Saturday, December 24, 2011

Transparency.

Oh, I love traditions! I particularly love traditions that began out of necessity with no real intention of becoming traditions. So our Christmas Eve "dinner" brings a smile to my face every year. Because we are passionate about making Christmas Eve services available to all who are open to hearing the Good News of Christmas, we are often at church most of the afternoon and evening. Having our sit down fancy dinner is just out of the question, so several years ago we let the kids plan a quick-fix menu. Everybody gets to add two things to this amazing smorgasbord and over the years we have had quite the unique variety. This year it looks like this:


The Menu:
Key Lime pie (that's for me! And I actually made it the other day and resisted the urge to taste test.)
Chocolate covered strawberries
Sugar and Gingerbread cookies
Fritos
Cinnamon Rolls (Pioneer Woman's freeze really well. Thank goodness.)
Mozzarella Cheese Sticks
Shrimp (also for me. And always on the Christmas Eve menu.)
Flavor Blasted Cheese Goldfish
Sweet Potato Fries with cinnamon yogurt dip
Rotel dip and chips
Summer sausage, cheese and crackers
Hot Chocolate with spray whipped cream
And of course a birthday cake for Jesus. This year it's a "J" candy cane. Red Velvet. I think He'll like that.

Now, in the spirit of transparency, this is what was behind me in that picture:


Honestly, I don't think the picture does it justice. There's powdered sugar on the counter, not an open spot on any surface, the sink is full of nastiness that is going to be gross to clean up. The "quick-fix" label was, well, deceiving. So I'm scurrying around like a crazy woman trying to get everything hot and on the table while kids are whining that they're hungry and I'm leaving debris around me like a Tasmanian devil. Merry Christmas Eve.

And then I thought that maybe that's the transparency I'm supposed to get on Christmas. That this precious Baby lying in a manger in the silent of night as the world slept was leaving a whirlwind of upheaval in the Heavenly realm that was soon to make its way to the ears of Herod. But more than that, God's bursting into human Flesh disrupted the human condition.

"Long lay the world in sin and error pining, til He appeared and the soul felt its worth."

And what a disruption. One we don't even know we need until we see the beauty of what it brings. A table set for us with all our favorite things.The work that He has done to restore us to Himself that we may see Him. That pulls us out of our own chaos and whining and longing for something more and bigger and better and fulfilling and offers that very Thing which brings peace for us. The beauty of Himself.

"Light of the world You stepped down into darkness, opened my eyes let me see beauty that made this heart adore You."

So I'll deal with the mess I left - because it was worth it. And I'll do it again next year. Because it was born out of necessity.

"O holy Child of Bethlehem, descend to us, we pray; cast out our sin, and enter in, be born in us today."

Tuesday, December 20, 2011

"Jesus Split the Line..."

I have this treasure from the pen of my great-grandfather:  his journal from 1909-10 as he traveled in a covered wagon to stake his land in an Oklahoma land run. Yes. I know how extremely cool that is!

Nestled in the entries about how to get a wagon across the quicksand in the Red River (I'm fully prepared should I ever encounter this dilemma), opinions on prohibition and a detailed description of a breath-taking cave in SE Oklahoma, is this little jewel. Here is what he wrote about Christmas 1910:
Christmas at our present time surely does not mean what it did many years ago. For with me, and I guess everyone is similar to myself in this respect, I look upon it as a holiday and think but little more of it than any of the others; other than it the most prominent. And even its prominence may be due in a great measure to the fact that it is so very ancient. People down here are celebrating it very much as the 4th of July is celebrated up with us. Even our 4th celebrations are discounted for three fourths of the people here get drunk. If the divinity of Christ is unmistakable, Xmas should mean more than this. I have been wondering if there wasn't a special significance in having all dates reflect back to the birth of Christ; if this is the real state of affairs then we can see the completeness and simplicity of the Creator's Plan. The custom is so firmly established that every civilized person has suggested to his mind that there is a Savior whether he accepts it or not; and this same suggestion is made every time his age or date in history is referred to. We can see how unconsciously this realization of a Savior might be bred into one's life.... I humbly confess that it hasn't been over two years since I fully realized for the first time that when I gave the date of my birth, I gave that of Christ's as well.
Oh, to be so mindful of Emmanuel...

This coming, this advent, this Flesh covering of The Word, "split the line at the turning point of time." And when have I marveled that the right hand lower corner of my computer keeps track of that moment in time that changed everything? Down to the minute. The very second. Instead, I'm rushing to make returns and grab another gift and sag my shoulders at the many still to decide on and frustrated that I have no idea what will bless the recipients in the ways I wish to bless them. And so I shake my head and make another list and bark at the kids to pick up their own stuff so I don't trip over it because I don't have time for a cast on my leg. Oh, if the divinity of Christ is unmistakable, Xmas should mean more than this.


Sunday, November 20, 2011

Why I'm really okay with Christmas before Thanksgiving


"Can't we just get through Thanksgiving first?"

Oh, if I had a turkey leg for every time I've spoken those words through the years! But something different has been gnawing at me lately. It started last year when I blared this in my house all through the month of July.



Yes. For real. I was really just being silly at first, but then I started wrapping my brain (or maybe it was my heart) around God dwelling among us. Something different happened when I took the Story of Christmas out of the context of the frenzied, holiday hubbub. GOD with us? God WITH us? God with US??? Oh, Emmanuel! Yes! You ARE with us! And so I celebrated the Joy to the World with the Angels We Have Heard on High, beholding the hallowed manger scene. At the pool.

And then this spring (and again this summer) I read this book.

Find it here

Eucharisteo. Does that make you think of Eucharist? Ever wonder why it's called that? 
"And he took bread, gave thanks and broke it, and gave it to them..." (Luke 22:19) He gave thanks. The Greek word is eucharisteo. In breaking the bread, in facing the sacrifice for our salvation, He gave thanks. Can I not also? Can I not "give thanks in all circumstances" (1 Thess. 5:18)

Can I make it a lifestyle? Can I daily...no, moment by moment...recognize His blessings that He has poured all over me? Can I be aware enough to count, to give thanks, eucharisteo, one thousand of His gifts that He longs for me to enjoy? Things like:

23. Beautiful clouds announcing the arrival of a new day
152. Jacob after communion: "I want to do it again." Ah, me, too, Little Man. Me, too.
275. Pastor Mike and his heart for Jesus
357. Recognition of my weakness knowing that He is strong in my weakness

I'm making my way to writing down one thousand and in the process the expression of thanksgiving is becoming the habit of thanksliving. 

So this year, rather than "getting through Thanksgiving" before I celebrate Christmas, I desire to not only celebrate Emmanuel at the feast of blessing, but to bring Thanksgiving right to the foot of the manger. And to see the breaking of the bread and the cross and triumph at Easter on the table of grace and in the shadow of the Star that shown over the stable. Because all of it is God pursuing us, reconciling us to Himself, and I don't want to miss it. Perhaps Thanksgiving and Christmas need not be so compartmentalized. Regardless of what retail shelves tell us.

So I'll change out decorations and sing joyful songs and contemplate the gifts I have already been given and share the ones that will bless others. Before the fourth Thursday in November. And long after.

Friday, November 4, 2011

Rich.

This statement from my professor pretty much rocked my world today. "Do I need a PhD to exegete 'Go, sell all your possessions and give to the poor?' No, I don't. It's not that I don't understand it, it's that I'm choosing to be disobedient."

Yeah, take that pill and swallow it. Please don't tell me that that scripture really applies to me.

But then you slap on a "season" of thanksgiving (why isn't it a lifestyle again?) and turn smack dab into a season of let's-get-more (which is really just ingratitude - ahem, opposite of thanksgiving - wrapped up in pretty paper with a high price tag and an air of entitlement), and maybe I'm not exempt.

Maybe we're rich.

Maybe we're young and immature and don't really know what it means to follow Jesus.

Maybe we're rulers of our own little world with all our cool stuff and yummy food and cozy homes and we like it that way.

Maybe...we're rich, young rulers.

Usually I hear the explanation of that little encounter in the Bible as really just Jesus' way of telling us that "whatever it is that you love more than Me" is what needs to go. Whatever has its grip on you. Well, my phone has a grip on me. My laundry (how many days' worth of clothes do I really need?) has a grip on me. My basement is embarrassing so I prefer to ignore that one. My kids' activities, while all completely justifiable, dominate my calendar. Christmas "giving" has a grip on me.

Which leads me to the Mother of the Year acceptance speech I've been working on for a few weeks now: "I don't want to get my kids a stinking thing for Christmas. I don't want to spend money I don't have on stuff we don't need that will take up time we say is more valuable. I don't want to step on one more Lego in the dark. I don't want to hear one more whine about not getting to play 'just til I finish this level' and I don't want to find a home for more crap. I don't want to add to the sense of entitlement that our culture has proclaimed every day of their life and that I have - yes, I have - welcomed into my home with open arms under the guise of birthday parties, TV propaganda, and 'I just want to see their face light up.' And I don't want to endorse a game of Keeping Up With the Joneses. And I, quite frankly, don't want to help anybody else play that game either."

Yeah. I'm still gnawing on that last one myself. Somehow feeding others the same materialistic, stuff-will-make-you-happy philosophy is starting to leave a bad taste in my mouth. See, I find it interesting that Jesus says to "Go sell" and then "give to the poor." So, if you've sold your stuff, what's left to give? Some translations actually come right out and tell you. Money. Give your money to the poor. But we don't do that, because they might spend it on stuff they don't need.

Like we do.

Dang it, I'm mad! I'm mad that I can't seem to really do it. I can justify it that I give in a lot of ways. But I don't give it all.

But I cry as I fill my big ol' garden tub with gallons and gallons of refreshing, clean water because my Honduran momma friends have to carry their dirty, dangerous water in 5 gallon buckets on their heads so they can cook, clean, and drink it. And I want to relax in mine.

And then I get all rational and realize that my not filling my bathtub doesn't get clean water to Escuapa. So, there. I give myself a pass.

And then I read stuff like this:

"The bread in your cupboard belongs to the hungry man; the coat hanging unused in your closet belongs to the man who needs it; the shoes rotting in your closet belong to the man who has no shoes; the money which you put in the bank belongs to the poor. You do wrong to everyone you could help, but fail to help." St. Basil the Great

Dang it. Why am I afraid to be so radically different? Why do I think it will somehow be a bad thing for my family? Why do I think I have to convince my family? What is my role as an individual - not just wife and mom? What am I called to model to my kids? Why hasn't anybody that calls me friend said, "Jenn, I think Jesus means what He says." Why does everybody explain it away?

Well, not everybody. I know a few who are living rich, fulfilling lives because they gave it all away and discovered why Jesus ever spoke it in the first place.

And yet, I'm still choosing to be disobedient. Oh, sure. I can say that that verse is for "those" particular people. And you can, too. It's not a blanket command that Jesus expects every Christian to follow. Nah. But if I feel any kind of relief at the thought that it doesn't apply to me, then it probably does.

Sunday, July 31, 2011

What Did You Go Out to See?

I'm a nerd. And I love Jesus. I also like to avoid housework. So a few days ago I got a hankering to explore all Jesus' questions. By "all" I mean until I get bored or God smacks me upside the head. I started in Matthew. My great-grandmother said everything good is in "Matthews." I know Jesus asks some real zingers, so I was hoping to get to a few, but by the time I got to chapter 9, He pretty much had asked a bunch of rhetorical questions. Since the laundry was calling, I pressed on into chapter 10 and then 11. And that's when God smacked me.
The imprisoned John the Baptist sends his disciples to ask Jesus if He is the One who was to come, or if he should expect someone else. You can read Jesus' response if you're curious about it. As John's disciples were leaving, Jesus turns to the crowd and, in His sly little way, asks loudly enough for all to hear, "What did you go out into the desert to see? A reed swayed by the wind? If not, what did you go out to see? A man dressed in fine clothes? No, those who wear fine clothes are in kings' palaces. Then what did you go out to see? A prophet? Yes, I tell you, and more than a prophet."
Anytime Jesus says something more than once: Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Pay attention! This is important!

In less than 72 hours, I would be leading a team to Joplin.
What did you go out to see? Just the tornado damage?
What did you go out to see? Important people like Mercy Me, Mandissa, and Mark Roach at the Restore Joplin Festival?
What did you go out to see? A word from God? Or God Himself.

I shared this God-blessed, housework-avoiding revelation with the mission team in Joplin yesterday morning. I confessed that I fall into all three categories: scenery, people, God. I issued the challenge to expect to see God - and more of Him than you can imagine - as we serve the people of Joplin.
The craziness of organizing 40 people to go to about 6 places all at the same time with the right people, in the right cars, with the right tools and the right directions, had me a bit scatter-brained. Well, more than normal. In the frenzy, I forgot a man from another church that wanted to join my little crew at the house where we were working. Shoot. About 15 minutes into our 20 minute commute to the site, I sucked all the air out of the van when I realized I left my appendage, I mean, phone, back at the church where we were staying. I've only given my number to about 92 people in the last 3 days who are just dying to get ahold of me. There's no way I can go the morning without my phone. There're pics to be uploaded to Facebook at the very least. As I drop off the crew at the work site, I head out for the 20 minute drive back.
A few miles down the busy main road I see a hitchhiker. A lady about my age, with stringy dark hair and unkempt clothes, holding up her hand to every car that speeds past. Including mine. I watch her in my rear view mirror hoping someone picks her up. There is an excessive heat warning. She's gonna get hot. I wonder how far she's walking? I should probably go check. I put my foot on the brake at the next cross street.
Nope. Can't do it.
There's a lot of traffic. And I don't have my phone. What if she needs to make a phone call? I won't be able to help her anyway. And besides, I don't just pick up people off the side of the road, no matter how innocent-looking they are. And without a phone, I can't call 911. But it's hot. I slow at the next street. But I've got to get back to the work site to do the real mission work, so I speed back up.
She fades out of sight in the rearview mirror. Hand-slap to the forehead: "I don't want to be a Levite!" Oh, but I don't do this, God; don't you know that?
What did you go out to see?

Okay, fine. I slow at the next street. Aaaand chicken out again.
I know it sounds crazy, but God really spoke deeply to my spirit and said, "Do you want to see what I'm going to do, or not?"

Long, slow exhale.
It's now or never. Hard right turn...onto a dead end.
U-turn in the middle of the street. If I can't make a left across these four lanes of traffic, I'm just gonna go on and get my phone.
Not..a...car...either...direction.
If someone has already picked her up (please, dear Lord) I will consider myself obedient and go get my phone and back to work.
Half a mile back down the road, there she is still trying to flag someone down.
Illegal (I'm sure) Uish-turn at the next intersection; she's now walking in a right turn lane; couldn't be an easier way to pull over. I slow to a stop, roll down the window, "Do you need a ride somewhere?"
Hesitantly, barely making eye contact, but checking out my trustworthiness, obviously feeling that this is a great risk, she answers, "To Missouri Southern State University."
"Hi, my name is Jennifer. I'm actually going that direction." It's on the same road as the church where my lonely phone is. "I'd be happy to give you a ride."
"I'm Christy."
We shake hands through the open window. I unlock the door, smile and motion for her to get in.
She slides in barely onto the seat staying as close to the door as she can without even considering putting on the seatbelt. (Uh, I'm a rule-follower. She's a grown woman. Can I tell her to buckle up?)
She fiddles nervously with the colorful folder she's carrying and holds her small purse tight in her lap. She reminds me of child stiff from fear but strong enough to keep moving.
"Are you taking classes at the college?"
"No, I'm going to the FEMA office."
Gulp.
What did you go out to see?

We drive and talk and I find out more of her story. How her trailer and car were destroyed when the storm hit, but she and her 5 and 2 year old daughters (adorable pictures she showed me on her little phone) were safe at the mall. As I near the college I realize that it's been over a four mile drive. And she was walking. We pull into the empty parking lot and drive around every building and see not a hint of FEMA. Until the final roadway that leads us to an angel parked in a blue Element with bleach blonde hair, more makeup than is needed in this heat, and a stack of directions to the FEMA office that has moved to 32nd street. Six miles back the way we came.
What did you go out to see?

This longer journey gives Christy the chance to tell me how she had quit her part time job to pursue her growing cleaning business. And then the storm hit. And destroyed all her customers' houses. And how God had answered so many of her prayers. And how she is almost done filing for everything FEMA can offer and then she will breathe again. In the pauses, the radio plays songs about praising Him in the storm, what if the blessings come through raindrops, and I lift my hands to believe again.
We find the FEMA office, which is eerily empty except for the dozen or so workers sitting behind computers waiting for storm victims to come and claim their benefits. Christy, shaking, walks to the desk to sign in and I take her hands in mine, lean close and say, "I have to go, but let's pray first." Now, later I realized what a sight that might have been - standing in an empty room surrounded by government employees and a security guard, praying with a stranger. But when I finish, sitting behind the desk is the second angel of the day who goes by the name Jeanine - with equally obnoxious blonde hair and makeup. I grab a FEMA card and write my name and number on the back.
"Now, I don't have my phone right now, but I'm heading back to get it." Yes, I purposely didn't tell her I didn't have my phone until that moment. You know, in case it was all a scam and she really intended to kill me. "But I want to give you a ride home, or wherever you need to go, so please call me when you're done and I can swing back by and get you."
Jeanine smiles at me, winks, and mouths, "Thank you."
The security guard in the corner asks me where I'm from and I explain I'm a volunteer in from St. Louis. He says, "Well, I'd say you did your good deed for the day."
But I don't think this is about what I am doing. This is about what God is doing.
Christy sits on the edge of the chair as cautiously as she slid into my front seat. I release my breath all the way back to my van.
Realizing that I have now been gone for over an hour and my crew is likely wondering where I am, I find my way to the worksite, jump out and proclaim, "I haven't got my phone yet. I picked up a hitchhiker. And God showed up. I'll explain later. Just wanted to let you know I'm alive and going to get my phone now. I'll be back as fast as I can." I think all five of them pretty much went, "Huh?" as I drove away.
I hear His voice all the way back to the church.
Do you want to see what I'm going to do, or not?
What did you go out to see?
You, God! I want to see You. And yes! yes! yes! I do want to see what You are going to do! Thank you for keeping my eyes open and showing me where You were and what You can do!

My phone is right where I thought it was. On top of my Bible shoved back in my suitcase. Two missed calls and one text. Seriously? Nobody needed me any more than that? Maybe I'm not that big a deal. I return the calls and answer the text, hop back in the car and the phone rings.

"Uh, hi, um, uh, this is Christy. They said I need one more paper from the bank and it's down the street - it's real close - but it's Saturday and they close soon. Do you think you could give me a ride?"
"Absolutely. I'll be there in about 15 minutes."
The drive to the bank is short, there isn't a single line inside. (Seriously? Saturday at 11:00? In what world does that ever happen?) She gets the documents she needs and we return to FEMA. Jeanine whispers to me, "She wasn't going to call you. She was going to walk. I told her, 'She said to call her, now you call her and let her give you a ride.' She needed you today. Thank you."
I think I needed her. Thank You.
This portion of the paperwork was only supposed to take 5 minutes. As with most "won't take no time" projects, I anxiously watched the clock tick closer and closer to the time I needed to pick up my crew and head back to the church for lunch. Thirty minutes later, Christy walks out of the office with the slightest hint of a smile glimmering across her tightly lined face.
"How would you like to join us for lunch? I need to go pick up the rest of my team and get to lunch back at the church. I'm not sure I have time to take you home right now."
"I think I, yes, I think I would like that."
At the worksite, the five of them crawl into my 7-passenger van. Only five, because I forgot the one that wanted to join us. My frenzied morning left an open seat. For Christy.
What did you go out to see?

At the church, we fill our plates with an overgrown vienna sausage on a bun and some chips. The lunch time announcements by the pastor's wife, Judy, always include a moment to share the day's happenings. I had introduced Christy to no one but the van crew, and out of the room of 100 folks, Judy locks eyes with me and says, "Do you have a story to share? What happened with you today?"
I briefly share the story and introduce Christy as our special guest for lunch. Her head hangs low but her eyes twinkle, uncomfortably accepting the applause from the room.
The church has a food pantry and I ask if we can provide her with some groceries even though it is closed today. We walk with her through the aisles as she chooses everything she wants that fits in the grocery cart. A gallon of apple juice. Her girls love apple juice. Ravioli? They are going to love this. Can she get two? Cleaning supplies for the two new customers she secured this morning in her fledgling cleaning business. Mac and cheese, canned veggies, laundry detergent, vitamin-fortified rice, feminine products, toothbrushes and some scented shimmering lotion. As we walk the aisles though, she tells me of her abused past. There is not an inkling of "sob story" in her words. It's more like, "Can I trust you with who I am?" Repeatedly abandoned by her mother, raped by her father whom she never once saw sober, those child eyes of fearful determination that peered through my van window hours earlier sighed with relief that someone knew her story. And she still proclaimed, "But without God, I wouldn't be here. He has gotten me through so much. I don't know what I would do without Him. It's through the struggles that I really lean on Him and know He is here taking care of me." Though unspoken, it's apparent her situation still teeters dangerously close to that childhood cycle.
We load her groceries into the van and her shoulders lift, and the smile is real and full.
After dropping off the crew at the worksite, Christy directs me to her newly rented home (for which God miraculously provided the rent last month) and I carry in the groceries in three heavy loads. Little girl toys neatly line the wall in the living room. On the floor next to the lone chair lays her Bible.
"It's been a pleasure spending the day with you. I'm so glad God had our paths cross. I will continue to pray for you, Christy. God always shows up when we look for Him. Count each of these blessings as you put them on your pantry shelves and expect them to last a long time. He really loves you, Christy."
Do you want to see what I'm going to do, or not?
What did you go out to see?
A word from Me?
Yes, I tell you, and more....