31 Days of Courage: The Courage to Rest Awhile

If you own a cat, you know that they do not need to read this particular post.  I’m not sure what recipe God used in their DNA, but it included the sleep gene in multiples.  Cats don’t need courage to lay back and slow down.  But people do.

Somewhere along the line we’ve whipped our race (the human one, that is) into a frenzy of moving at breakneck pace for days on end, early in the morning to late at night.  Taking a lunch break is akin to breaking the commandments.

What is at the root of this whirl wind of noise and motion?  Why is it so contrary to our nature to sit or stroll or God forbid, take a nap?

I can’t speak for the whole world.  But I live in one person’s antsy skin, and here’s how she sees it.

I don’t slow down when I’m most afraid.

What will happen if I don’t squeeze as much into a day as I possibly can?  I fear being a bad mother if my children have to eat spaghetti with Hunt’s sauce for a day instead of a healthy salad, chicken, rice and a corresponding vegetable.  So I over extend myself and snap at my family instead.  Fear leads me from bad to worse.

Is it so important that I answer every email in a timely manner?  Yes, because I’m afraid a coworker will think I’m less than reliable, or a friend will think I’m less than loyal, or the school will wonder if I really care about my kid.  Can you hear the unmitigated pride and fear in all of these matters?  So I rush to complete one thing with my mind on the next, spinning around being the center of my own universe, so very discontented.  So very tired.

It takes courage to stop the runaway train.  To stand in the middle of your own tracks and put up your hands and say “enough”. 

"Come with me by yourselves to a quiet place and get some rest."  Mark 6:31

Here is the One who had 3 years to accomplish the redemption of the entire world.  Here is One who walked many a mile, but also sat and ate and drank and enjoyed little kids and told stories.  Jesus was a busy man.

But again, and this theme seems to keep repeating itself during these 31 days, He didn’t fear man.  He only feared God.  And the Father says we are to rest.  He even pounded the idea into the heads of his very own people for thousands of years.  Sabbath rest is a command, not a suggestion.

The courage to change our ways and slow down is one of those small acts of bravery that may not be seen on the outside, but can do us a world of inward good. 

Tomorrow, I’m taking a lunch break.  Because the cemetery is full of men who were indispensable.  I’ll go ahead and feel the fear of not getting it all done, and I’ll survive.  Who’d of thought you could find a little courage in a comfy chair somewhere with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich?

Meanwhile, the cats are snoring away as I’m tapping away.

Time for me to go and get a little shut eye.

Your friend on the pilgrim road,

Loriann

31 Days of Courage: Speaking Up When You’d Rather Walk By

I love candles.  That has very little to do with today’s post, except that it’s why I was in the mall on Sunday when I hate going to the mall, especially on a Sunday.

But my tea lights had reached critical mass and this is the time of year I burn, burn, burn.  I buy those little guys in bulk and dirt cheap at the Christmas Tree Shop, where I thought I’d go in and out…but it never turns out that way.

I wanted to get my son’s darling girlfriend a little birthday gift, so I headed toward one of those big department stores that give me agita with a little something in mind for her.  And on the way I passed a smaller store for the younger set called PCX Clothing, short for Pocket Change Exchange.  Glancing at the display windows I was stopped short by a black shirt with big gold letters shouting out the following:

You Can’t Sit With Us

At first I think I was too shocked  to process the thing.  Then, right on queue, my cowardly self reminded me how badly I wanted to blow this popsicle stand, and how it was Sunday and lovely outside and I still had to get a present for Nicoleen.  But that shirt infuriated me.

 

I got about 20 yards down the concourse and decided I didn’t want to be a hypocrite here on day 6 of 31 Days of Courage.  So I turned my I-can’t-stand-confrontation self around and walked to the cashier’s counter.  Two young girls asked if they could help me and I asked for the store’s phone number and the main address of the company.  Then I asked them if they’d like to know why.

When I explained the reason, they listened attentively.  In fact one of the girls mentioned that a young man had come in 20 minutes earlier with his girlfriend and suggested she buy the shirt.  Apparently the young woman said to her boyfriend “that’s kind of like bullying.”  Bingo.

Companies have a right to produce whatever they want.  This is America after all.  But we have a responsibility to voice the truth in a respectful manner.  We have a choice to let it go.  Or not.

That shirt was mean spirited.  Not funny. Not clever.  Down right nasty.

I’m sure there would be someone who would read this and tell me to lighten up.  That person likely never sat alone at a lunch table, or gladly wearied themselves in the discipling process to teach their children that it’s not ok to make people feel they don’t belong.  Can you tell this particular issue strikes a chord in me?

I don’t like being thought of as a killjoy, a legalist or any other manner of prohibitionist.  But there comes a point when what people think of us and what’s right are going to collide.  In the middle of that collision, courage is ignited.

So before I sat down and wrote this post, I emailed PCX.  And today (Monday) when the manager is in, I’m calling the store to voice my opinion.  I’m pretty sure they won’t like hearing from me.  But not as much as I don’t want to make the phone call.  Regardless, I must.

Because as I said from day one, it’s going to be harder to live this thing out that to write about it. What’s the point of all this if I don’t change?  Being a blowhard is not my goal.

^“ He hath shown thee, O man, what is good: and what doth the Lord require of thee but to do justly and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with thy God?”  Micah 6:8

Listen, you and I aren’t William Wilberforce, laboring in Parliament for a lifetime to stop the slave trade in Great Britain.  We can’t tackle every cause, even every one we care about.  But isn’t there that moment, when a fire lights in your belly, and you simply know it’s time to be a tiny bit brave and speak light to the darkness?  Maybe we won’t have a bonfire in our gut like Winston Churchill did in England to stand against evil, no matter the cost.  But can we start with a little flame in our sphere of influence and do the next right thing?

Yeah, maybe this post was about candles after all.

Be brave my friends, in the small. 

Your friend on the pilgrim road,

Loriann 

31 Days of Courage: The Courage to be Glad

I wonder how many people of the tiny group that read here decided I was the consummate screwball when they appraised the title of this blog.

I mean, who needs courage to be glad?

There have been 2 serious stretches in my life that I can clearly remember when I had to pull up my bootstraps and enjoy joy…bucking the system in my head that programmed me to feel guilty for being happy.

The first time was when I was barely an adult, and 2 people I love so very dearly were suffering.  If they read this post, they know who they are. 

The second time started almost 5 years ago and continues to this day.  Ironically, though the names have changed, there is an eerie similarity: 2 people I dearly love are suffering.  If they read this post, they know who they are.

When people you love suffer, so do you.  This comes as a surprise to absolutely no one.

And beside our own “local” pain, there is a world gone wrong.  There are hungry people and lonely people, abused, forsaken and dying people.  Isn’t it almost heartless to laugh or sing or dance in this present darkness?

No, no, a thousand times no.

On the very night Jesus of Nazareth was betrayed, destined to die a horrific death and troubled greatly in His all too human soul, He rejoiced over a meal with his very best friends.  He told them He “greatly desired” to have that beautiful last time together. Knowing what He knew, how could he sit down at table and be glad in His great, broken heart?

I’m an amateur in the quest for courage, but He’s the Universe's Olympic Gold Medal Winner.  He sets the example.  To paraphrase a little bit from C.S. Lewis’ classic book The Great Divorce, hell can never hold Heaven hostage.  Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in morning.  Even if the morning isn’t looking much better than the night before.

So how can a mom who recently gave birth to a child with multiple birth defects rejoice? (If she reads this post, she knows who she is).  Because with courage, she can take that pain, very real and ever present, and dig down to something even deeper, something bedrock and solid and unshakable.  And in that place where she knows how the story ends, she can laugh and sing to her other kids and do the jig if she wants.  Because The One who is boss of all of this says to go ahead and rejoice!   Not because of your heartache, but in spite of it.

This is not pie-in-the-sky avoidance of reality.  Tears are just as appropriate as laughter.

My friend Martha Warner, whose daughter was murdered by her husband a number of years ago, has a loud, infectious laugh.  After her Liza died, understandably she had trouble feeling glad again.  There was a guilt that stifled her joy.  How could she smile with her daughter buried and the memory of such a violent death?  But with great courage she took a step of faith and risked being happy.  Step by step she made her way to hope, and now, at an age when most people are settling down to retire, she has a brand new job at Unity House, a shelter for battered women and their children.  There, she will be a lighthouse for women who wonder if they’ll ever smile again.  She’ll be their living proof that they can.

Martha Warner and Liza

It takes remarkable courage to stand up against the power of guilt.  It takes strength that only Strength Himself can supply to determine to live life in gladness in the face of relentless suffering everywhere.  It is a defiant act to say to the enemy of our souls: “My circumstances may be thus, my world may be thus, but you cannot shackle my heart.” 

Heaven cannot be held hostage to hell.

“Though the fig tree does not bud and though there are no grapes on the vines, though the olive crop fails and the fields produce no food, though there are no sheep in the pen and no cattle in the stall, yet I will rejoice in the Lord.  I will be joyful in God my Savior.”  Habakkuk 3:18

Your friend on the pilgrim road,

Loriann

31 Days of Courage: Courage in Darkness and Silence

“Everything has its wonders, even darkness and silence, and I learn, whatever state I may be in, therein to be content.”     ~ Helen Keller

She captured my imagination at the tender age of nine.  Helen Keller has wrapped herself around my heart, and I doubt a month goes by that I am not inspired by her courage and intrigued by her beautiful mind. 

At 19 months of age, Helen contracted a then unnamed disease (most likely scarlet fever or meningitis) that left her completely blind and deaf for the remainder of her life.  If you don’t want to take the time to read about her in a biography, I recommend the film “The Miracle Worker”, starring Patti Duke as Helen Keller and Anne Bancroft as her teacher and lifelong companion, Annie Sullivan.  It’s directed by the highly respected Arthur Penn, and has etched itself on the ivory of my soul like an artist scratching out scrimshaw.  Wonderful, beautiful motion picture.

Helen Keller’s writing and her thoughtful consideration of life’s complexities are startling when you consider she saw and heard NOTHING.  It was in complete and utter darkness and silence that she found her way to light and hope.  Even as I click away at these words I am humbled and awed by this woman’s courage and relentless optimism. I am convicted of my chronic complaining about my own dark corners when I think on what Helen's daily life must have been like. Simply climbing the stairs or fixing lunch were Herculean feats for a person with only 3 operational senses.

But in her dark, silent world Helen Keller changed the world by her words and deeds.  She bravely wrote in defense of the powerless while in the midst of her own powerlessness.  Not seeing, she saw the needs of those around her.  Not hearing, she heard the cries of the disabled of her day and became an early activist for them.

Every life has its own insignia of shadow and mystery.  What is it that is un-seeable for you now?  Is it an impossible way through a loveless marriage?  A prodigal child?  Debt the size of the Himalayas?  A deadly disease, a terrible addiction, a faithless soul?  Or just a sense that there’s no meaning or purpose to these 70 or 80 years?

Is God silent to you?  In the dark of night where no one sees, are you lost in a sea of unanswered prayers? 

There are no pat responses to any of these questions.  And God forbid I should make light of them.  But the Great One, He who created light out of darkness, He who spoke and broke forever the silence of the Universe, He understands all we don’t:

Even the darkness is not dark to you; the night is bright as the day, for darkness is as light with you.  ~ Psalm 139:12

For God alone, O my soul, wait in silence, for my hope is from him. ~ Psalm 62:5

It takes tremendous courage to stand and believe in the stone cold silent darkness.  When all your comforts are removed and you swim in an ocean of confusion or sorrow, this is the birthplace of bravery. 

It is in these times that courage, that lovely virtue second only to humility (in my opinion), rises up and finds its place.  Helen Keller put it this way:

“We could never learn to be brave and patient if there were only joy in the world.” 

She knows of what she speaks.

So if you are in darkness or silence, know that courage can be born and cultivated in that hothouse of trial.  And if you are not there now, how bout' being an Annie Sullivan to one who is?  To give courage is as precious as to gain it, and it is indeed added to your own soul as you give it away.

Persevere in the darkness.  It’s all light to Him.  And one day, at the end of this often dark ride, we’ll get the sight for which we’ve so longed, and hear clearly the Voice we’ve strained to hear.

I hope to see Helen there, eyes wide open. 

But really, were they ever not?

Your friend on the pilgrim road,

Loriann

31 Days of Courage: The Courage to Build Bridges

In the 19^th century, bridge building was deadly business.  It’s still feat of human endeavor that could blow my head off if I think too hard about it.

Of all the bridges I’ve personally experienced, the Brooklyn Bridge is my favorite.  Spanning the East River from Lower Manhattan to Brooklyn Heights, that monument to form and function was erected not only with granite and steel, but with perseverance and wild courage.

The bridge’s construction took 14 years.  In 1883 folks began crossing that marvel that engaged the sweat and muscle of 600 workers with a price tag of $15 million (more than $320 million in today’s dollars). At least two dozen people died in the process.  One of the first to lose his life on the project was the original designer, John Augustus Roebling.  Before even one steel cable came out of the box, Roebling had his foot crushed by a boat while taking compass readings along the river.  He died of tetanus 3 weeks later, leaving his son to carry on.

Immigrants did much of the dirty work of putting down a solid foundation for the bridge.  They were nicknamed Sandhogs.   In a process I don’t fully understand, but which sounds simply awful, workers excavated the riverbed in massive wooden boxes called caissons. These airtight chambers kept water out and pumped air in to enable the excavation of debris by the bridge builders.  Many died or were debilitated by way of  “Caisson’s Disease”, known in the vernacular as “the bends”.  Others perished in explosions, fires and conventional construction accidents.

So where am I going with this?

Most of us have some kind of relational brokenness in our lives.  I’d wager a stamp that that particular kind of trial is the most painful of them all, since we are at our core relational beings. 

And there’s a sort of unique fear that accompanies messed up connections with the people we love.  I can’t pinpoint what it is, but you know it if you’ve lived it.  Often times we want to make our way back to the folks who have hurt us, or we have hurt, but we fear the cost.  Bridge building can precipitate great pain as we excavate the debris of pride and unforgiveness or let down the walls that protect us from rejection in order to make a foundation for restoration.

But then, when the crossing is made, there it is:  the beauty of the bridge.  Then, life can be lived there.  Fellowship and friendship and hope can move back and forth across the hard won path made not from steel and granite, but from the courage to feel the pain and die the death for the joy that will follow.

We Smitties are Simon and Garfunkel fans, especially on long car rides.  That duo’s classic song, “Bridge Over Troubled Water” never gets old for me.

When you're weary, feeling small
When tears are in your eyes, I will dry them all
I'm on your side, when times get rough
and friends just can't be found
Like a bridge over troubled water, I will lay me down
Like a bridge over troubled water, I will lay me down

I confess that whenever I hear Art Garfunkel’s angelic voice chanting that verse I find myself in tears. 

The One and Only, He didn’t just build a bridge, He laid down to be the bridge:

“Christ suffered for our sins once for all time. He never sinned, but he died for sinners to bring you safely home to God.”  1 Peter 3:18  NLT

His great passion from the beginning was to bring us back across the chasm of separation in to the warm embrace of a good Father.  (Mysterious, but compellingly good).  He stands as the greatest bridge builder of all time, the bravest of the brave.

I continue on to grapple with the towering truth that He who was most courageous of all cheers us on in our puny efforts to be brave.

 There’s a letter I have to write again…it’s another pylon for a bridge I’ve hoped to build for years, without much success.  It’s just this…that even if the person we’re trying to reach on the other side doesn’t build back, we cannot lose.  The very effort to reach the bedrock, to stretch the cable, to remove the obstacle, makes us more what we were created to be: loving, relational beings with a destiny and a future hope that no deep river can constrain.  But it will cost us.

I can’t tell you how many times I have crossed the Brooklyn Bridge in the car, on foot, and best of all, on my bicycle.  That highway of alliance, commerce, recreation and interaction has benefited millions of people since it was completed in 1883.  I’m so grateful for the courageous folks who struggled, some to the point of death to provide that crossing.

How much more ought we to have the courage to build bridges that mend, heal and deliver.

Your Sandhog friend on the pilgrim road,

Loriann

31 Days of Courage: The Courage to Stay Off the Defensive

As my 16 year old son would put it: “That skunk did us wrong.”

At four A.M. yesterday morning I was roused from my bed, not by a sound but by a stink.  Some black and white thing out there in the yard got scared.  Most likely it was spooked by that coy dog that’s been milling about lately, eyeballing Cosette and Domino.

He might have learned the hard way what happens when you mess with that particular brand of “all God’s creatures.” 

For me, it was a not-so-subtle reminder of the negative side of this 31 day topic.  Our reaction to fear will impact the atmosphere of our lives.  In particular, I want to consider the defensive response to insecurity (an insidious and well documented kind of fear), and what courage might look like as an alternative.

How do you react when your back’s against the wall?

I was recently misunderstood over the way I handled a scheduling problem at my job.  Oh friends, how immediately I jumped to my own defense, afraid perhaps that someone might think me incompetent, or even, God forbid, less than intelligent.  Listening to my tone as I defended myself and feeling the indignation rise within was like a blast of skunk spray, leaving everyone in the vicinity, including me, ESPECIALLY ME, with that lingering yuck for a while.  There’s no tomato juice bath for that kind of mess.  Repentance is the only cure.

By the way, and just for fun, have you ever heard this great expression:

“It is better to remain silent and be thought a fool, than to open one’s mouth and remove all doubt.”

OK, back to the point.

Contrast that with Smitty, my main squeeze.  He made a mistake at work, which I can assure you is rare!  (He’s one humble smarty-pants…but I digress).  And no doubt with some trepidation, he went to his supervisor and owned the thing.  I think she was probably dumbfounded for a minute, since this is not the way human beings typically operate (especially those with Y chromosomes).  And I believe from what I heard about her reaction that Stephen left the good fragrance of everyday courage in her office.

“For we are a sweet fragrance to God in The Messiah among those who have life and among those who perish.”      2 Cor. 2:15

That’s what courage is.  It’s a lofty and lovely fragrance, bringing beauty to the person stretched out to be a little brave, and to all within its perimeter.  The aroma of simple acts of daily courage can change the place you work, you live, you worship, you learn, you play.  How priceless is it that you can be a bouquet wherever you go?

For every person, the thing that will trigger insecurity and the defensive posture that follows is different.  What if today, when your motives are wrongly judged, or your pride is injured, instead of putting up your tail you followed the way of The Master?

“When he was reviled, he did not revile in return; when he suffered, he did not threaten, but continued entrusting himself to him who judges justly.”  1 Peter 2:23

What if today instead of the reek of fear, we left the perfume of grace?

I can tap the keys, but can I walk the walk?  Help me Jesus.  I don’t want to stink up the room.

Your friend on the pilgrim road,

Loriann

31 Days of Writing with The Nestor, Myquillin Smith

This is the first in a series of 31 posts as I join forces with a troop of other women on a writing quest with a sweet little blogger named Myquillin Smith. I’m not really a home decorator type, but I love this lady’s positive, simple spin on life. ( If you do like fixin’ up your house you’ll be doubly blessed visiting her blog: TheNestor.com.)  We picked our own topics for the month of October, and sharpened our pencils (well, calloused our typing fingers here in the 21^st century) to exercise this particular set of “muscles”.

Thanks for joining me.  I haven’t written for this many days in a row since 2009.  That was the year a terrible car accident forever changed my life and the life of my family (you can read about that at

steveandhannahsmith.blogspot.com.  

That was 11 months of writing, every single day.  I’ve written since then of course, but I’m not as “in shape” as I was then.

So here goes…and my topic is 31 Days of Courage.

 

There is no false modesty here when I make this claim:  I am the world’s biggest chicken.

Though I long to be Aragorn in The Lord of the Rings, with his “Today is not that day” speech, I’m really more of a Hobbit hiding out in The Shire.   And though my heart calls me to be George Bailey from It’s a Wonderful Life, (that self-sacrificing hero of Christmas fame), I’m more likely to put on an old episode of Columbo, have some Milano cookies and milk and hope there’s a way to avoid the conflict of the day.

A long time ago I heard it said that courage is not the lack of fear, but action despite fear.  And putting words on paper is one way to act.  In spite of fear.  Fear I'll be thought a fool by those who don't beleive as I do.  Fear I'll say something dumb that my kids will still be able to read long after I'm dead. Perhaps mostly the fear I'll be a hypocrite: spewing out words without the real will to live them out.

For 31 days, I plan to tackle a subject where I am a rank amateur in order to become less of one.  I hope to not only write about courage, but to “do” courage in the small things of everyday life.

  

Believe me when I tell you the doing will test me far more than the writing.

The most courageous man of all time shows the way to ordinary and extraordinary courage.  He wasn’t afraid of what people said.  He didn’t care one whit what anyone thought of him.  He had the courage to rub shoulders with the unpopular, to take on the deceived leaders of his day (while still treating them with respect!), and to stand up to the point of death to the great enemy of our souls. 

And so for 31 days I want to learn from Him, and share what I learn with you, you who are trembling in storms of relational failure, health crisis’, financial disaster, and every other ailment that causes the human heart to fear.  Perhaps we can learn to be a little more brave…to maybe do one thing every day that gives us that crummy feeling in the pit of our stomachs.  Still, it will be worth it.  No one who was ever lauded for their courage thought they were being brave at the time of action.  It was only later, and often without their knowledge, that the fruit of courage grew heavy on the tree of their life and character.

You may not be Aragorn today, astride a beautiful steed, hair blowing in the wind while a gaggle of Orcs surrounds your outnumbered army. (And let’s not forget that’s literature).  But you may have the opportunity to stick up for a coworker who's misunderstood.  

You may not be Dietrich Bonhoeffer, defiantly loving even his enemies while waiting to perish in Hitler’s death camps.  But you certainly can speak loving truth to your friend who is in a destructive relationship. 

You can try cooking when all you’ve ever done is make sandwiches. 

You can get out of bed, when all you want to do is pull the quilt over your head.

You’re not Abraham Lincoln, Mother Theresa or Magellan.  But what of it?  The Bravest of all still says to you:

“Be bold and very courageous.  Do not be terrified; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.”  Joshua 1:9

Those words are for everyday people in everyday life.

Even consummate chickens, like me.

Your friend on the pilgrim road,

Loriann

The Loaded Question

Many times I’ve wiped these cheeks dry with the sleeve of a sweatshirt lo these few years since the BC/AD (before crash/after disaster) marker of my life on this bleeding planet.  (And I don’t mean “bleeding” in the British curse sense, but in the more literal interpretation of the fallout of trauma).

 This very day I sat in a vinyl lawn chair at another STOP DWI awareness venue, next to my friend Bill.  In 1977 his wife, oldest son and daughter were killed by a drunk driver.  His youngest son was in a coma for 30 days, but survived to grow up without his mother, brother or sister.  

People stopped by to talk.  A man with severe Parkinson’s disease, age 50, approached our table and spoke with grace and candor to me, describing the device implanted in his chest with probes to his brain to control his wild shaking and seizing. His slurred words could not disguise the clarity of his grateful heart.

My sweet friend with pancreatic cancer occupied my pondering over the course of the day.  She weeps over the thought of blueberries she may never pick with her beloved  8- year old granddaughter.

And I wait for a text from my daughter, alone in an apartment 400 miles away, at war with a brain that works intermittently well and poorly since the BC/AD marker when a drunk driver nearly killed her. 

Still, the sky is achingly blue.  There’s the smile on the face of the man with Parkinson’s.  And the joy of the pool player who does tricks and tells the gospel story with the different color cue balls.  Not to mention how I laughed out loud listening to the lady who works for the county telling me about her 81 year old mother standing on the bed to change a light bulb.  These are the grace gifts of a fallen world.

We always ask “WHY?” in tragedy.  It’s an appropriate question - and an honest one. 

But have you ever heard anyone ask “WHY” for the beauty and wonder of it all? 

Why are there Hydrangea bushes, bursting with indigo and white, like giant puff balls for a fairy tale queen?

Why to that foamy, blue- green sea, bubbling up on shore like a 3 year old in gales of laughter?

Why to the cherry red cardinals at the bird feeder on that chilly morning in late September, or the crunch and sweetness of August corn, or that first sip of coffee in the morning?

Why is a fair question, but only when asked from both sides of the aisle.

In a way, it’s easier to answer the why of trouble and heartache.  The unfairness and darkness of this world are ingrained deep into our bones.  We’ve fought to survive and protect ourselves from pain since the fall.  We see the darkness in ourselves.  And though many blame The Most High, most folks understand there are forces at work, from within and without, that are ancient and sadly, predictable.

But loveliness is at once over-familiar and startling.  I cross the Hudson every day and miss the sweep of sky and color over that mighty river.  Then, at once I am overwhelmed by the mist lifting off the river’s wave peaks and twirling upward like some wispy dancer made of vapor.  Why?  Why such a superfluity of beauty on display all around me every day?  Do I ever question the absolutely obscene abundance of goodness on a planet wracked with suffering?

C.S. Lewis said pain is God’s megaphone to the world.  I think he might be right.  I never lose track of the burden of bone weariness that news stories about racism create in me.  I’m keenly aware of the heartache of a daughter swimming against a rogue current where she was tossed by someone else’s sin.  And I certainly don’t miss the pain of the injury to my own soul by my own sin and folly. These stretch me out with both loud cries and desperate whispers to the Almighty.  No, the mess doesn’t seem to pass by unnoticed.  But sadly, the beauty does.

Why is evil rampant?  Why is good astonishingly ubiquitous? 

 No short answers on this essay.

WHY is a loaded question, no matter how you ask it.

Your friend on the pilgrim road,

Loriann

Ping Pong and the King Uzziah Hitch

Reading the truth of 2 Chronicles in the Holy Book is like watching a ping pong match: One king “did what was right in the eyes of the Lord…”, his son “did what was evil in the sight of the Lord”…and his son “did what was right in the eyes of the Lord until he became successful…”  Etc., etc., etc., down through all the cotton pickin’ ages.  (As an aside, this puts to flight the idea that there are any absolutes in the scrappy business of parenting).

So across court the ball bounces to Uzziah, son of Amaziah (who ended badly, by the way…Amaziah “did what was right in the eyes of the Lord, but not wholeheartedly”).  It’s looking hopeful with Uzziah.  This young man became king at age 16.  He sought hard after God, and even had the privilege of sitting under the teaching of the great prophet Zechariah.  He built towers, dug well, planted vineyards.  In a word, he prospered, both inwardly and outwardly.

God gave Uzziah whopping success.  Any 21^st century man would read about him in Fortune magazine and be green with envy.

Then, smack.

“His fame spread far and wide, for he was greatly helped UNTIL HE BECAME POWERFUL. After Uzziah became powerful his pride lead to his downfall.”  2 Chronicles 26:15-16

I absorb these words and smack…knees hit the floor.  I assume the only right posture when you’ve been blessedly warned.  And I say to a Father who lives in unimaginable light and holiness: “I don’t want to go that way.  But I know I could.  Unless you rescue me from pride I’m headed  for that side of the ping pong table.”

The thing about pride is this: you don’t see it in yourself. 

How did that other king, the great shepherd king, escape Uzziah’s lot?  How did David, despite some really dumb moves and wretched twists and turns, end on a note of grace?

As far as my limited understanding can grasp, I think it’s because he stayed tight with God.  He asked for vision to see his own folly.  “Forgive my hidden faults” is a mighty powerful request and David made it.  God once sent the prophet Nathan to point a big fat finger at that royal chest when he was blind to his elaborate pride.  David didn’t argue or have the prophet killed (which lots of kings did when they didn’t like a particular message).  David spoke these liberating words, the beginning of a turn back to wisdom: “ I have sinned against the Lord…”

God only knows what that revelation saved him from.

Or what it could save any of us from. 

Your friend on the pilgrim road,

Loriann

Perfectly Ordinary

That young, beautiful girl, one of the dearest and best, milled around after church to talk to this middle aged me with these eye sockets looking a bit droopy and years of mistakes behind me like Hansel and Gretel’s bread trail.

She tells me how she’s student teaching little kids from the other side of the tracks, and the love light twinkles in her kind, life’s-all-in-front-of-me eyes.  She cares about these babies, really cares. But she dips a little low and wonders if she’s making a difference.  She wonders if she should be hiking to some cliff in Central America to help a hurting child in the backwoods of nowhere.

 I nod, because I understand.  Sometimes the daily of life feels insignificant.  But with over half a century behind me, well, there’s a lot I don’t know, but this is true for sure:

Ordinary people, doing ordinary things, by way of an extraordinary God, couldn't be less ordinary.

Ask me how it was when the men from church came with their ordinary tools to make my house wheelchair ready for my main squeeze, after he was nearly killed by the drunk driver…Ask me how it was when the ordinary secretary at the doctor’s office found a way to get me in (with a dose of kindness to boot) when my baby girl was suffering so…Ask  a thousand ordinary people about what it meant to have one person smile and care when they had a rotten Monday, or their car broke down and someone stopped with a jack, or when the Panera girl went back to get a fresh baguette because the ones up front felt a little too stale.

Here I am, not wrestling so hard with this anymore, because I have seen the beauty in the ordinary works of ordinary people.  I love how Helen Keller puts it:

“I long to do a great and noble thing, but it is my duty to do small things as if they were great and noble.”

I have that up, over my desk, reminding me that every phone call I make, every conversation I have, every email I send can be and should be seasoned with the salt of the love of Jesus Christ.  Oh, how I wish it were true all the time.  But it is what I attain to…and what that girl just starting down the road is learning too.  She told me how she got the revelation…”DUH” she said, “I’ve got hurting children right before my eyes!”  And what a wonder they have in her.

How I wish I saw that at 21.  How I wish I searched less for my own significance, and spent my life making others significant…mostly, letting others know their unmatched significance to the most Significant One ever.  We learn, we grow, and regret never nourished a life.  Forward, onward, upward to the high calling of being a servant to all.  That’s the real business of life.  Marley’s ghost phrased it perfectly in his conversation with Scrooge from Charles Dickens’ “A Christmas Carol”:

“Mankind was my business. The common welfare was my business; charity, mercy, forbearance, benevolence, were all my business. The dealings of my trade were but a drop of water in the comprehensive ocean of my business! "

I remember when that girl with the radiant smile and bright mind sat in a highchair in my house, stuffing bananas in her mouth and making us laugh.  Filling our house with joy.  Those ordinary moments, they are the highlights of my life.  The mundane, everyday gift of love in all its multiplied facets is what Jesus came here for.

What could be more significant than that?

Your friend on the pilgrim road,

Loriann