I haven't really been able to work on writing projects lately. I want to, but I just haven't been able to. Like there's this deafening silence happening in my creative corridors and all of the doors are slamming shut whenever I try to get inside. I don't know what to do, so I edit instead when those times come. But even editing is unfulfilling right now. I have a lot on my mind, as one of my characters is always saying.
In the time since my last blog post, I've been:
Trying to keep a 1-year-old out of every cupboard, away from all things dangerous, and keep pretty much every small-sized thing out of her mouth.
Listening to the 8-year-old read. It's tedious and slow and so frustrating for her, but she's making progress and that makes me happy.
Folding laundry. I mean, literally. I could do it all day and it wouldn't be done. Ever.
Reading. I finished the novel The Thirteenth Tale, and I've been working through AW Towzer's The Pursuit of God with my small group. Also read a stupid cowboy romance novel which will go unnamed because it wasn't that good. And my current favorite by my favorite pastor and theologian Timothy Keller, The Prodigal God. I do recommend all of these and if I get five seconds to myself some time I'll try to write out some reviews. Don't hold your breath.
Homeschooling. We're in a co-op with a classical model and it takes a lot of time to memorize and work through parts of it. I love having the direction and structure. Some of my children like it better than others.
Going to appointments with kids. Mostly with my second. Last week we found out that she's going to need yet another surgery for her third degree burns. Yay.
Worrying about my church (and praying for). I've been going there for almost twenty years now and things are changing. I personally like the change and I think it's good, but not everyone does so it's making a lot of unrest. So being the middle child peacemaker that I am, I'm carrying some burdens I probably don't need to. But that's OK.
Trying to think about Jesus more. I'm seeing how important that is these days.
And now that's all I have time to write. Husband's done with his activities.
The Writer
the saddest stories are the unwritten ones
Sunday, April 2, 2017
Saturday, March 11, 2017
Death and Uncertainty and the Places We Live In Between
I haven't had lots of time to write lately and I haven't been very inspired to write anything either. It's been a hard few months. There's a lot things happening and I can't really put them into a blog post. But when busy life settles and I lie awake in bed for a while, my mind settles on a few of these pressing things, which become woven into my whole thought life.
After Christmas we kind of knew my husband's aunt didn't have a lot of time left with us. She's had cancer for a few years, and it was a reoccurrence after a 10-year break from breast cancer. We've been spending the last couple of months just trying to make time to be together with her, watching the family waiting and just... holding on to strands of hope. There were surgeries and hospital stays and lots of prayers and trying to figure out how to help and mostly just trying to stay out of the way. In the last month we knew that death wasn't too far off. We had a sweet time together at a family game night where she was lucid and played Taboo with us and talked for the night.
Two weeks later, she was on the couch, barely able to open her eyes. This time we gathered and talked with each other. We had a time of singing together, husband on the guitar, playing familiar hymns that we've sung together at Thanksgiving for years and years. The songs she liked. It was a beautiful time and I can't even do it justice with words. There's something about being in the presence of the question of eternity that makes us more alive, more present. We value each other more in a house of mourning.
At the same time as this, the church we go to (and most of the family in town also attends) has decided to change some things, which sent us into this strange uncertain upheaval with a lot of questions and worries and unsettled conversations. It sent me to my knees in prayer, and I'm thankful for the changes, really. I'm thankful for a church that wants to awaken to the needs of the world around them and stay sensitive to that. It's complicated, like always, when you involve 1000 people in any decision. But it's made room for lots of really good conversations. It's drawn attention to a kind of complacency that's hidden in the shadows of a healthy church. When things are going well, you don't really take stock of what's happening. You keep on with the course you've been on. But every ship has to be steered at some point or it will end up drifting with the currents. So. Some steering.
These two situations seem to have nothing in common with each other, really. They overlap in my life and my stress life, but probably not much outside of the rest of the family. But for me the thread that ties them together is the relationships with people and the way we love each other, and the way we love the Lord together. It's hard to explain, really, but when the things you've found to be secure footing start to shake a little, you realize what you're actually holding onto. It puts you in this uncertain place. These situations have birthed really good conversations and meaningful insights into my own heart. I appreciate the opportunity to talk about deeper things, things that aren't clothes and food and kids. Unspoken in those times together in church and with the family have been the words "I love you". It doesn't have to be said to be felt. We value each other because we've walked through hard roads together. And that's something I'm able to hold onto when the foundation starts to shift. It's always about the relationships and the strings that tie us together. It's the bond of family, and the unifying cord of Jesus and His love for us.
After Christmas we kind of knew my husband's aunt didn't have a lot of time left with us. She's had cancer for a few years, and it was a reoccurrence after a 10-year break from breast cancer. We've been spending the last couple of months just trying to make time to be together with her, watching the family waiting and just... holding on to strands of hope. There were surgeries and hospital stays and lots of prayers and trying to figure out how to help and mostly just trying to stay out of the way. In the last month we knew that death wasn't too far off. We had a sweet time together at a family game night where she was lucid and played Taboo with us and talked for the night.
Two weeks later, she was on the couch, barely able to open her eyes. This time we gathered and talked with each other. We had a time of singing together, husband on the guitar, playing familiar hymns that we've sung together at Thanksgiving for years and years. The songs she liked. It was a beautiful time and I can't even do it justice with words. There's something about being in the presence of the question of eternity that makes us more alive, more present. We value each other more in a house of mourning.
At the same time as this, the church we go to (and most of the family in town also attends) has decided to change some things, which sent us into this strange uncertain upheaval with a lot of questions and worries and unsettled conversations. It sent me to my knees in prayer, and I'm thankful for the changes, really. I'm thankful for a church that wants to awaken to the needs of the world around them and stay sensitive to that. It's complicated, like always, when you involve 1000 people in any decision. But it's made room for lots of really good conversations. It's drawn attention to a kind of complacency that's hidden in the shadows of a healthy church. When things are going well, you don't really take stock of what's happening. You keep on with the course you've been on. But every ship has to be steered at some point or it will end up drifting with the currents. So. Some steering.
These two situations seem to have nothing in common with each other, really. They overlap in my life and my stress life, but probably not much outside of the rest of the family. But for me the thread that ties them together is the relationships with people and the way we love each other, and the way we love the Lord together. It's hard to explain, really, but when the things you've found to be secure footing start to shake a little, you realize what you're actually holding onto. It puts you in this uncertain place. These situations have birthed really good conversations and meaningful insights into my own heart. I appreciate the opportunity to talk about deeper things, things that aren't clothes and food and kids. Unspoken in those times together in church and with the family have been the words "I love you". It doesn't have to be said to be felt. We value each other because we've walked through hard roads together. And that's something I'm able to hold onto when the foundation starts to shift. It's always about the relationships and the strings that tie us together. It's the bond of family, and the unifying cord of Jesus and His love for us.
Wednesday, January 4, 2017
Elizabeth, Joe, and the Ministry of Showing Up
At church last week I watched an old man worshiping in the second row. He was so into it, clapping, thinking about God. This sweet man, who's been part of our church for more than 60 years, just enjoying the time with His Jesus.
Well my mind started wandering to those people in our church who have just... always been there. Last week we mourned the death of one of them. Joe* stood at the door as the church greeter, I think before it was ever an official role anyone played. He and his wife were servants who showed many people how to be faithful followers of Christ, behind the scenes and at the front door of the church building. Just like the guy in the second row last week. These are people who we've watched basically our whole lives, knowing the things they've suffered and the good times they've had, and seen how they come to church and worship regardless of what's going on in their lives and hearts.
There was a woman, Elizabeth, who used a walker, and every time I saw her she looked a little thinner. Her dear son brought her to church every week, letting her hold on his arm as he ushered her to her seat in the pew, waiting patiently as she visited with the friends she'd had all her life, and then bringing the car around and escorting her out and back to her home. We lost her last month.
And all of these people are slowly dropping off. One at a time, often in a quiet way that the large body doesn't notice. They give their silent salutes as they pass from the nursing home to the grave.
While I watched the guy in the second row last week, I thought about the ministry of showing up. It doesn't sound like a ministry. It sounds lame. But, having led enough events, there really is a ministry that happens when the same people come every time it's held. When you know what to predict, and you know that some of the chairs will be filled. In worship and community, the extra people, the faithful people, lend a little energy to the overall. It's good to have numbers, not for numbers sake, but so that the life that comes from being together continues to flow.
I watched second row guy, and wondered what's going to happen when he and his people are all gone. In ten years, twenty years, who will be the ones who are faithfully there? Who come and sit even when their bodies are old and tired and can barely move them. Who pray over the people around them with the weathered wisdom of their years? Who show everyone around them the humility of still being able to learn in the last season of their lives? Who give God glory for all of the steps they've taken as they've aged and grown to be more like Him? Is it going to be me? Is it going to be the people I hang out with? I worry that this ministry is being forgotten. In an age full of activities for kids, television programs, podcasts, and every reason to not need church, my generation is saying goodbye to the convention of meeting every week. There are of course legitimate reasons. But I feel like we're replacing that time of community and fellowship with things that are, in the end, wasting time. I'm not really on a high horse here. I've had weeks when I've chosen, for the health of all of us, to stay in bed and miss church. I'm just sad that the best way for me to be healthy is to miss out on a week of community in church. I know there are times when that's really what our family needs.
I just see it happening, for many families, more often than not. And that is disheartening for me. Because we really are more effective when we encourage each other. We really do live better lives when we have the accountability that comes from being together. Because there's something in the collective that brings out the truth of God in our individual souls. Something that we can rest in, even when we can't find it throughout the week.
There's ministry in being faithful to come, even if it's just sitting there in our grief and letting those around us pray and worship. Yes, even when we think we have nothing to learn or contribute (and if you think that, we should probably talk). Yes, even when you feel dead inside and don't really care to connect with God or anyone else. Even if we have nothing more to offer than just filling a chair, there are people who notice the way that chair is filled every single week, no matter what busy life we lead, no matter how sad we are. It's important, and I fear it's a ministry that is being lost in a generation of people who always have somewhere to be and something to do.
These things don't happen when we show up just once in a while. They happen when we come week by week and share our hearts with trustworthy people.
When I'm at the edge of my life, I don't want to be the person with every excuse to keep me from being at church. I want to surround myself with others who are called to the same things I am, who can pray for me and encourage me. I want to be fully there, worshiping with those around me, watching their lives, setting an example of faithfulness in a world that seems to have trouble with commitment.
* Names changed
Well my mind started wandering to those people in our church who have just... always been there. Last week we mourned the death of one of them. Joe* stood at the door as the church greeter, I think before it was ever an official role anyone played. He and his wife were servants who showed many people how to be faithful followers of Christ, behind the scenes and at the front door of the church building. Just like the guy in the second row last week. These are people who we've watched basically our whole lives, knowing the things they've suffered and the good times they've had, and seen how they come to church and worship regardless of what's going on in their lives and hearts.
There was a woman, Elizabeth, who used a walker, and every time I saw her she looked a little thinner. Her dear son brought her to church every week, letting her hold on his arm as he ushered her to her seat in the pew, waiting patiently as she visited with the friends she'd had all her life, and then bringing the car around and escorting her out and back to her home. We lost her last month.
And all of these people are slowly dropping off. One at a time, often in a quiet way that the large body doesn't notice. They give their silent salutes as they pass from the nursing home to the grave.
While I watched the guy in the second row last week, I thought about the ministry of showing up. It doesn't sound like a ministry. It sounds lame. But, having led enough events, there really is a ministry that happens when the same people come every time it's held. When you know what to predict, and you know that some of the chairs will be filled. In worship and community, the extra people, the faithful people, lend a little energy to the overall. It's good to have numbers, not for numbers sake, but so that the life that comes from being together continues to flow.
I watched second row guy, and wondered what's going to happen when he and his people are all gone. In ten years, twenty years, who will be the ones who are faithfully there? Who come and sit even when their bodies are old and tired and can barely move them. Who pray over the people around them with the weathered wisdom of their years? Who show everyone around them the humility of still being able to learn in the last season of their lives? Who give God glory for all of the steps they've taken as they've aged and grown to be more like Him? Is it going to be me? Is it going to be the people I hang out with? I worry that this ministry is being forgotten. In an age full of activities for kids, television programs, podcasts, and every reason to not need church, my generation is saying goodbye to the convention of meeting every week. There are of course legitimate reasons. But I feel like we're replacing that time of community and fellowship with things that are, in the end, wasting time. I'm not really on a high horse here. I've had weeks when I've chosen, for the health of all of us, to stay in bed and miss church. I'm just sad that the best way for me to be healthy is to miss out on a week of community in church. I know there are times when that's really what our family needs.
I just see it happening, for many families, more often than not. And that is disheartening for me. Because we really are more effective when we encourage each other. We really do live better lives when we have the accountability that comes from being together. Because there's something in the collective that brings out the truth of God in our individual souls. Something that we can rest in, even when we can't find it throughout the week.
There's ministry in being faithful to come, even if it's just sitting there in our grief and letting those around us pray and worship. Yes, even when we think we have nothing to learn or contribute (and if you think that, we should probably talk). Yes, even when you feel dead inside and don't really care to connect with God or anyone else. Even if we have nothing more to offer than just filling a chair, there are people who notice the way that chair is filled every single week, no matter what busy life we lead, no matter how sad we are. It's important, and I fear it's a ministry that is being lost in a generation of people who always have somewhere to be and something to do.
These things don't happen when we show up just once in a while. They happen when we come week by week and share our hearts with trustworthy people.
When I'm at the edge of my life, I don't want to be the person with every excuse to keep me from being at church. I want to surround myself with others who are called to the same things I am, who can pray for me and encourage me. I want to be fully there, worshiping with those around me, watching their lives, setting an example of faithfulness in a world that seems to have trouble with commitment.
* Names changed
My 35th Year
This was a long year. And like most years it had ups and downs. This year, both were pretty extreme. I've been wanting to sit and write about it all for a while. I did write a Christmas newsletter, which I deleted. Twice. because I just can't find a good way to articulate the best and worst without sounding depressed and/or too sunshiny. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.
We moved into our new house at the end of December last year. We spent a few weeks unpacking and settling in, then we were off to the hospital to have our 5th (and final) baby. (The 2nd baby we had didn't make it, but it doesn't feel fair not to count her). We didn't know the gender, but for the first time, my gut feeling was SO right. Another girl. We named her Stacy because it means resurrection, and we were, in faith, planning on a year of God restoring and rebuilding our lives. Thankfully, that was what a lot of the year looked like.
The first restoration was in the form of surgery for the 2nd born, who needed another skin graft to compensate for growth and scarring on her burns. Stacy was 3 weeks old and we took a 9-day stay at the university hospital. That was quite the challenge. It was a dark time for me. The second time around, three weeks later, was just as difficult, but at least I wasn't still in the painful recovery stage from my c-section. It was hard to go through all of that hospital stuff again, but at least this time we had a better idea of what to expect and how to ask for help. For the record, I think we actually received meals from the church for a solid six weeks. I still think about all of those meals. I could never repay. I think about the day we got home from the hospital the first time, and I had this month-old baby and a 7-year-old who needed to be kept inactive and took pretty constant care. I just didn't think I could do it, and I called up my friend Melissa and she didn't even hesitate. She just said she'd be there, and she packed up her three kids and came out with groceries. That's just one story out of hundreds. Hundreds.
Another quick one. When we went to take the kids to church camp this summer, the director told us that someone had paid for their camp, knowing we were probably a little financially strapped. What a blessing. What a needed break for us! We just need community so much, and we have a really great one with our church.
We got our final occupancy for the house in July, which was a huge relief to husband, who'd been working really hard to finish all of the last things the county wanted done.
In August, we were privileged to be able to attend family burn camp, a weekend for families of burn survivors. It was really refreshing for us, after such a hard year, to be with other families who understood the challenges we'd been through. We were the newbies in the group. most of the other families had been living with their traumas for more than five years. You can bond pretty quickly with people at camp, especially when you have a chance to talk about the things you can't really explain to others. It was refreshing, and so encouraging to see other kids who had been living with their burns and thriving. JJ just came alive there.
In September, we hosted an open house for the people who had helped us build our lives and home during that terrible 2015. It was such a delight for us to see so many faces and be able to personally thank them with food. We prayed together to dedicate the house, and that was really neat.
Then, we got to have a really fantastic vacation in Florida with the husband's parents. They're taking each of their kids' families on one last vacation and our turn was up. We went to shows, hung out at the beach, swam in our guest house's pool, and went to Disney. It was the kids' first time on a plane, and my first time swimming in the ocean.
After that vacation, we hit our stride with school and regular life. Things are settling in with the kids in choir at church, piano lessons, and homeschooling. We're part of a co-op that uses the classical format for education, so the older girls are memorizing history, science and language together, which has simplified our schooling a lot. I'm so thankful for the chance to be in this co-op and all that we're gaining from it.
I'm looking back on the year and still blown away by all that happened. It was packed full. I'm turning 35 this month, and I think that this year has perhaps been the most fruitful of all of them, as hard as it has been. I'm learning how to let go, how to find God in the hardest places, and how to turst Him with my little treasures. I'm seeing how many ways I try to build my own kingdom instead of His, and I'm surrendering more and more to Him.
Monday, December 19, 2016
Our First Christmas
Every year, the growing number of girls in the family makes the Christmas tree turn more and more... pink. I guess I don't mind. I gave up on having a cute, organized decorative Christmas tree the first year we were married when my husband basically wanted big lights (ugly) with these extra ones that make bubbles inside a candle-shaped piece of glass. He also liked the big pine trees more than the fur trees, and... basically everything I don't like about trees.
The first Christmas we had together was different than this one. Much different. Now we get a little bonus from his employer at Christmastime that gives us money to buy gifts, and we have a kind of agreement not to really worry about getting gifts for each other. We've figured out how to include the things I like on our tree and in our home. But, our first Christmas looked like... kind of what you'd expect from a 19 and 20-year-old with no money who were still in college.
[Wayne's World time warp sound effects here]
We had about eight dollars in our bank account, which came from some temporary work we'd both done in our spare time. I'd lost my more permanent temp job around Thanksgiving, and nothing had really come up since then. We were home for the weekend (usually spent about $20 on gas to drive home and back) because one of the cars wasn't working and husband wanted to use his dad's garage because it was really cold.
My mother-in-law was decorating for Christmas and I mentioned I didn't think we'd have a tree this year because of the cash flow. So, she went through her ornament collection and lights, and gave us a little supply to start off with. It was really nice of her. Nothing fancy, just a few things that she knew my husband liked and an extra two strings of lights.
So with that, we went to the nearest place that sold trees and bought an $8 Christmas tree. Seriously, I can't even imagine finding an $8 tree anymore. We set it up and went to Wal-Mart to pick out a couple more decorations. By that point, I had some job that was providing a little bit of cash flow. I think it paid $13 an hour. We picked out stockings because we didn't have our own. We also picked out a tree topper. My family didn't really do that... we just left the tree empty or maybe put a star ornament at the top. Husband always had an angel, so we had to find an angel. He liked these gaudy doll-like ones that lit up... I still can't figure him out. We settled on this crocheted one that probably cost more than the tree. Then, we split up with separate carts and sneaked around each other for an hour, picking out a few little gifts and stocking stuffers.
We had a couple of gifts each, two bags of candy and some beef jerky to share between our stockings. It was, how shall we say, humble? We didn't really know how to merge traditions then. Mostly because my family didn't really have any, and his was all about them. We celebrated our little Christmas at our apartment before we left to go back to the folks' for the real Christmas.
We don't really have any of the gifts we gave each other then, and most of the ornaments we hung that year have fallen apart or mysteriously disappeared (I may or may not have something to do with that). I don't even remember what we gave each other. Really, most of that year is history. But what remains (besides the stockings and the angle tree topper) is the way we love each other.
Some people get a little worked up about the commercialization of Christmas and the way people care more about gifts than God. I know that happens, but for me, giving gifts and celebrating with a little tree is just the way to remember our love for each other. It gives us a place in time to look back on and think about what's changed.
We still like to split up at the store and sneak around to get gifts. And we still argue about what looks pretty at Christmas. But now we get to look back at sixteen other Christmases and enjoy the ways we've changed and the gifts God has given us through the years. Four of those little gifts like to bring us full circle and decorate the tree with their little decorations and argue about what looks best.
The first Christmas we had together was different than this one. Much different. Now we get a little bonus from his employer at Christmastime that gives us money to buy gifts, and we have a kind of agreement not to really worry about getting gifts for each other. We've figured out how to include the things I like on our tree and in our home. But, our first Christmas looked like... kind of what you'd expect from a 19 and 20-year-old with no money who were still in college.
[Wayne's World time warp sound effects here]
We had about eight dollars in our bank account, which came from some temporary work we'd both done in our spare time. I'd lost my more permanent temp job around Thanksgiving, and nothing had really come up since then. We were home for the weekend (usually spent about $20 on gas to drive home and back) because one of the cars wasn't working and husband wanted to use his dad's garage because it was really cold.
My mother-in-law was decorating for Christmas and I mentioned I didn't think we'd have a tree this year because of the cash flow. So, she went through her ornament collection and lights, and gave us a little supply to start off with. It was really nice of her. Nothing fancy, just a few things that she knew my husband liked and an extra two strings of lights.
So with that, we went to the nearest place that sold trees and bought an $8 Christmas tree. Seriously, I can't even imagine finding an $8 tree anymore. We set it up and went to Wal-Mart to pick out a couple more decorations. By that point, I had some job that was providing a little bit of cash flow. I think it paid $13 an hour. We picked out stockings because we didn't have our own. We also picked out a tree topper. My family didn't really do that... we just left the tree empty or maybe put a star ornament at the top. Husband always had an angel, so we had to find an angel. He liked these gaudy doll-like ones that lit up... I still can't figure him out. We settled on this crocheted one that probably cost more than the tree. Then, we split up with separate carts and sneaked around each other for an hour, picking out a few little gifts and stocking stuffers.
We had a couple of gifts each, two bags of candy and some beef jerky to share between our stockings. It was, how shall we say, humble? We didn't really know how to merge traditions then. Mostly because my family didn't really have any, and his was all about them. We celebrated our little Christmas at our apartment before we left to go back to the folks' for the real Christmas.
We don't really have any of the gifts we gave each other then, and most of the ornaments we hung that year have fallen apart or mysteriously disappeared (I may or may not have something to do with that). I don't even remember what we gave each other. Really, most of that year is history. But what remains (besides the stockings and the angle tree topper) is the way we love each other.
Some people get a little worked up about the commercialization of Christmas and the way people care more about gifts than God. I know that happens, but for me, giving gifts and celebrating with a little tree is just the way to remember our love for each other. It gives us a place in time to look back on and think about what's changed.
We still like to split up at the store and sneak around to get gifts. And we still argue about what looks pretty at Christmas. But now we get to look back at sixteen other Christmases and enjoy the ways we've changed and the gifts God has given us through the years. Four of those little gifts like to bring us full circle and decorate the tree with their little decorations and argue about what looks best.
Friday, December 9, 2016
The Rebel Jesus
I don't really like Christmas music.
In fact, I mostly hate it. Not because it's Christmas music, but because it's all.the.same. They play and replay the same canned music, some of which never should have been recorded in the first place. And some of it was good, but it was 60+ years ago, and every yahoo with a soundboard goes and sings it again for their obligatory Christmas album and then America gets subjected to listening to it in every department store, restaurant and car radio for the month of December. Just no.
Anyway, once in a while, there's a good song. A good album comes out, with someone who spent the time to re-think a classic and even better, wrote a thoughtful song. I have a little list of albums that fall into that category for me. One of them is Bebo Norman's. He has some nice arrangements using folk instruments that you don't hear too often in mainstream music. Also he has a couple of new ones. And then this cover of Jackson Browne's song "The Rebel Jesus".
Listen to it and see if it changes how you think about your Christmas time. We say it's about Jesus, but we don't always let it change our lives year round. It's a non-traditional Christmas carol that leaves you feeling uncomfortable more than the usual "Yay! Jesus! Happy!" that people love about Christmas. I don't know if Jackson Browne professes faith in Christ, but either way, the "heathen and pagan" sees something that some of us might be missing. The song probably rubs a lot of people the wrong way. I like it because it rubs people the wrong way.
In fact, I mostly hate it. Not because it's Christmas music, but because it's all.the.same. They play and replay the same canned music, some of which never should have been recorded in the first place. And some of it was good, but it was 60+ years ago, and every yahoo with a soundboard goes and sings it again for their obligatory Christmas album and then America gets subjected to listening to it in every department store, restaurant and car radio for the month of December. Just no.
Anyway, once in a while, there's a good song. A good album comes out, with someone who spent the time to re-think a classic and even better, wrote a thoughtful song. I have a little list of albums that fall into that category for me. One of them is Bebo Norman's. He has some nice arrangements using folk instruments that you don't hear too often in mainstream music. Also he has a couple of new ones. And then this cover of Jackson Browne's song "The Rebel Jesus".
Listen to it and see if it changes how you think about your Christmas time. We say it's about Jesus, but we don't always let it change our lives year round. It's a non-traditional Christmas carol that leaves you feeling uncomfortable more than the usual "Yay! Jesus! Happy!" that people love about Christmas. I don't know if Jackson Browne professes faith in Christ, but either way, the "heathen and pagan" sees something that some of us might be missing. The song probably rubs a lot of people the wrong way. I like it because it rubs people the wrong way.
“The Rebel Jesus,” by Jackson Browne
All the streets are filled with laughter and light
And the music of the season
And the merchants’ windows are all bright
With the faces of the children
And the families hurrying to their homes
While the sky darkens and freezes
Will be gathering around the hearths and tables
Giving thanks for God’s graces
And the birth of the rebel Jesus
And the music of the season
And the merchants’ windows are all bright
With the faces of the children
And the families hurrying to their homes
While the sky darkens and freezes
Will be gathering around the hearths and tables
Giving thanks for God’s graces
And the birth of the rebel Jesus
Well they call him by ‘the Prince of Peace’
And they call him by ‘the Savior’
And they pray to him upon the seas
And in every bold endeavor
And they fill his churches with their pride and gold
As their faith in him increases
But they’ve turned the nature that I worship in
From a temple to a robber’s den
In the words of the rebel Jesus
And they call him by ‘the Savior’
And they pray to him upon the seas
And in every bold endeavor
And they fill his churches with their pride and gold
As their faith in him increases
But they’ve turned the nature that I worship in
From a temple to a robber’s den
In the words of the rebel Jesus
Well we guard our world with locks and guns
And we guard our fine possessions
And once a year when Christmas comes
We give to our relations
And perhaps we give a little to the poor
If the generosity should seize us
But if any one of us should interfere
In the business of why there are poor
They get the same as the rebel Jesus
And we guard our fine possessions
And once a year when Christmas comes
We give to our relations
And perhaps we give a little to the poor
If the generosity should seize us
But if any one of us should interfere
In the business of why there are poor
They get the same as the rebel Jesus
Now pardon me if I have seemed
To take the tone of judgment
For I’ve no wish to come between
This day and your enjoyment
In a life of hardship and of earthly toil
There’s a need for anything that frees us
So I bid you pleasure
And I bid you cheer
From a heathen and a pagan
On the side of the rebel Jesus
To take the tone of judgment
For I’ve no wish to come between
This day and your enjoyment
In a life of hardship and of earthly toil
There’s a need for anything that frees us
So I bid you pleasure
And I bid you cheer
From a heathen and a pagan
On the side of the rebel Jesus
Wal-Mart, the Music Man, and the month of November
I thought I'd be able to be regular with this blog but it looks like life has sucked up all of my spare time again, so it's been a while. Oh well. No one's reading yet anyway. :) So. What have we been up to?
Today was an out-of-town field trip to tour a hotel designed by Frank Lloyd Wright and then the Music Man museum in Mason City. I really enjoyed that. I think the kids did too.
Last week was a birthday for my oldest baby who turned 10!
And Thanksgiving is right around the corner. So, with that, I just want to say I'm thankful for the place I live. Today while we wandered around Mason City and found out about life in the 1910's for Meredith Wilson, I thought about how quaint and wonderful it all seems. I thought about how I like Iowa because it's quaint, and how familiar it is to me. We drove through harvest fields and cloudy skies today, and I just love how November looks after the corn's all been cut down and the fields have been plowed over. It's gray and brown and amber, with the steely sky all around and it's beautiful in one weird way.
I love how we're so proud of all ten famous people who came from our state. Meredith Wilson being one of them. Frank Lloyd Wright being another. Their genius was remarkable, and it was so fun to get a taste of it today.
But there's a deeper level of gratitude for where I live. Because it's a place that's in the middle of everything, with samples of all of the different ways of life from the country, the different races and communities, the different political views and world views that make up the rest of the country. There are pieces of it woven throughout the state, and sometimes you have to dig around to find them, but I've seen quite a few. That means there's ugly things too. The phrase "racism" is very charged these days, and it would be ignorant and naive to deny that it is still a problem. It would be foolish of me to think I live in a place where everyone happily sees everyone as equals and we don't deal with hateful police officers and people of color who are dissatisfied with their treatment. I mean, there was a crazy lady down at the market just a few weeks ago who couldn't seem to get a hold of herself, yelling at cops. And there were cops hurting people just a skip and a jump away last month too. I want it to all stop. But it doesn't.
But here in the middle of the country, where those little strings tangle together and cross paths easily, I also see things that give me hope. In my own little corner of the world, I've seen my little girls playing soccer on a team where they were the only white girls and loving it. I've seen harmony in unexpected places. Churches working together to help instead of protest. Neighborhoods coming out to look for solutions to violence. I like that it isn't a hopeless cause around here.
I don't usually go to Wal-Mart, but I needed some last-minute things the other night, so I ran in. While I shopped, I noticed an older white woman going out of her way to show kindness to a black mommy with her daughter. And throughout the store, several other interracial interactions. Maybe I'm a clueless white girl, but I like to see those as the norm around here. Not the exception. A black woman helped me with my four kids in the restroom the other day, and I kept thinking about how glad I was that she was there because I was changing a poopy diaper and the three year old was throwing a fit about washing her hands. I found it hard to imagine a time when there were separate bathrooms for people with different colored skin.
In Iowa there is definitely racism. There is anger and hurt and confusion and fear, but there is also unity and hope. And we are people who push through and do what needs to be done. We're slow to change, but we can be convinced. I hope that we continue on that path--the listening, growing, learning, and helping, and that our kids, who have no issue playing soccer together in fifth grade, don't grow up seeing us as separate people, but as... people.
Today was an out-of-town field trip to tour a hotel designed by Frank Lloyd Wright and then the Music Man museum in Mason City. I really enjoyed that. I think the kids did too.
Last week was a birthday for my oldest baby who turned 10!
And Thanksgiving is right around the corner. So, with that, I just want to say I'm thankful for the place I live. Today while we wandered around Mason City and found out about life in the 1910's for Meredith Wilson, I thought about how quaint and wonderful it all seems. I thought about how I like Iowa because it's quaint, and how familiar it is to me. We drove through harvest fields and cloudy skies today, and I just love how November looks after the corn's all been cut down and the fields have been plowed over. It's gray and brown and amber, with the steely sky all around and it's beautiful in one weird way.
I love how we're so proud of all ten famous people who came from our state. Meredith Wilson being one of them. Frank Lloyd Wright being another. Their genius was remarkable, and it was so fun to get a taste of it today.
But there's a deeper level of gratitude for where I live. Because it's a place that's in the middle of everything, with samples of all of the different ways of life from the country, the different races and communities, the different political views and world views that make up the rest of the country. There are pieces of it woven throughout the state, and sometimes you have to dig around to find them, but I've seen quite a few. That means there's ugly things too. The phrase "racism" is very charged these days, and it would be ignorant and naive to deny that it is still a problem. It would be foolish of me to think I live in a place where everyone happily sees everyone as equals and we don't deal with hateful police officers and people of color who are dissatisfied with their treatment. I mean, there was a crazy lady down at the market just a few weeks ago who couldn't seem to get a hold of herself, yelling at cops. And there were cops hurting people just a skip and a jump away last month too. I want it to all stop. But it doesn't.
But here in the middle of the country, where those little strings tangle together and cross paths easily, I also see things that give me hope. In my own little corner of the world, I've seen my little girls playing soccer on a team where they were the only white girls and loving it. I've seen harmony in unexpected places. Churches working together to help instead of protest. Neighborhoods coming out to look for solutions to violence. I like that it isn't a hopeless cause around here.
I don't usually go to Wal-Mart, but I needed some last-minute things the other night, so I ran in. While I shopped, I noticed an older white woman going out of her way to show kindness to a black mommy with her daughter. And throughout the store, several other interracial interactions. Maybe I'm a clueless white girl, but I like to see those as the norm around here. Not the exception. A black woman helped me with my four kids in the restroom the other day, and I kept thinking about how glad I was that she was there because I was changing a poopy diaper and the three year old was throwing a fit about washing her hands. I found it hard to imagine a time when there were separate bathrooms for people with different colored skin.
In Iowa there is definitely racism. There is anger and hurt and confusion and fear, but there is also unity and hope. And we are people who push through and do what needs to be done. We're slow to change, but we can be convinced. I hope that we continue on that path--the listening, growing, learning, and helping, and that our kids, who have no issue playing soccer together in fifth grade, don't grow up seeing us as separate people, but as... people.
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