It's been gray from start to finish today. We seem to have than our share of those in this corner of northern Indiana. Low clouds...a light mist...after some serious rainfall earlier in the week.
The grass is so green it looks electric. Homeowners are having a tough time keeping it cut down because it is growing so fast.
Seems like everyone I've talked to today says something like, "I'm so tired of this. I am ready for sunny...dry weather."
I understand that. I was hoping to go water skiing this evening, but the cool temps and the low clouds discouraged me from putting that particular plan into action.
As I was driving down the road, though, I realized there are parts of the world where people would be standing outside weeping with joy at the wet stuff falling out of the sky! Australia and parts of the US -as well as other corners of the globe- are in the grip of a terrible drought. Good topsoil is drying up and blowing away. Herds of livestock are being sold off.
When people have complained about the rain today, I have started responding, "There are parts of the world where people would be standing outside, faces upturned towards the sky, weeping with joy at the gift we are receiving."
Sometimes we complain even about the blessings God sends our way, don't we?
In Matthew 5 Jesus is talking about loving our enemies and praying for the people who make our lives miserable. He's trying to shake us loose from our human temptation to treat our friends well and our enemies like
-well- enemies. He points out, in verse 45, how God is different. He says God makes the sun to rise on the evil and the good, and that God sends rain on the just and the unjust. Sun is blessing...rain is blessing.
We grumble about cancelled golf games, bicycling trips, and picnics. Truth is we might look up at the wet stuff falling from the sky and say, "Thank you, Father. Thank you, Lord!"
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Mixed Signals.
Mixed signals can mean whatever we have to say for Jesus will be lost.
I thought of that as I heard a sermon about how important it is that Christians be all about mission. Not about self or ego. Set on fire with a desire to serve the least and the lost.
The preacher was wearing a beauitful robe with doctoral bars down the sleeves (that tells you that folks like me have a doctoral degree and are really important), and the lobby of the mega-church would have shamed the furnishings in the fanciest hotel. In his introduction of himself the preacher pointed out the academic degrees, honors and prestigous work roles of his children.
It's not about us - it's all about Jesus. Really?!
A friend attended a Christian concert by a woman who plays guitar -and sings- like an angel. He went to the lobby where her CD's were being sold, and the man managing the table snapped at my friend. Not once. Not twice. But three times. Made him feel stupid for asking a question about the woman's music and her web site. The music she sings is being drowned out by the lack of grace by the people on her team.
It's always more easy to see the mixed signals in other Jesus followers than it is to see how we say one thing and do another. Jesus says, in the Sermon on the Mount, that we are always ready to point out the wood speck in the eye of another person while being oblivious to the 2 x 4 in our own eye!
Here is the deal: people don't just pay attention to our words but they are watching the rest of our lives. Does this match up? Are they congruent?
None of us are perfect. All of us make mistakes. Each one of us is a sinner. One person struggles with gossip. Another with sexual sin. Another with ego. Another with a low-grade fever of greed so they never have enough.
But this business of sending mixed signals is really important.
Does the setting of your life match the words you speak for Jesus?
I thought of that as I heard a sermon about how important it is that Christians be all about mission. Not about self or ego. Set on fire with a desire to serve the least and the lost.
The preacher was wearing a beauitful robe with doctoral bars down the sleeves (that tells you that folks like me have a doctoral degree and are really important), and the lobby of the mega-church would have shamed the furnishings in the fanciest hotel. In his introduction of himself the preacher pointed out the academic degrees, honors and prestigous work roles of his children.
It's not about us - it's all about Jesus. Really?!
A friend attended a Christian concert by a woman who plays guitar -and sings- like an angel. He went to the lobby where her CD's were being sold, and the man managing the table snapped at my friend. Not once. Not twice. But three times. Made him feel stupid for asking a question about the woman's music and her web site. The music she sings is being drowned out by the lack of grace by the people on her team.
It's always more easy to see the mixed signals in other Jesus followers than it is to see how we say one thing and do another. Jesus says, in the Sermon on the Mount, that we are always ready to point out the wood speck in the eye of another person while being oblivious to the 2 x 4 in our own eye!
Here is the deal: people don't just pay attention to our words but they are watching the rest of our lives. Does this match up? Are they congruent?
None of us are perfect. All of us make mistakes. Each one of us is a sinner. One person struggles with gossip. Another with sexual sin. Another with ego. Another with a low-grade fever of greed so they never have enough.
But this business of sending mixed signals is really important.
Does the setting of your life match the words you speak for Jesus?
When Whatever You Say is Wrong.
Have you ever been in a relationship or meeting or class where whatever you said was wrong?
I'm in one of those places with someone I have known a long time...and loved for a long time.
The person is hurting. Feeling cut-off. And whatever I say turns out to be wrong.
Words I mean to be gracious are experienced as judgemental.
Words I mean to be empathetic are interpreted as critical.
It's a helpless feeling for me. There is the intent of the heart, but the words are proving inadequate. Like telephone lines that have been knocked to the ground by strong winds and falling limbs, my words are sent out but the message of the heart gets lost.
And I know it is a helpless feeling for her. She is feeling desperate, cut off, isolated, and in need of support - and whatever I offer feels like another weight. Another indication that she doesn't have anyone she can turn to.
So what do you do? Paul, in Romans 1st Corinthians 14:1, says "follow the way of love."
Here is what I have been reduced to doing:
1. Saying that I love her. That's it. Anything more somehow goes off in the wrong direction. Like a driver whose car is on ice, and no matter which direction he turns the steering wheel, the car ends up clipping the pole and ending up in the ditch. So I just keep saying, "I love you."
2. Praying for her. I am giving her to God. Maybe God can sort things out. Maybe God can help her hear the love behind my words. Maybe God can help me learn to use words that "get through." In the 1st chapter of 2nd Corinthians, Paul says (:9) he not relying on himself but on God "who raises the dead." Sometimes God gets through when we can't. Sometimes God sends someone else who can get over the defensive walls another person has constructed so carefully. I am giving this person to God. (I do that with people in the church who only seem to be irritated by my best efforts to lead and to love.)
3. Keeping the door open. I'm not a big believer in burning bridges. Writing other people off once and forever. Jesus, in Luke 18, has a conversation with a rich man who refuses to sell his possessions and give the money to the poor. The man fails the invitation to be free and healthy in God, but Jesus doesn't write him off forever. Doesn't tell him never to come back. So I do my best to keep the door open...allow for the possibility that the relationship may recover. Grow. Head off in a more healthy direction. Some people say "I'll never send any more cards" or "I won't call that person until they call me first." Not me. I'll keep calling (now and then). I'll keep sending cards. I'll keep letting her know I love her. But I'll not force her to deal with me. The door is open.
Sometimes whatever you say is wrong.
And all I am left with are the words, "I love you."
I'm in one of those places with someone I have known a long time...and loved for a long time.
The person is hurting. Feeling cut-off. And whatever I say turns out to be wrong.
Words I mean to be gracious are experienced as judgemental.
Words I mean to be empathetic are interpreted as critical.
It's a helpless feeling for me. There is the intent of the heart, but the words are proving inadequate. Like telephone lines that have been knocked to the ground by strong winds and falling limbs, my words are sent out but the message of the heart gets lost.
And I know it is a helpless feeling for her. She is feeling desperate, cut off, isolated, and in need of support - and whatever I offer feels like another weight. Another indication that she doesn't have anyone she can turn to.
So what do you do? Paul, in Romans 1st Corinthians 14:1, says "follow the way of love."
Here is what I have been reduced to doing:
1. Saying that I love her. That's it. Anything more somehow goes off in the wrong direction. Like a driver whose car is on ice, and no matter which direction he turns the steering wheel, the car ends up clipping the pole and ending up in the ditch. So I just keep saying, "I love you."
2. Praying for her. I am giving her to God. Maybe God can sort things out. Maybe God can help her hear the love behind my words. Maybe God can help me learn to use words that "get through." In the 1st chapter of 2nd Corinthians, Paul says (:9) he not relying on himself but on God "who raises the dead." Sometimes God gets through when we can't. Sometimes God sends someone else who can get over the defensive walls another person has constructed so carefully. I am giving this person to God. (I do that with people in the church who only seem to be irritated by my best efforts to lead and to love.)
3. Keeping the door open. I'm not a big believer in burning bridges. Writing other people off once and forever. Jesus, in Luke 18, has a conversation with a rich man who refuses to sell his possessions and give the money to the poor. The man fails the invitation to be free and healthy in God, but Jesus doesn't write him off forever. Doesn't tell him never to come back. So I do my best to keep the door open...allow for the possibility that the relationship may recover. Grow. Head off in a more healthy direction. Some people say "I'll never send any more cards" or "I won't call that person until they call me first." Not me. I'll keep calling (now and then). I'll keep sending cards. I'll keep letting her know I love her. But I'll not force her to deal with me. The door is open.
Sometimes whatever you say is wrong.
And all I am left with are the words, "I love you."
What Do You Do with the Gift?
When we give time to something (or someone), we are announcing that it (or they) have value.
For the last three days I have been listening to preachers preach, and I have been leaning forward as theologians talk about faith and communication and what it means to follow Jesus in a world that isn't sure what to make of Jesus. I don't take three or four days away for something like this very often. But preaching is important.
Preaching is important. There was a time in the 60's and early 70's when Christian leaders and communication/worship experts thought preaching was an obsolete relic. Dramas, video clips, experiential worship...all of that was thought to be more "relevant" than preaching.
One of the ways I know preaching is important is that we see God using it to change people and change the world. The sermons of prophets like Elijah and Elisha put tyrants on notice that God is a God of justice. When God sent Jesus into the world, he spent his ministry doing a couple of essential tasks: preaching and healing. In Luke 4 he reads from the Isaiah and says, "The Lord has anointed me to preach..." The book of Acts records some of the sermons of people like Peter and Paul, and God used those sermons to turn the world upside-down.
Another way I know preaching is important is that as a lay person I have heard it done well - and badly. When it has been done well, my life has changed. My experience with God has deepened. I have come face to face with a kind of truth that challenged my ways of thinking and living. When sermons have been limp and lifeless, thrown together at the last minute, I have come away hungry...disappointed...frustrated.
As a preacher it is a powerful thing to be a part of a moment when the Word is declared with power and integrity. You can tell when the room changes and we all suddenly realize we are standing on holy ground. When I have preached and failed, you can tell. We can all tell.
I always do my best. You need to know that. One sermon is better than another. One message reaches inside your head and heart with the truth of Jesus. You can't avoid it or escape it. Another sermon doesn't get anywhere close to where you need for it to be. But I always do my best. I give everything I have to the task of preaching.
You may be curious to know what it takes to deliver one of those "talks," as some people outside the church refer to them. A couple of times each year I go away for two or three days to look ahead...open the Bible...pray...and plan preaching themes. I make notes. Identify possible points within the sermon.
The week before the sermon I spend part of Thursday outlining the sermon, and on Friday I begin writing around 9:30 in the morning. (Many people at TUMC think Friday is my day off, but it is usually the longest workday of my week!) The manuscript is finally finished around 6. I walk away. Let God have some time with the words put down on paper.
Saturday afternoon I read the sermon and re-read the manuscript. (It's usually about 10 or 12 pages long!) Before I enter the sanctuary, I jot down some key phrases on a piece of scrap paper, slip that in my Bible, and pray.
Somewhere between the writing of the sermon and the preaching of the message, I "cut out" about one-half of what I have written. Sometimes, from service to service, the message changes as I watch the clock and the eyes of the congregation. At one service a story is shared, and at the next service it isn't. The messages shifts through the weekend as the Holy Spirit works in my. heart and head..in you...between us.
My preaching has changed over the years. I once put a lot of time in making sure the "presentation" was polished. My preaching, like many other pastors, has become much more of a conversation with people. It is more of a dialogue than a religious lecture. So in some sense my preaching is more rough around the edges...and it is more real.
Another change is that the sermons have gotten longer. There was a time in the "Mainline Church" when sermons were 15-20 minutes. More and more, in healthy, vital, growing large churches the preaching time has become a serious teaching time that takes up 30-45 minutes. (Rob Bell up in Grand Rapids often preaches for 80 minutes! Heh...did some of you just break into a sweat?! Don't worry...we're not going to try and head in that direction!)
Preaching, I tell people, is like Jacob's wrestling match with the heavenly messenger. Some weeks I am drained. Some weeks the words come easily and quickly, and some weeks the process of sermon writing is exahusting. Frustrating beyond words. God refuses to let me get a hold of him.
If you find yourself vaguely dissatisfied with the preaching/'teaching ministry at TUMC, it may be your fault. (Didn't expect that, did you?) You play a key role in what happens in our teaching ministry! I challenge you to be praying for the service and preacher as you head to church. I invite you who attend the 8 o'clock service to join us in the Conference Room at 7:40 a.m. every Sunday as we pray for the sermon and the services. I encourage you to read the text of the day before the service begins. The sermon may seem lifeless and irrelevant if you wander in 10 minutes late to worship, work on a shopping list during the Bible reading, and only half-listen while you are trying to decide what you'll do for dinner. Your role in our church's preaching ministry is important!
The art of preaching is something I love to do. Some weeks I do better than others. But I always do my best...give my best...hold nothing back.
Jesus refers to himself, in John, as living bread. I love breaking that bread and sharing it with a hungry world.
For the last three days I have been listening to preachers preach, and I have been leaning forward as theologians talk about faith and communication and what it means to follow Jesus in a world that isn't sure what to make of Jesus. I don't take three or four days away for something like this very often. But preaching is important.
Preaching is important. There was a time in the 60's and early 70's when Christian leaders and communication/worship experts thought preaching was an obsolete relic. Dramas, video clips, experiential worship...all of that was thought to be more "relevant" than preaching.
One of the ways I know preaching is important is that we see God using it to change people and change the world. The sermons of prophets like Elijah and Elisha put tyrants on notice that God is a God of justice. When God sent Jesus into the world, he spent his ministry doing a couple of essential tasks: preaching and healing. In Luke 4 he reads from the Isaiah and says, "The Lord has anointed me to preach..." The book of Acts records some of the sermons of people like Peter and Paul, and God used those sermons to turn the world upside-down.
Another way I know preaching is important is that as a lay person I have heard it done well - and badly. When it has been done well, my life has changed. My experience with God has deepened. I have come face to face with a kind of truth that challenged my ways of thinking and living. When sermons have been limp and lifeless, thrown together at the last minute, I have come away hungry...disappointed...frustrated.
As a preacher it is a powerful thing to be a part of a moment when the Word is declared with power and integrity. You can tell when the room changes and we all suddenly realize we are standing on holy ground. When I have preached and failed, you can tell. We can all tell.
I always do my best. You need to know that. One sermon is better than another. One message reaches inside your head and heart with the truth of Jesus. You can't avoid it or escape it. Another sermon doesn't get anywhere close to where you need for it to be. But I always do my best. I give everything I have to the task of preaching.
You may be curious to know what it takes to deliver one of those "talks," as some people outside the church refer to them. A couple of times each year I go away for two or three days to look ahead...open the Bible...pray...and plan preaching themes. I make notes. Identify possible points within the sermon.
The week before the sermon I spend part of Thursday outlining the sermon, and on Friday I begin writing around 9:30 in the morning. (Many people at TUMC think Friday is my day off, but it is usually the longest workday of my week!) The manuscript is finally finished around 6. I walk away. Let God have some time with the words put down on paper.
Saturday afternoon I read the sermon and re-read the manuscript. (It's usually about 10 or 12 pages long!) Before I enter the sanctuary, I jot down some key phrases on a piece of scrap paper, slip that in my Bible, and pray.
Somewhere between the writing of the sermon and the preaching of the message, I "cut out" about one-half of what I have written. Sometimes, from service to service, the message changes as I watch the clock and the eyes of the congregation. At one service a story is shared, and at the next service it isn't. The messages shifts through the weekend as the Holy Spirit works in my. heart and head..in you...between us.
My preaching has changed over the years. I once put a lot of time in making sure the "presentation" was polished. My preaching, like many other pastors, has become much more of a conversation with people. It is more of a dialogue than a religious lecture. So in some sense my preaching is more rough around the edges...and it is more real.
Another change is that the sermons have gotten longer. There was a time in the "Mainline Church" when sermons were 15-20 minutes. More and more, in healthy, vital, growing large churches the preaching time has become a serious teaching time that takes up 30-45 minutes. (Rob Bell up in Grand Rapids often preaches for 80 minutes! Heh...did some of you just break into a sweat?! Don't worry...we're not going to try and head in that direction!)
Preaching, I tell people, is like Jacob's wrestling match with the heavenly messenger. Some weeks I am drained. Some weeks the words come easily and quickly, and some weeks the process of sermon writing is exahusting. Frustrating beyond words. God refuses to let me get a hold of him.
If you find yourself vaguely dissatisfied with the preaching/'teaching ministry at TUMC, it may be your fault. (Didn't expect that, did you?) You play a key role in what happens in our teaching ministry! I challenge you to be praying for the service and preacher as you head to church. I invite you who attend the 8 o'clock service to join us in the Conference Room at 7:40 a.m. every Sunday as we pray for the sermon and the services. I encourage you to read the text of the day before the service begins. The sermon may seem lifeless and irrelevant if you wander in 10 minutes late to worship, work on a shopping list during the Bible reading, and only half-listen while you are trying to decide what you'll do for dinner. Your role in our church's preaching ministry is important!
The art of preaching is something I love to do. Some weeks I do better than others. But I always do my best...give my best...hold nothing back.
Jesus refers to himself, in John, as living bread. I love breaking that bread and sharing it with a hungry world.
Hanging in There.
Dave and I got to know one another, just slightly, when we were both students in seminary back in the late 70's. We didn't have all that much in common...we just happened to cross paths at Duke.
Herb and I first really hung out together at a National UM Youth Workers' Conference in Estes Park, Colorado, back around 1980. We climbed over boulders, looked down at the valley and up at the mountains, and thought about what the future could be in ministry. In life.
This week the three of us have been in Atlanta for a national preaching festival. Not as preachers or presenters. Nope. We are journeymen preachers but not special enough to merit much attention. With about one thousand others we have been gathering in the new, massive, Gothic-like sanctuary at Peachtree Road United Methodist.
We've heard some great preaching...and lectures. We just finished having lunch with Bishop Woodie White who -retired- lives and teaches here.
In a few hours we head back north.
Here is what I want you to know: hanging in there has its rewards.
There have been times when each one of us was so busy with our own challenges and agendas that it was tough even seeing one another. Contacts were more sporadic. Plans to get away for sermon planning or a continuing education event fell apart and we each kept working in our churches...or dealing with our families.
We hung in there, though. We didn't give up. Friendship is many things, but one of the things it certainly is is hanging in there.
Paul, in Romans 15, prays that God will give the people of Jesus "endurance and encouragmement." He prays they will have unity. And then, in verse 7, he prays that they will accept one another.
The three of us -and our buddy, Steve- work on one another. Coach one another. Confront one another. Along with the days and moments when we just listen and affirm and accept one another.
Our friendship has shown endurance. And that is something good.
Herb and I first really hung out together at a National UM Youth Workers' Conference in Estes Park, Colorado, back around 1980. We climbed over boulders, looked down at the valley and up at the mountains, and thought about what the future could be in ministry. In life.
This week the three of us have been in Atlanta for a national preaching festival. Not as preachers or presenters. Nope. We are journeymen preachers but not special enough to merit much attention. With about one thousand others we have been gathering in the new, massive, Gothic-like sanctuary at Peachtree Road United Methodist.
We've heard some great preaching...and lectures. We just finished having lunch with Bishop Woodie White who -retired- lives and teaches here.
In a few hours we head back north.
Here is what I want you to know: hanging in there has its rewards.
There have been times when each one of us was so busy with our own challenges and agendas that it was tough even seeing one another. Contacts were more sporadic. Plans to get away for sermon planning or a continuing education event fell apart and we each kept working in our churches...or dealing with our families.
We hung in there, though. We didn't give up. Friendship is many things, but one of the things it certainly is is hanging in there.
Paul, in Romans 15, prays that God will give the people of Jesus "endurance and encouragmement." He prays they will have unity. And then, in verse 7, he prays that they will accept one another.
The three of us -and our buddy, Steve- work on one another. Coach one another. Confront one another. Along with the days and moments when we just listen and affirm and accept one another.
Our friendship has shown endurance. And that is something good.
Saturday, May 2, 2009
Love in the Ragged Places.
I enjoy being very active...working out, waterskiing, etc. But I also love to read. Over the last two weeks I have spent a lot of time reading. Some history, a silly detective/mystery novel by a Floridian, a wonderful account of the Beatles and their music...the culture of the 60's and 70's.
One book I savored was Will Allison's "What You Have Left." Never heard of Will, before, but he has some ties to Indiana and Ohio. The book is about a young girl in South Carolina whose mother is killed in a water skiing accident. Her father feels overwhelmed, and so he drops his daughter off at her Grandfather's. Says he'll come back for her in a day or two...and then disappears.
Her Grandpa loves her and cares for her (the cover of the book has a child falling out of the sky into the arms of a surprised looking middle-aged man). He hangs in there when she runs away...keeps loving her.
The girl, Holly, does okay. She says she has no expectation -or need- for her father, but there is this persistent desire to find him... re-connect with him...punish him for his abandonment. There are times when Holly is a mess. She drinks too much. She is loved by a young man who wants to marry her, but she has this way of taking the engagement ring off and throwing it when she is frustrated. Holly gambles thousands of dollars of their savings away, years after they are married.
Finally, near the end of the book, she finds her father. He is a mechanic in another town. Struggling with some health issues. And racing stock cars at a local track.
I finished the book as Sharon drove us towards home from the Indianapolis airport. When I closed the book I just sat and looked at the fields... the trees with their bright, green, new leaves...the redbuds in blossom back in the Hoosier woods. And I thought about how love is rarely simple...or easy. Love doesn't move in a straight line, but it takes off in a zag here and a zig there.
One of the life patterns I've bumped into, time and time again, is the life story of women being abandoned by their dads or grandpas. It's more common than you might think, and -tragically- more and more frequent. For some reason men step out of the lives of their daughters early on, and there is -despite the best efforts of the young women to heal and even fill their broken hearts with the love of God- always this aching, sad place in the women's lives. I'm not sure why men leave...I don't understand it. I'd like to ask men who have jumped ship, but perhaps they would all have a different story...different reasons.
So I thought about that, and I also thought about the way my Mom died just over eight years ago this Spring. She was an incredible woman. Amazing faith in God despite fearsome losses...a husband early on, multiple miscarriages, the death of two sons (one by Sudden Infant Death Syndrome and the other in a car accident), losing her home in Africa, and spending 4 1/2 years blessing and giving and surviving in northwest Alaska. My mom, Anita, spoke all over America to church groups. She was an eloquent spokeswoman for the Christian faith, and led weekend retreats from her to both coasts.
When she was diagnosed with Pancreatic Cancer (I remember the night...Notre Dame had played a home game in the NIT basketball tournament the day she received the test results...my Dad called late at night...and I knew that wasn't good), she pulled back. She pulled in. She pulled away from me...my siblings...and into a private world that none of us were allowed to visit.
So we never had "closure," as some experts call it. We never had a chance to say what we wanted to say...needed to say...to one another. Her funeral was a gathering of lay people and church leaders from across the state of Indiana. It was a big deal...but for those of us closest to her it felt like she had slipped out the side door just ahead of us. Without saying "goodbye."
Why do I say all of this? Well, I figure when you love people you love them on their terms. Each and every one of us is a work in progress. Each and every one of us has flaws...fears...and there are some dents in our psychic "bumper" that no soul "body man" is going to knock out and smooth off.
Holly meets up with her absent father, who has failed in all sorts of ways, but there is grace in the reunion. My Mom left this world in a way that just puzzled the heck out of those of us most close to her, but she was an amazing woman. A real case. Could put words together that would fill your heart with faith, and she was always late...ate Hostess Cupcakes while drinking Diet Tab...and had a "thing" for jewelery.
When you love someone, you love them.
Even when there are ragged places. I think that may be what Paul was trying to help us see in 1st Corinthians 13: "love is patient and kind... love bears all things."
One book I savored was Will Allison's "What You Have Left." Never heard of Will, before, but he has some ties to Indiana and Ohio. The book is about a young girl in South Carolina whose mother is killed in a water skiing accident. Her father feels overwhelmed, and so he drops his daughter off at her Grandfather's. Says he'll come back for her in a day or two...and then disappears.
Her Grandpa loves her and cares for her (the cover of the book has a child falling out of the sky into the arms of a surprised looking middle-aged man). He hangs in there when she runs away...keeps loving her.
The girl, Holly, does okay. She says she has no expectation -or need- for her father, but there is this persistent desire to find him... re-connect with him...punish him for his abandonment. There are times when Holly is a mess. She drinks too much. She is loved by a young man who wants to marry her, but she has this way of taking the engagement ring off and throwing it when she is frustrated. Holly gambles thousands of dollars of their savings away, years after they are married.
Finally, near the end of the book, she finds her father. He is a mechanic in another town. Struggling with some health issues. And racing stock cars at a local track.
I finished the book as Sharon drove us towards home from the Indianapolis airport. When I closed the book I just sat and looked at the fields... the trees with their bright, green, new leaves...the redbuds in blossom back in the Hoosier woods. And I thought about how love is rarely simple...or easy. Love doesn't move in a straight line, but it takes off in a zag here and a zig there.
One of the life patterns I've bumped into, time and time again, is the life story of women being abandoned by their dads or grandpas. It's more common than you might think, and -tragically- more and more frequent. For some reason men step out of the lives of their daughters early on, and there is -despite the best efforts of the young women to heal and even fill their broken hearts with the love of God- always this aching, sad place in the women's lives. I'm not sure why men leave...I don't understand it. I'd like to ask men who have jumped ship, but perhaps they would all have a different story...different reasons.
So I thought about that, and I also thought about the way my Mom died just over eight years ago this Spring. She was an incredible woman. Amazing faith in God despite fearsome losses...a husband early on, multiple miscarriages, the death of two sons (one by Sudden Infant Death Syndrome and the other in a car accident), losing her home in Africa, and spending 4 1/2 years blessing and giving and surviving in northwest Alaska. My mom, Anita, spoke all over America to church groups. She was an eloquent spokeswoman for the Christian faith, and led weekend retreats from her to both coasts.
When she was diagnosed with Pancreatic Cancer (I remember the night...Notre Dame had played a home game in the NIT basketball tournament the day she received the test results...my Dad called late at night...and I knew that wasn't good), she pulled back. She pulled in. She pulled away from me...my siblings...and into a private world that none of us were allowed to visit.
So we never had "closure," as some experts call it. We never had a chance to say what we wanted to say...needed to say...to one another. Her funeral was a gathering of lay people and church leaders from across the state of Indiana. It was a big deal...but for those of us closest to her it felt like she had slipped out the side door just ahead of us. Without saying "goodbye."
Why do I say all of this? Well, I figure when you love people you love them on their terms. Each and every one of us is a work in progress. Each and every one of us has flaws...fears...and there are some dents in our psychic "bumper" that no soul "body man" is going to knock out and smooth off.
Holly meets up with her absent father, who has failed in all sorts of ways, but there is grace in the reunion. My Mom left this world in a way that just puzzled the heck out of those of us most close to her, but she was an amazing woman. A real case. Could put words together that would fill your heart with faith, and she was always late...ate Hostess Cupcakes while drinking Diet Tab...and had a "thing" for jewelery.
When you love someone, you love them.
Even when there are ragged places. I think that may be what Paul was trying to help us see in 1st Corinthians 13: "love is patient and kind... love bears all things."
Quiet.
The blog site says I last "posted" in early April. So it's been awhile. I meant to write something while we were in Florida the last eight days, but somehow I didn't get around to it.
I think it's okay that I have been quiet.
Sometimes -and I know this sounds funny coming from someone who works with words for a living, and who loves to read books- there are too many words. In this era of 24/7 news channels we say too much. We wear words out. We've lost the art of filtering our thoughts, and if it is "in there" we somehow think the world needs to know every last detail of what just popped into our heads.
There are times when I get quiet, and people around me get nervous. "What's wrong with you?" they ask with a puzzled smile. "Nothing," I say. "I'm just tired of talking." (As I write that I think of the character in "Forrest Gump" who talks and talks about shrimp...unless he just runs out of wind.)
Actually, I've been soaking up a lot of quiet in Florida. Stayed away -pretty much- from the tv and radio and CD player. Spent time stretched out beneath the sun reading...or on the beach...walking. Listening to the waves. Catching the sound the palm leaves make, at night, when the wind catches them and makes it sound like there is a light rain falling.
"Be still," Psalm 46:10 says, "and know that I am God."
Believe it or not, this particular verse is one of my favorites.
Sometimes being quiet is just the right thing, you know?
I think it's okay that I have been quiet.
Sometimes -and I know this sounds funny coming from someone who works with words for a living, and who loves to read books- there are too many words. In this era of 24/7 news channels we say too much. We wear words out. We've lost the art of filtering our thoughts, and if it is "in there" we somehow think the world needs to know every last detail of what just popped into our heads.
There are times when I get quiet, and people around me get nervous. "What's wrong with you?" they ask with a puzzled smile. "Nothing," I say. "I'm just tired of talking." (As I write that I think of the character in "Forrest Gump" who talks and talks about shrimp...unless he just runs out of wind.)
Actually, I've been soaking up a lot of quiet in Florida. Stayed away -pretty much- from the tv and radio and CD player. Spent time stretched out beneath the sun reading...or on the beach...walking. Listening to the waves. Catching the sound the palm leaves make, at night, when the wind catches them and makes it sound like there is a light rain falling.
"Be still," Psalm 46:10 says, "and know that I am God."
Believe it or not, this particular verse is one of my favorites.
Sometimes being quiet is just the right thing, you know?
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