Another of Lisa-Jo’s weekly invitations to stop and drop – 5 minutes of unedited writing on a theme. This week the one-word prompt?  BEYOND. Who knows what will come out?? FIVE minutes – that’s all I’ve got. Why don’t you try it, too?

GO:

Can you see beyond what’s in front of your face? I’m thinking specifically about people you meet, converse with, interact with on a daily basis. People who irritate you, who push your buttons, who exasperate and frustrate you?

One of the most important life lessons to hang onto is this one: everyone has a story. Everyone has some pain they’re dealing with somewhere. Everyone is more than what you see.


One of the advantages of living a long time is learning this truth – over and over again. There is always something ‘beyond.’ Beyond the crankiness, beyond the odd behavior, even beyond the surface tranquility. There are stories bubbling beneath the surface, stories of joy and sorrow, life and death. And part of our role as followers of Jesus is remaining open to all the possibilities of that truth.


Women sit in my office and slowly unpeel themselves – telling me, in ways they don’t even realize, of their invisibility, their need to be heard and seen, most especially by the people they love the most – their husbands and children. This is a growing concern of mine as I sit and listen, as I ask the Holy Spirit for guidance and wisdom and words. There is pain there for so many, so many. 


Do you truly see the people that are right in front of you? Do you see beyond what they present? Do you see the truth that they are real, flesh and blood individuals with unique gifts and unique faults, with a very particular voice and a much-needed individual presence in this world? 

More and more, this is my prayer: 

Lord, help me to see the whole person – show me what YOU see. Help me to see beyond the surface.


STOP.

Ooooh, a really off-center prompt from the Mama this week. Don’t have a clue where to go with it. Hmmmm….just write – that’s the idea. Just put it down there – no edits, no second thoughts. Just write. Five minutes is the limit – join Lisa Jo over at the Gypsy Mama and see where five minutes will take you today:
 

GO:

1.  “Catch me if you can!”

2.  “I feel like I’m constantly playing catch-up.”

3.  “Did you catch what she said?”

4.  “Can I catch that (meaning is it infectious or not)?”

5.  “What’s the catch-of-the-day?”

6.  “Wanna play catch?”

7.  “She had a catch in her voice.”

1.  There have been too many days in my life when I’ve played the game from that first quote – running too fast, in too many different directions, running away from my thoughts by filling my hands with work to do.

2.  There have also been too many days when I’ve felt hopelessly behind the 8-ball, wondering if I will ever make headway – in learning a new skill or in clearing a stack of un-filed paperwork, or in making sense of what’s happening in the life of someone I love. 

3.  And, of course, as I get older – there is a little bit more of that third question. Gotta work a little bit harder to pick up every nuance in a multi-sided conversation. 

4.  Probably haven’t spent enough time worrying about catching bugs of different kinds – I am not a neat freak, seldom use hand sanitizer, will pick up a morsel of food off a restaurant table top. Nope, I don’t worry too much about that kind of catching. 

5.  But I LOVE seafood and ask that 4th question a lot when dining out. Love me some salmon or sea bass or scampi. Oh yeah. 

6.  And I NEVER play catch – can’t catch a ball of almost any size to save my life. A source of huge embarrassment growing up, but not so much any more. I seem to be more at piece with my klutziness these days. 

7.  But that last one – well, that’s something I’ve become quite skilled at picking up. That catch in the voice when someone is nearing a tender topic, when something of great import is about to be shared, when the past weight of some great sadness bears heavily in the moment. That skill comes with time, with intent, with experience. 

But there are wonderful catches in voices, too – times when joy overflows and needs to be shared. That’s my very favorite kind of catching – and I ask God for ears to hear both kinds of vocal catches, to pay attention to what is being shared. I ask God to fill the space between me and the other person, guiding me into careful words, caring presence and loving attention. That’s a kind of catch that does get better with practice.


STOP


Went long tonight. Sorry about that. About double time, I think. (numbers & photo added afterwards)

The air is still tonight, warm and balmy after an exceptionally hot day on the central coast of California. Ninety-five degrees. Rare for October, but not unheard of. Fourteen Octobers ago, we moved our furniture into this house – and it was over 100 that Saturday. Thankfully, such temperature extremes are rare here.

There’s a cricket outside the window tonight, a particularly noisy one, singing his song into the warm night air. And the moon is full, gloriously so, making the yard look beautiful, in an unearthly, dappled-light sort of way. Every once in a while, the cricket takes a break from his outrage against the night, and I find I am relieved for a few seconds. Relieved not to have to hear that high-pitched whine, the one that is finding its way into the bedroom much more easily than usual because of all the open doors and windows. 

We had our grandgirls today. The little one all day long – her with the wild and crazy hair, the ever-present binky, the extreme physicality of an almost twenty-month old. The older one joined us after her kindergarten class ended at 3:00. She goes to school just down the street from us, so it’s easy to pick her up on the days we care for her sister. Today, we let them swim – the bigger girl in our very old built-in swimming pool, the younger one in a wading pool I set up on the lawn. The big pool was COLD – we have no heater and today’s temperature was a blip in the usual cool weather for this month. But girl and grandad had fun anyhow.

And baby and I? We enjoyed splashing – me with the hose, she with her water toys. Every so often, she’d climb over the edge of the plastic pool and run like a crazy girl around the lawn, then jump back in, ready for more wet stuff. She makes me laugh out loud. Sometimes she surprises me with whole sentences; sometimes I struggle to understand what she’s trying so valiantly to tell me. All of the time, I love being with her. Her small, strong body is beautiful to me. The ease with which she inhabits it, the limits to which she pushes it – and me. All of it is delightful.

 

But I’m glad it’s only one or two days a week. A full day with a busy toddler leaves both my husband and me just about done in. So we say to each other, at the end of each Wednesday and each Friday: “I’m so glad we had our kids when we were young!”

Maybe that’s what the cricket’s song is all about – an expression of fatigue at the end of a long, good day. Maybe I’ll choose to believe that. And maybe it won’t sound quite so much like a whine after all.

Joining with these friends tonight, some of them long-time and long-neglected! And one of them new to me this week:

 

Dan King is a wonderful bear of a guy with a heart as big as he is. Several years ago, he began the blogsite BibleDude.net as a means of deepening his walk with Jesus and on that blog, he made discoveries that have changed his life. And if you read this book, those discoveries are likely to change yours as well.

It’s a quick read with long-lasting impact. Dan describes himself as anything but a ‘powerhouse writer.’ And in one sense, I suppose he’s right. He does not have a particularly poetic or ‘literary’ style. But here’s what he does have: a very distinctive voice, one that communicates clearly and effectively. And most of all, he is as real as they come. And kind and funny, too.

In nine brief chapters, Dan takes us on a life-changing journey – from his initial research into the disastrous impact of poverty on the two-thirds world, to making contact with an NGO called Five Talents, to a 2009 trip to Africa, where he joins a teaching team in Kenya and Uganda for a two and a half week outreach experience. 

There are two things that make this book a must-read for me:
     1.) the beauty of Dan’s heart and the enthusiasm of his words as he tells us his story; and
     2.) the down-to-earth, practical suggestions he makes for all of us to open our own hearts and minds to 
          a.) the need, and 
          b.) the ways we can contribute to alleviating that need. 

Each chapter has a praxis section, with clear, simple ideas for how we, too, can make the jump from pew-sitter to poverty fighter. And each chapter has at least one personal story – of a child, a pastor, a mother – who has been changed because of the hands-on advice, teaching and financial assistance they have received. But none of the money is handed out gratis; instead, Five Talents and their partnering agencies offer micro-loans, inviting the recipients to build their businesses, market their products well, budget wisely and then….repay the loan so that others in their community can experience the life-changes that come with a little bit of training and a whole lot of work.

A special chapter for me was the one in which Dan describes a brief safari/retreat their group squeezed into their itinerary between countries. This was not a fancy ‘perk’ for the visiting team, but a necessary, helpful and ultimately refreshing change of scenery. Re-discovering the magnificence of God’s creation in the African setting proved to be exactly what was needed to step from Kenya into Uganda with energy and enthusiasm. 

My husband and I had the privilege of living in an African country over 40 years go. We loved what we did, the people we met and the beautiful meld of savannah plains, wild animal preserves and majestic waterfalls within a 100 mile radius of our home during those two years. God created the whole world, not just our north American corner of it, and discovering the beauty of both land and people in a faraway place is a gift of grace that cannot be duplicated. And for me personally – and, as it turns out, for Dan, as well – seeing God’s glory reflected in the world around us leads ‘further in and higher up.’ 

Dan is honest about the cumulative and overwhelming sense of despair that can quickly rise when faced with the myriad problems faced by our African brothers and sisters. But he listens to wise advice: “Be content with doing your small part.” That is all any of us can do. 

But imagine if ALL of us did our own small part. What kind of change could we see? What kind of hope could we bring? What kind of God would people see through our combined efforts? 

Near the end of the book, Dan reflected on his experience with these lines: 

     “I’m not sure if God put a calling on my life through this experience, or if the experience lifted the veil from something that He has put inside of every person. After all, we are created in His image, so maybe we do have a piece of that compassionate heart that defines His character.”

I really like the idea of a mission trip like this ‘lifting the veil,’ uncovering the eyes of our hearts and showing us that imago dei within each of us. And then, of course, responding to what we find with compassionate action. 

I highly recommend this book for any Christian wanting to go deeper in their discipleship journey. Working through the suggestions at the end of each chapter will light a fire in your spirit and take you places you’ve never dreamed of…even if you never travel anywhere but cyberspace.


I received a free copy of this ebook from the author and agreed to do a review on my blog in exchange. But I would gladly have paid to read it and the words written here are as true as I can make them.


Check out Dan’s blog at http://BibleDude.net

Joining with Bonnie after several weeks away. This post may not read like it is exactly in tune with the topic for the week – which is prayer. But please believe me when I tell you, that this experience is one of the deepest prayer times of my life. I find myself begging the Lord for mercy, for clarity, for charity, for patience, for faith-amidst-the-questions, for a deepening of love even as there is a lessening of the woman we once knew. At any rate, I offer it because I must – every word poured out like a prayer.
 
She is sitting in an over-stuffed chair in the hallway, her walker in front of her. Across from her, a group from her living unit are in rows, listening to a woman about my age (which, believe me, is YOUNG in this crowd) read the daily newspaper.

Her eyes are vacant as she scans the room, turning her head as we walk in. She stares at me for a good minute, not a hint of recognition in her gaze. This is a first. I point to the man next to me, who is her son, and she begins to sense that we might be somehow connected to her. She is confused as we stand beside her, asking if she’d like to walk down to her room so that we can visit a little while. She makes no effort to stand, unusual for her.

We’ve been gone for two weeks. Her daughter, who sees her several times a week when she is in town, is also gone, caring for her newest grandbaby in Montana. She has not seen family since September 25th. And that time line is just long enough to cause a memory gap. 

As we move slowly down the hallway and turn into her room, I turn on the light and open the drapes. She prefers the room dark and spends many hours in bed each day, fully dressed, sometimes with a nightgown over her clothes. As we enter the room, I can see that she has recently left that bed and it is now 4:00 p.m., with dinner to come in 45 minutes. 

We check the calendar for the week and notice that there was a pianist visiting during the last hour. We ask about it. “She was terrible,” she says. Then she waves toward the large print crossword puzzle book and says, “I did a few more of those.” 

“Good for you!” we both exclaim, eager to grab any snippet that might lead to actual conversation. But this line yields no fish today. Instead, we hear about the large poster on the wall.

Again. 

It is a family picture taken in 1988, the year after our eldest daughter was married. She recites what she remembers of the story line we’ve told her many times: 

“It’s so sad – that one over there, he died. And that little girl in front, she just had a baby.” 

The references are to our son-in-law and our niece. She does not know their names. She does not know that she is in that picture. She does not know who anyone else is in the picture, nor is she interested. 

There is a silence that grows increasingly heavy. We ask her if she wants to join the Bingo group. “Oh, they don’t play it like they used to! It’s all just a big bin and they tumble all around. What good is that to anyone?” 

So, Bingo is out. 

We attempt a few other conversational trails, failing each time and eventually, after about 30 minutes, say that it’s time for us to go. 

She remains seated on the end of her bed. Again, no movement to get up. This is a first experience for us and we are both emotionally and physically distressed by this turn of events. Eventually, with coaxing, she rises and moves slowly back to the hallway. 

An aide comes out and greets Mom cheerfully. “Did you see that woman who played the piano?” I hear her ask, crossly. “And did you see the way she was dressed?” My husband and I look at each other across the top of her head, widening our eyes and just slightly shrugging our shoulders. Who is this person?? 

This, this is my second mother. This is the woman who cared for my children at a moment’s notice, who found us our first house, who taught Bible studies, who mentored younger women, who laughed loudly and loved life. This is the woman who made delicious meals, who always had an empty seat – or three – at her dining room table, who knew what her gifts were – and what they weren’t. This is the woman who quietly made a break from her very conservative church upbringing by refusing to be baptized until she was 34 years old. Because when she was young, to be baptized meant letting your hair grow long and wearing a bonnet over it at all times. She never let that hair grow! 

This is the woman who grew anything – gardenias, violets, ferns, spider plant – anything in a pot thrived under her watchful eye and green thumb. This is the woman who came to UCLA and invited me to tea when it began to look like I ‘might be the one’ for her son. This is the woman who folded me into her family with love and grace and who adored my children and my nephews and niece. This is the woman who was the ‘glue’ in her family, the one who maintained contact with all manner of kin, both far and near. This is the woman who quietly gave her life away to her family, to her faith, to her Lord. This is my mother-in-law, a pillar of the earth, a saint of the Lord, a gift of grace in my life. 

And I miss her so much. Oh, how I miss her. 

Even though she’s still here. 

Kyrie eleison. Christe eleison. Kyrie eleison.
Lord, have mercy. Christ, have mercy. Lord, have mercy.
My soon-to-be 96-year-old mother-in-law at my mom’s 90th birthday party last June. With my husband’s amazing sister.

Yes, I know it is Saturday. But life loses its structure a bit when you’re traveling. So, I’m joining the chorus late this week. Interesting prompt, let’s see where it leads…

 GO:

I want to grow until I die. I want to keep reaching up to the light, searching for water, sending roots down deep. I want to bloom wherever I’m planted, as hackneyed as that phrase has become. Growing elicits only positive images for me (most of the time, that is – until someone I know is afflicted with cancer – then I don’t like the idea at all!) Growth is about lots of things, isn’t it?

It’s about learning.

It’s about trying new things.

It’s about learning to adapt to new environments.

It’s about opening your heart, your home, your life to lots of different kinds of people and experiences.

It’s about pushing against the edges of the ‘pot,’ about sending feeler roots deep into the earth, searching for nourishment, soaking up what is necessary for green leaves and blossoms above the soil line.

It’s about leaning into the sunlight, reaching for it, sometimes from behind barriers, corners, or larger, thornier plants.

It’s about keeping the parts of yourself connected – roots – stems – flowers – fruit.

It’s about being grafted into the vine, espaliered against the Rock of Ages, trained to go up and out and around and through.

It’s about life, thirsty and hungry for it, lapping it up, drinking it in, celebrating, enjoying, weeping in the seasons of drought as needed, but always, always ALWAYS searching out truth, meaning and love.

STOP

GO:

In all my years of pastoral ministry, I did both weddings and funerals; not often, as I was never ‘the’ pastor, but with some regularity. And typically, we think of weddings as occasions for laughter, high spirits and yes, joy. 

And that is usually true. But if I’m being honest, I would have to say that some of the most remarkable experiences of my life happened at funerals, not at weddings. I’ll try and ferret out why in this space, only skimming the surface in the alloted five minutes. 

Certainly funerals, graveside services and memorial services are reason for tears, for sadness, for regret and for grief. BUT, they are also amazing times of celebration, story-sharing, deep connections between people who may not have seen each other in a long while and also – an acceptable place in which to worship God through lament. And what I love about lamenting is that it is REAL. And it almost always leads to thanksgiving and to praise. 

Check  it out in the psalms. There are more laments than any other type of psalm in our psalter. And every single one of them except one (I believe it’s 88) ends with rejoicing of one kind or another. That to me, is the essence of joy: turning the corner from sorrow to praise. 

Because let’s face it, life sucks sometimes. Life sucks a lot of the time. It’s hard to be human.* People and relationships break, wear out, get sick, die. But see, here’s the thing: if you come together in community when those things happen, if you come together in worship as a community, little miracles start to sprout up. People laugh in the midst of tears. Memories come flooding in, both good and bad, but most often, the good ones win out. Grief is not an easy road – but oh, it’s so much better to walk it with others, and to walk it with God. 

Joy comes in the morning. And joy comes in the mourning, too. Oh, I want to choose joy!


STOP


*And I will add quickly here that life is also wonderful, beautiful, glorious and rich…at times. I took two minutes extra tonight to finish and added italics and photo after the buzzer.