souliloquies

red light green light

it seems there are two themes around my life these days--moving, and dying. neither of them am i experiencing directly, but in my general circle i sure see them active right now in people’s lives. i have  four or five or more different friends who are in the process of moving, or about to move, many of them long-distance moves across the country from state to state. some of them are exciting moves--goals being realized of a bigger, more functional home for their family, or a move to a long-dreamed-of location finally coming true.  but some are hard moves--a job in a new city that didn’t work out, or a home being lost due to economic struggle. all involve joy and sorrow, stress and excitement.  and all are hard--good hard, bad hard, maybe both--but hard.

and then there’s the death theme--i'm reading a lush, sad book about two friends separated by death. i have a friend whose mother is dying, and she’s now caring for her, and another friend whose grandmother is close to death in a different state, and a couple of acquaintances that i’ve been made aware, either directly from them or through the grapevine, of deaths in their family.  hard things.  hard.

and as i realize how prevalent these two themes are right now, i also realize how much they have in common.  each is a moving on, with difficulties both fore and aft, at least for some of the people involved.  each has its own demands in terms of preparation for the change.  both have elements of grief and loss, of fear of the unknown and the uncertaintly of how to navigate a future without some of what life holds right now.  but each has joyous elements too--the celebration of what’s been, a realization and clarifying of what’s important and what’s lasting versus what’s trivial and what’s temporary, the relief of pain or freedom from struggle.  both of these experiences, of course,  are about change--irrevocable, far-reaching change. change that’s caused by some kind of death, whether literal or figurative: the loss of a life or a lifestyle, a friend or a neighborhood, a family member or a whole community. a loss that effects not one person or one family, but those around them whose lives they intersect--lives which may no longer touch, at least not in the same ways.

but both of these experiences--both of them--are not just about ending. not just about the loss.  both of these experiences are about beginnings, and gaining, as well. it’s easier to see in the act of moving, which can include new neighbors, new friends, new schools, new jobs, new opportunities, new places to invest. but death isn’t just an ending either, although it may seem like that for those of us left behind--it’s also definitely a beginning.  it’s a beginning for those of us left behind--a time to learn to live a life without a loved one, for sure, but also perhaps an opportunity to shoulder and now carry part of what that friend or family member brought to the world, a passing of the legacy, perhaps. a stepping up or in to fill the space they left behind by carrying on in, in our own unique way, the contribution they gave to the world. it's an opportunity for us to grow and expand and become better people, based on that loved one's contribution and impact on our lives. and as a Christ-follower, i believe that my brothers’ and sisters’ lives aren’t so much ending as they are beginning. they’re moving, as it were, into the new life through Jesus that they’ve been promised. and it's a life more beautiful and thrilling than anything any of us can imagine. a beautiful beginning. 

my friend kristina, one of the ones that’s in the middle of moving right now, recently posted this on facebook:

 I'm just tired. Tired of waiting, tired of being excited, tired of the details. Tired of the end. I want to get to the beginning...

what an idea!  so often we just want to get to the end. to be finished. to have done with the work and the pain and the stress and the challenge.  i can’t wait til this is over, we say. i just want to be done. we don't alway look past the end. so to also anticipate the beginning, which has its own joys and sorrows and challenges and tired-ness... those beginnings are what balance things, complete the cycle and start it up again, give us perspective and wisdom, and that give the endings meaning and weight. harder to remember as we face the pain of a hard, forced move, or the even greater pain of a loved one's death, but still appropriate to the experience. still part of the process. and something to be embraced.

so for all you friends who are facing an end right now, an end that is especially hard and tiring--i want you to know i’m thinking of you and praying for you and hoping for you. may you have the freedom to grieve the things you need to thoroughly and well, the clarity of mind to remember the joy, and the time well-lived, and the recognition of the experiences that have shaped you and grown you and made you who you are right now--because it’s all of this rich and valuable stuff that's what makes an ending so hard--and so significant. and for those of you facing beginnings--i’m  thinking of and praying for and hoping for you, too. may you have the joy and the energy and the adventurous spirit to begin again in new ways, in new places and new situations, the boldness of spirit to move forward without fear, and the support and community to strengthen and sustain you after the initial excitement fades and the deep work of the journey remains.

and may you all, whether beginning or ending or both, have more  peace and joy and love and comfort and grace than you could think to ask for. so that you may squeeze the very best, last drop out of this experience, and take it with you as you go.

into the next thing.

we're not sitcom characters, we're just living that way

i think ron, the hunky husband, is beginning to wonder just when his life became a never-ending episode of dharma & greg. i'm not sure, but it may have hit him last night about 9:30. when i mentioned that i might want to get some blue highlights in my hair. don't know when exactly (meaning, maybe after i preach at the end of the month? i can just see that--does she have blue hair? blue in her hair? might distract them from Jesus, you know?) but i really want to do it...

now, i don't mean to say that the HH went to Harvard, or is an attorney, or came from old money. damn! and my parents weren't hippy-types (even if they were born at the right time, they wouldn't have been). i'm not new age. and we were always pretty conservative people. i spent a lot of years in dresses and pumps. certainly we were always conservative politically--he a little more so than me, but i certainly couldn't be labeled liberal by any stretch.

with all that you may be thinking--so where's the dharma & greg connection? ...somehow in the last few years things have changed for me. or, maybe i'm becoming who i've been all along. or i'm having a mid-life crisis. or making a mid-life course correction. or something. whatever, it's not exactly been easy for the HH.

it may have started with the truck thing a few years ago. when the mini-van (nice, conservative soccer-mom vehicle!) died, the HH & i discussed my needs. which at that time included a something big enough to fit both us and the three kids in when we went places. and for work--every week hauling back and forth a drum kit (in cases--kick, snare, 2 toms, cymbals, hardware), and often guitar(s) and gear--acoustic, electric, pedalboard, gear bag, and sometimes big tall set pieces, or plants--etc, etc, etc. and the HH suggested that maybe (figuring i'd say no, but hoping i'd say yes) just maybe would i consider a pickup truck? would i! oh yes, i would. and so he found me the most lovely, beefy, bee-yoo-ti-ful ford f250 crew cab with a full-length bed and a 460 engine. which i think he figured i'd only drive when i had to, and he'd get to drive the rest of the time. sorry, sweetie. it was love at first sight.

then came the (first) tattoo. on the woman that, up to about a year before (because a tattoo like that requires lots of thought and design) had told her kids if you want a tattoo, it's not going to happen until you live somewhere besides under my roof! yeeah. not so much now. especially after the second tattoo.

and then beer--i'd never liked beer. but finally someone got through to me that all beer doesn't taste like coors or budweiser--YAY! so now--part of the mid-life detour--i do occasionally imbibe.

and our music choices are different. we like some of the same stuff, but a bunch of what i listen to these days--derek webb, jonatha brooke, mutemath, beck, ray lamontagne--he doesn't. often he's never heard of people i listen to. for that matter--often neither have my kids.

so here we are. we go to a party, the HH wears nice slacks and a sharp, collared shirt, and i wear--jeans, a black t-shirt & flip-flops. or army-green capris, a black t-shirt & flip-flops. or, if it's really fancy, sage green brushed cotton pants, a black tank top with a black cardigan over it--and maybe funky closed shoes. if it's cold. he likes concerts where your seat number (for your padded seat)'s on your ticket. i like concerts where there aren't any seats, and you all stand around the stage fighting to see, and there aren't any tickets--just an undecipherable ink smear on the back of your hand. i want blue highlights. he'd be fine if i didn't even cover the grey. i like staying up really late. he usually goes to bed at a sensible hour because he has a real job. i've converted to a mac--(yes, i drank the koolaid!)--he's pc all the way (well, about computers, anyway.) i'm thinking about a new tattoo. he... isn't.

so yeah. kinda dharma & greg.

but we are on the same page about the important stuff in life, like Jesus and love and kids and friends and dogs. and wine. and now, except for the wheat kind (i don't go there much), beer. and, of course--

trucks.

and he watered my tomato plants tonight.

love that HH.

seventy times seven

i thought i was done with this. i thought i had conquered the pain, mastered the hurt, put it all behind me in a nice neat package labeled irreparable, but firmly in the past.

yee-aah. right.

how long’s it been? let’s see… that blog was dated june, june of ’05. (yeah, go ahead, go read it. i'll wait.) almost two years ago. nearly two years in which she was almost gone. almost. but never, apparently, really forgotten.

and now, because of, well, circumstances, connections, coincidences—inevitable ones, really (and if coincidence ever could be inevitable, these are…)—suddenly here she is. emailing me with lovely, forgiving, reconciliation-hopeful words. damn. what the hell am i supposed to do with this?

what i find i can’t do, the easy thing, is just say, hey thanks, glad to hear from you, hope the rest of your life is great, catch you on the flip side. i find i simply cannot just blow her off.

so. well. okay. i know what it seems like i should do—duh! respond, warmly. reconcile, gratefully. go forward, joyfully. isn’t that what would Jesus do? oh hell. i don’t know what Jesus would do. i don’t even know what Jesus would have me do. all i can imagine sounds so hard. it sounds so exhausting. it sounds so risky. how can i open up to that level of pain again?

you know, i’ve never really dealt with fear of hurt like this. only once before has a friend hurt me the way she did--twice. and once he did--he didn't try to come back, be friends again, make nice. he was gone. most people i know who have been hurt like this have been hurt by lovers, spouses, or perhaps parents (or kids). but by friends? i don’t hear about that one much.

then again, maybe i don’t hear about that one because it is rare and precious to have friends, real friends, that we love and that love us enough to hurt us badly. maybe it is this very risk, and the avoidance of this pain, that keeps us from making friends like this. i don’t know. maybe the reason this is so hard for me is that i so want it to be real, to finally restore, reclaim, redeem, recover—realize—what i thought this friendship was. and the pain of loss is so enormous, so devastating--so unending—that it’s easier just to leave it on the table, once and for all, and walk away.

or, maybe i’m just crazy, over-emotional. maybe i open the door to intimacy and commitment too easily, too frivolously, too unguardedly. maybe other people don’t go through this, don’t cry over a friend two years gone, don’t agonize over a simple, kind email. but i think, i hope, at least people i appreciate, maybe they do.

in girl meets God, author lauren winner mentioned a book by beth kephart on friendship. she writes, lauren says, about how friends are hard to make and hard to lose and how the only vocabulary we have for those losses is break-ups, romantic ones, but often the splitting apart of friends is harder, rarer, more long-lasting, grievous and generally devastating than any run-of-the-mill lover’s spat. oh, yes. beth, and lauren, you got it right. and i am afraid of another break-up. afraid that although i’ve slowly and carefully glued back together all the broken pieces, carefully fitted them together so that the cracks don’t show, that particular cup won’t hold water any more. that the very thing that broke the cup in the first place is waiting to be invited in, poured in, and that somehow, whatever chemical reaction that shattered the thing in the first place will take place again. once again the whole thing will begin to seep, to drip, then weep, and will once again fall apart in my hands, leaving them damp and bleeding.

and then today, catching up on, of all things, boston legal, i’m confronted with this exchange:

alan shore: what do you think He looks like?
denny crane: like me, perhaps thinner.
as: you think He looks like you.
dc: God made man in His image.
as: and specifically…
dc: me.
...
dc: what do you believe?
as: i’m not sure. i think i believe mostly in
friendship. yours…

...

dc: at the end of the day, alan, we have to be
who we are.

so. alan believes in friendship—the deep, unconditional, always-there-for-you friendship he finds in his friend denny, who is made in the image of God. and at the end of the day, denny says, they have to be who they are. and although he didn’t say it, be who he believes he is—the image of God.

now i know it’s a tv show, and one that isn’t exactly a masterpiece of theological truth. and yet—what i hear, for me, is that at the end of the day, i have to be who i am. and who i know myself to be is one made in the image of, and one who is working to become more and more like, Jesus the Christ.
my Savior, my Lord, my King. my Friend.

damn. oh hell.

i guess i’ve got an email to answer.

originally posted february 21, 2007

leftovers

today when they asked the question so what’s for dinner? (the question that they ask every afternoon; as though they have an offer somewhere else and are weighing their options—here? there? across the street?—and yet they know it doesn’t matter, they’re eating here and stuck with whatever it is…) the answer was one i hardly ever give: leftovers.

we just aren’t much of a leftover family. oh, we don’t waste food. no, no, no. we carefully put it away. sometimes we even eat it. and if it’s leftover chicken, or taco meat, or something like that, it ends up being another dinner, but it’s not necessarily leftovers. using the rest of the broiled chicken from tonight as the filling for tomorrow’s chicken quesadillas or the remainder of last night’s taco meat in tonight’s spaghetti sauce doesn’t quite count. leftovers, to me anyway, means having the same thing tonight that we had two nights ago; something that’s been sitting in the fridge smelling things up and now we’re not even sure we want to eat it—but it’s there and can be simply heated up so we do. but the truth, is we don’t very often.

but tonight—ah, tonight the word leftovers was sweet, because the leftovers themselves were wonderful, and savory, and more besides. the food itself was indeed luscious—we'd had homemade tomato soup with sour cream and parsley, salad, mashed potatoes, halibut grilled and topped d’em (or ala greco), a sweet & spicy side dish that i can’t remember the name of (sorry, girl dear, if i’d heard the name before my third glass of wine maybe i’d remember now), do-it-yourself pizza for the kids who don't like halibut yet, a ginger-peachy ice cream confection, and i’m sure things i’m forgetting to list… because there was leftover wine, too that i’m enjoying right now. it was truly a meal fit for a king.

or, you might say, a queen. even if she’s only a queen for a day. because, you see, these were leftovers from my yesterday-birthday dinner, cooked by some of my favorite people in the world: my not-all-that-long ago-acquired son/friend and even-more-recently-acquired daughter-in-law/friend, and his (first, blood, real) mom—also a dear friend. (his dad –yes, i really love that guy too!—came along to provide his quite agreeable presence, but didn’t cook). and as tasty and succulent as dinner was, that isn't, for me anyway, what made it so wonderful. i realized as i heated, dished up and ate tonight that it was a thing much more beautiful, albeit much less tangible, that made this meal so memorable.

see, it wasn’t just a thrown-together meal. this was a menu carefully planned, thought out ahead of time. textures and flavors were considered and combined for maximum pleasure and contrast, each dish bringing out the best flavors of the other. food was purchased and chopped and mixed and cooked beforehand, preferences sought and difficulty nothwithstanding. it was served in courses, with a table carefully set and presentation a vitally important aspect. in other words—it was work. and it was marvelous.

so tonight, re-heating and stirring, not only was i anticipating the food itself, i was re-living yesterday afternoon—em efficiently organizing the whole event even as she cooked, dg making salad, grilling fish, art thoughtfully keeping my wine glass full, brenda slipping away from the table to prepare the dessert in the beautiful china teacups she’d brought especially for the occasion. and i realized that it was all that: preparation and planning, the long drive, the kindness and generosity and thoughtfulness—and all for me—that made this meal so special. it may sound sappy, trite, sentimental, but what made this meal so delightful was love. i’m overwhelmed with this love, my heart warmed and softened not unlike the brie we shared together before the meal. wonderful people, you fill my heart even as you filled my stomach. and those leftovers are the birthday gift i'm thrilled to keep.

thank you, thank you, thank you.

i love you too.


originally posted october 16, 2006

not lucky

tuesday night (well, really wednesday morning) was not a lucky time for us. that's us as in me, and my friends david & emily.

we had been to a concert by david's friends the fray in sacramento. the boys sounded great, and we were able to spend time with them visiting a little before and after, and even got to see the tour bus, which was really cool.



it was after that that the not lucky part of the evening (or early morning) kicked in. we were almost to our freeway exit--staying at grandma joyce's!--when it began. 



we were not lucky as the guy who came up behind us too fast decided too late to swerve around us into the next lane and hit the left rear side of our suv. we were certainly not lucky as the car spun, tipped over on its right side and then rolled all the way onto the roof, sliding down and across the road for quite a distance. we were not lucky as the windshield, the back and passenger windows shattered, filling the car with broken glass, and scattering it for almost 100 yards.



i mean it, we really were not lucky.



we were not lucky when the seat belts all held, keeping us (especially emily) from being thrown out of the car. we were not lucky that the frame of the car held so well, keeping us from being crushed. we were not lucky that it just so happened that all of the immediate oncoming traffic  (cars in all four lanes) was able to avoid us. we were not lucky that the paramedics just happened to be on an overpass so near us that they literally could see us when they received the call. we were not lucky that somehow david and i have emerged almost completely unscathed (okay, i have one bruise on my elbow and he has a few broken blood vessels where the seatbelt pulled across his shoulder) and emily (who sat in the part of the car with the worst damage) only has a bunch of surface lacerations and 3 cuts deep enough to require staples. 



we were not lucky that david has several family members in the vicinity that took us in and fed us and cared for us and drove us back the 90 min home last night. we were not lucky that this is a down time for emily and she isn't really missing work, that i was here to be with her so that david could go back to work and know she's taken care of. we were not lucky that, even though our belongings were strewn and scattered over a large section of highway, we were able to find almost everything of value, including cell phones, digital camera, wallets, credit cards...

the more we process this, the more we realize how not lucky we have been. we're not lucky. we're loved, and cared for, and blessed.

very, very blessed.


originally posted july 21, 2006

westward ho

we’re going.

i know, i know. it’s nuts. it’s scary. not secure. look at what we’re giving up! how can we risk all that? so if i tell you that all that isn’t important, or isn’t the issue, do you believe me? or do you still think i’m—we’re—nuts?

here’s the deal. we’re giving up:

a city we’ve lived in all our lives.
(kind of worn out the possibilities, here, maybe?)

our jobs—with no new ones in sight.
(his is going away anyway)

our friends and family.
(now, this is the tough one. and yet— how much do we take this easy accessibility for granted, and don’t take advantage of it? how often do we really see our families? our friends? could it be that by being farther away from them we’ll actually appreciate them more, be more intentional about the relationships, take better care of those relationships? and be more honest about which ones are valuable enough to us to work for and which are relationships of convenience and proximity?)

security.
(really? of what? from what? and where does our security really come from?)

familiarity.
(is this even something that should be a consideration?)

lower living costs.
(okay, yes, this is true. but is this about not being able to survive, or just experiencing a little less luxury?)

and we’d be gaining:

an opportunity to explore new territory, enjoy new experiences, broaden our horizons.
(something that’s frequently produced new and better lives and options for people, both those exploring and those who benefit from the discoveries)

new opportunities to minister.
(new people to serve, new visions to bring to fruition, new impact to make)

new opportunities to deepen our dependance on God.
(‘nuff said...)

life that we can’t even imagine yet.

so—looks to me like we’d risk more by staying than by…

yes.

we’re going.

originally posted april 23, 2006

crystal-clear

for Christmas this year, as always, i got lots of books. some that I asked for and some that people just knew i’d like—and they were right. like my dearest of friends who said, we really wanted to get you a book, but we know you’ve already got a stack that you haven’t gotten to yet and, knowing me well, got me a book anyway. i’ve finished it, by the way, my dears—and am starting again i loved it so much! after all, that other stack isn’t going anywhere; i can always get to it later!

one book, though, is one i think i’ll always hold as a pivotal influence in my life. at least it feels that way now—i hope that somehow this impact doesn’t fade, and the dream die unborn...

the book is billy crystal’s 700 sundays, a tribute to his family and the people who made him who he is, based on his tony-award-winning play of the same name. until now i had no idea where he came from, or who his family is, the circles they traveled in. they were inventors and ground-breaking doctors; his aunt lee was one of the first woman bank presidents in america. and most importantly for me, they were entrenched in the jazz scene of the 40’s and 50’s.

it’s his uncle milt who tugs at my heart. you’ll need to read the book to know the details, but uncle milt became a music producer; first with the family’s own label, commodore, and later with decca. uncle milt wasn’t a producer because there was money in it, although that certainly helped. no, uncle milt simply loved music. especially jazz. and even more than that, i think—he loved the musicians. he wanted to help them play their music, be heard, be appreciated, be successful.

and the reason this so resonated with me is that as i read about uncle milt, it’s as if my own heart is being reflected back to me. i love artists. especially young, developing artists. people with huge talent but no exposure, gifts but no resources, a dream but not much else. i long to help them, provide for them, connect them, share them with the world. i love the off-kilter way they look at the world, the spiritual way their hearts are visible in their work, their uniqueness and their strange quirks... as i write this faces and names come to mind—dg, gs, gb, eg, bh, mb, mc, and of course my sweet rtd—all of you are folks i want to support, encourage, work for. i want to stand backstage and watch your face as the crowd goes wild for you, rejoice to see your paintings in homes and museums, hug you as we hear your song on the radio. i want to help you become who you’ve been designed to be, rather than having to give up the life of art for the life of normal just to pay the bills. i want it so bad, crazy as it sounds, that it brings tears to my eyes as i sit here thinking about it.

i don’t know how this is going to happen. i don’t have the knowledge, connections or resources—yet. i just have this dream, crystal-ized.

i want to be your uncle milt.

originally posted january 7, 2006

it's epic

several conversations i've had lately have led me to an interesting conclusion--we all not only desire, but we were created, to live lives of epic proportion.

epic: adj. of heroic, or larger-than-life, proportions. having far-reaching impact or reknown.

my friend kim and i were discussing her awareness lately that life can simply be for so many of us a mere passing through--a time spent here where we are merely consumers: of time, resources, relationships, experiences. instead, she said, she wants to live a life of impact--one that makes a difference for generations to come, whether her name is known or not.

epic.

my son keenan observed that in his favorite online game, world of warcraft, there are people whose sole desire is to become a hero--someone whose name and accomplishments are known throughout this fictional world, so that they become someone of--uh huh--epic proportion.

and then last night, my friend jason & i were discussing (over a superb bottle of pinot and a great cheese platter--thank you jason!) among many things, the new narnia movie. we both loved it, but felt that perhaps it didn't seem to have as grand or far-reaching a perspective as the books do. this led to a discussion of lotr, which moved us into the idea that epic movies seem to be very popular these days, very much embraced by the paying public. troy, kingdom of heaven, (at which my friend david & i simultaneously asked each other has orlando bloom ever done a movie in modern dress? just before the trailer came on for elizabethtown), north country, king kong, narnia... we seem to want to lose ourselves in stories about battles of earth-shaking import, individuals who step out of mundanity and merely passing through to give up everything for a dream, a cause, a community, the highest good, the truth.

why is this? why do these stories draw us in, fire our imagination, so stir our hearts and speak to our souls?

as a fervent Christ-follower, as well as someone in vocational ministry, it seems to me there is only one answer. God is the true epic Hero, and the story of God's entire existence--His character, His creation, His life of sacrifice that the world might be saved, His gift of life-transformation available to all of us--is the most epic of all tales, the true epic against which all other epics must be measured and found wanting. and we are made in His image! we were made to be a part of this epic story (His-story!) our very make-up demands that we long for lives of significance, of heroism, of valor. we want to know that, when we're gone, what we did and who we were will live on, enriching and enlarging the lives of not only those who knew us personally but those we've never met, who live in other parts of the world, who aren't even born yet, and perhaps through them even beyond...

as i ponder all this, i begin to believe that the biggest problem in our churches today is that we've taken the epic scale out of our worship gatherings and teaching—out of our faith. we need to inspire our people to live lives worthy of the epic design of the Creator. we need to proclaim that living a life of far-reaching significance is available to all of us, not just long-dead historical figures or fictional heroes. we need to remind ourselves that it is this kind of epic life we were intended and created to experience, not merely read about and watch; that the only limitations on our valor and heroism are those we ourselves impose.

and then—ah, yes, then—each and everyone of us needs to have the courage and conviction to live out that kind of life, to commit to eschewing mediocrity and mundanity, sacrificing easy consumerism and safe anonymity in order to live each day valiantly, significantly—heroically—in the unique way He has designed for each of us.

to be epic.

the struggle

it sounds so easy. do unto others as you would have them do unto you.

all you need to do is love God, love other people.

do what it says in the bible, and the truth will, of course! set you free.

what's hard, naturally, is living life outside of God's design. that's hard, useless, dangerous, destructive. but living God's way--now that's where life becomes smooooth sailing.

yeeaah, right.

they didn't tell you, did they? He did. but you didn't listen to the still, small Voice. you listened to them instead.

now it becomes apparent. sometimes following Him is the hardest thing you'll ever, ever do. because following Him can mean standing between two friends who are at odds with each other, involved in a hugely destructive conflict, understanding motives on both sides, seeing the pain in both, not knowing what to do except love them both through it. be honest, but not brutal. be loving, but not enabling. speak truth, not facts. in other words, do the best you can to side with Jesus.

the trouble is, i don't want to. no, i want to side with me. i want to knock their heads together, i want to shout at them, i want to straighten them out and have them build a big ol' bridge and get over it! but that means i'm operating from the same place they both are, self-centered, stubborn and proud, thinking i'm completely and totally right--and even worse, thinking that being right is what it's all about.

now, i'm not saying that they're being selfish--self-centeredness can be just as easily applied to selflessness. sometimes it's even more a risk when it's not about self, it's about others. our passion for the care, the well-being, and yes, even the shepherding of others can lead us to a single-minded focus, a laser-straight direction laid out on a three-dimensional map of mission, of life-calling, that precludes us from ever seeing any other route, much less recognizing its possible value as an option. my friends both believe they are acting selflessly, fervently traveling what they see as the only possible, acceptable road. and in doing so, they have become those proverbial trains hurtling X miles per hour on a single track toward each other. two choices only appear to them. you and i might say, slow down! even stop! at least until we can get the schedules re-routed, or one of you turned around! but no, all they see is 1) the option to crash headlong into each other at top speed, which would kill just about everyone on board, or 2) the option to flip the switch that takes one onto a side rail, so that they flash past each other just in time, and then continue on, moving away from each other faster and faster, until each is, to the other, only a dot of light far behind, and even that finally winks out and is lost forever.

the sad part is, their passengers really all want to end up in the same place, even if they're on different trains. and i can see, clearly, that if they would simply find a way to couple the engines together, to ride the rail together, even with their differences of opinion of routes, of when to stop for lunch and when to stay on board and eat in the dining car--all that notwithstanding--the journey, for both my friends and their passengers, would be more fulfilling, more rewarding, more of what they all dream of, and what God intended in the first place. right now, i'm sitting on the bench outside the little train station, hearing the trains coming. i hear the rumble of the rails, feel the ground begin to shake. i'm afraid of the train wreck coming, but i sorrow for the side-rail switch flip as well--once they've passed each other, i don't know if there will ever be a way--or even a consideration--to turn those trains around.

all i can hang onto is the fact that Jesus is sitting on the bench with me, and wait to hear from Him what my part in this should be. i'm pretty sure it won't involve head-knocking. as a matter of fact, i'm suddenly reminded that following Him isn't the hard part. it means we're in relationship, that He's right here, leading me by the hand, guiding and teaching me, loving me as we go. what's hard is thinking i already know what to do--trying to do things the way He would do them without Him--to do the Jesus thing instead of being His child.

and i am comforted by the fact that both of my friends have invited Him onto their trains.

now, if they'd just let Him drive.

originally posted  november 1, 2005

thanks, friends

tonight, i am grateful for friends.

real friends, the ones who tell me when i have broccoli caught in my teeth, or that i’ve put my foot in my mouth, or that i’m being an idiot and need to re-examine my flight plan.

tonight i needed to straighten up and fly right. i am wrestling with why God called me into this life of vocational ministry. i simply don’t seem suited for this. no matter how i try to focus, i always seem to be missing something—i am too quick to judge, to jump to conclusions—and they’re usually negative. i open my mouth too much, too soon, and for less than helpful or altruistic reasons. all too often it's all about me. if i had been present during Jesus’ earthly lifetime, he surely would have called me daughter of thunder.

but still—God has given me the privilege of serving Him this way. and every time i prove myself unfit, i hear His calling more clearly, more deeply. i don’t understand it, but there it is. and He has sent me such friends who love me enough to tell me not the nice things, not the comfortable, warm fuzzy sweet things (although they say those too), but the difficult things—the things i’ve missed, the things i’m not seeing, the direction i should be headed when i’m not. things that are not always easy to hear, and not easy, for that matter, to say.

and yet, sometimes even more than the warm fuzzies, these hard things given to me are the things that let me know that i’m really loved. because, although some people see love as unconditional, an accepting of a person just as they are, i think true love is seeing a person also as who they will become—not a projection of who the loving one wants them to be, but a true perception of who someone is designed to be. it takes time, and trust, and transparency on both sides to develop a love like this. some people can never love this deeply, this authentically. at its most pure, it’s the love Jesus carries for each of us. and when we’re really fortunate, we have people in our lives who hold us accountable to that vision and steer us in the right direction for the simple reason that, although they love us just as we are right now, they want us to become the wonderful person God made us to be.

today, it was art and doug. last week, it was kim. tomorrow, it’ll be david, or gretchen, teri, or mike, or my terrific sister. since i need a lot of help, thank goodness God’s sent a lot of wise people willing to tell me what’s what!

thanks, friends. thanks for loving me enough to tell me that you love me by telling me the things i need to know. thanks for telling me you love me by being there even when i screw up, every time i demonstrate my unworthiness for this calling, and your continual affirmation that nonetheless, i am called. thanks for reminding me, directly or in a manner more subtle, that where God calls He also enables.

right now, He’s enabling me through you.


originally posted september 20, 2005