Forgive Me For Being Less Than Perfect

I made a mistake today (big surprise, huh?). I got caught up being social and forgot a group of children who were waiting for me to come during their lunchtime to discuss a story with them. A friend pointed out that the children would have waited a little bit for me and then gone on to eat their lunch and enjoy recess. End of story for them.

When I realized my mistake, I quickly emailed the teachers and parents to apologize. Who knows what reaction I'll get from the parents. Most, I think will understand or at least accept my apologies. And any that might be annoyed by my mistake will get over it pretty quick. Already I've heard back from one of the moms indicating that she completely understands. No problem. Mistake forgiven on that count.

There's just one person that I know is definitely having a hard time being forgiving about this. She does it every time. Every little mistake I make she gets annoyed at - as if I'm not human and shouldn't ever make a mistake. She's angry. She's disappointed with me. She wants to exact payment of some sort for those poor kids. She's embarrassed. And she's not at all forgiving.

Who could be so hard-hearted toward a simple mistake? Me. I can't stand it when I make a mistake or a bad choice or lose my cool or do anything other than be perfect. Uh, yeah. Picture that. How often do you think I have to deal with the results of one of the above? Daily, sometimes hourly. And honestly I'm tired of this voice of perfection that can't handle even the slightest misstep. So I'm telling my perfectionist self one thing this afternoon: get. over. it. Everybody else will. And if my voice of perfection can't do that much, then well...it's not perfect either!

How about you? Do you hold yourself to an impossible standard, one that you'd never expect of anyone else? If not, how do you give yourself room to fail? I'm working on this one and would love to hear what you think.

Merry Christmas!

"Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is Christ the Lord. " Luke 2:11

"Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid." John 14:27

I wish you peace today - in your home and your neighborhood, with family, with friends and yes, even with enemies. But most of all, I wish you peace with God that Jesus came to bring, the peace that only Jesus can bring.

"I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world." John 16:33.

This is what Christmas is about. It's about God making a way for things to be right between Him and us. Sure, life here and now won't always be sunshine and roses, but we can be sure that one day all things will be made right and whole and we'll live eternally in peace rather than condemnation. Yet I think it's alright to hope for peace now too. It's something that our hearts long for and something we rejoice in finding. So even though peace on earth may be fleeting or illusive, I hope that today you find it. And I hope in finding it you understand Christmas even better.

Merry Christmas! Peace to you and yours.

Chaos Before Comeliness

My house is a wreck today. All of the rooms upstairs have been nearly gutted, except for the one room packed floor-to-ceiling with furniture (through which I had to crawl spelunker-like to get to my printer this morning. With all the contorting and twisting I had to do, I was sure I was going to get stuck and they'd have to send a rescue crew. Thankfully it wasn't dark in there like a real cave or I would have freaked). My living and dining rooms could double as a resale shop - table crammed with knick-knacks and clocks and lamps, floor strewn with the contents of five closets and beds. Even the family room got into the act and absorbed all of our laundry baskets and piles of sheets and mattress covers. Yep, it's utter chaos here.

But there's a purpose for all of it: we're getting new carpet in all but one of our upstairs rooms. Considering the carpet looked worn and stained when we moved in six years ago, it's long overdue. We're pretty excited. Tonight we'll be walking on soft plush carpet instead of the matted down berber we're used to. And in due time the chaos will disappear and order will be restored. That makes all of the clutter and mess today worth it. It doesn't make it any less messy. It doesn't negate all the hard work it took to tear things apart and all the effort it's going to take to restore things. But knowing the end in mind, this woman-who-hates-clutter can tolerate the current state of our house.

I need to remember this. So often when life gets messy I throw a fit. I don't like relationships that are full of junk, where I'm constantly navigating a minefield and often getting stuck in tight places. I don't care for situations where everything I had so neatly planned out gets pitched into a pile somewhere else for a while. But in life, if we're patient enough to leave those piles be, if we're gutsy enough to try new ways of contorting ourselves through tight spots, if we can trust that there's a purpose to the messiness - we just might find something beautiful at the end. All too often though, we'd just rather live with the old issues that we've known were there for years, than to go through the work of ripping things apart to get to an unstained, soft heart. But, my friends, it just might be worth it.

I'll be glad when we're through with the carpet installation and all the rooms are put back. It's going to look so nice. If you happen to come by before we're done, don't be afraid to come in. Our door is still open. And in the meantime, if I seem angry at times or too pushy about getting my way, or somehow or another just don't live up to what they say a Christian should be like...I'm in the midst of a bit of construction work myself. Sorry if you see the mess, but I'm keeping the door open anyway. I'm hoping when it's all done I'll have a pretty great looking heart. It happens to be taking a little chaos inside to get there.

To Mom & Dad

on the Fortieth Anniversary of your entry in to parenthood...

(St. Margaret Hospital, September 1968)

I imagine you there at the nursery window, Mom in a wheelchair, Dad standing behind her. You hold hands tight and stare through the glass at the all-too-tiny baby. She sleeps, safely cocooned within the protective walls of the incubator. Her wispy fingers curl in fists and her delicate chest heaves up and down. Her skin is pale, almost translucent, adding to the fragile aura about her, this October baby come in September.

A nurse sees you at the window and goes over to the glass incubator. She carefully reaches in and lifts the little baby girl for you to see. Almost immediately her tiny mouth opens in a cry and you start in surprise again. She's here. Already. Too soon. You think over the past hours, the past days. Mom-to-be, admitted to the hospital for toxemia, dad-to-be continuing to work. And then THAT day, the day the baby arrives. The messages to Dad that his baby is coming don't get passed along. Mom goes through labor, wondering if he is there waiting, and wondering how her baby will be.

At that nursery window your minds race with prayers for this little preemie. Prayers of gratitude for her wholeness, her health... and prayers that she'll stay safe and well. Prayers that soon she will come home with you where you can hold her and kiss her. But for now...

It isn't at all how you expected. That is your baby. You should be cuddling her, cradling her in your arms. That you can't makes her seem that much more fragile and far away. You wonder about her, this tiny little thing. Will she grow and flourish like all the round, pink-cheeked babies in the maternity ward? Will she play dolls and skip rope? Will she...

After a while you leave. You'll return later, many, many times - sometimes being allowed into the nursery, reaching in the incubator and touching her bitty fingers. But not holding her. Not yet.

You see, for that first month in that nursery, in that incubator, Someone Else is holding her. Some One unseen. He holds her with gentle hands and whispers over her of His plans for her. And years down the road when those hands reach out again, she'll know them... recognize them. She'll grab them and hang on.

This once tiny one, now all grown up, too big for cuddles and lap sitting, still rests in Those Hands. She's glad for a Mom & Dad who took such good care of her in her youth. And she's glad for the hands of a Heavenly Father who held her in an incubator forty years ago and didn't let her go.

For I know the plans I have for you," declares the LORD, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. Jeremiah 29:11

Happy Sad

Yesterday as we drove past the cemetery in town Timid Daughter asked, "Why do the cars go in the cemetery?"

I was still pondering how to explain this to a seven-year-old when she answered herself (because TD in particular is fond of talking to herself). This is what she said:

"People go there for memories - to remember the people that died. When someone we know dies we're not sad for them. We're sad because we miss them, but we're happy for them because they're in heaven. And that's a good thing for them..."

She kept pondering this for a moment.

"Did you know that you can be two things at once? You can be both happy and sad at the same time."

Then Timid Daughter continued along that thought for a bit more. The idea of experiencing two opposing emotions at once was a new one for her and I think she enjoyed thinking it through.

I thought of her monologue today when I read L.L. Barkat's post, Of Bridges & Violins & Words.

And I thought of these verses yesterday as TD was speaking:

Brothers, we do not want you to be ignorant about those who fall asleep, or to grieve like the rest of men, who have no hope. We believe that Jesus died and rose again and so we believe that God will bring with Jesus those who have fallen asleep in him. According to the Lord's own word, we tell you that we who are still alive, who are left till the coming of the Lord, will certainly not precede those who have fallen asleep. For the Lord himself will come down from heaven, with a loud command, with the voice of the archangel and with the trumpet call of God, and the dead in Christ will rise first. After that, we who are still alive and are left will be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air. And so we will be with the Lord forever. Therefore encourage each other with these words.

1 Timothy 4:13-18

I hope those words encourage you today too.

Passion Week Meditation: Betrayed

My children and I are reading day by day the story of the week that Jesus went to the cross. Today we read about Judas being paid off to betray Jesus. On my own I'm reading meditations on the Stations of the Cross and started with number one this morning: the Garden of Gethsemane, which ends with the arrival of Judas to betray Jesus into the hands of His killers.

I went through my morning routine with those thoughts on my mind and it brought me back to a time in eighth grade when my best friend betrayed me. Here's how it went. We were at a "boy-girl" party, the kind where the entire class is invited (and shows up). The kind where some kids hang out playing pool or cards or something like that. By eighth grade the match-ups were going strong. This one was "going out with" that one, although it didn't seem like they ever actually went anywhere. It was more of an identity thing, a bit of prestige, depending on who you were paired up with.

My "best friend" took me off to the side during this party and asked me who I liked. Now, I was no dummy. She'd shown herself to be less than trust-worthy before. I was not about to reveal my true crush. So I named a boy in the class that I could care less about, that was currently "dating" a girl I couldn't stand. What could my friend do with that information? And what did I care?

Sure enough my friend scooted away a short time later and returned with the-girl-I-couldn't-stand. "You like Danny?", she asked. Then she continued, not waiting for my response, "well we're not going out any more. And I think he likes you too. He wants to ask you out. He's in the other room, waiting". She gave me a sly smile. My friend stood behind her looking as though she'd swallowed the Cheshire Cat. I rolled my eyes and played along.

I don't remember what happened after that. But I do remember coming out of the situation more triumphant than not. I'd known the betrayal was coming and so I'd been able to script it. Most of the sting was gone. Yet knowing I'd been chosen as the object of junior high trickery still hurt. To have a "friend" who'd behave so callously? It made me angry...and sad.

I wonder about Jesus. He knew, long beforehand, that Judas would betray Him. Yet He let Judas into His circle of friends. He acted on trust toward him. And I'd almost say that He scripted His betrayal too. But the scene in the Garden beforehand shows otherwise. It was His Father's plan and it grieved Him to know how it would go. But He chose to follow it through. His betrayal, even though He knew it was coming, hurt. It hurt a lot. It was part His being fully human.

As we approach Good Friday and then Easter, remember this: we have a Savior who knows the hurt we feel because He has felt it Himself. Even more, think of His love that He knew everything He would endure and still did it - for us!

A Lite Brite Life

My children were playing with their Lite Bright the other day. It was fun to see them working so seriously at it. It reminded me of when I was a kid...until the Uber-Princess asked me to help. Thanks to upgrades to the modern version, I was able to help her complete it in the fraction of time it used to take. How is that? Cheater pegs! They now make the pegs fused together in groups of two's, three's & four's. So when you can pop them in four at a time, imagine how much faster it can go (and believe me, I made heavy use of those ones on Uber-Princess's design).

Afterward I began thinking about the Lite Brite and how it works. You start with a blank sheet, or maybe one with some lettered spots. Slowly you piece in the colored pegs and a shape begins to form. Yet even with all the pegs in place, while you can see the shape, the actual figure is still dull. But plug it in and let the light shine through and all sorts of details and dimensions come out.

Aren't we like that as people? We're born, albeit not blank sheets, but with a design imprinted on us by God that has no color or shape yet. Then we begin to live and one by one opportunities and circumstances begin to fill in our outline. Over the years our shape becomes recognizable, but perhaps still somewhat undefined. Then one day we find ourselves doing and being what we were made to be. Suddenly God's light shines through us and we're made aware of all the brilliance of color and subtlety of substance that makes us who we are!

Those cheater pegs? I think we have those in life too. Maybe they're shortcuts we take toward our life goals. Or maybe on the positive side they're people who have believed in us and invested in helping us grow.

What do you think?

Gratitude for All Things

Today as we give thanks (those of us in the U.S.), undoubtedly many tables will be filled with talk of all the good things that have blessed those gathered. And truly we need to be thankful for those things and not take them for granted. But after hearing a sermon at a wedding last week, I'm rethinking my sources for gratitude. The pastor was exhorting the married folks present to thank God for those things in their spouse that once attracted them and now grate on their nerves. He pointed out that the grating was more a symptom of our own need for refining in our character than that of our spouse. And so we should be grateful that God would use our mate to show our weaknesses and use their "faults" to scrape away at ours.

I plan to spend a little time this Thanksgiving, perhaps before I go to sleep tonight, to give thanks for those things that don't appear to me as "good". Because I trust that in the hands of a loving God, even those things He will work for good in me. Indeed once I include those sources of blessing, I'm sure I'll reckon that I have been overwhelming blessed.

"And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose". Romans 8:28

Some Musings on Faith

I've been relatively silent on matters of faith recently. Not for lack of faith, but rather for lack of words and a fear of speaking negatively in the midst of trials. After all, who likes to listen to whining?

Faith. A big word. Sometimes too big to be accurate. But sometimes the only word.

"For in the gospel a righteousness from God is revealed, a righteousness that is by faith from first to last..." Romans 1:17

By faith from first... - when the scales drop away from our eyes and we see our own sin for the nastiness that it is. When we see God for who He is. When we throw ourselves on Jesus work on the cross in taking the punishment our sin deserves. Then that righteousness comes from Jesus to us, so that our sin is gone and God sees the righteousness of Jesus when He looks at us.

...to last - by faith (dependence and trust in God) I am able to do right things, to live a righteous life. And so my faith continues to work out in me what God already sees to be true. Day by day. In the good times and in the tough times. Up to the last.

The way I understand it, I am not righteous in God's sight because I do the right. I do what is right because I am already considered righteous by virtue of my faith. Oh it is a slippery concept, but at times I catch a corner of it and get a tiny grasp before it slips away again.

Faith? What I know about it for sure is that it's a decision. Yesterday, today, tomorrow. I decide that what I read in the Bible about God is true. I determine to believe that God is good and faithful, even when I've fasted and prayed and yet the book I'd worked so hard to have done for a conference isn't completed by the publisher in time. By faith I watch for the different answer, for what will happen when it does come. And by faith I wait. It's a long hard road, but the journey is an adventure. And the company is great!

Happy Birthday Dad!

It's my father's birthday today (not Musing Dad). I won't get to see him due to circumstances, but we had a fun time last night watching the Cavaliers drum corps at North Central College. It was a pretty cool show. If you haven't seen a live drum corps show, you really ought to. Nothing compares to it (the movie Drumline kind of gives you a taste).

A little about my dad today, in honor of his birthday:he's a retired government accountant, with a dry sense of humor and a penchant for puns. He's passed that on to his children and he'll be happy to know that his eldest granddaughter (Little Miss History) is starting to appreciate the subtlety of plays on words.

He's a good dad (and even funner grandfather). He built us kids a play set and allowed us to use the garage attic for a play house, drawing most of the neighbor kids to our house. My favorite outdoor creation of his? The Korean see-saw. It only lasted maybe one summer, but boy was it fun. The idea is that, unlike a regular seesaw, you don't sit. You stand. Circus style. In ancient times in Korean when girls were kept homes with high-walled yards, they would jump on a see-saw to see over the walls to the outside world. In modern times, we would jump just for the thrill. And the best was jumping with Dad because his size helped him to propel us littler ones way up into the air. Especially my younger sister, Christine. I'd crouch on the board and watch for his feet to hit the other end as he jumped. As he landed, I'd push off with my toes. If you didn't spring up on your partner's landing, they'd land with a jolt and you'd get knocked off backward. This happened a lot as we got used to it. But once we'd all learned...well, it was just a blast!

So Dad, thanks for some great memories! Seesaws and play sets, camping in the rain, biking 15 miles or more up and down the hills in Pennsylvania (ah yes, another one of Dad's antics - we'd ride a tandem together and he had only one rule: he'd pedal downhill, while I'd pedal uphill. But I had a secret: riding behind him I could put my feet up and then only pedal uphill, at least until he figured me out).

Happy Birthday! Hope it's a good one!

Whose Story Is It Anyway?

I've been learning a little about fiction writing lately, just for fun and a new challenge. One concept that has stuck with me (I'm pretty sure it was Randy Ingermanson who said it) is that to give depth to the story you have to consider all your characters as thinking the story is about them - even the minor characters. Hmmm... interesting idea isn't it?

The thing is, there's a universal truth to that idea. We all tend to think of stories as being about us. That wedding I'm going to? I've gotten a new dress and a hair cut for it. 'Cuz it's about me? Right? Okay, maybe not. But I'm sure the bride is thinking that and, well...she's right.

Anyway, my small group is studying Revelation (nice, light topic for summer, eh?). It's prophetic. It's about the end of our world as we know it to be. And so, of course, we think the story is about us. So what do we do? We try to interpret all the symbolism and story in light of ourselves and our world. Which is all good and well and even a little interesting. But, in my mind, it's futile to approach the book that way alone (and our small group is doing a good job avoiding that). Jesus even said that no one knows the day or hour (nor, I presume, can know).

Here's the thing:it's not really about us so much. We're just minor characters. It's about God. It's HIS story. When I began thinking about it that way yesterday, it suddenly became so much more interesting and not nearly so freaky frightening. After all, I love God. He loves me. And in the story of Revelation? He wins. The bad guys lose. When the focus is on God, the when and how aren't so important. Then we can see that yes, these things must happen to support the nature and character of God. And who likes a story where the bad guy goes free? Nobody. We want to see justice done. And, when you look at it as God's story, that's what happens in Revelation.

Okay, I'm no theologian, so feel free to disagree with me. I'm just a writer. That's my story...and I'm stickin' to it.

Born & Bred Suburbanite

I've been reading Albert Hsu's The Suburban Christian (see it listed on my sidebar?) lately. It's an interesting read to me first and foremost because I'm a suburbanite. I have lived in the same suburban county for all by my first three or so years of life. My husband grew up in the same county, as did both his mother and father. We are raising third-generation suburbanites. And a desire to know the implications of this compels me to read Hsu's book.

Most recently I was reading his thoughts on the individualistic nature of the suburbs. That great American dream to have your own house that continues to feed the growth of the suburban landscape. He suggests that perhaps as Christians we should consider a communal model:multiple families residing in one home, sharing common areas, but having their own space as well. I see all his arguments in favor of this. Not having to each own large appliances, lawn equipment and even vehicles sounds like a worthwhile concept. And there are so many other economies of scale that could come into play. Plus having that built-in community where families could share life together - it's worth thinking about.

Two related thoughts: I wish Hsu knew about the group of believers that at one time began a looser version of this by all buying homes on the same block and near the same church in Westmont. I have not heard recently how this is going, but it seemed like such an incredible idea. It's in his backyard, so to speak, so maybe he does know about it.

Second: the whole thought of homes and land and what this ownership means makes me think of the Old Testament. Land was part of the blessing God promised in His covenant with Abraham. And all through the Old Testament getting or having land was greatly significant. Yes, that was a promise to a specific people and it applied to the nation of Israel as a whole. But was that promise made because it answered a desire that all people have for owning a piece of land? Is this desire for a place to call our own inherently wrong? I don't know one way or another. I'm just wondering (in case you didn't know, that's a lot of what I"m about).

Any thoughts?

Holy Week Meditation: Well, Duh!

I'm reading through the account of the final days before Jesus' death and resurrection in the gospel of Mark. Each day I'm trying to follow what Jesus did and said on that particular day of the week. Yesterday I was shocked at Jesus' cursing of the fig tree. It was supposed to be bearing fruit, but it was bare - a foreshadowing of what he would find in the temple in Jerusalem. His indictment of the goings-on there was just as strong.

The next day (Tuesday) finds Jesus and his disciples passing by that same tree. In one day it has died and withered from it's roots. The disciples are surprised at this. I don't scoff at their "well, duh!" moment. When Jesus explains that even greater things can be accomplished by them through prayer it reminds me of all my surprised reactions to answered prayer. "Well, duh!", I often have to remind myself. "You did pray for that. What did you expect?".

Then I go on in the story and find the tension beginning to build. All of those who are threatened by Jesus come to him in turn trying to catch him with crafty questions. They're looking for a basis to legally get rid of him. He's God. He doesn't fall for any of it. Nor does he shy away from them and their mistaken beliefs. His time has come. He takes them on in ways they don't expect. Did any of them see who He really is? The text doesn't say, but we certainly get the impression that even if they did, they're not about to bow the knee.

The juxtaposition is stark. Jesus continues to teach and encourage his disciples. He pours into them what they'll need in the days and weeks to come. But for his accusers there are no more answers, only questions, only exposing their faked arguments. Jesus never minced words for the "white-washed sepulchers" around him, yet there is an in-your-face feel to what is happening here. His face is set on the cross. He has wept for Jerusalem. His time has come and he is not about to shy away. What a blessed Savior!

As we prepare for Easter consider your own faith. Do you wonder at the power of prayer, even though it's been promised to you? Do you feel the weakness of your faith exposed in those "well, duh!" moments? Are you ready to be encouraged? Or are you simply challenging Jesus and His authority in your life? Do you throw out red herring arguments about issues that aren't really even a part of your life hoping He'll go away? Do you have ears to hear the real answer? It's Holy Week. Good Friday approaches. What do you make of all this?

Unanchored

I've recently begun reading Ruth Haley Barton's Invitation to Solitude and Silence. It seems especially appropriate for the Lenten season since I'm more in the mode for reflection anyway. And I'm finding that Barton has a lot to say that speaks to my life. She shares how in the midst of a hectic and busy schedule as a mom, church staffer and seminarian she found herself floundering spiritually. When she finally sought the help of a spiritual director, this is how that director summed it up: "Ruth, you are like a jar of river water all shaken up. What you need is to sit still long enough that the sediment can settle and the water can become clear".

That image has stuck with me. I'm in much the same boat. Busy with home and work, church and hobbies, I rarely take time to sit unless I'm reading or eating. And those things don't bring an inner stillness.

So I've been starting to practice silence, trying to learn to still my body, my thoughts, and perhaps eventually, my soul. In that practice a new image surfaced that describes my current inner state: a boat, unanchored and adrift in open water. Oftentimes recently I've found myself wandering my house, lighting on one task briefly, then drifting on to another. My days sometimes lack focus and purpose. The unsettled river water keeps the boat drifting. All the more reason to continue practicing silence. My soul needs that settling. And in some ways I don't think the concept is not too much unlike the idea of fallowing that L.L. Barkat has suggested on her blog.

Is your soul anchored? Or are you adrift?

"We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure. It enters the inner sanctuary behind the curtain, where Jesus, who went before us, has entered on our behalf." Hebrews 6:19-20a