31 Days of Courage: The Courage to Swim Upstream

Here’s a quote by a wonderful author and blogger whose words have many a day given me courage:

"Any dead fish can go with the flow — you have to be intentionally alive to swim against the current." 

~ Ann Voskamp

This post is going to offend some people.  And believe me when I say I have no intention and no motivation whatsoever to be offensive.  I try very hard to stick to universal truths in my blog posts, and to stay away from politics and touchy subjects.  Not because I don’t have strong beliefs, but because I believe my little calling in these daily scribbles has always been to bring encouragement for everyday people in their everyday world.  Other  folks, much smarter and far better educated than I have the grand calling of the big picture. 

But Ann Voskamp’s quote, not to mention her fearless and grace filled writing, have given me some courage to tackle a topic highly controversial but deadly important.  And I’m scared because I might be misunderstood, accused of being judgmental, and instantly dismissed.  These are all things that push the chicken buttons of my heart.

So with fear and trembling  I want to spend just a few paragraphs today in defense of the defenseless.  And in the age we are living in even mentioning this horrendously painful topic is most definitely swimming upstream.  But I don’t want to be a dead fish.

Since 1973, approximately 57 million unborn children in the United States of America have been denied an opportunity to take their first breath.  There probably isn’t much sense in going over the arguments surrounding this silent holocaust, euphemistically referred to as “women’s reproductive rights”.  Those who defend the practice of abortion and those who oppose it often cannot be moved.  And I’m sure I will change no one’s mind today.  My point here is that there is a cultural tide moving in the opposite direction to those who stand firmly in the defense of life.  We must be willing to be thought of as intolerant, judgmental and pharisaical.  We must swim against the stream and accept the consequences.  And above all, we must not become ungracious and mean spirited in our unshakable grip on the truth.  One can run into the wind without spitting into it.

Yesterday I wrote about encouragement.  The giving of courage to another.  And who needs it more than a woman who finds herself with an unplanned, unwanted pregnancy.  It takes a tremendously brave person to risk her reputation (although that’s not as big a factor here in the 21^st century), her career, or a relationship to give the gift of life to another small, helpless human being.   It takes even more courage to then place that child in the loving arms of an adoptive mother.  That kind of courage, self- sacrificing and profound, is what elevates our humanity.  It is like the fire fighters who went up the stairs of the World Trade Center to rescue the helpless ones inside.  They were willing to risk everything to save those souls.  Beautiful in the extreme.

There is no easy when it comes to courage.  It is not neat and clean like it looks in the movies.  Courage costs big time, and not just in ways that can be seen, but in emotional losses that can last a lifetime.  The strength to carry a baby to term, and then give that child away requires great endurance and willingness to accept loss.    It demands being intentionally alive, feeling a million feelings, and swimming against the current.  

Smitty and I regularly support a ministry called Alpha Center, which devotes itself to meeting the physical, psychological and spiritual needs of women who make the brave choice to keep their babies, and also to bring comfort and hope to those who have already experienced the devastation of having had an abortion.  This is where the pedal meets the medal.  How are we going to be there for the mother who makes the hard choice, and the one whose courage was battered? 

I know it’s a complicated issue.  So were the international  politics of 9-11.  But that didn’t matter to the people in the towers.  They just wanted to live.  They just needed someone to be brave enough to pull them from the flames.

Perhaps we ought to swim upstream with all our might, whatever is thought of us, to stand and deliver.  Not with violence or harsh tongue or clenched fist.  But with tenderhearted compassion and open hands and brave hearts.  In whatever small way the Spirit of the Living God shows us.

That way, we won’t be dead fish.

Your friend on the pilgrim road,

Loriann

31 Days of Courage: When Courage Fails- The Sequel

Yesterday’s post highlighted what I consider the great antidote for the ailment of failed courage: 

God’s Grace. 

I pointed out what I believe with all my chicken heart: that grace trumps all.  The vaulted courage of the fully human Christ to endure the emotional, physical and spiritual agony of the rejection of the Cross is his banner across the ages.  Read it every day…it says “I have enough grace for your worst failures.”

There is something else, though, perhaps less regal but beautiful all the same that travels the pilgrim road as a companion of grace.

My children, born between 1993 and 1997 are the generation of the Toy Story movies.  The first film my firstborn ever saw was Toy Story 1.  After his introduction to that marvelous screen gem, he spent many a waking hour jumping off chairs with the expensive Buzz Lightyear laser gun his Grandma Smith bought him.  And as he “flew” through the air he would shout:

“To infinity, and beyond!”

If you’ve never seen the Toy Story movies, OMG for heaven’s sake get thee to the DVD store!

In Toy Story 1, Buzz Lightyear comes on the scene as a new toy for the boy Andy, who has spent much of his short life with Woody, a cowboy toy with a friendly face who sounds suspiciously like Tom Hanks.  Buzz believes he’s a true space superhero, and Woody feels like second fiddle when the souped up space ranger commands a generous portion of Andy’s attention. 

Conflicts arise, and without giving all the details, Buzz winds up learning he’s not a real space hero at all, but just a toy. Worst of all, Buzz finds out he can’t really fly.

 And here’s the point: Buzz loses heart, in a big way.  His sense of purpose, his joy, and his identity are devastated.  Until.

Until Woody, who has his own character growth spurt, becomes Buzz’s ENCOURAGER.  See that word!  That’s my take on the 2^nd antidote to the failure of courage.  Encouragement. 

I want more than anything to be an encourager.  This broken down world needs a whole lot more Woody’s to get the Buzz’s flying high again.  Even if their flying is only just “falling, with style.”

What a privilege to help someone find their courage.  How I repent of the times I’ve sapped people of theirs’ with words unwise. 

And how little it takes to encourage someone!  A joke for the bus driver, a verbal pat on the back for a child while they battle through long division, a coffee delivered to a desk for a tired co-worker.  Try looking for something small today you can do to give somebody else on this runaway merry go round a lick of courage.  There is no dearth of folks who need some strength.

Sometimes there is no human encourager.  There is only God.  And it is then we must dig deep and believe that powerful word of truth from the real Star Command:

“May our Lord Jesus Christ himself and God our Father, who loved us and by His grace gave us eternal encouragement and good hope, encourage your hearts and strengthen you in every good deed and word.”  2 Thessalonians 2:16-17

Encouragement.

It will take us and our struggling fellow pilgrims…

To infinity…and beyond!

Your friend on the pilgrim road,

Loriann

31 Days of Courage: When Courage Fails

In May of 1431, a young woman of great courage and faith experienced what we all will: a failure of courage.

Joan of Arc is famous for her outstanding feats as a French soldier, in an age when women were considered on a level with dogs and dust.  She had an intimate and powerful relationship with God, and ultimately it was this great strength that was used to kill her.

For reasons mostly political, the Anglo-Burgundian military of England captured the “Maid of Orleans” to make an example of her.  She had encouraged and fearlessly led the French army to victory after victory against their forces as they quarreled over the rightful holder of the throne, and they had had enough. (I don 't pretend to understand the complicted politics of that time...what was English and what was French was a mixed up mess). Using trumped up charges to get her off the grid, Joan was imprisoned, badgered, tormented and broken down by her captors.  As is unfortunately often the case, religious leaders became the bad guys in this story.  Those medieval Pharisees took wickedness to new heights as they brutally stripped a teenage girl of any human comfort.

During one of the many sessions Joan of Arc was forced to endure, she was asked this question:

“Do you know whether or not you are in God’s grace?”

And this uneducated peasant girl, beaten down, persecuted and exhausted, gave a stunning answer that would boggle even the most learned theologian:

“If I am not, may God put me there; and if I am, may God so keep me. I should be the saddest creature in the world if I knew I were not in His grace."

As religious men had  tried to trap her Savior, so they did to her.

Finally, after multiple trials, with the chief charge being “cross dressing” (Joan clung to her soldier clothing to protect herself from her guards’ constant threats of rape) she was presented with a document to sign, recanting her call from God and the accompanying visions. 

She signed the paper.  Her courage failed her.

And it has failed us, under a lot less pressure and with a lot less to lose.

What are we to do then?  When courage fails, as it has for people like Moses, King David, and Peter the Apostle, is there still hope?  What is the remedy for courage lost?

There are 2 things that come to mind.  One I will address in today’s post, and one in tomorrows’.  

Today, the very words of Joan of Arc give a clue to the antidote for a heart lost to fear and failure:

“I would be the saddest creature in the world if I knew I were not in His grace.”

Greater than any failure of courage, or any act of courage, is the power and might of the Grace of God.  His grace to poor, weak mortals like us only makes more brilliant the wonder of his condescension to the likes of mankind.  Motivated purely by love.  Expressed and demonstrated by the unfailing courage of the Son of God.  Fully man, carrying the weight of all the world, he went to the stake without hesitation. 

Eventually Joan of Arc, in misery and sorrow, but clearly with supernatural assistance, recanted her recanting.  She received the grace in which she trusted, and with her hope firmly placed in the atoning death of Christ Jesus was burned at the stake as a heretic.  She was the same age as my daughter.

In one moment, courage failed for Joan of Arc, but it was grace that prevailed.  Grace trumps failure.  

Grace trumps all.

Remember that when your courage fails.

Your friend on the pilgrim road,

Loriann

31 Days of Courage: What I Learned From My Mother

One thing I really love about Jesus, among many, is his uncanny knack for making friends with the unlikeliest folks. 

A short guy who nobody likes…that swindler hanging in a tree, yep, Jesus went to his house for supper.  A woman at a well who was married umpteen times, was considered a nobody, especially to the Jews…Samaritan, she might as well have been a leper.  Oh yeah, lepers too.  And wealthy religious guys, soldiers and fishermen.  The humility of Christ is mind blowing.  He befriended those who thought they weren’t worthy to grovel at his feet and likewise those who thought He wasn’t worthy to grovel at theirs. 

As always, He stands as the high, exalted example.

Isn’t it strange how we folks today isolate ourselves from people not like us?  And quite frankly, it takes effort…courage really, to approach someone in a wheelchair who drools a little and makes funny noises.  On the other side of the fence, we fear starting a conversation with a corporate president in a Brooks Brother’s suit.  Why are we afraid of what is not like us?

My mother, Cynthia Marie Connor Champagne, was the bravest person I’ve ever known.  She battled the brutality of schizophrenia from her mid-twenties until she died at age 60.  One thing my mother was great at was relating to people of all stripes.  She treated doctors, lawyers, plumbers and janitors with the same respect.  Her wit was sharp and her humor steadfast despite the menacing burden of a horrific affliction.  She was isolated by her disease, but always stood at the ready to accept every person who could get past the oddities of her broken psyche.  Though many were uncomfortable with her, she stretched hard to reach some kind of relationship with people, even with the handicap of a broken mind.

Me, Mom and my brother Donnie - Danny's not born yet

Even though she was unable to raise me past my 10th birthday, she showed me the way of courage.

Today a family got on the elevator with me.  A young woman in her electric wheelchair, probably around 16, non-verbal with uncontrolled muscle movements,  playfully backed in to her mother.  I looked at this young woman, and thought of my mom, and of my Jesus, and how they might respond in this cramped space, with a profoundly disabled teenager who was goofing off with her mom even while trapped within the bounds of her great limitations.  But I was uncomfortable.

So I pulled up my big girl boots and spoke to the young woman.  I heard the whole family call her Micaela, so I had an in.

“Micaela, are you trying to squish your mom?”

Micaela lifted her head and smiled, and backed in to her again.  Her mom laughed, her sisters and her dad laughed, and I laughed!  Micaela’s mom looked at me with gratitude as if I had just handed her the ticket to Derek Jeter’s last game at Yankee Stadium. Why?  Because I had taken 10 seconds to acknowledge this precious human being who likely has been ignored and passed over by many.  I’ve done the passing over many times myself with people “not like me”. 

 In that little interaction of fun with Micaela, I felt the discomfort draining from my body.  As the doors opened, I put my hand on Micaela’s arm and felt her soft, warm sweater and smiled at her.  I was grateful to her for being there to bring me a bit of laughter in a cold world.  For a moment, we related.  I overcame my discomfort and found a little joy.

There’s nothing heroic in sharing a laugh with a disabled girl and her family.  But for me, there was a little bit of brave required to let go of what the outcome might be there.  These are the tiny attitudes and actions that might just bring us up out of the mundane and make an often icy world a little warmer.

Thanks Mom.

Your friend on the pilgrim road,

Loriann

31 Days of Courage: The Courage Not To Worry

 “Do not fret, it only leads to evil”.  Psalm 37:8

Them’s fightin’ words.

And here is the greatest enemy to courage in my everyday life.  Worry.

I’ve often said if I didn’t have something to worry about I’d make something up.  Anxiety is such a dominant gene in my family history it’s a wonder more of my ancestors didn’t land in mental institutions (and some did, no joke). 

Worry has robbed me of countless days, months…God help me, years of joy, peace and service to others. 

I am growing and changing by the grace of God, yes I am.  But what is it about that particular stronghold that, when it gets it’s talons in hard, ruins people’s lives?

This is a hard sub-subject to write about in this 31 day challenge because this is the area where I fail with greatest  dispatch.

And where I need to seek courage with ongoing endurance.  Worry is to courage what water is to fire.  But courage is to worry what the law of aerodynamics is to the law of gravity.  Courage can always rise above.  Courage has won the day in many an anxious heart.

Almost 5 years ago, my husband and daughter were nearly killed by a drunk driver.  For our girl, the road since then has been bumpy, steep and scary beyond what I can express here.  When I say I have cried out for courage it is an understatement in the extreme.  Every day I place that beloved child into the hands of her relentlessly loving Heavenly Father and exhale with surrender.  I don’t do it perfectly.  But this difficult trip has been the birthplace of courage for me…this soaring over the fields of worry to the high places of trust.  No matter what happens.

What is it for you?  What worry is strangling you?  The Great One is always telling us to cheer up, look up and buck up! He promises to be with us, to give us strength in our weakness and to love us through every failure.  Courage today might look as relatively small as facing your closet disaster, or as big as putting your disabled child square in the hands of God.  It might be having a conversation that’s long overdue, or trying again to find a job after significant unemployment. 

In the end, worry leads to nothing good and courage leads to everything worth anything.

There’s not been a single blog post in these 31 days so far that applies more to the writer.

And believe me when I tell you, it’s fight of my life.

How I need your prayers.

Your friend on the pilgrim road,

Loriann

31 Days of Courage: The Courage to Unplug

Sadly, I understand the addiction.  I’m not so much of a high tech addict.  I have a “dumb phone” and I don’t feel compelled to check my email and facebook page all the time.  But I do have a problem I’ve dealt with for almost my entire adult life.  And I can honestly say, with great trepidation, that I’m doing ok with that at the moment.  You see, I’m a talk radio junkie.

For many years I would have the blah, blah, blah on in the background as a matter of course.  I’d get in the car, on with the radio.  I’d work in the kitchen, on with the radio.  Despite feeling restless, anxious and negative from the listening, I listened on.  There was a true sickness to the whole thing.  It seemed innocent on the outside, but it was wildly unhealthy on the inside.  When I finally felt enough of the yuck, I stopped.  I unplugged.  And though I’m always in danger of going back to the mind numbing yacking, I’m so much better off without it. 

The whole culture has gone mad with noise and distraction.  We seem to be afraid of quiet.  Reflection and contemplation are disciplines of a former time.  This diabolical turn that has taken place in just the last 50 years, and in particular the last 20 years has clearly not improved our happiness factor.  Technology has made possible a world of good.  And a world of evil.

Socrates eloquently said:

“The unexamined life is not worth living.”

That’s a bold statement, shimmering with truth for today.  And the interior life cannot be examined with an I-phone, twitter account or video game.  It takes place alone, in sometimes uncomfortable stretches of quiet thought.  The enemy of our souls wants at that quiet so that no self- examination takes place.  So we’ll remain plugged in and unaware of the deeper meaning, like the lifeless masses in the movie “The Matrix”, or the fodder for devilish delight in C.S. Lewis’ masterpiece “The Screwtape Letters”.

It takes no small effort to walk away from our phones, our televisions, our radios, and our laptops and determine to consider and relate to God and man in real life. 

Listen, I’m not saying these things are wrong in and of themselves.  (And believe me when I say I’m preaching to myself here!)  But isn’t there a point where we must be the boss and say “enough”?  Where we shut the door to our room, put the phone on silent, and simply spend time thinking, reading, meditating, praying…

In the world we live in, that may be considered an act of courage.  Because I can tell you for sure, if you get quiet you’re going to notice that you need to change.  There’s no getting around it and there’s no missing it.  Turn down the volume, visual and auditory, and up comes the truth.  The liberating, powerful, beautiful truth of who we are and who God is.

It’s ironic that I’m using an electronic medium to communicate this concept.  But again, this isn’t about bashing technology but illuminating idolatry.  And only you know when you’ve crossed that line.  Only you can be brave enough to admit it and unplug.  Only you know how much is enough.   (Parents have to make those decision for their young children too so they aren’t eaten alive by the technology beast.  I admit I haven’t been as strong in that as I ought to have been.  I need mercy there too).

With all the understanding I can muster I say please don’t feel condemned, but please do be bold and strong.  Jesus exhorted his friends to “come away to a quiet place.”

God help us, do they even exist anymore?

Your friend on the pilgrim road,

Loriann

31 Days of Courage: Walter J. Baldwin and The Lost Battalion

It was called “The War to End All Wars”, and if only it had been.

World War I is remembered in our time for the way it changed war.  Barbed wire, armored tanks and The Great Influenza are some of the markers of that devastating darkness that left great sadness on the earth.

But where there is great darkness there is also great courage.  And I am utterly honored to devote this particular day of 31 Days of Courage to my husband’s grandfather, Battalion Sergeant-Major Walter J. Baldwin, a survivor of World War I’s  “ Lost Battalion”.

Battalion Sergeant-Major Walter J. Baldwin 

Much of the information below can be credited to Smitty’s uncle, Tom Baldwin, who took all of his father’s papers and published a book for the whole Baldwin clan.  I am grateful to him for understanding the value of words…that they live, and are mighty to change lives. 

Grandpa Baldwin’s own parents died before he reached his teenage years.  He had an 8^th grade education, proof that character is completely independent of social status or outside opinion.  Clearly Walter was self- educated.  His memoirs are clear and detailed.  Like many of the great men in the wars of the past, he really never spoke of his time as a soldier.   Thankfully though, he believed the record of his time with The Lost Battalion was worth preserving.

For 18 months, during  1918-1919, Walter Baldwin was part of the 77^th Division of New York State’s Statue of Liberty Division, made up almost entirely of men from New York City.  For six months he was involved in the U.S. drive from the trenches of central France through the fortress of the Argonne Forest.  And according to Uncle Tom, he was unable to even change his shirt during those 6 months.  Hardship was a constant companion.  For six interminable days during that time, Grandpa Baldwin survived what most people could not.  For six days, 24 hours a day, he and the other men of the Lost Battalion were shelled constantly, subject to fire from their own side and the enemy’s.  Without food or water in a spot called “the pocket”, 554 men were surrounded by German forces with their location unknown to the Americans battling on behind and unaware that the French advance had been stalled.

Cut off from communication and help, men of the 77^th Division suffered terrible loss of life and unimaginable suffering.  They also performed awe inspiring feats of valor.

Grandpa Baldwin received the Silver Star for pulling a fellow soldier back to a “funk hole”, during one deadly mortar attack, saving his life.  Sleepless and afraid, these men carried on without surrender, making the higher cause their bedrock, and though no doubt longing for relief, refusing to relent. 

That, my friends, is courage.

Longing for relief, but refusing to relent.

Roughly 197 men were killed in action and approximately 150 missing or taken prisoner before 194 remaining men were rescued by American forces. Grandpa Baldwin survived.  If he hadn’t, Smitty wouldn’t be here. Or Joseph, Hannah and David.   Nuf said.

I’ve been writing these October days on the subject of courage to become a little braver in my own life.  And to hopefully encourage you to be a little more brave in the everyday.  But there are some acts of heroism, some duties fulfilled with such courage, that they drop me to my knees.  And I ask the Hero of Heroes to help me be brave enough, should the time ever come, to be willing to do the right thing no matter the cost.  Like Grandpa Baldwin.  And the great men of The Lost Battalion.

Still, there is value in the courage of small things, every day.  And I’d bet the farm that Walter J. Baldwin had plenty of practice in small acts of valor before he ever advanced to the Silver Star.

Such a debt of gratitude I owe this man who died long before I even met my husband.

I pray his courage will live on in my children.

And in their mother.

Your friend on the pilgrim road,

Loriann

31 Days of Courage: The Courage to Try Something New

The earth is filled with a million wonders.  There are places, people and things that are simply bursting with the life and delight that the Creator originally intended.  Some of us tend to be more pragmatic, and often miss the party.  Everyone knows the world is wracked with sorrow.  But there’s still and always a reason to dance

Everyone who knows Smitty and I will tell you…we love the classic movies.  Those pictures from the 1940’s are my favorite.  And if there’s any tap dancing in one of those films, I’m all over it. 

When Fred Astaire does the firecracker dance in Holiday Inn (music and lyrics by the inimitable Irving Berlin) well, I’m done for.

I’ve wanted to learn to tap dance since I can remember.  But the pragmatist in me never found the time.  There are too many responsibilities; it’s too expensive, blah, blah, blah.  Truth be told, I didn’t relish looking like an idiot.  And having failed miserably at drill team when I was in 2^nd grade, I remain quite insecure about my coordination, or should I say extreme lack there of.    

But here I am, spouting about courage.  And as I said in a previous post, I have no interest in being a big mouth.  I’m taking this 31 day challenge because I want to practice writing, but also because I want to change. 

So this evening, after work, after grocery shopping, after dinner…all those practical duties I’m famous for, I drove up Columbia Turnpike to Isabelle’s school of dance, borrowed a pair of worn out tap shoes and joined the adult beginners class.

I shuffled and heel tapped and grapevined an even tried to ball-change.  I was perfectly awful.  But I had fun!  I overcame my 5 decades of insecurity and tapped my little feet on the floor.  This body that’s birthed 3 babies, sags in all the wrong places, and will likely be sore tomorrow grabbed hold of a little of life’s pleasures. 

I say all this to say all this: Go try something new!  Even if you stink at it, even if you try and decide it’s not for you…there’s something so spiritually healthy about stepping out of your cotton pickin’ box!  For me, I’m such a melancholy baby that it does me a world of good to dance to “Steppin’ Out With My Baby”.  For you maybe it’s cooking or painting or skiing or taking pictures.  Just do something you think sounds fun.  Don’t worry, life’s troubles won’t go anywhere while you take a little break.

Speaking of fun, here’s a little fact about Fred Astaire that always amuses me:  When RKO Pictures did a screen test on Fred Astaire the report came back as follows:

“Can’t sing.  Can’t act.  Balding.  Can dance a little.”

Taking a few tap dancing lessons is not exactly earth shattering bravery.  But these 31 days are for ordinary folks like me. 

Can’t sing.  Can’t dance.  Sagging.  Can be brave…a little.

Your friend on the pilgrim road,

Loriann

31 Days of Courage: When Celebrity is Mistaken for Courage

I am truly sorry for the late Michael Jackson.  It appears he had a tough upbringing by a severe father.  He clearly could not cope with the rigors of celebrity.  He was confused about who he was.  In the end, his extreme efforts to numb his pain wound up killing him.  It’s a tragic story, especially for those who really loved the true Michael.  And I’m not talking about the hordes of fans.  I mean his family.  I wish Michael Jackson could have found his way to some hope. 

But Michael Jackson was not a hero.  At least not the way the media and his adoring fans proclaim.  He may have been brave in some unseen places we’ll never know.  But he has been assigned a public status that is undeserved.  Talented, yes.  Generous, perhaps.  But courageous…certainly not for the things the public credits to him.

Let’s not confuse celebrity and courage.  Some truly courageous people become famous, but most famous people in today’s culture are considered brave for no apparent reason other than that they are famous.

Oprah may be a courageous woman, but not because she donates cars to people and makes a public display of it on her TV show.  Courage is generally something that makes us less popular, not more.  It usually involves swimming against a cultural tide, not with it.  Celebrity in some ways makes courage less likely.

But if Oprah overcomes some difficult personal area of stubborn sin, where no one sees, and it costs her in some way…now that starts to fit with the definition of courage.

Lance Armstrong was considered a hero for his perseverance in the face of “false” accusation.  He rode his bike so very fast, but did that make him a hero?  A great athlete, perhaps…but did it make him brave?  In the end, perhaps the folks who he falsely accused were the truly courageous people.   They stood up, told the truth and were vilified for daring to contradict a celebrity.

   

In no way am I trying to say that being famous disqualifies a person in the courage department.  The point I’m making is that celebrity must not be confused with gallantry.  Most often, those practicing true courage are trembling in their boots.  There are internal wars going on that no one sees.

Perhaps reaching out to difficult family member who has hurt us requires greater strength of character than standing up at the Oscars with a statue in hand platforming our dearest cause to folks who already agree with us.

 

So no offense meant here to your favorite celebrity.  Only the strong conviction that fame does not equal stoutheartedness. 

When the last trumpet sounds, there will only be One celebrity left standing anyway.  And let’s not forget He was spit on, mocked, tortured and falsely accused to death.  For the sake of our salvation.  To give hope to folks like Michael Jackson, Oprah and Lance Armstrong.  And you.  And me.

We are the only trophies He wanted to hold.

Your friend on the pilgrim road,

Loriann

31 Days of Courage: The Courage to Turn Back

“I do not think that all who choose wrong roads perish; but their rescue consists in being put back on the right road. A sum can be put right: but only by going back til you find the error and working it afresh from that point, never by simply going on. Evil can be undone, but it cannot 'develop' into good. Time does not heal it. The spell must be unwound, bit by bit, 'with backward mutters of dissevering power' --or else not.”   ~ C.S. Lewis

Math is another country to me.  Those who love it wax rhapsodically about the beauty of its logic and the perfection of its forms. 

To all that I say poppycock.

Especially I say “don’t be mixing my letters with my numbers”.  But math does have a way of telling the truth straight out.  If you fumble half way through a problem, in fact if you turn wrong at any point, you will not get where you want to go until you go back, figure out what went awry, and make it right. 

When I was in my 20’s and working for a TV show for children called Reading Rainbow, I travelled a lot to interesting locations.  We would shoot for several days or weeks at one place or another, with an entourage of production people and props.

On one of my first location shoots at the ripe old age of 21, we were shooting a scene on the Delaware River to highlight a sweet little book called “Three Days on a River in a Red Canoe.”  At one point the director asked me to move some towels off of some rocks in the river that were messing up a shot.  So I carefully waded in, on somewhat slippery footing, and grabbed an armful of some sunbather's stuff to move to another rock. 

All well and good, until I saw a watch that was in the clump drop and sink into the bottom of the river.  Lost, swept away, gonzo.

And I told no one.

Later, the owner of said watch approached me and asked if I had seen what turned out to be an heirloom time piece.  I cringe to this day when I think of how I denied ever seeing it. 

I was afraid I would lose my job, afraid I’d be thought a fool, afraid, afraid, afraid.

For months after that, the lady with the watch would call our office asking for compensation.  And finally, after the agony of my lie outdid the agony of my fear, I turned back.  I went back to fix the part of the equation where I messed up.  I went in to my bosses, told the whole truth, offered to pay for the watch, and repented of the whole ugly mess.

I didn’t lose my job, and I didn’t even have to pay for the watch.  My company reimbursed that longsuffering woman, and mercy was given to me.

The point here, though, is that it takes courage to make a U-turn.  A body in motion does tend to stay in motion, and so it’s hard to turn around even when you’ve got a bad feeling you’re headed the wrong way.

Perhaps it’s an unhealthy relationship that really needs to end.  Or an apology long overdue.  There are complete mindsets that must be questioned…where we must turn around and go back to where we should have made a left and instead made a right.  These painful trudges back to the place of decision will ultimately lead us to discover the correct sum.  But we won’t get there without turning back.

On its face turning back sounds like it would be the cowardly thing to do.  Would the Apostle Peter think so?  He had to turn back from his devastating decision in order to move forward and become one of the church’s greatest heroes.  Imagine if he wallowed in his mistake, and continued down the apparently safe road of denying Christ?  But Peter did turn around, and because he did he still speaks with authority and grace to all of us, lo these two thousand years later.

He couldn’t go forward until he turned back.

Somehow every member of my family got the math gene except me. Those crazy “radicals” my son is studying in Algebra 2 with Trigonometry might as well be written in Swahili.  If I never understand the joy some folks get from cosigns, it won’t matter in the long run.  But it will matter a great deal if I’m unwilling to turn around when I’ve got it wrong somewhere in the grand scheme of things. 

The theological word for all this turning is repentance.  About that I can wax poetic til they figure out the last number in pi.

And when we turn back, The Great One promises to be merciful to us, and not to keep a record of our sins and wrong turnings as if He were some miserly accountant with a chip on his shoulder.

His Son paid the debt, we get the grace.

That’s what you call divine math.

Your friend on the pilgrim road,

Loriann