Joyful Eyes

Hey, you.

Yes, you. You with the ready smile hiding your tired eyes.

We need to talk.

I've been watching you. I've been watching you for a long time, and I've been noticing something lately.

You've changed.

Change is good, and you need to know that. You have grown, and you should rejoice in that. Don't be discouraged. You've made progress. You aren't a kid anymore, even if you feel like it sometimes, and that's good.

But you've changed, and not all for the better.

You're not a child, true. I said that was good, and it is.

But not completely. Look at your eyes. I'm not an expert at eye color, so I won't tell you what color they are, but I can tell you something.

They aren't as happy as they used to be.

Why?

I've been observing you, and I think I know.

When you were a child, you thought everything was good. There were bad things out there, but nothing that had much to do with you. Why shouldn't you be happy? You didn't realize people don't always get along. Life was good.

But when hard things came into your life, you stopped. You didn't know what to think. You knew you should be happy, but how can you be happy when you're tired?

And by that, I mean sad.

I want you to understand something. Life is good.

It is. It still is, even when it's not perfect, even when it's hard.

Life is good when you discover that your friend messed things up. When you learn that the leader you admired stepped down because of an affair. When your favorite people move away. When people you love don't like people you thought were good. When two people you respect disagree. When you suddenly have to make a decision for yourself as you have never before and life is so confusing. When you feel the confusion and no one understands.

Even then, life is good. Life is worth being happy about. You need to regain the simple trusting joy of your childhood.

[By the way, something else I want you to know and never forget: the illusion that no one understands is an illusion. True, no one ever understands anyone else really, completely. But people understand what you're going through much more than you think--and if they don't, it's probably your fault. For not trusting and being open. And you know there is Someone who does understand, completely.]

Friends are good, worth having and enjoying, even if they fail, even if they end up hurting you, even if you won't be friends forever.

Differing opinions don't matter that much. I see you, hung up on them. Wishing everyone would just agree. Listen, kid. Differences are good. As a quote I found recently said, "If two people agree on everything, one of them is unnecessary." Don't let differences-yours or other people's-make you think less of others.

You need to know something.

You must not live in fear.

Yes, time goes on. Things change. What you have now, you will not have later. But do not borrow trouble from the future.

Little ones grow up. Your relationships will change. All of them. Because you're changing.

Change is normal. Change is good.

Don't let it steal your joy.

Conflict is normal, too. On earth, there is sin. People will fail you. You will fail others. The more you care about something, the more it hurts when it's not perfect, and nothing here is.

Don't let that keep you from caring.

And don't let it make you cynical. You're a positive person, or at least you were. You can see the best in people and accept them the way they are.

Don't let disappointments or other people's ideas of reality change that.

Don't lose faith in people or become negative. Don't judge other people for criticizing. We need those people too. But that's not you. You were meant to be an encourager. To be joyful. Don't let others' negativity make you doubt whether you should expect good things.

You should. True, things won't be perfect. They don't have to be. That's why we're waiting for heaven. Down here, we accept imperfections. It's okay.

Accept that, smile, and move on. Don't expect things to be perfect or to happen the way you imagined, not even close.

But expect it to be good.

Life is messy. That's okay. Everyone is different. You are different. There really is no one like you. That's okay. It really is. In fact, it's good.

And don't say that it's certainly good the world doesn't have to deal with more than one of you. I know you. I know that's what you're thinking. But I want you to know something else, and I want you to know it well.

You are good. Yes, you're sinful and wicked and selfish to the core. So is everyone else, but God made you and He loves you, and He doesn't make mistakes.

Stop putting yourself down. You're a child of the King. He has good things for you. He has a purpose for you. You know that. Why won't you believe it?

Have confidence. I'm not trying to be a motivational speaker with some meaningless drivel that has emotional impact. But there is a reason it has emotional impact. You can do whatever you put your mind to, you are valuable, but only because of God. Your confidence should be in Him.

You know Him. I know you do. You know what I am telling you. But you keep forgetting! You keep living as if you don't expect Him to bless you! As if He isn't enough, and you need something else to comfort you.

I can't figure out if your eyes are green or gray - and I don't think they're really blue - but I smile and will the joy that comes from confidence in Christ into them as I gaze into my reflection.

That is, I beseech God to give it.

In Promotion of In-Laws

In the past four months, I have gained two in-laws. This is something I recommend to anyone who has the opportunity.

Siblings are one of the awesomest things in life, but at some point your parents decide that they have enough (thankfully, my parents never did), that they are too old or they are ready for grandchildren, or some other unfortunate decision or circumstance limits the number of siblings you have. At this point, your only hope of gaining more siblings (unless you can push the adoption idea through or an unexpected surprise happens) is by substitute means.

Adopting other kids as your siblings is an acceptable and highly respectable method which we have adopted [pun fully intended, of course!] with a number of people. I greatly recommend it. It can be done with more distant relatives or good friends who need a family or whom you need in yours. Those special people who fit into your family and you do not want to lose track of. This can be officially acknowledged as it is in some of our cases, or unofficial in others.

However, the downside to this (besides it not being legally or even socially recognized - sometimes even by the adopted sibling's own original family) is that it may not be continually binding. I have not seen adoptions done by siblings of siblings long enough to know. Though I know we are not without precedent and I have not done much research on the subject, I have heard surprisingly little to indicate that others have taken up this practice. Nonetheless, anything not officially recognized by society is less likely to last long term.

So, the best thing to do is to get them married in so they officially, legally cannot escape. The other benefit to this is everyone recognizes your brother/sisterhood, which makes things less awkward and simpler all around.

(Unable to escape is key. For some reason, a number of people seem to want to be around my family, but if your family is anything like mine, you will also have fears that some day they'll realize what they've gotten into and get out if it's legally possible."I declared him my brother" doesn't hold up in court.)

You will probably find that you don't have enough siblings of the right ages and genders. However, if you have done your job well and have gotten your parents to agree to adding lots of original siblings, your likelihood of being able to make these additional siblings certain and legal increases.

For cases that simply cannot be remedied legally (I have a few, such as older girls my age who do not seem to like the idea of waiting for my 12-year-old brother, as my older one is taken, and adopting one old enough at this point would hardly make him a Beerbower, which would defeat the whole purpose), sibling adoptions must do. You must just make sure people know it's official so you don't lose them.

But this was in promotion of in-laws, not additional siblings.

However, the whole delightfulness of in-laws is that they are additional siblings. The beauty of marrying off a sibling is that while you kind of half lose a sibling, you also gain another one. Before, you had a brother or a sister. Now, you have a brother and a sister. And you get to see someone whom you have seen growing up get to go through this interesting phase. Because it's interesting-while you're gaining a sibling, they are not. They are gaining a whole new relationship entirely and don't get another sibling at all. That is an enjoyable bonus.

I imagine all of the objections and protests that are coming.  [That is, of course, these objections would be coming if anyone were actually going to read my blog-which is a stretch-and then actually respond to it-which is almost beyond imagination.]

Don't tell me it's not your fault your parents only had [insert number below five or six] kids. I am fully aware that this is written from my particular perspective. It's more interesting that way, you must admit. It is also true that there are downsides to siblings getting married. But all good things have downsides and that is not the part you talk about when you are promoting something.

Brothers are awesome things. Sisters are as well, so when you have a boy who makes your sister happy and becomes a brother, you can hardly think of a better arrangement. Unless they were actually siblings and lived at home with you, as my youngest sister asked if Stephen would when my oldest sister started dating.

Just kidding, guys. I don't want you to live with us, even if we had the room. Don't worry.

Friends that are so good they are like sisters are awesome things, and if your brother falls in love with one of them and makes her your sister officially...well, you can hardly think of a better arrangement there either.

Of course, you may have to pay the price of less interaction now, but that will be made up for in the future since, as mentioned before, they are stuck with you officially for life. [ I know I said that you don't talk about downsides when promoting things, but you actually should if you know there would be objections and you can dismiss them.] And it wouldn't be different if your friend had married someone else, except in that case you would see them even less. And you would hardly want to keep all of your good friends from getting married, even if you could. Which you couldn't. Thankfully.

All this to say that, if you have the opportunity to marry off one of your siblings and gain an in-law, go for it.

Of course, you can't really prevent it anyway, nor can you really make it happen. (Though my brother might dispute that later point.)

So I guess all I'm really saying is that at least I am glad I have in-laws for siblings.

And if you get to have them, enjoy it.

If I Could Tell You Anything...

If I could tell you anything, and if you would believe it, it would be something you already know.

For most of us, that's all we're ever told. All we ever need know. Things we have heard before. Things we really knew but needed reminded of.

For us over-priviledged, over-informed Americans, as I  am assuming my (few if existent) readers are, there is little that we haven't heard at some point.

But hearing and knowing something is not the same as knowing.

So if I could tell you anything, and if you would believe it, it would be simple. It would be a Sunday School answer that you, growing up in a home where everyone had their own personal Bible (or could have, even if you had to get a Gideon one from the fair) and there were six churches within a few minutes' driving distance (unless it took you fifteen minutes to get anywhere anyway), have always known.

I would tell you one simple, three-word sentence.

Jesus loves you.

You, the well-taught Sunday school child, roll it off your tongue, roll your eyes quickly over it, hum it under your breath. 

But that is what I want to tell you, what I want you to know.

Jesus loves you. 

Imagine if you really believed that. If you really believed that the all-knowing, all-powerful, perfect God of the universe knows you specifically, loves you specifically, and will never leave you, you, first-middle-last name, with brown/black/blonde/red/gray/white/dyed hair. You with that hidden fear you've never told anyone, you with the tired sorrow you can't or don't explain, you with sin so much more deeply implanted than your closest companion knows.

Imagine if you really believed that God knew you completely and loved you the same way.

Maybe you think you do.

But then why do you still fear? Why do you doubt yourself - that is, doubt that God will bless your works?  Why are you so lonely? Why do you doubt your value to others and to God? Why are you discontent?

Would not all these things be resolved if you really knew Jesus loves you?

And if you knew yourself and your sin, and you knew Jesus' utter love for you, would you not honor and delight in Him over all?

I started this by thinking of what advice I would give to the next generation that may soon begin in my family. Then I realized that if I could be sure they knew anything, it would be Jesus loves you and all that implies. That it's what I would want you to know too.

Because if I could know anything I wanted to, if I could know it in the real way, with experience and conviction and deep in my heart, like I know the water is cold after feeling my body shiver from it chilling me from head to toe, not just by guessing from the cloudy, windy land, know it in a way that no matter how warm the water looks, I will never believe otherwise, that's what I'd choose to know.

That Jesus loves me.

Dusky View

I was inspired to write poetry today, so I did. If you know what this is about, I would be surprised. If you know what it means, I would be interested to hear since I'm not entirely sure myself.

Dusky View

Curled like an armadillo,
with its silver back against the gradiated brown,
I watch the invisible rain
dampen my paper like falling fog.
Against the spongy browns of my sandpaper seat
my feet press,
feeling their fine prickles redden my skin.
Away, yards by the ground but a few feet by sight,
the green bush buffalo charges
from the llama fence where it grows.
I wonder if the soft wind stroking my body
chills the buffalo's branchy bones
as it does mine.
The uneven creak of the white-haired woman's chair
riding the crickets
soothes me as my own seat
grows more damp and cold and hard.
Or is it a dark-haired woman,
with just a few hairs fading to gray,
framing the drooping eyes lulled by the crickets
like the fair figure she gently fingers?
I don't know.
From here, you can feel life,
As far as the eye can see,
Until the trees obscure it.
Orion is there, like a friendly man,
completely obscured by the foggy dusk.
With branchy arms, three companions stand
unless their fading shadows and dark sillouettes
warn of a coming gang.
Light comes, below, around, beyond,
but always at a distance
and always spreading shadows.
I wait for morning,
but for now I relish
the height while the sun is down.

A New Path

In less than one week, I will be standing at the end of a (rather long) line of girls, watching.

For the fourth time, I will be watching at the front of a church as a dearly beloved friend of mine says her vows to the man who has won her heart.

Each time, it has been a girl I love, to a man I appreciate, at least for the reason that he has made her happy.

But this time it's different.

Although last time, it was my sister to a man who is as good as a brother, this time the man who will be exchanging vows with my friend is my brother.

The boy who has been my playmate and friend since before I can remember.

The boy who has shared sleeping quarters with me, with whom I have disagreed and fought, who has chopped wood and helped clean, who has made me food and driven me places.

The hardworking boy who has finally given in to tired eyes after many hours late at night, talking with me and my sister. This boy who has been my introduction to the masculine world.

He has organized bonfires and caroling, rides to concerts and contradancing, birthday parties and times at the park. His friends have become mine, and often mine his. Aside from my father, perhaps no one has influenced my view of men more than he has.

"Your brother is so nice," I have been told. "I wish mine was like yours."

One day off work, the phone rings, and I pick it up. "Hello."

"Yo, yo, yo, yo!" a peppy voice calls.

"Hello," I smile.

"Why don't you return my yo's?" the voice questions. "I was just calling to see if you worked today and needed picked up. I was working by the mall and I'm done now. I take it you don't, since you seem to be home."

That's my brother for you.

Although we have had stages of disagreement (should the orphans we played get captured or have a war was always a big one), I have always enjoyed him. The older I have grown, the more I appreciate him. The more I realize how blessed I have been to have Eric Paul, Handsome Boy Beerbower as my brother.

Especially as I think about life without him in the house. Without his feet pounding and his voice war whooping up the stairs, or hearing, "If anyone's going with me, I'm leaving right now," every Sunday morning, or seeing his dusty white form dash upstairs to shower.

I'll miss it.

And it's a good thing there's a worthwhile reason.

Because when I stand up there, it won't be behind him, though he has my support.

I will be standing behind my friend...

who just happens to also be that day becoming my sister.

My first sister-in-law. The best reason and only thing I can think of that makes me actually very happy about my brother leaving.

The happy, beautiful girl who has captured my brother's heart.

Who has made him happy and excited... 

which admittedly isn't difficult to do, 

but she has done it in a way nothing else has.

It's been amusing to watch.

Then, after this, we'll be done with weddings for a while, and life will not be so exciting.

 It will be the beginning of a new era in our family.

 

The beginning of a new family. And of ours, as a smaller one.

 And yet, bigger at the same time.

Turning away from a happy pathway is always at least a little melancholy.

 But I look forward to seeing what God will do on this path. And we feel blessed to have Ruthie joining us.

Opposite A Mystery

I have come to think that to believe Christianity is often to believe two opposite things, and yet find them compatible.

Just think of the essential Christian doctrines.

God is man.
A virgin is with child.
The eternal God dies.
The dead live.
God hates sin, yet He loves man.
He is sovereign, yet He allows evil.
No one is good, yet we are holy.

God is forever turning our ideas of how things are upside down. Even when we think we understand something, we have only grasped the outer edges of His ways.

I once saw a pamphlet with an illustration that stuck with me. Imagine a paper on which is drawn a smiley face in profile - one eye over half a smile in a circle. You tell the little guy to look up. He turns counter-clockwise. "No," you say. "The other way." So he turns clockwise. "No!" you cry. "Look up!"

But his two-dimensional mind cannot understand a third dimension.

So you take a ball, and you push it through his paper world. "Do you see the ball?" you ask.

"You mean that circle that gets bigger and then smaller?" he asks. "I've heard of balls. I don't know if I believe they exist." Looking right at the ball, he sees only a cross-section, and he doesn't really understand how a whole 3D ball can exist.

This, I think, is how we are with God. Even if we believe that there is a ball, we cannot truly understand what one is really like. Our idea of a circle that is somehow continuous, bigger than just a circle, is close, but not like actually holding a ball in your hands. Now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then, face to face!

Now, don't misunderstand me. The Holy Spirit reveals things to us, and we can truly say that we know God. Nor are there contradictions with God. Opposites aren't really opposites with God.

I guess that's really my point. Things seem to be opposite, when they aren't, really.

This came to mind when considering the debate between what, for sake of simplicity, I shall call Calvinism and Arminianism, between election and free will. In case anyone is reading this seriously (I mean, I guess if you're reading this, you're probably doing it seriously, otherwise you're probably bored and already stopped, in which case, you aren't reading this and it doesn't apply to you-although you may be reading it seriously and thus are still reading it and therefore are bored-so maybe I should say in case anyone reads this), this is not a theological thesis, and I haven't studied Scripture in depth on this. I'm actually kind of thinking out loud. So don't worry too much if you think I'm wrong. But don't be afraid to tell me, either.

First, what I do know is what Scripture says: God is sovereign. We are dead in our sins. Dead normally means that the one who is dead can do absolutely nothing. God makes us alive, and He has chosen us from before the foundations of the earth. While we were still sinners in rebellion, God loved us.

It is also true that God gives us commands. That we are called to repent, believe, take up our cross, and follow Him. That when the people ask Peter, "What must we do to be saved?" he does not say, "Nothing. God does all the work."

I've listened to a lot of Calvinist thought, and I can't think of much in particular that I've heard that I disagree with. I've also listened to people on the other side of the election debate, and most of them (as long as they agree with God's sovereignty and other Biblical principles) also seem right. What I have wanted to disagree with usually is when one says the other is wrong.

Again, an illustration helps me.

God is called the author of our salvation. Think of life as a story, God as the author, and us as characters. Being a writer myself, I can relate. The author has complete authority over the story. What he decides goes. The characters have no say.

But if you create good characters, a story will almost write itself. Sometimes, I as the author do not want something to happen, but the characters do it anyway.

For example, I was writing a story in which my sister told me the main character, Nell, should marry the main guy in the story, Daniel. I told her no. I had no intention of writing such a story. I fought it, but as the story progressed, it became clear. Daniel liked Nell, and there was nothing I could do about it. That is simply what he would do. He insisted on it. I repeatedly told him not to, but he would regardless. Although I could have, to have refused to let him would have made him a stilted character in a forced world.

This idea and personal experience with the author being completely in control, and yet the characters still making decisions in accord with their desires, helped me to understand how it could be that God is sovereign, and yet we are held responsible for our actions.

This is no theological thesis, as mentioned before, but in regards to the election/free will debate, I have come to think that they are both more true than even those who believe them think they are, and that they're a mystery that we cannot really comprehend. Like every other thought we have about God, our ideas and visions are too small. They're a two-dimensional man trying to look up.

What I'm trying to say is that while God's role is far more determining and our utter depravity is far worse than the staunchest Calvinist ever imagined, we are also more culpable and responsible for our actions than any Arminian ever thought.

With God being who He is, it doesn't really make sense to me to be any other way. He's a mystery, complex beyond what we understand. And so there is going to be debate and misunderstanding and blurred sight, as there always is when you come opposite such a mystery.

Perhaps I should study and make a more informed decision-of course, we all should. There is always more to learn. But I am okay with holding these seemingly opposing views in my mind. Because, I think, Christianity means learning to embrace and delight in mystery until all is revealed.

Important Work

Before you rests a pile of dark, heavy dirt. You sigh, looking from it to the shovel with a split wooden handle grasped in your hand. You know your task.

Slowly, you jab your shovel into the dirt. When you remove it, you deposit the part that doesn't fall off into a new pile. Complaining of the crack pinching your palm, you press on, knowing your duty.

You know you need to move this dirt. But you don't know why. So you toil on.

But then Joe bounds towards you. "Hurry up!" he cries, jabbing his thin trowel into the pile. "Come on!" In a few moments, with his small tool he has doubled the pile you've been toiling over.

Raising your eyebrows, you press your shovel into the dirt. "What's the hurry?" you ask.

"What's the hurry?!" Joe cries, without turning from his work. "Don't you know he'll suffocate if we don't get him out?"

Suddenly, you don't notice the pinching on your palms, the weight of the dirt, the sweat marking trails down your neck.

Your only focus is to get him out. To save his life.

Now, the obstacles don't matter. You only wish you had known before the importance of the task, that you might have done better. Why hadn't someone told you? Why hadn't you realized, so that you would have known to work diligently?

I think this is often how we approach all of life. There is gravity and purpose for our lives -- but we live as if we know we need to live but don't know why. We grow weary living, we act lackadaisical, we live without a plan:

We don't remember that there is a reason we are living.

But there is.

Ephesians 2:10: For we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them.

Revelation 4:11: You are worthy, O Lord, to receive glory and honor and power; for You created all things, and by Your will they exist and were created.

If we remembered this, could we live lives of such unintentionality? If we really believe that Christ gives  meaning to life, that God sees all that we do, why do we think it doesn't matter?

And if we know that what we do with our lives is important, why don't we act like it?

 Do you not know that those who run in a race all run, but one receives the prize? Run in such a way that you may obtain it. ...Now they do it to obtain a perishable crown, but we for an imperishable crown. Therefore I run thus: not with uncertainty. Thus I fight: not as one who beats the air. But I discipline my body and bring it into subjection, lest, when I have preached to others, I myself should become disqualified.   I Corinthians 9:24-27

A Person of Passion

You could miss it by just looking, but I am a passionate person.

You might miss lots of people's passion by just looking.

Passion is part of being human, I think. When I think of a passionless person, certain people come first to mind. And guess what? They have passion.

Perhaps I should define my terms. When I say passion, I mean simply a strong feeling. This generally means excitement, but  you can also be passionate about negative things.

There's a certain type of person who doesn't seem passionate. They don't seem to care about much; they dislike school; they seem pretty low-key and go-with-the-flow. But ask them about cars--and then watch their eyes light up and their volume rise and a little smile turn their lips up.

Everyone is passionate about something. I challenge you to find someone without passion. If you do, try to force them to do something, and I bet you'll find them passionately seeking rest or solitude!

Someone told me a while ago that I seemed really excited about a movie I was telling him about. "I like hearing you talk about things you're excited about," he said.

It made me wonder - what am I excited about? And why don't I always show my excitement?

There is something difficult about showing passion. It makes you vulnerable.

A wise man I know told me about a trip he had taken with his wife. He showed her a spot that was special to him, and as they came to it, the beautiful sunset struck it. As she saw the glistening light, his wife stepped back in awe. She told him she understood why he loved the place.

He asked me if I knew that feeling when you tell someone something that means a lot to you and they don't understand, when they don't care about it or get why you do. Then something in you feels like it dies and you wish you hadn't shared it. On the other hand, when you share something with someone that you love and they get it too--then you have this connection and joy, your relationship is strengthened, and you feel closer.

And that is why it is hard to show passion -- because when you show passion, you are taking a risk. A risk that others will think you are foolish for delighting in that thing, or that they simply won't care or understand.

That rejection, that sense of solitude, is hard to bear.

When I shared this with a friend, I said something inside you dies a little when your joy in something is not shared. She looked at me and exclaimed, "But that is so wrong!"

It's natural. When that part of you has died before, you don't want to risk it happening again. But she is right. If we realize that all good gifts come from God, no matter how small, and that we are to give thanks in everything, our passion should be no less because others do not understand. If something gives us joy, we should not be ashamed to admit it.

Think of something that you were exceedingly joyful about, that others did not understand. I think of Ryan and Grace's engagement.

Surely, that was not the weird thing. The weird thing is that we do not have that joy and passion about everything!

We deserve death. Yet all around us is life and joy and blessing. We need correction and discipline. Yet continually God uses joy and beauty and love to draw us to obedience.

God gives all things meaning. Why aren't we more passionate? Why do we look on people who are as if they are the strange ones?

Concealing that we care about something is really selfish. As in my example earlier, we enjoy seeing people who are passionate about things. Think of the secret smiles between adults at a child's unashamed, innocent excitement about something that is really insignificant. We love it. And we are called to become like little children.

Little children don't mind showing that they are people with passion. And neither should we.

Imperfect Metaphor

After quite a long hiatus, my sisters and I returned to our writing course. I've mentioned it here before, when I posted an essay I wrote for it.

This time we did an exercise in which you were to choose a personal metaphor or word picture that describes you, your personality, your circumstances, and so forth. This was to be written in a center circle. Then in other circles (or not, if you missed that part as I did) connected to that one, you were to write related words and then use them to write something.

This time I wrote a poem. For my metaphor I chose a wooded trail. Most of you probably don't care to read the words I chose after that, so I shall not put them up. They comprise most of the nouns in the poem.

I couldn't think of the right title for it, but this was the closest I could get to what I was trying to convey.

Imperfect

Across my life the soft breeze blows
The honeysuckle smell.
On a spongy fallen log I rest
Midst the bright green dell.
My muddied footprints on the trail
Lead back through the thorns,
Evidenced by trails of red
Traced upon my arms.
Through the whisp'ring leaves I hear
Some creature's grating caw.
Sunlight like a cheerful child
Brightens the mosquito on my jaw.
The twittering birds cease their songs
As I join mine to theirs
Till the distant backhoe's bang
Beats upon the ears.
The yellow flower my fingers twirl
Doesn't have a name
The phantom hand that pulls on mine
Seems to be the same.
Behind the roping vines I hide
To catch a glimpse of deer.
The thorns, the mud, the caws are worth
Smelling honeysuckle here.

Do you know what I'm trying to convey? If you need a hint, I almost called it "Life."

Perspective of Pain

Have you read The Hiding Place?

I know that many people say "every this type of person should do this" about many things, but I do believe that this is a book that every Christian should read. In fact, if the story of Corrie ten Boom and her family does not come readily and quickly to mind, you should read it again. If you're too lazy (and don't quickly say you're too busy-I bet you could spare at least ten minutes each day and finish it in a week or two), at least watch the movie.

My sister was listening to the Family Radio Theater production of it, and I started thinking. Honestly, I felt like crying as I pondered perspective.

Perspective. The word comes from Latin, literally meaning to see through.

Perspective is something that Betsy had.

Betsy, for those of you who had to put The Hiding Place next on your reading list, is Corrie's sister who was with her in the concentration camp. As I considered Corrie's anger and how Betsy corrected her sister, the weight of the difference between their lives and ours pressed deeply on me.

Are you struggling to forgive someone who has wronged you? Perhaps a sibling is mean to you intentionally. Perhaps someone you thought was your friend lied to you. Maybe it was even something as terrible as your parents divorcing.

Imagine someone betraying you, for money, causing your family to be torn apart, your innocent, beloved father and sister to die, and you to lose your family, your friends, and your freedom.

Then, imagine forgiving him. Praying that the Lord will bless him and his family. Having sympathy for his pain.

Makes you feel pretty selfish for remembering when that kid was mean to you at youth group years ago, doesn't it?

Are you struggling with loneliness? Perhaps you lost someone you loved. Perhaps you look with longing at your friends who are married. Perhaps you haven't been able to spend time with people as much as you wish. Perhaps no one understands what you're going through.

Imagine leaving your home--not for a new one, but for a concentration camp, leaving behind everyone you care for, many of whom are in serious danger, knowing that some of them have died, that many you will never see again--and all of this in the discomfort of a barren place.

Imagine your pain made harder by knowing your husband is enduring the same thing on the other side of the fence, while you are unable to comfort or even be with him, and that each time you see him, it is likely that it may be the last time.

Imagine hearing shots nearby, not knowing if it is someone you love that was killed.

Makes you appreciate your comfort more, doesn't it?

Are you struggling with physical pain? Are you tired? Is your work hard?

Imagine being weak with lack of food, beaten, with no physical comforts, medicine, or doctors--and yet getting no sympathy, but being continually forced to more difficult manual labor than you have probably ever experienced?

Make your weariness easier to bear?

I could go on. My point in this is not at all to diminish what you are enduring. Who knows the things of a man except the spirit of the man? God remembers that we are but dust. A bruised reed He will not break. "No one knows the trouble I've seen," is true, aside from God. One thing that I think our culture, perhaps, gets wrong is thinking that because x goes to a greater degree than y, y doesn't have any significance. Just because someone does something better or endures more than you doesn't invalidate your experience. But that is a topic for another post.

What is my point, then? Maybe it's for I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory that is to be revealed.

Then again, maybe I am diminishing what you're enduring.

"Turn your eyes upon Jesus,
Look full in His wonderful face,
And the things of earth will grow strangely dim,
In the light of His glory and grace."

That's perspective.

It's amazing how Christianity makes everything matter-and nothing. Nothing earthly. And yet, suddenly everything does matter. Are the barracks full of fleas? That doesn't matter. And yet, they matter immensely--for how we respond to them has eternal, profound significance.

And that was why I felt like crying myself as I heard Corrie weep as she prayed for the man who by our perspective destroyed her family and begged God to forgive her for harboring bitterness against him. Because my perspective, our perspective, is so much shallower than that.

Betsy showed Corrie that if she loved God, not only did she have to accept her father's death, but being betrayed--and having fleas. Things difficult and enormous, and things relatively small and just annoying. She saw through the appearances of this physical world to what truly mattered behind it.

O what joy we would have if we could have this heavenly perspective continually in our lives!

A Matter of Love

Imagine something that you've always known would happen. Something that you imagined over and over again what it would be like.

If it happened already, was it just like you imagined it would be?

And if not, be prepared. It probably won't be. Reality is harder and much more glorious than our imaginations.

My oldest sister got married a week ago Saturday. It was happy and beautiful and went by so quickly.

We used to talk about what it would be like when Deanna got married sometimes, about me being the maid of honor, about what her husband would be like, about her kids. More about that than anything else, though. We were the type of people who played orphanage and skipped over playing weddings.

As I stood at the top of the green-carpeted stairs, looking at Deanna and Stephen standing there (looking like a couple out of a magazine, so perfectly complementing each other), I thought of things that we had been worried about getting ready for the wedding.

It doesn't matter now, I thought. I was glad we didn't worry about details any more than we did. It didn't matter. They were getting married, whether we had the tables placed correctly or not. Whether I succeeded in doing lace on the cake or not. Whether the flowers were exactly what we wanted or not. Whether I succeeded in getting pictures of Deanna getting ready or not. Whether we would run out of cupcakes or live on them for the next eight days. Whether anyone got a picture of the marriage certificate or not.

We worry about details too much. If you won't remember something in a year, it's not worth getting upset about. And even if you will.

Who has time to worry about colors when there are wrongs to right? When there are relationships to build? When there is Scripture to read? When there are words to write? When there are little girls to hold? When there are prayers to say?

I love how weddings make you think about what is important in life.

Standing up there near to my sister, I realized it didn't matter if I arranged her train properly (I didn't) or if I was standing opposite Eric correctly (I couldn't tell) or if Kristen whispered, asking if Deanna had remembered to clean her glasses (she did). Or if Deanna had forgotten (I told Kristen she didn't, but I'm actually not sure).

No. What mattered was Deanna and Stephen's relationship and God and our relationship with them and the witness of the guests and the rest of their lives.

Details do matter. They matter immensely-when they affect relationships. When your dealing with details shows how you honor God or love your brother. When it gives joy and beauty, as the alternating soft purple and green napkins, stacks of old books, the perfect song for the slideshow, and the Chantilly lace cake did, then the details are worth it. When moving the tables closer, disposing of the cake pillars, inviting fewer people, deciding what color nail polish to use by yourself, or letting an awesome idea you had for a picture go pleases your sister or friend or brother-in-law, then it matters. (It also matters whether your mother gets to the wedding or not. It does not matter if you have to wait a while.)

What matters isn't your ideas being materialized. It's showing in every detail your love for Christ through your love for others. It's finding your own delight in what truly matters.

Acting

It's like death,
this watching a muted movie,
this asking why
and what the actors are saying.
This repeating
over and over and over
as if you are praying,
the Author has a plot
this pain is not for naught.
This hoping
and knowing
and trusting
that the climax is needed
for the conclusion,
and that when the credits roll
(with the author's name
listed after every part)
we'll know then
the meaning of the script.
This knowing the story is good
because He's a published author
with satisfying subplots
but still letting the tears fall
because it's death
becoming an actor
to a plot not your own.

The Hidden War

The world is a battlefield.

All around you, there's a war. The woman you passed, thinking she was a grump? She was just mortally wounded, and her blood quietly seeped out on the parking lot.

But you didn't see it. You just saw a woman scowling as she whipped grocery bags into her SUV. And when you said, "Well, that's a pleasant woman," you didn't know.

You didn't know her hope has died. That today she knew for sure that she could not believe in a God who would let her husband leave her, just like her father did. That the reason she glared at you was because she was demanding of God why.

Why do you look so happy, herding your little kids into your car?

Yes, they're disobedient children, and your voice sounded irritated and weary, and your van has scratches and that big dent you were so upset by. But you take your children home so your husband can discipline them, and she'd give away her shiny car for a little taste of the joy you have and take your weariness if she could get rid of her heartache.

Yes, in the world there's a war. But the war's not just outside.

Your daughter complains that she gained five pounds and her face is all broken out, and her friend isn't talking to her. You tell her everyone gets pimples, don't worry what other people think, and by the way, she needs to clean the bathroom.

You don't see the soldier aiming his machine gun at your daughter's heart; you suggest a stroll through the countryside, unaware of the snipers and the deep fear she cannot explain.

Then you wonder why she seems angry with you and how you have failed her.

The war's for you, too.

Yes, that person has just cancelled on you again, leaving you scrambling for a fill-in and wasting those two hours you meant to use to make a nice dinner for your family. Yes, she always does it.

But, though you imagine her shooting her poisoned arrows into your back as you wish, she isn't your enemy.

The enemy is deeper. He's put his weapon inside you. The poison that is killing you isn't from her arrows.

It's sin.

It's a powerful force, an unrelenting enemy.

You live in your little village in the mountains, far away from the booming cannons and explosions of war. But you are not safe. Your enemy has signed the contract for military law, but the enemy is a thief and a liar, and he will not obey them.

The neutral party is not safe. In fact, the neutral party is not neutral.

If you remain unaware of the war, living in your little out-of-the-way village, the marauders will come though, burn your helpless home, and shoot you through your unprepared heart.

You cannot afford to not prepare. The enemy is a burglar, searching the lonely places where there are quiet people whose inoffensive nicety keeps them from building fences and oiling guns, where the enemy can knock on the door with his gun slung over his shoulder and be welcomed in as if he were the owner of the house.

But really, the enemy has already infiltrated. He is the owner of the house. You cannot resist his thieving rule unless you join the defeating Army that is coming.

But even if you do, you'll lose battle after battle if you don't see the war.

Be on the alert.

Trust

Last Thursday was the last day of Kid's Club. It was sad, knowing that I would probably not see these kids again until next fall, and maybe some of them never again.

Several weeks ago I had to write a poem for my poetry class including something about rain. I was thinking about Kid's Club, so I wrote this.

Trust

Some days when I looked up at the two-story brick building,

waiting for someone to notice me and open the door,

it was raining.

Sometimes I was late, and when I entered the basement,

six kindergarteners yelled my name and tried to hug me at once.

The curly-haired woman smiled, calling the kids back to their bold blue seats.

Some lessons I held Markell as he slept,

running my fingers through his long brown locks.

Sometimes when my mother’s friend, with the mic

pressing down her silvery hair, said, “God has a good plan for you,”

my heart beat fast. I traced Aubrey’s soft brown cheek with my finger,

wondering what the plan for my little friend held,

praying it didn’t include slammed doors and ex-husbands and sitting home alone.

Some days it was still raining when I let the door slam against the cedar doorstop,

and I avoided stepping in the streams running down the sloped drive.

Every time I opened the car door, I could still feel the last long squeeze

from Maria’s chubby arms and her whispering in my ear like a caressing prayer:

“I don’t want to ever let go.”

The title of trust is double in meaning. It is the overwhelming and sweet burden of feeling the utter trust a child has in you. And it is loving someone you cannot protect. Sometimes, it seems harder to trust God for the people you love than for yourself. Then we turn to prayer and cry out to the Lord, and we learn to delight in God's sovereignty.

Why Writing Matters

I didn't post anything last month. I haven't written in so long, I'll have to write about writing.

I have a draft on my blog that consists of quotations. Being known as I am to collect quotes, I must clarify. These aren't amusing things I heard someone I know say, but quotations I found that impressed me in some way. Most of them regard writing.

I like reading Jeff Goins. I just added his blog to the ones I follow. He can feel rather self-promoting and redundant. But he always makes me want to write. The majority of his articles can be summed up simply: write what you're passionate about and be confident-admit you're a writer!

Of course, reading about writing always makes me want to write. Which is why I am writing rather than writing a summary of an article. That is not writing. I do not like writing things I am not interested in writing. In other words, something academic. As I am fond of saying, if it needs citations and research, I don't want to write it. Until I get into it, at least, and then if I can grasp some importance in the subject (i.e. relation to real life), I sometimes sort of like it. 

One of my favorite quotes says, 

"Perhaps it would be better not to be a writer, but if you must, then write." - J. B. Priestly

It's a favorite (though admittedly when I use the word "favorite" it's used loosely) because it describes me well. Similarly, 

"You become a writer because you need to become a writer - nothing else." - Grace Paley

Thinking overmuch always makes me need to write. As another of my favorite quotes about writing says, 

"I am a writer perhaps because I am not a talker."  - Gwendolyn Brooks

That also describes me well.

You might strongly agree that I am not a talker if you don't know me well. You probably strongly disagree if I know you well. Or perhaps you know me well enough to understand.

I think that is why I like reading Jeff Goins. He recognizes something important. I am a writer. I have things to say. But, speaking takes courage.

And that is something I want. I want to have the courage to say what I really think. The confidence to believe that it's worth saying. As my poetry professor says, a good poet must have a sense of (as my brother would say) hubris. Of self-respect and pride. He takes it a bit farther than I would, saying you must believe that what you have written is the best thing ever written. But there is truth to it.

"A writer is somebody for whom writing is more difficult than it is for other people." - Thomas Mann

Although non-writers would mostly disagree, there is something true about that. And maybe it's because the non-writer doesn't care much about what he writes. The reason anything is hard is because you care about it. If you didn't, it wouldn't be hard.

The best things I have written I can enjoy as if someone else had written them. In some cases, I know they are good. And the reason they are is that I was honest. And they were about something I considered important.

To say something you think is important and--even more so--to let other people see that you think it is important--is to be vulnerable.

I'm writing about my writing, and my need to write, but it matters because what I'm really writing about is fear. Fear and love and identity--which means I'm writing about Christ.