.
I have come to picture God like a caring Father. A good parent not only cares for his child's today, but for his tomorrow as well. A good parent looks out for his child's future, the kind of person he is to become and maybe even puts some money away for college. God is like that. He has made an investment in our future, but it is a future that can never crumble, can never be taken away.
So many times we feel that God does not care becuase He is not answering our problems or our prayers right now. Maybe he does care, maybe He wants things to blow up, maybe He doesn't want to just keep the peace for today. Maybe He is more concerned about getting things out in the open today so that you may end up with an eternal tomorrow.
I have thought about this kind of like GPS vs The Map. When using GPS, we just want to know what the right turn is, right now. We don't care about the big picuture, we just want to know where to go now. And God doesn't tell us. He wants to give us the Big Picture. He wants us to look at the map, and understand it so that we can navigate through any hard time in this life. We just have to be willing to continue to ask, seek and knock as we go throughout this life. And He has promised to answer.
God has been speaking to me lately about my security...about what is really secure and what isn't. I have, for a while now, been wondering when I will be able to settle down in a home that fits our family (and has lots of closets and ways to help me organize). I have driven around town so many times, imagining my life from the perspective of a cute, little well organized home, where I would finally be content and happy. A place I could rest and call home. I have many times been waiting for that time in our life to come when we make more money, can buy a newer car and afford a bigger house, when we can afford to put money away every month in a 401K. When we can finally make all those check marks on our list of "things to do" and finally be...secure. But, over the past two years, I have watched people who made seemingly good choices have the carpet pulled out from underneath them. Good jobs have been lost, homes have been foreclosed on, families have had to sell all their possessions and downsize. It started to make the think a little differently about how I would define my security. Part of my mind wants to think that doing things "the right way" or living the "America dream" can't fail...I mean we're supposed to go to college, land a good job, find a great spouse, buy a big house, have a few top notch children, go to church on Sundays, take long vacations...and be happy. Right? Isn't that what our life is supposed to be about? At this point in my life, I can firmly say, No. The Dream is a false, broken Dream...but for some reason people keep pursuing it.
Look around at who we are as a whole: our country is stressed out, overweight, over-sick and divorced. It just doesn't add up.
And let's not pretend like the only thing that could ever go wrong out there is that someone could lose their job (though that is huge). Let's not forget that we are mortal beings in a world that is crumbling. I am just completely struck by the fact that so many Christians that I know of live their lives like they have never read the book of Revelation. Come on--everyone reads at least that book. This world is a sinking ship, it is not going to last forever, nor are our lives on this earth, so why do we live our lives as though it is?
I think money does weird things to people. I think it gives us a false sense of security. I think it makes us feel stable, fail-proof and smart. When we were in Costa Rica, I was standing on the beach watching some of the locals and thier families. They were playing soccer, the kids were swimming and the mother's were overseeing the children. There were about 20 kids all sharing 2 small intertubes. The kids wore their cut off's and tank tops to swim in, rode rusty bikes, and wore no shoes. I laughed to myself when I noticed the gigantic armfulls of things we had brought to the beach. We had enough towels for everyone to have 2, a few bottles of sunblock, snacks, cameras, kick boards and boogie boards. My kids were wearing water wings and life jackets, water shoes and a water shirt. The simplicity of the locals struck me. They didn't have near as much as I did, their houses are very small, their possessions even smaller I am sure--yet they didn't seem to be any worse off for it. In fact, they seemed very happy and very content.
So--these are the things that God has been using to pull me away from putting my eggs in a basket with a hold in the bottom of it. I felt like I was getting it, understanding that this life can be very insecure despite our best efforts to build our earthly kingdom as strong as possible, and that money can do some very strange things.
Well, turns out the lesson was not over. My good friend Esther and I were driving home from church a few weeks ago and happend upon a man who had just been run over by a car. Two men were standing over him, one was just beginning to flip his phone open to dial 911. I didn't really know what I was doing, but we parked and got out of the car and walked over to him. He was lying still, body twisted, eyes halfway open, bleeding from the head and more significantly from the nose. Nobody was close to him, no one was comforting him, rather Jeremy and the two other guys were either talking to the dispatcher or trying to find out who did it. For some reason, I couldn't stand to see someone suffering alone. So I sat by him, I began to pray out loud, but honestly it felt very fruitless. I put my hand on his arm and told him to breathe, keep breathing. My eyes locked to his face. It was not pretty but for some reason I couldn't look away. Nor could I stop talking, stop encouraging him to keep breathing. Maybe he could hear me. Maybe he was going to die and I couldn't stand the thought of him going out alone. Later I realized, God wanted me to see that. I know He did. He wanted me to see, not just hear, but see, how mortal I am. One minute previous this man was alive and well, and now he was fighting for his life on the cold pavement. I am just as mortal as he. Even though I might not die till I'm 80, I'm still dying...I'm still mortal. Everyday I get closer to my own death and NOTHING I can do in this life can change that. He was no more mortal that I.
That happend three days before Christmas and as I was allowing these thoughts of death and life to circulate in my head, I was also telling my kids the story of baby Jesus. Immanuel. God with us. What is that all about?
I began to think about the fact of my own mortality, realizing that there was nothing I could do to prevent my own death...and then that we are all in that state of being mortal. And then I thought about Jesus, coming down from Heaven to be with us mortal beings whose lives are wrecked with sin and full of suffering at practically every turn. It was, to me, just like sitting there on the cold pavement with the bleeding man, encouraging him to breathe, to keep fighting. Jesus got off of His throne and came to be with us in our misery...in our mortality, in our struggle on this Earth. And not only did he come to walk along side us and to live life with us for all that it is and all that it isn't, but He came to show us the way to real Life. He came to show us how we can escape this mortal life all together and have an eternal one some day...but it isn't gained without a fight. This verse from Romans speaks this truth and it is by far my favorite:
"For the creation was subjected to frustration not by its own choice, but by the will of the one who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be liberated from its bondage to decay and brought into the glorious freedom of the children of God."
God hopes we can make it through this life, He knows He has made us "strong enough to stand though free to fall" (thankyou John Milton). This is Satan's playground and many of us are decieved. I picture it just like that night. Jesus steps into a mess that He had nothing to do with, and encourages us to keep fighting all the frustration of this World and He shows us the way to be liberated, the way to life: "just breathe, keep breathing." Everytime I thought of baby Jesus this year, I teared up. He made it so real to me.
This has been a season full of death. Jeremy's granpa died in a plane accident in May, his best friend from High School in June, his Grandma a few days ago, I learned of the death of a classmate this week, and my heart has been broken for a mother with 4 children that has cancer in her breasts, bones and brain. Ah, this life. It is too much at times.
So, all that to say, where does my security lie? Not in me, not in the things I can do, or the money we can make, or the things I can buy. I only desire to be secure in the things God gives me, and everything I do have already, I hold with an open hand. He holds the keys to the only secure and eternal Kingdom. I will probably have to give it up on a daily basis, but I don't want to hold on to anything else. It's just not worth it.
I have come to picture God like a caring Father. A good parent not only cares for his child's today, but for his tomorrow as well. A good parent looks out for his child's future, the kind of person he is to become and maybe even puts some money away for college. God is like that. He has made an investment in our future, but it is a future that can never crumble, can never be taken away.
So many times we feel that God does not care becuase He is not answering our problems or our prayers right now. Maybe he does care, maybe He wants things to blow up, maybe He doesn't want to just keep the peace for today. Maybe He is more concerned about getting things out in the open today so that you may end up with an eternal tomorrow.
I have thought about this kind of like GPS vs The Map. When using GPS, we just want to know what the right turn is, right now. We don't care about the big picuture, we just want to know where to go now. And God doesn't tell us. He wants to give us the Big Picture. He wants us to look at the map, and understand it so that we can navigate through any hard time in this life. We just have to be willing to continue to ask, seek and knock as we go throughout this life. And He has promised to answer.
Sunday, January 2, 2011
I found my Blog!
I love how it is impossible to lose something on the Internet. I am so bothered about the fact that over a year ago I had evidently decided to "update this bad boy more often"...and then didn't touch it for over a year. Good thing I only have 4 followers.
BUT--I'm going to try again. And this time, I believe that the focus of my blog will change a bit. Previously I had desired to update friends and family on the status of our lives with cute stories and pictures of my family, but I miserably failed that mission...and quite frankly I don't really care. I am finally over giving myself a hard time for not keeping up on scrapbooks and photo albums--though I am completely jealous of those who CAN accomplish such tasks--I am just not one of them.
SO, what shall this blog become? Well--perhaps it will be a place that I can get some of the many thoughts that travel through mind out on paper (paper?) Maybe it will help me organize my own thoughts; maybe it will help others make sense of theirs. What will be in it for you as a reader? Well, I don't really know, but I can tell you that God has granted me the ability to be incredibly transparent about my life and to not necessarily care about how I may come across to others. As Popeye would say, I am what I am. This idea of writing in a somewhat public manner is one that I have procrastinated on long enough. Now, I'm just going to do it! I think. Guess we'll see if the content is worth continuing it or not. OH--and if I do actually find time to publish new posts, (in between life with 2 children and full time classes) you can rest assured that someone is probably being neglected.
BUT--I'm going to try again. And this time, I believe that the focus of my blog will change a bit. Previously I had desired to update friends and family on the status of our lives with cute stories and pictures of my family, but I miserably failed that mission...and quite frankly I don't really care. I am finally over giving myself a hard time for not keeping up on scrapbooks and photo albums--though I am completely jealous of those who CAN accomplish such tasks--I am just not one of them.
SO, what shall this blog become? Well--perhaps it will be a place that I can get some of the many thoughts that travel through mind out on paper (paper?) Maybe it will help me organize my own thoughts; maybe it will help others make sense of theirs. What will be in it for you as a reader? Well, I don't really know, but I can tell you that God has granted me the ability to be incredibly transparent about my life and to not necessarily care about how I may come across to others. As Popeye would say, I am what I am. This idea of writing in a somewhat public manner is one that I have procrastinated on long enough. Now, I'm just going to do it! I think. Guess we'll see if the content is worth continuing it or not. OH--and if I do actually find time to publish new posts, (in between life with 2 children and full time classes) you can rest assured that someone is probably being neglected.
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