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Archive for on faith – Page 3

Discrepancies

It’s February, and the month invariably seems to bring our attention to love. It’s inescapable. And while I don’t always buy into the hearts and flowers mentality this time of year, I want my heart to be committed to pursuing and grasping a life characterized by love. A life centered in real and genuine love. A life that rejects the imitations. A life that acts out all the discrepancies love reveals. A life that loves in little things and big things, regardless of distractions.

One of the realities about love I’m continuing to learn as I travel this road toward paying attention is that to love is always to risk. It’s true. Having my children has taught me that lesson more than any other experience, for sometimes even the simple act of letting them out of my sight is an assault on my heart. There is no love without risking myself — risking damage to that core of who I really am, where I live and breathe. Real love always involves opening and exposing myself. Giving myself. Acting outside of myself. And in the face of all the discrepancies inherent in pursuing a life of love, I find myself committed to that openness.

I made a decision in my life a long time ago that having an open heart was important to me. That remaining open despite circumstances was valuable. That exposing my heart to the full weight life (and love) have to offer was the only way to really infuse that life with true meaning, certainly the only way to really see and be moved by the people around me. The only way to distinguish true love from its pale comparisons. Yes, it’s a risky endeavor. Inspite of the risk and even my own disappointments, the opportunity to love is everywhere.

But, love can be a struggle. I don’t know about you, but I’ve experienced those times when the simple opportunities to love those around me were lost in a sea of roles. A sea of expectations — many of which I place on myself. In the day-to-day of life, I’m a parent, a designer, a cook, an organizer, a cleaner, the all-knowing finder of favorite toys and lost clothing, the ever-present referee for playtime games and stories, and the obligatory standard for kind and “loving” behavior.  In the pursuit of love, at times I’ve been a trophy. I’ve been somewhere down someone’s list. I’ve been the caretaker, the mother, the unheard voice of reason. I’ve been the assumption, the provider and the significant “other.” It’s hard not to see myself only as a reflection of those things. And certainly of my choices to continue in whatever roles may stifle me, and even inhibit my ability to love. It’s hard to continually pull myself out of those roles and be generous or giving or creative or whatever else is required to live that open life I mentioned. It’s hard to keep my heart open when it means being able to feel the brunt of those roles and positions head-on. The discrepancies of life and love can be staggering.

Here’s the thing. Love is finding joy. Love is a place of peace and acceptance. Love is hoping and blessing. Love is giving away. And, love is hurting and being disappointed. Love is misunderstanding. Love is trying and sometimes failing. Love is discrepancy.

I want to run from the discrepancy. My soul wants to fly from it as fast as it can go and never look back. My heart wants to close itself up tight and pull the covers over its head. But, it doesn’t. It won’t. For love is far too important a vehicle for experiencing the world. And love is far too important a lifestyle to teach. Real life and real love are about those discrepancies. They are about slippage and imperfections. About disorder and unpredictability. And at the end of the day, they are about hope and faith. The assurances that a life of love is worth it — whatever it takes. Whatever letting go, whatever grasping, whatever denying or embracing, whatever ending or beginning, whatever exposure of myself. A life of love is worth it. It’s worth the full measure of all that I have.

In keeping with that realization, this month’s desktop wallpaper takes its lesson from Elizabeth Barrett Browning. The encouragement is to love both to the full “depth and breadth and height” my soul can achieve as well as back to the simple response of “everyday’s most quiet need.” Yes, that’s a life worthy of pursuing.

[Click the desktop wallpaper version above to download and enjoy with your technology and grab this iphone wallpaper version as well. Happy February!]

Wise Men

The Magi. I’ve been gravitating to their part in the Christmas story this season. Wise men are kind of a rare breed. To be known through history for the trait of wisdom is pretty impressive in this age of rampant information. We live in a time of unprecedented knowledge, but I see all around me the impact of foolishness. Christmas is usually a time of reflection for me. There is usually a break in my work routine and traveling to visit family. The time away from my own place and schedule somehow gives my heart and mind the space to evaluate. In what seems like life in constant motion, that brief respite to pause and think is a blessing. It helps me see with fresher eyes.

As I’ve been looking at this past year, I can’t help but notice change. And with all the hardship that surrounds change, I can’t help but recognize the opportunity that comes with it. But, opportunity requires wisdom, that rare commodity. Wisdom is often the difference between short-term and long-term, between past and future, between good and best. And so, these nameless figures from an age-old story come to mind. These humans whose actions seem almost implausible and even foolish at times. And yet, they are known simply as “wise men.” Men of prestige who were satisfied and even humbled in worship before a small child. These men who came and went on their way, having recognized God. I find their story fascinating. And I find their journey worth pursuing.

They were wisdom-seekers in a mystic tradition that was centuries old spanning many cultures and historical accounts. And because they were wisdom-seekers by trade, people seemed to assume they had it. World leaders and kingdom makers sought them to advise or divine or justify their decisions. The biblical account of the birth of Jesus doesn’t give us much information about these particular wise men. Over the centuries Christendom has imbued them with details that may not have really been true at that defining point in history. In my varied nativity scenes and storybook illustrations, there are only three of them. They rode on camels and visited the holy family in a stable. They were multi-racial and dressed in fine and brilliant colors, and always with crowns of some kind or another. Noone knows how and when they really arrived on the scene in Bethlehem, but in thinking about these unknown figures, I’m stilled by some important realities about a life characterized by wisdom. Some that surprised me.

Meaning mattered.
These men had positioned their whole lives in a mindset of meaning. It was the backdrop to all their days and to the singular experience with the Christ child. I heard a quote once that said you don’t find meaning. You give meaning. The magi spent their lives giving meaning and significance to events and natural phenomena and people.  It brought order and power to their world. It enabled them to see, to follow and ultimately to worship.

They were searching.
They noticed the course-altering star because they were looking. It’s not like a star shines in the sky for one man to see. The light radiates indiscriminantly. The difference is that these men had trained their gaze to find it. So often we are so entrenched in knowing the answers that we see no value in searching. And, admittedly, sometimes there is no place like Christianity for assuming a choke-hold on answers. Why do we diminish the process of seeking and searching as a lesser and distracted pursuit? The only way to find is to seek.

They recognized importance when they saw it.
They recognized significance. Something in their mystic training program or in their own experience told them the star they saw mattered. They had paid enough attention to see that it was different from what they’d known in their searching of the skies. They were able to discern that for them in that moment, the star was important.

They followed significance with unencumbered action.
This is so often the hard part. When we recognize that something matters, that it’s important, how do we respond? Significance involves determining what really matters to me, what qualifies my baseline of the life I feel I need to live. To grasp that significance and hold it often requires change. It often requires letting go, moving from where I am. The Magi followed the star. It was likely a long journey and an unexpected one. But, they loaded the camels (or whatever mode of transportation) and left. The significance they saw fueled their desire to know what this star was about. To find the meaning behind it. They were prepared enough to be unencumbered in moving. And they were prepared and expectant enough to load the gifts as well.

They didn’t lose sight of their vision.
The wise men had a picture of their destination. A hazy one, but a picture. They held firmly to what their heart recognized in seeing the star. They were looking for a king. And they met a legitimate king–Herod. Obviously, they were men of prestige and possibly renown. They probably were men of wealth and prominence. They were ushered into the king’s palace, after all. Apparently without much effort, they gained a direct audience with the ruler to ask their questions. But they recognized he wasn’t the one they were seeking. They didn’t break out the frankincense for Herod.

But, when the time was right, they were ready to give their gifts.
Trusting our own vision is so hard sometimes. Circumstances and the opinions of others push and pull and try to mold a vision we don’t recognize. But, my significance is mine. What’s valuable to me matters. It takes courage and resolve to stick with it.  The Magi trusted the sign post placed in the sky before them even though it probably seemed unlikely. Whatever small and seemingly insignificant situation they found Jesus in when the star rested its journey, they didn’t hesitate to open their treasures there. They weren’t enamored by wealth and prestige. They weren’t deterred by meager circumstances. They weren’t dictated by the assumptions of others. They recognized a situation and a person worthy of everything they had brought. And they gave it.

I’m on this same journey. Somewhere. I haven’t determined exactly where at the moment. But it’s my journey this season. A journey of significance. A journey of meaning. A journey of vision. A journey of giving. A journey of recognizing. A journey of choosing. A journey of moving. A journey of seeking. A journey of following. A journey of finding. A journey of worshiping. I’m on this journey. Aren’t we all?

December’s Call

For me and mine, December’s call is Christmas. The month when we celebrate the birth of Jesus. The month when we try to reclaim the simplicity of the manger from all the hoopla of Transformers and discounted promotions and glossy packages. We pull our decorations from the attic and I watch as Little Drummer Boy, Bug and Baby Girl explore their wonder in a fresh way. There will be some things LDB and Bug remember from other years. There probably won’t be much that Baby Girl remembers. But, we will begin fresh memories with these traditions and the “things” that fuel them.

The “call” in this month’s desktop wallpaper is an ancient one…

“Let us now go even unto Bethlehem and see this thing which has come to pass, which the Lord has made known to us.”

Spoken on a smelly hillside among wooly beasts, it was birthed from a brilliant display of angelic light. Light that pierced the night with fear, then amazement, then wonder, then motivation. “Let us now go.” I’ve always taken comfort in the fact that this first revelation of the Christ Child’s birth was delivered to men who were quite comfortable in the setting where he was born. No, a barn wouldn’t necessarily be my first choice for giving birth. It’s a far cry from the sterile environment where my own children drew their first breaths. But, I believe that though the busy-ness of Bethlehem may have necessitated this unexpected birthing suite, in God’s providence, it was His first choice. And the setting somehow elevated the miracle beyond the improbable to the far-reaching. The shepherd band had no qualms about seeking a Savior in a stable. Perhaps they would have hesitated, had their destination been a palace of gold and jewels. But, in the darkness, with the scent of animals on their clothing and the weariness of the night watch at their backs, they issued December’s call. They wanted to see the thing the angels had described. This blessed event heralded by magnificent beings in a place that was so familiar to them.

His birth was kind-hearted. Kind in that he aligned Himself with the lowly from that first moment in this sphere. With the ill-scented. With the uneducated. With the working class. With the disheveled and unkept. With the beasts of this life. What better place for a Savior?

[With this month’s desktop wallpaper, I also did a little iphone wallpaper version to enjoy with my phone. Feel free to click either (or both) and download to enjoy with your technology this season.]

BP, Leftovers & Jesus: A Dialogue

I think I’ve mentioned my instigator friend, #17. He’s actually an old friend (don’t take that personally, #17) who claims to be a recent and avid EyeJunkie convert. I call him an instigator because he sometimes sends me links or questions or book recommendations to stir the Junkie pot a little, prompting me to express myself on various issues or ideas, and perhaps inspiring me to some essay eloquence. Right.

It happened this morning. Again.

Like many across our country (and indeed our planet), I’ve been watching news of the oil “spill” in the Gulf of Mexico over the past six weeks. The story is of particular interest to those, who like me, live in Mississippi and other Gulf states. But, the implications environmentally and economically are so much more far-reaching.  Anyone who is awake is certainly convinced of that. Right? When I heard of the proposed “top kill” option to stem the flow of oil into the Gulf, my first thought was, “This whole process is an exercise in experimentation with 210,000 gallons of oil gushing daily.” It’s a frightening concept to realize you are reaching the limit of your own capacity to redeem a situation.

Enter #17.

This morning he called my attention to an article from the New York Times about the affect the “spill” is having on Louisiana shrimpers and fishermen. The implications of this disaster on their way of life and livelihood are unmistakeable, including the  larger questions of whether shrimp from the Gulf will ever be safe to eat. The plot thickens on the impact of the explosion at Deepwater Horizon. #17 wondered aloud in cyberspace why the disaster is still being called a “spill” rather than a “crime scene.” Good question. But a crime against what? Against whom?  Then, of course, #17 took the probe one step further.

“WWJD?”

For the unindoctrinated, that means “What would Jesus do?” Yep. Once an instigator, always an instigator. The ensuing dialogue in pursuit of an answer to that question made me think. It made me sad. It made me wonder. It made me ask more questions. With #17’s permission, I thought I’d share it here with little editing…

Junkie: And what’s YOUR take on what Jesus would do?

#17: Maybe He would cry. Why don’t YOU lead me to water on this?

Junkie: I don’t know about leading to water, but random thoughts…

I do think God is grieved by it. I believe a few facts about God that color the situation.

I think God made this earth. I think He designed it to be a living and continual testament to Himself and His existence. I also think He made it to sustain itself in many ways, but also to need a caretaker. The first few chapters of the Bible indicate that God designated man to be that caretaker. I think God designated man as the culmination of His creation — therefore not equivalent to nature, but more important than nature. In many ways, He designed the “system” or nature to serve man. That’s not necessarily a popular opinion with environmental groups.

In those first few chapters of Genesis, there is the account of man in the garden of Eden. Some see it as figurative, some as a recount of history. To me, the concepts are the same regardless. In that story, it was God who killed the first animals to provide clothing for man after his “fall.” The environment was used to serve the needs of man.

So, there’s a fine line with this situation. I think it’s ok for man to explore, ok to tap and use the resources we have available on this planet. However, God entreated man to be the caretaker. So there is an inherent responsibility of stewardship. I think that’s where we fall short. I think that’s where greed takes over. I think that’s where we show our lack of restraint. That lack of restraint and balance is what so often leads us into disaster.

But, above all, I believe God is compassionate. He gave souls to men, not to plants or animals. In this situation, I think he still sees the people as more important than the damage. I’m also aware that the two aren’t easily separated.

What would Jesus do?
I don’t know. I think He would have men act with compassion. I think He would want us all to take responsibility for our own actions, to own them. I think He would want sincerity in motives and actions. I think He wants the extra mile, the giving of the shirt as well as the coat, the recognition of what is priceless. I think He wants this mess cleaned up.

I like the idea of the Gumbo parties. [Gumbo for the Gulf is the benefit brain child of Environment Michigan.] Go out and buy shrimp. Eat it and give. But, is a halt to all drilling the answer? I don’t know.

I know that for many counties in Mississippi and Louisiana, the best job opportunities for feeding families are found in offshore drilling (and ironically in fishing or aquaculture). With the limited educational opportunities and historic poverty, those jobs are essential in many ways. In Mississippi, forestry is one of the largest industries (if not the largest) — another target of the environmental lobby. The current crisis is in need of funds and so are the shrimpers and other fishermen. But what about long term? What economic development can be produced to replace the jobs lost with a halt to all drilling?

And, the reality is that most goods are delivered by freight across this country. A reduction in the amount of available oil (regardless of its source) means double or triple prices on basic needs. I can’t afford that again.

There are many positions here. And not many easy answers. For me, I think the best answer lies in balance and restraint. For regulations and limits to be real. For incentives for alternative fuel to be real and enticing. For disincentives to breeching the limits to be real and detrimental.

#17: I agree completely.

I appreciate the narrative about the scripture. I also see nature as something in service to man. So did the Romans. So did the American Indians. Have you read Wendell Berry? On Stewardship? [more instigation]

I also believe in moderation and compassion. I believe in restraint and delicacy. That’s why I re-read books, why I wear my clothes out, why I have ridden a bike for so long. Its why I took the bus in Cincinnati. Its why I took the train home in Mississippi. That’s why I buy $25 of gas at a time, why I eat leftovers and pack a lunch. Its why I put new lenses in old frames and why I’m careful about how often I wash clothes.

I also believe Jesus would be grieving. And so do many others at a distance from this crisis. We feel helpless.

Junkie: Everyone feels helpless. And, we ARE in many ways.

Presumably the best and brightest minds from the private and public sectors are applying solutions to this problem to no avail. That’s not an easy thing for man to accept. And, it’s not an easy thing to look in the mirror as a race or a people after having created such a far-reaching dilemma. It’s not easy to admit that we had no foresight, or at least inadequate foresight. It’s like the realization after Hiroshima — what have we done? What genie is now out of the bottle?

Bringing it back to the real people, I think what bothers me the most is the rush to embrace agendas. It’s human nature and politics, but it’s taking our eyes off the ball. Party lines, Obama bashing, big oil bashing. The rhetoric has a place, but it is in the back seat. I was disappointed most, I think, to see the immediate adversarial relationship established by the EPA representatives upon their arrival two weeks after the explosion. In reading the tenor of the press conferences since, it put BP in an immediate defensive position. Of course, they’re going to be the fall guy. They are going to be the culprit. That’s obvious. But, that was a mistake in crisis management. To establish advocacy and an environment of cooperation fosters the best ideas. It squelches the need for secrecy and hedging. I think that approach was politically motivated, and it offended me as a citizen of a state that is likely to be affected directly by this disaster for decades. And, to see a Congressman holding up a glass filled with dark liquid that could just as easily have been 3-day old coffee was just ridiculous posturing.

You know, I’m seeing articles where the concept of “risk management” and its viability are coming into question. The assumption is that BP (or any of the oil companies) may have imagined this scenario in some brainstorming session somewhere in the past, but it was likely not even addressed because the possibility was so remote. Now, the remotest possibility has created a situation where a hazmat suit is required to walk in the Louisiana marshes that feed the lowest elements on the food chain — for wildlife and humans. “Managing” risk is an exercise in choosing, in setting priorities. Unfortunately, the priorities provided by probability (and certainly by financial gain) are being shown NOT to match up with the potential consequences. The horror is that just as we can’t conceive of an appropriate solution to this problem we’ve caused, we also can’t conceive of the true impact. For all our smarts, our brains simply aren’t big enough to accurately predict that.

Dialogue is important. Sadly, it’s not always the product of this small world we live in. It’s not always the norm for friends living 17 states apart or issues entrenched an ocean apart. But, I think maybe that dialogue is our greatest hope for solutions.

From there OUR dialogue moved into less weightier topics and pleasantries, punctuated by something like…

Junkie: What were you thinking getting me started with both Jesus AND British Petroleum at the same time?

#17: A *smirk* I could read loud and clear across 17 states.

Even the Darkness

On Saturday, through a series of perplexing and frustrating circumstances, someone very dear to me almost died. I apologize for neglecting a gentle preface, but I’m still in the state of emotionally catching up. For the last two days, I’ve been in the slow process of processing, switching out of the auto-pilot mode that allowed me to be calm, rational and supportive during a dicey 24-hour period. It was a 24 hours that held wondering, worrying, judging reactions, discerning causes, weighing options, and a few instances of minding somebody else’s business. Confusion is a dark and unknown place. It’s full of fear and concern and resignation.
In the warm light of two days later, our dear one is on the mend. I have been blessed with the opportunity to stand with my mother in support and strength, and I’ve had the chance to fill a gap in serving my father when needed–all the while watching “Cars” a few times and conducting some of our own hot wheel races. Gentlemen, start your engines. In this warm light, I am also witness to the truth of one of my favorite verses in all of the Bible (psalm 139:12). Again.
“Even the darkness is not dark to You”
Through the weekend, we were blinded by the darkness of confusion, of not understanding what was happening, of not knowing what to do, of not even knowing whether something needed to be done. We found ourselves in the place of being forced to let go, to let it be what it is, to release a situation into more capable Hands. I saw with gratitude (and at the same time horror) that our dear one’s life was probably saved because we decided to hold our ground on one simple act. It could have easily gone the other way. It was the difference between joining the family for supper or going to bed early. As seemingly insignificant as that, life and death are intertwined, light and dark. On your mark, get set.
“and the night is as bright as the day.”
I tend to forget how undeniable and unquenchable the God who is Light really is. Where light is, dark cannot remain. Where God is, there is no dark. And, where isn’t God? There is no confusion that can circumvent His knowledge. There is no dark that can cloak His vision and understanding. Thank God.
“Darkness and light are alike to You.”
Now, there’s a radical concept. I’ve noticed how much time we tend to spend classifying people and things and situations into the light and dark categories– wrong, right, good, bad, yes, and no. In the warm light of this day, the shift of dark to light is refreshingly uneventful. My dad has a favorite memory he shares about his training in the National Guard. He talks about his whole unit being gathered into a pitch black room. He always marvels at how quickly their eyes adjusted, and how easily surroundings and people came into focus after just one small flame was lighted. Amazingly, light dispels dark rather quickly, efficiently and indiscriminantly. Light is generous, and despite the unfortunate efforts we sometimes impose on ourselves and others, it is uncontained.
Of the lessons I can boil down from the dark experience of July 4, the foremost is that people are an all-too-brief gift, treasured daily to glean their full worth. The second is that “God is light and in Him there is no darkness at all.” (1 john 1:5) The third is that the blackest dark loses its way in the presence of even the smallest light. Even a weak light reflecting its true Source spreads with uncommon power. The light I have to share, though small, can and will impact any sphere in which I choose to shine it.
“Even the darkness is not dark to You.” Go.

On Saturday, through a series of perplexing and frustrating circumstances, someone very dear to me almost died. I apologize for neglecting a gentle preface, but I’m still in the state of emotionally catching up. For the last two days, I’ve been in the slow process of processing, switching out of the auto-pilot mode that allowed me to be calm, rational and supportive during a dicey 24-hour period. It was a 24 hours that held wondering, worrying, judging reactions, discerning causes, weighing options, and a few instances of minding somebody else’s business. Confusion is a dark and unknown place. It’s full of fear and concern and resignation.

In the warm light of two days later, our dear one is on the mend. I have been blessed with the opportunity to stand with my mother in support and strength, and I’ve had the chance to fill a gap in serving my father when needed–all the while watching the movie Cars a few times and conducting some of our own hot wheel races. Gentlemen, start your engines. In this warm light, I am also witness to the truth of one of my favorite verses in all of the Bible (psalm 139:12). Again.

“Even the darkness is not dark to You”

Through the weekend, we were blinded by the darkness of confusion, of not understanding what was happening, of not knowing what to do, of not even knowing whether something needed to be done. We found ourselves in the place of being forced to let go, to let it be what it is, to release a situation into more capable Hands. I saw with gratitude (and at the same time horror) that our dear one’s life was probably saved because we decided to hold our ground on one simple act. It could have easily gone the other way. It was the difference between joining the family for supper or going to bed early. As seemingly insignificant as that, life and death are intertwined, light and dark. On your mark, get set.

“and the night is as bright as the day.”

I tend to forget how undeniable and unquenchable the God who is Light really is. Where light is, dark cannot remain. Where God is, there is no dark. And, where isn’t God? There is no confusion that can circumvent His knowledge. There is no dark that can cloak His vision and understanding. Thank God.

“Darkness and light are alike to You.”

Now, there’s a radical concept. I’ve noticed how much time we tend to spend classifying people and things and situations into the light and dark categories– wrong, right, good, bad, yes, and no. In the warm light of this day, the shift of dark to light is refreshingly uneventful. My dad has a favorite memory he shares about his training in the National Guard. He talks about his whole unit being gathered into a pitch black room. He always marvels at how quickly their eyes adjusted, and how easily surroundings and people came into focus after just one small flame was lighted. Amazingly, light dispels dark rather quickly, efficiently and indiscriminantly. Light is generous, and despite the unfortunate efforts we sometimes impose on ourselves and others, it is uncontained.

Of the lessons I can boil down from the dark experience of July 4, the foremost is that people are an all-too-brief gift, treasured daily to glean their full worth. The second is that “God is light and in Him there is no darkness at all.” (1 john 1:5) The third is that the blackest dark loses its way in the presence of even the smallest light. Even a weak light reflecting its true Source spreads with uncommon power. The light I have to share, though small, can and will impact any sphere in which I choose to shine it.

“Even the darkness is not dark to You.” Go.

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