Thursday, May 24, 2012
Gift on Waking
As we stand in Heaven and watch the memory of ourselves grow dimmer on the earth, we categorize the phenomenon among the things that just don't matter, as we ourselves grow ever brighter in the presence of Ultimate Reality.
Tuesday, May 22, 2012
Grace, A Year Later
Today is the anniversary of the most dramatic and galvanizing event in the history of our small city; it is Tornado Day. Everyone here was impacted, some in ways unutterably horrific and some, like myself, with only inconvenience and irritation.
Only inconvenience is the answer I gave, and usually still give, when asked if the storm "got us". The storm "got us" most significantly by allowing us and those we love to be bathed in grace.
The storm took down a building where we (Hub) had a young man working, the son of my dearest friend. For hours we thought he was gone. For hours men dug with bare hands and back hoes. One of them was the boy's father, thinking and feeling what can be known only to a father facing a gut-wrenching near certainty of unspeakable loss. One was my Hub, fighting tears and time. Both, and many others, fighting for Stephen; desperate to find him, desperately hoping he would be found elsewhere, safe and well. I felt, in some weird, metaphysical way, responsible. I was trying to help my friend, his mother, hold onto hope while trying to push aside the paralyzing thought of how I could ever face her if.
Across town, drama was playing out in a different way. You certainly know the story of Malachi, The Boy Who Lived. Malachi survived a blow to the face by a cement block, which should have killed him instantly, was helped by friends who, providentially nearby and providentially prepared, gave him the proper treatment and carried him to the hospital. The triage team didn't know where he was when his family arrived. It was a war zone there, and there was not time for niceties like insurance information or, often, for patient names. There was no billing by the hospital that night; helping people became paramount. Malachi's family searched for him room-by-room and bed-by-bed. When he was found on a stretcher in a side hallway they were told that patients put there were seriously injured but stable enough to wait; many weren't. He was bathed in grace.
While searching for Malachi, his brother found Stephen, unhurt but stunned and shocky, contacted his family, and sat with him and kept him present until his father arrived. Hearing the storm approaching, he had gone not to the designated "safe area" in the building but to the bathroom adjacent to it. The safe area was destroyed, but he walked out of the bathroom unhurt. He should have been killed, but wasn't. He was bathed in grace.
Rumors were flying that night, of course. Malachi's sister was receiving texts asking if it was true that Malachi had been killed before she had even been told that he had been injured. A person who would send a text like this is more reptile than human. My first notice, not that I'm anyone, was someone receiving a text and casually (not, but sounded so) stating that Malachi was heading for surgery and was not expected to survive. Again, not true. Please, please, if you have any shred of human decency and are ever unfortunate to be present at such a disaster, please do not phone, text, email, or speak any "news" of which you yourself are not personally witness. It is not the time for gossip. The truth is hard enough in such circumstances, and it is hard enough to communicate with the physical and electronic systems all clogged by frantic people trying to find the truth about those they desperately love. Keep your mouth shut, your fingers off the buttons, and if you have to talk things over, do it in prayer.
Malachi was at my house last night, making music with friends. He is as awesome as he's always been. He has a few small scars but his face is unmarked. He is more thoughtful, perhaps, than a year before. Or perhaps he is just more determined to voice his heart, which he regularly puts on display at frictionlesstea.blogspot.com
Stephen starts a new job today, so will be around here less often for a while and he'll be missed.
I care deeply for both these young men, the sons of my friends, and friends of my sons. (How cool is that?) I am thankful every day that they were spared when so many, equally beloved, were taken. We need to remember the One who protected their lives, and we need to remember those who were lost. We need to remember not the storm, but the Calmer of the storm, and the fact that we who belong to Him, whether present in time or out of time into eternity, are awash in limitless grace.
Only inconvenience is the answer I gave, and usually still give, when asked if the storm "got us". The storm "got us" most significantly by allowing us and those we love to be bathed in grace.
The storm took down a building where we (Hub) had a young man working, the son of my dearest friend. For hours we thought he was gone. For hours men dug with bare hands and back hoes. One of them was the boy's father, thinking and feeling what can be known only to a father facing a gut-wrenching near certainty of unspeakable loss. One was my Hub, fighting tears and time. Both, and many others, fighting for Stephen; desperate to find him, desperately hoping he would be found elsewhere, safe and well. I felt, in some weird, metaphysical way, responsible. I was trying to help my friend, his mother, hold onto hope while trying to push aside the paralyzing thought of how I could ever face her if.
Across town, drama was playing out in a different way. You certainly know the story of Malachi, The Boy Who Lived. Malachi survived a blow to the face by a cement block, which should have killed him instantly, was helped by friends who, providentially nearby and providentially prepared, gave him the proper treatment and carried him to the hospital. The triage team didn't know where he was when his family arrived. It was a war zone there, and there was not time for niceties like insurance information or, often, for patient names. There was no billing by the hospital that night; helping people became paramount. Malachi's family searched for him room-by-room and bed-by-bed. When he was found on a stretcher in a side hallway they were told that patients put there were seriously injured but stable enough to wait; many weren't. He was bathed in grace.
While searching for Malachi, his brother found Stephen, unhurt but stunned and shocky, contacted his family, and sat with him and kept him present until his father arrived. Hearing the storm approaching, he had gone not to the designated "safe area" in the building but to the bathroom adjacent to it. The safe area was destroyed, but he walked out of the bathroom unhurt. He should have been killed, but wasn't. He was bathed in grace.
Rumors were flying that night, of course. Malachi's sister was receiving texts asking if it was true that Malachi had been killed before she had even been told that he had been injured. A person who would send a text like this is more reptile than human. My first notice, not that I'm anyone, was someone receiving a text and casually (not, but sounded so) stating that Malachi was heading for surgery and was not expected to survive. Again, not true. Please, please, if you have any shred of human decency and are ever unfortunate to be present at such a disaster, please do not phone, text, email, or speak any "news" of which you yourself are not personally witness. It is not the time for gossip. The truth is hard enough in such circumstances, and it is hard enough to communicate with the physical and electronic systems all clogged by frantic people trying to find the truth about those they desperately love. Keep your mouth shut, your fingers off the buttons, and if you have to talk things over, do it in prayer.
Malachi was at my house last night, making music with friends. He is as awesome as he's always been. He has a few small scars but his face is unmarked. He is more thoughtful, perhaps, than a year before. Or perhaps he is just more determined to voice his heart, which he regularly puts on display at frictionlesstea.blogspot.com
Stephen starts a new job today, so will be around here less often for a while and he'll be missed.
I care deeply for both these young men, the sons of my friends, and friends of my sons. (How cool is that?) I am thankful every day that they were spared when so many, equally beloved, were taken. We need to remember the One who protected their lives, and we need to remember those who were lost. We need to remember not the storm, but the Calmer of the storm, and the fact that we who belong to Him, whether present in time or out of time into eternity, are awash in limitless grace.
Sunday, May 13, 2012
Fighting the Midnight Monster
I recently heard a minister say that on a regular basis he is awakened early in the morning with a feeling of writhing humiliation; all his doubts, all his fears, all his failings and regrets are played on the big-screen of his imagination on an endless loop.
I am familiar with this phenomenon because I too suffer from middle-of-the-night remorse. Probably you do too, because I suspect we have a common enemy who loves to kick us when our defenses are low. When our biorhythms are in a trough and our bodies desperately long for more sleep, while we lie in the oppressive quiet, in the moments when we are all four years old -- afraid of the dark and afraid to turn on the light -- he whispers to us not lies, but the truth of our own memories, our own failures, our own worst moments. We toss on our hot pillows, reliving in vivid technicolor sins which our merciful Father has utterly forgotten. If we pray it is with the strength of a starving kitten, mewling for that of which we have already abundantly received. We waste our precious moments of prayer brooding over actions and decisions that matter to Him not at all.
The other morning while in the midst of this godless practice, it occurred to me that I do not have the right to cling to this guilt, or to continue to wallow in what, if the Scriptures are true, is gone. Gone. There is a song, currently popular,which contains the line "I don't have time to maintain these regrets." Not only have I not time, I have not authority to continually take back what I have released and had taken away. Jesus died with this on His shoulders. I've given it to Him and I have no more right to take it back than to take back anything else I've given Him. My time, my money, my children and friends, my past, they are all His to carry.
Having said that, and rather emphatically, let me forestall your first obvious objection. From time to time, we need to look back over the paths we've taken so that we can gain wisdom for the path ahead, or to help someone avoid or escape a trap into which we have previously fallen. This learning from experience lends value to the pain we've felt, and the pain we've caused.
We also face natural consequences. He saves us from ultimate justice, but usually lets us roll with the consequences. This is often painful as consequences can impact those we love most dearly. This tends to be a contributing factor to that early morning guilt-wallowing. Consequences are real and present, but it doesn't mitigate the fact that we must face down our tormentor at such times; he knows our sins are gone, but wants us to forget. We are enjoined in Hebrews 4:16 to approach the throne of grace with confidence. Let us so do and ask our Father to help us deal manfully, graciously, and appropriately with our consequences.
See you on the next page!
Deb
I am familiar with this phenomenon because I too suffer from middle-of-the-night remorse. Probably you do too, because I suspect we have a common enemy who loves to kick us when our defenses are low. When our biorhythms are in a trough and our bodies desperately long for more sleep, while we lie in the oppressive quiet, in the moments when we are all four years old -- afraid of the dark and afraid to turn on the light -- he whispers to us not lies, but the truth of our own memories, our own failures, our own worst moments. We toss on our hot pillows, reliving in vivid technicolor sins which our merciful Father has utterly forgotten. If we pray it is with the strength of a starving kitten, mewling for that of which we have already abundantly received. We waste our precious moments of prayer brooding over actions and decisions that matter to Him not at all.
The other morning while in the midst of this godless practice, it occurred to me that I do not have the right to cling to this guilt, or to continue to wallow in what, if the Scriptures are true, is gone. Gone. There is a song, currently popular,which contains the line "I don't have time to maintain these regrets." Not only have I not time, I have not authority to continually take back what I have released and had taken away. Jesus died with this on His shoulders. I've given it to Him and I have no more right to take it back than to take back anything else I've given Him. My time, my money, my children and friends, my past, they are all His to carry.
Having said that, and rather emphatically, let me forestall your first obvious objection. From time to time, we need to look back over the paths we've taken so that we can gain wisdom for the path ahead, or to help someone avoid or escape a trap into which we have previously fallen. This learning from experience lends value to the pain we've felt, and the pain we've caused.
We also face natural consequences. He saves us from ultimate justice, but usually lets us roll with the consequences. This is often painful as consequences can impact those we love most dearly. This tends to be a contributing factor to that early morning guilt-wallowing. Consequences are real and present, but it doesn't mitigate the fact that we must face down our tormentor at such times; he knows our sins are gone, but wants us to forget. We are enjoined in Hebrews 4:16 to approach the throne of grace with confidence. Let us so do and ask our Father to help us deal manfully, graciously, and appropriately with our consequences.
See you on the next page!
Deb
Saturday, May 5, 2012
Small Rant, Revisited
The Hub recently got a new contract - yay! - and was starting to feel that things may be on a slight upturn. If you've read this post, you will no doubt know the rest of the story.
The young lady engaged to fulfill the contract brought her boy friend to work with her. The boy was so fortunate as to find a "thrown away" laptop under a desk and was just carrying it out when he was stopped by a security guard.
The young lady has lost her job and may be in deeper trouble because apparently the boy is blaming the "finding" on her. Hub lost the contract. Boyfriend lost only an opportunity. I'm sure he hasn't lost the girl; girls are insanely loyal to parasitic user/abuser boys like this. If he does leave her - and it always the boy who does the leaving - there is an endless string of likewise worthless boys waiting to take his place. This type of girl is ever lonely, but never alone.
The young lady engaged to fulfill the contract brought her boy friend to work with her. The boy was so fortunate as to find a "thrown away" laptop under a desk and was just carrying it out when he was stopped by a security guard.
The young lady has lost her job and may be in deeper trouble because apparently the boy is blaming the "finding" on her. Hub lost the contract. Boyfriend lost only an opportunity. I'm sure he hasn't lost the girl; girls are insanely loyal to parasitic user/abuser boys like this. If he does leave her - and it always the boy who does the leaving - there is an endless string of likewise worthless boys waiting to take his place. This type of girl is ever lonely, but never alone.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)