Author Archive
Life Is Not a Lesson Plan
Posted on: October 11, 2015
Going for a walk in the woods with my dad was always a learning experience. He had a nearly encyclopedic knowledge of wildlife, and possessed an amazing ability to spot animals and birds, and to identify sounds or signs of them. He was trail-wise, with much knowledge to pass on. We didn’t think about it that way when we were kids, of course; we didn’t spend every minute focusing on “What lesson is Daddy teaching me?” The purpose of the outings was to be together while we made our way from wherever we started to wherever we were going; learning was incidental and happened naturally as we observed, listened to, and copied our dad.
For some reason, we don’t think of our journey with God that way. For example, I have a friend whose life for many years has been just one hard situation after another, most arising from completely external sources. As she puts it, “Every time I think my platter’s full, God gives me a bigger platter – and piles more on!” Most of us can relate to the feeling. This friend is convinced that the reason she keeps facing the same kind of situation again and again is that God must be trying to teach her a Lesson, and if she can just somehow get The Lesson “right”, God will stop putting her in that situation. She’s not the only Christian who thinks that way.
Life reduced to a lesson plan.
It’s a seductive trap to fall into, assuming that everything that happens to us has as its prime purpose teaching us some particular lesson, but there are two serious problems. One, it gives us the illusion of control; we “earn” our results. We didn’t learn our Lesson? We force God to keep repeating it. We learned our Lesson? Hurray, we passed, and God is obligated to stop putting us through that kind of situation. It’s all up to us, if we can just be smart enough. The second problem is that when we approach every situation in life as being a Lesson for us to learn, we have reduced all of God’s ways and all of God’s thoughts to our own level, simplifying the “why” of His actions to a single purpose so that we can “justify” those actions. We find it easier to accept His putting us through this or that situation on the grounds that He is trying to teach us some Lesson than it is to simply trust that the situation is necessary for His purposes.
If we are convinced that every event in our life is to teach us some Lesson, but we have to stress and cogitate and tease out of Him what that Lesson is, I believe we also misjudge God’s character. Scripture does not paint a portrait of a God Who plays guessing games and Twenty Questions with His children, “That’s for ME to know, and YOU to find out.” The Biblical witness is that God delights in revealing Himself. It’s not that there aren’t important things for us to learn in life; there are. It’s not that God doesn’t bring some things into our life in order to teach us some lessons; He does. But when He does, He will make clear what He is doing, what His children need to know. Equally clear is that there is far more to His purposes than we can possibly understand and that He desires that we trust Him for that.
Life is not a lesson plan. We are not students completing a syllabus so we can graduate to Heaven. Romans 8:28 doesn’t say that God causes all things to work together for good for those who have learned their lessons. A branch doesn’t bear fruit because it has passed “Fruit-bearing 101”, but because it is organically rooted in the vine.
If Daddy led us hiking up a forested mountainside, we generally found ourselves climbing over log after log after log. It had nothing to do with him trying to teach us a lesson about how to climb over a log, and everything to do with fact that fallen logs are an unavoidable part of the landscape on such a mountainside. If you want to get to the top, climbing over logs is what you have to do. No matter how perfectly we might climb over one of those logs, it wouldn’t make the rest of the logs disappear.
If we find ourselves facing the same kind of life situation again and again and again, we shouldn’t assume it must be our fault for not learning our Lesson. If the road God has chosen for us to reach our destination is littered with a lot of “fallen logs”, we may get better at climbing over them, but our performance won’t reduce how many we have to climb over. Instead of focusing on the logs and our log-climbing-over technique, attempting to figure out what the hidden Lesson is, we will do better to keep our attention on the trail and the One leading us, trusting that what we need to learn, He’ll make sure we know.
After all, if God DOES give a test, it’s always open Book!
I Should’ve Known
Posted on: October 4, 2015
- In: Christianity | fai | forgiveness | freedom | intentional living | self-image
- 1 Comment
Anyone who knows the family in which I grew up knows that we place a high value on learning. We each may have our varying areas of stronger interest, but all of us are always on the prowl to increase the depth and breadth of our knowledge. That’s probably part of why three of us chose to homeschool our kids – it meant WE got to learn so much! (And here you thought homeschooling was about the children…)
In my junior high and high school years, I was terrifically lonely because of the cultural situation in which we were living, but although I wasn’t pretty and I couldn’t be popular, I found my place in being a useful resource. I didn’t “belong” to any group at high school, but I was accepted in any circle. I was always ready to help with homework or explain things the teacher left unclear (in anything but math, at least!) I read the newspapers and watched TV news, so was well up on what was going on in the world. I was also likely to know the real story about all kinds of things that were going on at school – such as when a “fire drill” was actually a locker search – because when you’re a “good student”, trustworthiness is assumed as a given. At the itty-bitty church we attended, I wasn’t afraid of debating with adults; because of my family background, it wasn’t uncommon that I knew as much or more than those adults did of the Bible or doctrine. I learned that knowledge can make you feel important, and that it makes a great defense against feeling vulnerable and worthless, and when necessary, it serves as a powerful offensive weapon as well.
Not that I thought of it in those terms, of course. That understanding came only after years of analyzing the experience of those painful years. Hurray for me, right? I figured my long-ago self out. Yeah, well …. In these last months, pondering the questions I mentioned previously (“Am I making myself the hero of my own story?” and “Who have I thrown under the bus?”), God has been forcing me to look under some rocks in my soul, and I’ve found some rather unpleasant bugs hiding out that try to scurry away from the light.
Proverbs 27:9 says, “Oil and perfume make the heart glad, and the sweetness of a friend comes from his earnest counsel.”
I got to have lunch with my bestie the other day. Lynda and I met in college in … 1980 (yikes!) … and for all but the five years she spent in China we have lived within a couple of hours of each other ever since. We dined on the wooden deck of a restaurant over the waters of Puget Sound in Tacoma – beautiful, hot, sunny day – light, fresh breeze – oh, yeah, bring it, baby! (A mojito would have been perfect, but, alas, I had to drive home, so I had to stick to an unleaded version.)
Lynda is a “safe” person for me – that is, I know she will listen with respect, answer honestly (if an answer is needed), and will never look down on me for or be shocked by anything I tell her. As we talked, I shared how God has been using the conference and some books I’ve been reading to bring me to face up to some very unpleasant facts about myself. Lynda settled in to her usual “I’m here for you. Tell me.” posture, and I proceeded. “I have realized that most of the time, I really hate to admit when I don’t know something. If I’m talking about a subject that I only know a little about, I may talk as if I know more than I do. Or if the other person assumes I DO know, I let them go on assuming. I always want people to think I DO know.”
Her response was not the gentle, sympathetic one I expected. No “Wow, that must be hard for you to admit.” Or even better, “I’ve never thought of you that way.” Nope. She leaned back in her chair and let loose a whoop of laughter! “Oh, Susie, honey, all your friends already know that about you – but we love you anyway!”
It was disconcerting, to say the least. Deflating. Embarrassing! Here I thought I was unveiling a dark facet of myself, only to find that I was the last to see it. I told a joke, but the audience already knew the punchline. Talk about feeling painfully, pitifully, pathetically comical.
Yet, ruminating on it more, I think that Lynda’s response to my “revelation” was a picture of God’s response to us. We dither and dodge and delay until at last we come to Him and do the Big Reveal, confessing the sins and shortcomings we have recognized in ourselves – only to find that He knew what was behind the curtain all along and had just been waiting for us to get our blinders off and recognize it, too. I daresay He sometimes gets a chuckle out it just as my friend did. He – our Friend – already knows about us, but He loves us anyway. He is not reluctant to associate with us because of our imperfections. He never says, “WELL, if I’d known THAT about you, I certainly wouldn’t have been willing to die for you!!” Seriously, what kind of God do we take Him for?
God keeps turning up the magnification and showing me just how many ways I still use knowledge as a barrier and a defense. I admit I’m still twisting uncomfortably in my seat at my confession about it, bad enough to Lynda, downright terrifying in this public format, but the point isn’t about me and my frailties. It’s about God and His generous grace.
“Dear silly child, I’m your Friend, and I’ve always known that about you – but I love you anyway!”
I Hate to Tell You This
Posted on: September 27, 2015
No, really. I DO hate to tell you this. Don’t worry – it’s not for your own good; it’s for mine. Well, maybe it will do you good, too – I never know what effects my scribblings may have.
Have you ever done the science experiment tasting a bit of paper that’s been treated with phenylthiocarbamide (PTC), a chemical that only some people can taste? For those who can’t taste it, the paper just tastes like paper did when we ate those magazines as toddlers. For those of us who can taste the chemical, though, the paper’s taste is bitter and entirely unpleasant, screwing up our face and making us want to spit the paper out and go rinse with something to take the taste away.
At the writers’ conference in April, one of the speakers, Tony Kriz, gave us a list of 10 questions he asks himself before publishing any piece of writing. (Tony is a challenger of the too-content, too-settled, and too-tradition-bound; find him at www.TonyKriz.com , or check out his books Aloof: Figuring Out Life With a God Who Hides, Neighbors and Wise Men: Sacred Encounters in a Portland Pub and Other Unexpected Places, Welcome to the Table: Post-Christian Culture Saves a Seat for Ancient Liturgy.) Two of the questions prompted a soul reaction just as that PTC-treated paper caused a sensory reaction: I wanted to spit them out and go gargle with something more pleasant!
Over the next few weeks, I did, in fact, try to find something to distract me from them, or find mental justifications why they didn’t apply to me – or maybe only just a little bit. The attempt was an unmitigated failure. Those questions had burrowed into my soul to stay, so it was obvious that they weren’t being posed by Tony, although his was the mouth through which they were delivered. Questions that spark this kind of reaction can only come from the LORD. I resigned myself that they were either going to just sit there and gnaw at me, or I was going to have to look them in the face. O.U.C.H.
Have you ever noticed how much easier it is to confess in generalities? We’re all comfortable confessing “I’m not perfect”, or admitting that “I make mistakes”, because no one on earth can deny the truth of those statements in their own instance. There may even be particular sins or short-comings we don’t mind confessing. For example, I don’t mind copping to being too impatient or owning up that I really shouldn’t have eaten that third piece of pie, because I’m in such good company on those offenses. Getting down to the personal, however, is another story altogether!
The two questions that are eating away at me are “Am I making myself the hero of my own story?” and “Have I thrown anyone under the bus?”
The answer to both is … um … not a negative? – and not just in my writing, either. I’d rather leave the admission of guilt at that – amorphously vague – but since some of the offenses have been splattered all over the pages of the Solution, it’s only fitting that some of the mea culpas also be shared in this venue.
Humble pie is on the menu – but at least the extra servings won’t make the scale creep up….
Not Now Is Not Never
Posted on: September 6, 2015
My grandprincesses crack me up. When dil Brooke was fixing 3½ yo Evie’s hair one morning, Brooke suggested that she could put Evie’s hair in one braid, two braids, or – and Evie broke in, “Or pony pigs!” 2-and-some-months Fiona started a story with, “In the distant past…” 1½ Rosie droppiedher meatballs into her mashed potatoes one by one, saying a gleeful, “Boom!” with each plop. When daughter Bethy made a straw paper “worm” crawl on the table of the restaurant, 3½ yo Naomi said soberly, “Mama, I would prefer that you not do that.” (For those of you not in the know how to do “worms”: hold a straw with a paper cover straight up on the table. Push the paper down so that it accordians all the way into a short stack at the bottom. Remove the straw and let the paper “worm” lie out on table. Dip the straw into some liquid and place your finger over the top to hold the liquid in the end. Carefully let one drop of liquid fall onto a fold of the worm. As the liquid absorbs, the paper fibers expand, and voila! The worm wriggles! Keep adding single drops onto dry sections of paper and it keeps moving. Congratulations! You have just taken your first step into a larger world …. Although apparently it may disturb overly imaginative 3½ year olds.)
Almost-6 yo Beverly is the Queen of Creativity – and of Drama. “Never” is one of her favorite words. She wants to complete a coloring page, but is told “No, put it away. It’s time for dinner.” Wails of anguish! “Now I’ll NEVER get it done!!!” Reading a book and Instructed to put it down and go take care of her bed? Loud lamentations! “Now I’ll NEVER get to finish it!” She’s even practicing for teenagerhood. Say, “No, you can’t watch a movie today; you watched one yesterday.” Gnashing of teeth! “You NEVER let me watch movies!” Oy.
We laugh, of course. What she views as “never” is only “not now.”
Sometimes we react to God that way when He tells us “no.” We assume “no” means “never.” Sometimes it is. Pray to have a baby, and end up with a hysterectomy, and it’s clear the “no” is “never”. But for a lot of things, maybe even most, we may not know for a long time, if before Heaven, whether a “no” is “never” or just “not now.”
Back in April, after the writers’ conference, I thought I was going to be upping my blogging game. On the whole, my life finally seemed settled into something more of a semblance of a resemblance of some kind of normal (whatever that is.) The time seemed right to “get serious” with my writing – discipline myself to write faithfully X days a week, get on Twitter and Instagram, start linking with other bloggers, the whole nine yards. I was even going to migrate this blog to a new title that sounds less like an advice column. I had a long session with a friend who runs a website (Cynthia DeWitte of http://www.thefemininereview.com) who gave me all kinds of helpful advice and encouragement. I’d certainly TALKED about taking this step for years. Time to put talk into action. I was nervous about it all, but it seemed like the thing to do.
We have a big penny – I mean a REALLY big penny – that we use for decision making. We call it our Urim and Thummim. (Casting lots is perfectly Biblical.) We use it when we are faced with a decision for which there are only two possible answers, or a yes/no, and for which we cannot arrive at a clear answer one way or the other. We pray and flip. If it’s a yes/no, then heads is always yes, tails no.
About the time of my last post, in June, as I was on the verge of actually, factually, taking action to set the above steps into motion, a funny thing happened. One day, I felt compelled to pick up that coin and pray, “Lord, I know I think I want to do this thing. I think I know You want me to do this thing. But suddenly, I’m not sure. So would You please confirm this?” I tossed the heavy metal coin into the air. Flip, spin, turn and kerplop onto the carpet. Tails.
Wait a minute! Tails? TAILS?? Tails means no. Whaddy mean “No”??? I admit, that toss threw me for a loop.
That is, at first. Once I got over my immediate reaction, I realized that I actually felt, well, relieved! As the next weeks went by, I came to admit that I wasn’t ready to give up my life as it is to make this blog a business. After years and years of stress with one thing after another – the years of raising kids, problems with our son, getting kids launched, caring for my cousin, dealing with my cousin’s son after his incarceration, caring for my mother till she died in November of last year – I am enjoying having a life. I am relishing getting to have lunch with friends that I’ve been out of touch with, and being available for them in times of need. It is a joy to get to spend time with my granddaughters. Having the freedom to do things such as going to Pullman for a week to care for our daughter after her surgery, or next week to Hawaii with my sister. Getting projects done around the house that have gone begging because of time pressures in the last few years. Much as I like the idea of doing a better blog, the truth is that, at least for now, I’m happier not putting that pressure on myself.
God’s also been showing me that although many circumstances might be considered right for doing that project now, I’m not right for doing it. In these last few months, He has been turning up the magnification so that certain character issues have been coming into focus. Some are just interesting, as in “Aha! So THAT’S why I do that.” Some of them are unpleasant, like looking at the unretouched photos for my school yearbooks. Some are plain ugly, like turning over a leaf in the garden and finding a big, flat, slimy slug. All are prompting change. Some change is coming relatively easily. Some is like doing an appendectomy with no anaesthesia.
That’s part of why I haven’t posted these last months. In addition to a lot of summer THINGS going on, I’ve had a lot of THINKS going on. I’ve started dozens of posts in my head – some have even made it to my laptop screen – yet all of them somehow have gone wandering off and gotten lost somewhere in the middle, or have split into a dozen different tracks that I couldn’t decide which to follow. I’m not used to that when I write. Words and opinions usually just pour right out. It’s definitely indicative of just how deep this introspection is going.
For the foreseeable future, the blog is staying where it is. I’m still not making any grand promise, even to myself, of how often I’m going to write. I will say I plan to try to write SHORTER posts, as I’ve realized that one mental block to doing them is that they have generally been as long as a magazine article. If I keep them shorter (as the subject allows), then it may be easier to do them more frequently. We’ll see!
No as in never? No as in not now? God’s given me no answer as yet, but it doesn’t matter. I’m sure that if or when He wants me to take that next step, He’ll give me a heads up.
Being just like our Father
Posted on: June 21, 2015
- In: Christianity | church life | family | intentional living
- 1 Comment
One of the interesting things coming out of dealing with my mom’s death is the revelation of just how different experiences with/perceptions of our parents were/are among my siblings and me. With a ten year age span between the five of us, several different living locations during our growing up, and, of course, our very different personalities and needs, it isn’t any wonder that such differences exist – indeed, it would be unbelievable if they did not – but knowing that these differences must exist and coming face to face with them in reality …. Somehow they still can be surprising. Even though our dad died 24 years ago, I’m still learning new things.
One of the things that came up in these last months has to do with fixing things. We always said my dad could fix anything. My dad disagreed; some things, he insisted, were not worth fixing! Honestly, though, he was one of those amazing guys who can seemingly do anything in the handyman line. I saw him take apart and put together countless kinds of appliances and toys; more often than not, that alone would restore them to working order without him even having to figure out what had been wrong in the first place. He did all our home maintenance and repair. At one house he enclosed the carport to create extra rooms; at another he finished the basement AND added on a huge garage and a workshop for himself. Once he retired, he parlayed his skills into a handyman business, under which flag he expanded into even more projects. I’m not sure if there was anything he was totally unwilling to tackle, though if electronics got too complicated, he’d bow out.
Because of my Daddy, I am pretty fearless when it comes to taking things apart. As he always said, “If it’s already broke, I can’t make it not work any worse.” If I already can’t use something, I’ve got nothing to lose by trying to fix it myself – especially if it’s something that it won’t be worth paying someone else to try to fix, if that’s even possible! I know if something was put together, it can most likely come apart; you just have to try to figure out which was the last screw, or the last tab. I can hear my dad’s voice as I work, “OK, lay everything out in the order you remove them, then just work backward from there to put it back together.” I can look at gears and latches and movements and more often than not figure out how the thing is supposed to work. I can read a user manual and identify parts. (Yes, my dad actually read directions!) My mom and at least one or two others of my sibling have said the same thing about hearing my dad’s voice as they go along on a project. A few months ago, one of my other brothers made the point that he does NOT. In fact, he doesn’t understand why we DO.
As I thought about it, I was struck by the realization that I didn’t get any of what I just talked about because Daddy TAUGHT it to me. Although he probably thought he did, the fact was, Daddy didn’t TEACH. He might show us – “OK, do this-this-this-this-then-this and there you’re all done” (like my one and only lesson in changing a tire) – but he didn’t take us through step by step and have us do it. Because he had come by his skill naturally and had had plenty of opportunity to gain experience on his dad’s ranch growing up, I don’t think he ever quite understood how unusual he was; I think he expected that of course we kids – especially the boys – would know how to be handy with tools simply because HE was. (When I married a man whose own dad had been, um, the antithesis of my own in that regard, my dad made allowances and did make a point of working WITH my dh to teach him skills, a blessing from which our family continues to benefit.)
I didn’t learn from Daddy how to fix things, but somehow I managed to absorb an attitude from him that I COULD. Yet my brother was left with neither. There are other attitudes I absorbed that have had a far less positive influence, but that escaped my siblings’ notice altogether. Of both my father and my mother, we find ourselves asking one another, “Where did you get THAT??” or saying, “Boy, I sure didn’t see it that way.”
Is it any wonder, then, given how amazingly individualistic we kids are in how we react to our earthly parents growing up, that we are so individualistic in how we perceive God? We believers read the same Word, yet how differently we may interpret it! We worship the same Lord, yet relate differently to His holy character. We come to God from such different experiences and different paradigms, such different expectations, fears, hopes, and longings that we should not wonder that we sometimes ask each other, “Where do you see THAT in Him? I’ve never felt like that.”
Unity in the Spirit doesn’t make us like each other; it makes us like the same God. However, because our God is so diverse and beyond our comprehension – the Great Both/And, the Great Contradiction, Who Makes Exist What Does Not – being all like Him we end up as different from each other as can be. No other believer will ever be able to relate to God as I do. There is a facet of God’s image that only you can connect with.
I see my mom and dad more clearly now that I am learning to see them through my siblings’ eyes. In some ways, I continue to hold to my own perception, but I have learned to fully acknowledge the validity of theirs, no matter how different from mine. It would be so sad if any of us tried to deny family identity over those differences. In the same way, we should value those in God’s Family whose perceptions differ from our own and be willing to consider theirs. We don’t necessarily have to adopt those perceptions, but we should acknowledge their validity. Worst of all would be for us to attempt to disown others from the Family simply because they experience the Father differently, have learned some different lessons, see His world through different eyes.
Whom God has called His child is my brother, my sister. We all bear the same family name. May we all be our Father’s children in word and deed.
Whose year is it, anyway?
Posted on: June 7, 2015
My dad had a saying. Actually he had LOTS of sayings. The older I get, the more of them I find myself using. When a whole string of things went wrong one right after the other, he’d say “Some days, ya just can’t win fer losin’!” Most of us know it as, “Man, this just ISN’T my day!” We’ve all been there.
You sleep through your alarm, so you’re running late. You speed a bit trying to get to work on time, and you get pulled over. While the cop is writing the ticket, he notices that your registration is expired. You sit in a meeting in the morning and spill your coffee. On the boss. You realize you forgot the lunch you’d packed the night before. It’s sitting right on top of the presentation folder for the big meeting this afternoon. There’s a huge traffic jam on the freeway, so you’re an hour late getting home, so there isn’t time for dinner before you have to head off for your kid’s softball game. During the game, your keys fall out of your pocket and land somewhere on the ground under the bleachers, amid the piles of peanut shells, candy wrappers and spilled soda pop. You get back to your car to find someone left a new dent on the bumper. You finally make it home, get the kids in bed, get yourself into your PJs so you can crawl in bed and read…. and find the dog threw up on your pillow. Not. My. Day.
On the other hand, sometimes everything seems to be going right. In November of 2013, I was looking forward to 2014 very much. My youngest was still home, but gainfully employed at last. My cousin I take care of was relatively stable. My oldest daughter, who had been facing placenta previa (a serious condition of pregnancy; go look it up), got the news that it had resolved and her pregnancy had been downgraded from high risk back to low risk; Gramsie (that’s me) no longer had to be ready to take on major care of the two and four year olds for months of bedrest. My own health was good, other than the setback of taking a fall in September that had derailed my exercise routine for a few months. I had lots of ideas for things I wanted to do in 2014: write, write, write; organize family photos; sew; plan Gramsie days with my grandprincesses; go hiking with my dh; get projects done on the house; work on my garden. Yep, 2014 looked to be marvelous.
In January of this year, I saw quite a few posts on my Facebook feed making claims “2015 is going to be MY YEAR!”, or encouraging others “Remember folks, this is YOUR YEAR!” I’m not entirely sure what they meant by it, but frankly, I just rolled my eyes as I thought about what happened to me LAST year. Contrary to how 2014 LOOKED to be shaping up, on December 6, 2013, my mom was diagnosed with lung cancer that had spread to her ribs, spine and brain. She died almost eleven months later, on October 29th of 2014. I was her primary caregiver, basically living at her home for her final three months. During that same time, the cousin I also serve as caregiver for had her own series of crises. The two either tag- or double-teamed me pretty much non-stop for the duration of my mom’s illness. I did a fair amount of writing, keeping up a CaringBridge journal about Mama’s journey Homeward, and for the last three months of her life, nearly daily emails to a circle of family and close friends, but I had little time to do writing for my own purposes, such as this blog. My garden went untended. Only one or two minor house projects got done. I only half-jokingly said that I had no life of my own – I had OTHER peoples’ lives. MY year? Not exactly.
Not only experience, but Scripture, warns against being too cock-sure of ourselves. In James 4, it says : “Come now, you who say, ‘Today or tomorrow we will go into such and such a town and spend a year there and trade and make a profit’— yet you do not know what tomorrow will bring. What is your life? For you are a mist that appears for a little time and then vanishes. Instead you ought to say, ‘If the Lord wills, we will live and do this or that.’ As it is, you boast in your arrogance.”
Sometimes we DO get to go to that town, and we DO get to spend a year there and trade, and we DO make a profit. Other times, we’ll go to that town and spend a year and trade and….. end up bankrupt. Maybe we’ll get to go to that town and spend a year … trying to get a business license. Maybe we’ll get to go that town, and …. have to leave after a couple of months. Maybe we’ll set out for that town, and find the bridge is out or get set on by robbers. Maybe we’ll break our leg before we can even start packing!
We have no way of knowing . We don’t. But we sure act like we do, don’t we? Sometimes we act like God owes it to us to honor the plans we make, but the more we claim possession of our time, the more we set ourselves up for indignation, frustration, and even anger when our plans go south.
Most Westerners know the division of the historical calendar into “B.C.” and “A.D.” Many people could correctly identify “B.C.” as standing for the words “before Christ”. “A.D.”, however, is nearly always mistakenly defined as an abbreviation of “after death”, when in fact it stands for the Latin “Anno Domini” – the Year of Our Lord. In medieval times, the term often used was “Anno Gratiae”, or “Year of Grace.” The two were sometimes combined so that you may read in old English of a date such as “June the nineteenth in the year of Our Lord’s Grace, fifteen hundred forty-three.” Isn’t that a marvelous way of looking at our calendar?
When I said last year that I didn’t have any life of my own, I was right – but it would be a mistake to think that I ever will! As a Christian, my life is NOT my own. What would I do with a life of my own, anyway? I’m not so sure but that I’d make quite a hash of it in short order.
I don’t want MY year – but I’ll sure take another year of Our Lord’s Grace!
[Note: Something is off with the formatting for paragraphs when the draft actually posts, but I am giving up trying to fix it! Sorry.]
I grew up in South Central Texas, as belted in the Bible as you could get. We attended CHBaptist Church, a real big church just a mile or so up the road, right past my elementary school. (Baptist churches in Texas come in three size: Real Big, Really, Really Big, and outright Gigantormously Big.) Like all good Baptists, we were at church whenever the doors were open: Sunday morning for Sunday School and worship, Sunday evening for Training Union and service, Wednesdays for Prayer Service, the annual Revival , annual Missions conferences, special speakers, potlucks, VBS– you name it, the Heumier crew was present, front and center. CHBC was an integral part of family life – and we were an integral part of CHBC.
On the first night out on vacation in the summer when I was about 8 or 9, just after all seven of us had gotten settled into our sleeping bags in the big, green canvas tent, Mama said she had something to tell us: we were leaving CHBC. When we got back from vacation, we would begin searching for a new church. Although it felt strange to leave the familiar place, most of my friends were from school rather than church, and I disliked (and even feared) the hellfire-and-brimstone pastor, so I wasn’t too unhappy about leaving. We weren’t the only family to exit stage left at the time, but I was too young to be fully aware of the pain and anguish the split left in its wake. We found another church (a Really, Really Big one), and were very happy there until we had to move away because of my dad’s job transfer.
Since then, I have attended 11 different churches. At the 6 churches my dh and I have been at since our marriage in ’82, my dh and I have been through 3 splits. The first was when we and several other families (including the pastor’s) left our small church after it became clear that most of the congregation had a very different vision of what the purpose of the church was. It was an uncomfortable, though not a rancorous, split.
We were at our next church for 13 years, involved in leadership at high levels. In the first split there, involving the ouster of a pastor for serious cause, Rob was Executive Director, and we were in the majority who remained behind. The offenses did not take place with outside witnesses, so it took many months before the leadership had its case prepared. In the meantime rumor, anger, and bitterness ran amok, and fault lines split wide between those who believed the pastor and those who believed the accusers. In the end, an overwhelming majority of the congregation was convinced of the need to remove the pastor from office. Since his conduct in the aftermath of his ouster gave very public demonstration of the veracity of the accusations, some of those who had been on his side acknowledged that they had been “taken in” by his publicly plausible charisma. Still, there were many congregants left bruised and battered on either side. Friendships that had lasted for years ended; others were severely strained.
The second split at that church came several pastors later, when Rob was Head Elder. A new pastor was brought in who turned out to have a very, shall we say, aggressive style, very decided ideas of how he wanted things done, and little or no respect for anyone who didn’t agree with him. A trickle of people began leaving within 6 months of his arrival. The situation came to a head when he proposed a plan that completely and unabashedly violated the church’s constitution and by-laws, and enough of a majority at the congregational meeting voted to begin implementation. A number of other families, including ours, joined the Diaspora at that point. Altogether, some quarter to a third of the families from the congregation left; most, like us, had been long-time members and heavily involved leaders.
Both of those splits were extremely traumatic, leaving the pasture littered with casualties. In the first split, most leaving went to churches of other denominations, but in the second, being families with strong ties to the denomination, we mostly ended up at sister churches, which created especially awkward situations since we were quite likely to be thrown together with members from our previous church at conferences, retreats, and so on. Some folks actively avoided each other, some folks just tacitly ignored each other, while others pretended nothing had happened and we’d never been at the same church. Over time, some relationships were re-established on an amicable footing, but for others the rupture was permanent.
This past December and January the church that I and my oldest daughter and family attend (a different denomination), experienced a split, with about 15 of our families leaving. Although I have been attending this church for about 5 years now, I have not become involved very deeply, for various reasons, so it is no wonder that I was entirely taken by surprise – but from what I’ve heard, not many others in the congregation knew the problems existed until the situation exploded, either. As is almost always the case, for those involved, the split caused wrenching pain and much collateral damage, both for those who stayed and those who left.
In almost every split I’ve been part of/witness to, there have been a few people whose actions, I think, helped lessen the hurt, and brought faster healing of what hurt there was. I’m sad – and ashamed – that I’ve transgressed some of them, but I hope that I’ve learned from the better example. Let me tell you these things I’ve learned.
I’ve learned that a split, in and of itself, is not necessarily the worst thing that can befall a church. God works in all things – even conflict and splits. He may use a split to help a congregation clarify its calling by the issues brought to light in conflict. If the church has been trying to go in two directions at once, neither will be getting done well; splitting may free the church to focus on one direction rather than the other. Leaders may find themselves encouraged in their leadership, or may see areas where they needed humbling so that they can be better shepherds. A gap left by someone leaving may open up opportunities for someone unexpected to serve. Sometimes we stay in a place out of sheer inertia, even though there are serious issues that bother us; conflict may challenge us with the question, “Is this really where I am supposed to be?” God may use a split to move part of one flock to a part of the pasture where they are needed more. That’s certainly what happened with the Diaspora. (And the church we left? It didn’t die, or even come near collapse – which I must confess the ugly truth that part of me would have almost enjoyed as vindication of how right we were to object to that pastor. It recovered fairly quickly and went on to be strong and healthy. )
I have been struck that one of the first instructions given in many books on marriage is that both parties should begin any conflict by assuming the goodwill of the other. That is, each spouse should act in the belief that the other spouse does, in fact, love him/her, does, in fact, desire the best for him/her, and that whatever is going on, the INTENT is not to wound him/her. If we applied this concept to churches, acting on the assumption that neither side wants to destroy the church, is deliberately trying to wound others who disagree, or is intentionally trying to cause a split, if we acknowledged that both sides share the same goal of seeing the church thrive (differ though we do on the “how” it would be best achieved), it would change the whole tone of any conflict – both how we would act ourselves, and how we would interpret others’ actions. If we could “agree in the Lord” on this primary assumption, it might keep us from “enemizing” each other – creating a “we are the good guys and we’re right” and “you are the enemy and you’re wrong” mindset that prevents any real communication from occurring, and only serves to set each side up to dig in its heels to defend its position.
If we are among the ones who stay behind, assuming the goodwill of the other party would include assuming that the decision took place only after considerable prayer to discern God’s will, and is as painful for them as it is for us. Though there may have been a specific incident that proved the “tipping point” that triggered the timing of their leaving, we should not belittle the decision as being “only” because of that incident. We need to acknowledge that we do not know everything that went into the decision – especially since even those leaving may not, at the time, recognize all the factors. Going through this kind of trauma without the support of the flock you’ve been a part of is horrendously difficult, especially if you’ve been there a long time and your connections are deep, so we should be willing to meet those who have left in a spirit of mutual grief and support, whether we agree with their positions or their decision to leave. If we speak respectfully of those who have left, even if still dealing with feelings of personal hurt, we take the higher road.
And what of those who leave? If we have decided that leaving is what we have to do, it can be helpful to if possible explain that decision to those who will be directly affected or who are likely to notice our absence, such as people with whom we are on boards with, or groups with whom we serve. The intent should not be to foment further discontent or to get others to take up an offence on our behalf, of course, nor should we reveal information that is confidential or that the listener does not need to know, but to simply disappear opens the door to all kinds of speculation, and may leave some tender souls feeling undeserved guilt that it was somehow their fault. As we should be ready to accept overtures of concern and support from those we have left, we should be as ready to make those overtures ourselves. Those leaving a church are faced with an additional temptation to voice their complaints to those outside the church, but if we remember that that church is still part of God’s family, we will be careful how, and how much, and with whom, we share.
When it comes to conflict, God isn’t impressed by how correct we are. We may be perfectly “right” – and still be utterly wrong. If we don’t speak to one another in love and humility, if we are quick to take offence, if we are unwilling to listen, we are wrong. If we close our minds and hearts to the possibility that others might have some valid points, valid concerns, valid criticisms, then we are wrong. If we gossip about, slander, and judge one another, then we are wrong. It may be easy to convince ourselves of the righteousness of our position, but if we go about treating one another in an unrighteous manner, we are wrong. If we let our position on the disagreement become more important to us than our brothers and sisters, we are wrong. “Above all, keep loving one another earnestly, since love covers a multitude of sins.” I Peter 4:8
No split is pain-free, but God willing, we can at least minimize the need for Excedrin.
Get real, Hallmark!
Posted on: May 10, 2015
This is my first Mothers’ Day as an orphan. My father died in 1991; my mother last October. Fathers Day was really hard after my dad died. For years I hated to see the racks of Fathers’ Day cards – but since my dh and i had kids of our own, I still had to look at them to pick one out for my him. With my mom gone, I don’t have to look at cards.
I’m glad for that. Getting a card had long been something of a conundrum. I could always find a good funny card, and mostly that’s what I went to. It’s not that I wouldn’t have liked to get something more sweet and sentimental, but I most of the time I couldn’t find one that felt, well, honest. The mom of the Mothers’ Day card world is perfect. She always said the right thing at just the right time. She was always available and always had time for you and would do anything for you. She was always patient and loving and kind. She was always wise and knew just what to say, and when to say it, and how to say it. She always believed in you and encouraged you. She was steadfast, solid, a rock to cling to. She taught you all the right things. Always. Always. Always.
I wasn’t comfortable sending one of those Odes to the Perfect Mother to my mom, because we both knew that she hadn’t, in fact, always been like that. In fact, on some of those points, she was hardly ever like that. She often told me she felt uncomfortable being praised as being the mom she knew she wasn’t. She wanted to be loved for being the mother she was, warts and all. Hallmark just doesn’t seem to make cards like that much, which is too bad.
Celebrating motherhood shouldn’t be about creating some unrealistic, sentimental, mom-ideal image for us to pay homage to. Mothers’ Day should be about honoring moms as they are. What was most amazing about my mother wasn’t that she was perfect; it was what God was able to do through her in spite of her imperfections. Looking at my own bipolar life, it is nothing short of a miracle to me that all five of my kids still love me and think I’m worth celebrating – and, again, that’s not because of ME, but because of what God is able to accomplish in spite of the material we give Him to work with.
THAT’s the most amazing thing about being a mom: God doesn’t need us to be perfect. Grace is all about God using our imperfection to show off HIS perfection. Our kids don’t need perfect moms – they need to see God’s perfect grace. No matter how short we fall, we can never be awful enough that God’s grace cannot reach our children.
On this Mothers’ Day, may God’s grace shine into the lives of ALL moms: Moms who have it all together. Moms who can’t remember where they last saw it. Moms who never had it in the first place. Moms who are patient and kind and never raise their voice. Moms who are in a hurry and who sometime yell at their kids. Moms who find great joy in parenting, and moms who find parenting overwhelming. Moms who are frayed and frazzled and frumpy, and moms who would look at home on the front page of Parenting.
Whatever their situations, however close or short of the mothering ideal they fall, may God bless their every effort for good.
Need some Windex?
Posted on: April 23, 2015
On April 10th/11th, I attended the Faith & Culture Writers Conference in Portland, a two hour drive south. It was my first ever opportunity to engage about writing with others who also write. Trying to sort out the experience is a bit like trying to deconstruct a flavorful stew – the flavors are so intermingled and have so influenced one another that it isn’t entirely possible to label them separately. But I process things by writing about them, so I’ll put the experience through the word processor and see what emerges.
As expected, I met more than a few people whose life stories would make an interesting read of engaging plot twists in a landscape of complex characters. Other folks had simple life stories, but ideas that required significant mental gymnastics to climb. Whether like me, finding words to be ready toys and tools, or like others, for whom words come hard, there was a shared appreciation for the power of language, and for the responsibility and privilege we bear and share as Christian writers, whatever the subject of our pen.
I heard many casual references to “my next book comes out in so-many months”, some dropping as naturally as a passing comment about an upcoming summer vacation, others inserted with all the subtlety of a newly-engaged woman’s use of her left hand. Being writers, and thus delvers deep into the depths of the human soul, table topics during breaks moved almost instantly from “What’s your name?” to “What’s your worst fear, your darkest secret, the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever done that you hope to goodness never shows up on YouTube?” – all answered without skipping a beat, in the presence of utter strangers. (Some of us seeming stranger than others, but none of us perfect strangers, thank goodness, or how would any of us live up to that?)
The speakers ranged from nationally known authors such as Emily Freeman (Grace for the Good Girl; http://www.chattingatthesky.com/) and William Paul Young (The Shack; http://www.windrumors.com/), to Portland-based Tony Kriz (Aloof: Figuring out Life with a God Who Hides; http://tonykriz.com/) and motivational speaker/new author Romal Tune (God’s Graffiti: Inspiring Stories for Teens; http://www.romaltune.com/), along with successful bloggers, internet article writers, and literary editors and agents. (I went to several sessions with author Terry Glaspy , and I am sooooo jazzed about his newest book coming out in July – The Prayers of Jane Austen!! He found them in collections of other works of hers and got permission to print them on their own. Since most members of my family are major Austen-philes, this is truly a Major Event!)
Another speaker was spoken word poet, Phil Long. (Cosmolyrical ; http://sacrificialpoetproject.org/poet/phil-long Spoken word poetry is poetry written, like drama, for the purpose of being performed, not merely read, using evocative imagery, story-telling, and word play. Just watch a video or two from the website and you’ll understand.) His performance left me feeling overwhelmed with imagery pulsating with fresh perspectives, familiar phrases turning on their heels and heading in unexpected directions. Whether listening to or reading it, this poetry is a rich experience.
Not unexpectedly, I added more books to my already too-long “to read” list. It’s a good thing it’s only a list, because a stack of the actual books would be into zero gravity by now. I came away with a number of quotes that I expect will ferment into blog posts.
I learned to my dismay that if my intentions are honorable and my purpose to grow my blog readership, somewhat techno-timid me will have to subdue the brave new world of … gulp … social media. I will have to become Twitter-pated and learn to sound retweet, become an Instagram cracker and milk it for all it’s worth, put a Pinterest in it, build with LinkdIn logs, and Facebook ‘em, Danno. I am rethinking several aspects of my blogging, as will be seen in the coming months.
I found myself uplifted, challenged, inspired, objected, overruled and sustained.
This was the first time I heard writers referred to as a class as “artists” and “creatives”, but I concluded that I am a somewhat defective creative, as I did not relate to quite a few things said of “we writers”. I don’t suffer angst about calling myself a writer or about writing. I don’t fear rejection, or worry that a publisher will think I’m crazy. (I AM crazy, so it would be an accurate assessment.) I don’t relate to ALL other art; some art moves me, while other just makes me want to move along. Still, it was interesting to ponder what I do in that light.
One thing that did seriously bother me was an attitude I picked up from some of the session speakers. There was a consistent message from most of the lead speakers that we need to be like Jesus, who sometimes flipped tables and sometimes spoke gently to the hurting. However, especially in some sessions I attended, there wasn’t always acknowledgment of the Scriptural truth that we are one body, each with its own part to play. We are not each called to look like all parts of Jesus. Some of us are table flippers, some are comforters; some of us are sandpaper, others, Kleenex. Several speakers stressed the need to respect those who see things differently, no matter how much you differ from their perspective, but other speakers seemed to apply that only to the world, not to others in the church. They freely – and sometimes with glee – condemned the “thems” who the “us” have declared to be shallow or not “authentically” Christian. At those times I found myself very thankful that many of my friends and family were not in the audience, because they would have been sorely wounded to hear their hearts judged and themselves made fun of, devalued, and dismissed, because they find have different opinions and find meaning in things those speakers find meaningless.
Having the conference close with William Paul Young was a wonderful counterbalance to that. He challenges the church, but his love FOR and identification WITH that church comes through clearly. We’re ALL at the same Table, whether we acknowledge it or not – because it’s HIS Table, not ours. I don’t interpret all life as Young does, but , unlike some of the other speakers, I would love to sit down to coffee with him, feeling that there would be no judgment from him while I was with him and no condemnation by him talking about our conversation later to others.
In the end, that is what challenged me the most from the conference, because I know I far too easily fall in the camp of those who sit on a holy high horse disclaiming on Where Other Christians or the Church As a Whole Have Gone Wrong, criticizing and, yes, even (to my shame) deriding other Christians. Yet I am struck by a phrase in Hebrews 2:11. In speaking of those who are sanctified – which is ALL Christians, not just those we like or agree with – it says that Christ Himself is not ashamed to call them His brothers and sisters. Ouch. When we begin to slam our brothers and sisters, making judgments about their hearts, criticizing their motives and questioning their intentions (which are both matters of the heart that only God sees), when we would prefer not to be known to be family members of “those” Christians because we know we’re “better”, or “wiser”, or more “spiritual” than they are, we “better” be careful. If they are God’s people, then they are His just as much as we are, and they are answerable to HIM, not to us. (Romans 14:1-4) There’s nothing “funny” about “sticking it to” our brothers and sisters. No matter how correct the criticism or valid the point about an issue, we are wrong if we venture to judge or belittle the person.
One of the analogies given for us as writers was that we are “window washers”, giving people the opportunity to see things more clearly. I think the window I better wash first is my own.
Need to Get Away?
Posted on: April 8, 2015
“L’Oreal – because I’m worth it!” “You deserve a break today/So get up and get away/To McDonalds!/We do it all for YOU!” “Pepsi – You deserve it!” Advertisers appeal to their customers’ sense of entitlement for one reason: it works. The instant-credit financing industry is built on the whole idea that you NEED these things, and you need them NOW – and by the droves, people sign up. Walk through any store and you’ll hear a chorus of “But, Mommy, I neeeeeeeeeeed it!” from toddlers who want the tempting toys so deliberately placed right by the check stand, or from teenagers who are convinced they have to have the latest “IT” brand or they’ll die.
When I started writing this post, I wrote out in simple, single-event sentences a timeline of the eighteen months from a fall I took in September of 2013 and going through the start of March this year. I didn’t include anything that was merely the normal wear-and-tear of life, only the out-of-the-ordinary. It took a page and a half! “On December 6, my mom was diagnosed with terminal cancer.” “Just after the start of August, I moved into my mom’s to take care of her. “ “Also on the 30th of August, Marie took not one but TWO falls, resulting in five broken bones in her left foot, including one of the most important – and longest-to-heal – bones in that appendage.” “On October 1st, Mama had to go back to the hospital because she was convinced my sister-in-love and I were anti-government agents out to kill her, so she refused to take her medications.” “Just after 2 in the morning on October 29th, Mama finally died, in great pain and distress.” “In the last five months, I have experienced seven deaths in immediate family, near family, or as-good-as-family.” A page and a half – and that’s the truncated version. Yeah, it’s been that kind of a stretch.
The only trips I had taken in those 18 months had been two one-nighters, so the idea of getting away for something longer had real appeal. My son, Phil, who lives across the state, attends a church that holds a mens’ retreat each year around this time; my husband, Rob, has gone to it with him for the last several years. So, Rob and I decided that this year, I would go along and hang out with our daughter, Cherry, Phil’s wife, Brooke, and the two grandprincesses, Evie and Fiona, while the guys were off retreating. No responsibilities, just relaxing and resting and playing – an honest-to-goodness vacation. We would go over March 26th and return home the 1st of April. When a new medical crisis with my cousin Marie on the weekend of the 22nd threatened to jeopardize my being able to go on the trip, more than one person told me, “No – you GO, no matter what! Let others deal with it. You NEED this vacation!!!”
To everyone’s relief, the situation with Marie was resolved enough that we did go to Pullman as planned. However, our going there was about the ONLY thing that went as planned! A nasty tummy bug that went from Evie to Brooke to Nona on succeeding days, a nasty change of weather that flared up my fibromyalgia, and terrible problems sleeping due to side effects of a new med my shrink gave me to help me sleep (how ironic is that?) … nope, I definitely got the wrong script. This was NOT the vacation any of us had in mind. It was a break, yes, away from home and its attendant responsibilities, away from Marie and her issues, but not really a vacation.
So, the question I was left to ponder is this: Did I, in fact, NEED that vacation?
Even just looking at it from a sheer point of logic, of course, the answer would be “no.” While there is no dodging the fact that unrelenting stress can have nasty consequences (such as my sleep disturbances of the last several months), no matter how badly I may have wanted it, no matter how much good it might have done me, a vacation is still only a want, not a need.
On a deeper level, though, wrestling with the issue of our needs and how – or whether – God meets them is crucial to our faith. God has promised that He WILL meet our needs. The very name Jehovah-Jireh, introduced in Genesis 22, means “God will provide”, or “God will see to it.” Writing to the believers at Philippi, in chapter 4 Paul says of Him that “…my God shall supply all your needs according to His riches in glory.” All through Scripture we see example after example of God’s provision for His people. At the same time, all through Scripture, all through history, and up to the current day there have been and are people of God who have starved to death, who have died of thirst, who have died for lack of shelter, died of or suffered from illness, who have been maimed, enslaved, tortured. Here in the affluent West, few of us face such extreme situations, but even the non-life-threatening ones we do, from the minor, such as the vacation that wasn’t, to the larger concerns such as the job that eludes us or the health problem doctors can’t find a treatment for, can cue a struggle as we seek to reconcile what God says with our perception of His apparent failure to deliver.
There are only two conclusions we can reach: Either God is a liar and does NOT meet our needs, or God meant what He said and our NEEDS are being met. If we believe that God is loving and kind, utterly incapable of cruelty, caprice or mistake, that He has our best and highest interest at heart, and that He is able to make all things work together for Good, then only the latter of those conclusions is possible. Rather than judging God by whether our needs are met, we should judge our needs by whether God has chosen to meet them; if there is something we perceive that we lack that He is not providing for, then it cannot, in fact, be our true need – or, at least, what we need most.
When Martha complained that Mary wasn’t giving her the help she needed to prepare the meal expected of a hostess for a guest, but was instead sitting at Jesus’ feet as if Mary had nothing else to be doing, Jesus’ response in Luke’s gospel (10:41) encapsulates God’s definition of our need: “Martha, Martha, you are anxious and troubled about many things, but one thing is necessary. Mary has chosen the good portion, which will not be taken away from her.” Mary chose to be with Jesus, the one and most basic need we all have. All other things in life are totally eclipsed by our need to be with Jesus.
This vacation didn’t provide the relaxation I envisioned. It did, however, certainly keep me crying out, as I have for the last year and a half, “God, I can’t keep doing this!!!!!” – to which His answer was as it always has been, “You’ve got that right, but just stick with Me, kid. I can do this forever – with or without you.”
Vacations, jobs, health, safety – even life itself – may not be granted us, but the one thing He has absolutely promised us is that He will be with us. We can choose to fret about what we think we need, or we can choose to lay our perceptions of our needs at His feet and by drawing near to Him, have our truest need abundantly met.
We don’t need to get away. What we need is to get closer.
the susie solution 