In Defense of the Good

Those who are trying to do good, don't need criticism from those who aren't. It is odd to think there would even be people in the world who are not trying to do good. But some will even ADMIT that they could care less about what happens to other people. And if someone says that, then they mean it. Because it takes a selfish person to say it aloud. There are probably some borderline people, too, who feel that but don't actually verbalize and commit this gross admittance aloud, so if someone does say it....then they must mean it.

My point is this. So many people have been criticized for telling stories and “not doing enough”. Invisible Children, Three Cups of Tea, Soles for Souls, even sweet Ishmael Beah, the child soldier who daringly shared his heart in his memoir A Long Way Gone, has been called a fraud because his map wasn't to scale and perhaps his recounting of his years as a child soldier don't exactly line up with where reported skirmishes were said to have happened. Really? Is it that hard to believe that a child, strung out on cocaine, who has been given a gun and placed in front of Rambo for hours on end might mess up a detail or two?

  People: look at the big picture – the real picture. Our society is deranged if we can hear these stories and turn around and criticize their work because, while we were sitting on our couch eating pizza, these story sharers were finding ways to make change.

I want to write a defense on their behalf.

I want to ask them how hard it was to get started. How they got going..and when did they hear their first criticisms? Did it affect them like it affects me? Advice for others? Why do you think people attack like this? How damaging is it really to your cause? When will you know to move on? When should we? Did it ever stop being about others and start being about you? Did you “Frankenstein” about it? What is the cost of selflessness?

All of these questions loom around every news coverage I hear trying to expose truth. In reality, they are only covering it. Quieting a long struggle and pulling away a mic from an already quiet voice.

This is the coward's response: to take away the ugly because we are uncomfortable with it. If we can just wake up and drink our Starbucks and jump into our day, then we are content. When a story is heartbreaking, it is sad and we can nod or pray. But when the empty worthless character becomes a hero though, the story changes. Ideally, it changes us. But, along with the inspiring nudge to be more, comes the guilt of having done less. So there is a faction that will dig for a way out without ever gaining courage. Hiding the picture, twisting the image and shifting the focus so that the hero is gone. Taking away Superman means it is okay to be satisfied with Clark Kent. After all, he is attractive and intelligent looking with those glasses. And when Superman is gone, we decide that we are okay. We don't even know there is a train falling off a cliff over there. So we can go back to work, make dinner, clean our homes, and rest our heads with self esteem and safety. It is a prettier picture. Because not knowing that Ishmael, or Elie Wiesel exist makes us safely ignorant of pain. And not knowing of Jason Russel or Greg Mortenson means that some problems are just too big to tackle ourselves. We can take our $200 and just pass go.  I argue that this is the uglier picture and it is a snapshot of ourselves.

Marjorie, Marian, and me

I came across a book of my grandmother

and am so glad I did
I must confess that at first I chuckled
in a 2012 superior, English teacher-
so not farm house wife- kind of way
The jacket cover crisp and in tact,
not like it has never been read,
rather, like it has been handled repeatedly with care.
It didn't crack open and desire to flop shut as if it sat on her shelf for years
No, it has rested, nicely, kept on an end table.
Always the book lover, I can remember Grandma's house and her books-
so many Bible study texts and prayer books.
I'm sure I even have a faint memory of it,
or at least of it's spine.
I don't remember a single novel, a single fiction tale
But I remember church books being everywhere.
I've inherited these books from her
and am only beginning to see their worth.
I still feel “not-ready” for many of them-
but I am seeing that some day each will be pulled from my shelf,
dusted and touched with tenderness
as I learn from her.

This particular book is green and flowery on front,

reminding me of the emblazoned golden wallpaper that dressed dear grandma's farmhouse walls.
I've Got to Talk to Somebody, God: A woman's conversations with God
I pulled this text for it's title matches my not so witty blog: “Conversations with God”
This morning I am looking for something to connect with me
and to see Grandma owned this book,
made me think that maybe she was quite like me.
-And she so strong and so able -

my curiosity grew.

I opened the the cover and eyed the author image

Ms. Marjorie Holmes-
Quite like my grandma I suppose.

And again

in my 2012 mind of a busy intellectual working mother

I belittled her writing style and prejudged her prose

as I read the back flap jacket cover:

Seven novels, column in the Washington Post

(jealousy)

teacher of University courses

(big twinge here)

Mother of four

(bitterness)

and then – as she summers in Virginia -

it says she “swims, canoes, and water skis”

I allow myself a thought about her figure in a bathing suit

to help me feel more qualified in any category,

but her photo is slimming and she probably succeeds in wearing that too.

How pretentious of me.

I hardly want to read this book because I am so tired of feeling all the things I am not.

Until I flip to the table of contents

and turn my thoughts from the lovely writer to my grandmother again.
And all my jealousy and incompetency washes away as I see
that I am she, I am Marjorie,
I am my grandma
and she was me.
And suddenly I want to hug these two women so tightly.
I want to be in their weekly Bible study

and I long to ask them for a casserole recipe...just so I can be near their confidence and togetherness and let all their graces wash over me

because I am certain that I could learn so much from them.

And it makes me want to run to Nebraska.

And I sigh, remembering that as a child,
this is where I always longed to be.

So simply written,
this little text will be lying on my end table and tucked into my purse for many days to come.

With prayers and thoughts and questions posed to God,

there is a prayer for everything.

“On Doing Dishes,” “On Ironing,” and one “On Making Beds”
Prayers for children, prayers for neighbors,

prayers for every need

My eyes lingered over words on husbands

and I sipped my coffee while I saw she knew me inside out-
My fears, my angers, and my loneliness.

And so it eased. All my tensions eased in thinking

Marian, Marjorie, and me,
there we sat,
a gathering of three.
And so my prayers were strengthened.
I'm moving this collection to my bed side shelf-
the prime time spot for books
Last summer it was St. Augustine who held this noble place
but this summer I am going to be brushing up on my Marjorie.
And now I confess all my judgments
and only feel affection, affection, affection
for this woman, this writer, this intellectual being.

And I wonder, where are you now?

Do you write still? Are you whole?
Do you live on that lake? How long since you've water skied?
Ms. Marjorie Holmes,
wherever you are,
you inspire me.

*Post script:  A google search told me that Ms. Holmes passed away at the age of 91 in 2002.  According to the L.A. Times, she had "a knack" for making God accessible to everyone. 

I Will Conjure No More.

I discovered a habit of mine and it is one of which I am not too proud. Honestly, I am rather embarassed this morning when I think of the way I have been talking with and about God. And I am so greatful that my friends are either so full of grace that they are simply nodding and praying for me or else God has hedged me into a cove where my bellowings boom into silence and my voice has been falling away for all my shoutings - yes, I am thankful for having not been heard. I have a tendency to blah blah blah. Like Charlie Brown's teacher, my whawha has got to be annoying. I pray no one would hear and learn or even hear and remember my words when they are not King glorifying. Lately, they haven't been.

I have been stuck in a pray, whine, grown, complain pattern for quite some time. I meditate on my dreams, pretending they are the voice of God. I think of this world - which I would be better to remember is not my home - and then I conjure ways to win it. (Kind of proud of that verb choice there - CONJURE.) Truly,I have tried to influence the outcome of my life by invocation disguised as prayer. I have made wishes for another child, for adoption, for entrance into grad school, for new jobs, for time at home - all of these "things" I want are good things. I guess that is where it all gets confusing and muddled up in my head. I have made the desires of my heart become longings that surpass my longing for God himself. So that when I lay my head, I dream of ways to get my heart desires. When I have a few free minutes, I try and try to make things happen and help God with his plans.

Because we are Americans living in 2012, and we have so many freedoms and so many miracles, it is easy sometimes to imagine we must "help" God, as if a magic potion could result in Him choosing my desired plan. Let me explain- for five years we tried to have children. It was frustrating and I felt broken, but I never gave up. We went to doctors and dropped gobs of money to try and make our plan work out. In the end, after a second try of invitro, we were blessed with twins. Now, I am simplifying the events because there was much prayer and resolution before the birth of my children. I would never doubt the hand of God and nothing else placed them in my womb, but to explain my point, do you see how it could appear to an outsider that I became pregnant because I wanted to become pregnant? We keep doing that - taking God out of magical equations - and it is so dangerous. What we would have then is life without a Source and beings without Makers.

So, make the analogy work and look back at my life and you will see that I am trying to do just that. I, in effect, have been taking God out of my equation for living and have beem trying to invtro other things for myself. Again, good things, but still things born of myself. And that, my friends, sounds gross and ugly because I have taught Macbeth and have seen about 7 different film versions. In all of them, the conjuring witches are bearded and repugnant. I, therefore, will conjure no more.

I have decided this and feel confident it is a wise decision, but I am not sure how to avoid it. For if I am not dreaming up futures for myself and if I am not trying incessantly to achieve something, then what, preytell, am I doing? I know I could be paper grading and lesson planning and praying and reading scripture and dressing children and washing clothes (I will stop at ironing because I will not go there)but I still am restless. Perhaps this is my true confession - that I am restless and not content in life and I find it ugly.

When I sigh and try to figure out why, I must blame my career. I spend all day long encouraging high school students to dream. Most of the kids I encounter seem like they need someone to believe in them, so I do. I help them think of magical plans for their lives. I would rather help them pray about finding God's path, but after all I am in a public school and while I can pray for that, it is something else entirely to speak of that. I follow Caesar, and mute God, and puff them up so their dreams aren't dried up raisins. That I go home and pump air into my own future visions seems to be an occupational hazard - a side effect, if you will, of being 100% peppy and perky, ready for teacher observation day. But when I go home at the end of the day, I have spill over dreams, residual energy and ideas that I cannot place anywhere purposeful, like my children, my home, or my marriage. Rather, I spend it all on me, me , me and ask for "good stuff" for my life.

So, if this is what I do, I want to know now, how do I undo this picture of my life? How do I stop wanting more and how do I settle for what I have without feeling unAmerican? For mustn't I achieve? On a day off, I want to feel like I can put my feet up. On a day on, I want to come home and cook dinner and feel good in the moment. I want to be content.

Maybe what I am figuring out as I write this is that I will never be able to do these things on my own. I will never, in my own strength, be able to stop doing. Just as I have called upon God's strength so many times to try to enact a result, I must once again call upon his strength to find the peace. I want to practice just being. And it is going to be perhaps one of the hardest things I have ever done.


I must take all of this longing, all of this aching desire, and find God with it. I must let all the world fall away and desire God only. This sounds hard. I wonder what it will do to my classroom and my home. I am content though in thinking that it will do wonders for my life. This must now become my new dream, my desire for my life is to not have desires...

I am content on becoming content.

Galilee Mornings

In the gospel of John
Jesus says, “Let's have breakfast.”
And he has a grill and he has the fish and he has the bread
And his old friends sit down around a campfire ring
on a Galilee beach side morning
and they talk.
Relational love.
In between the “pass the butter”
they probably laugh some
and they probably recall moments,
I am sure they have questions
they long to ask,
some do, but they still wonder.
In these moments, though,
the doubting is gone.

The dear disciples,
on fire for Christ
had already heard of his return.
Some had even already seen
nails in palms, the risen man.
And yet, they were awake that night-
headed out to fish.
Casting nets on the wrong side,
-again-
leaving Godly callings
to head back to empty nets
and midnight wanderings
in a sea seemingly void of fish.

At the very hour that God looks down
and longs for these men
to come back to shore,
Christ chuckles, and calls out -
knowing full well
their boats were anchored to seaweed, fears, old sins and insecurities,
He calls out an old memory
and suggests they try the right side of the boat instead.

This is Peter's do over.
And if he gets one, so do you.
So do I.
Christ returns
for relational love
and sets up at our campsite
with the food and words we need to hear.
The shame and pain we bring with us
packed in our sacks, our sins we try to keep-
He unloads over breakfast.
Peter's denial.
The roosters mocking crow-call.
Christ replaces as a dove song.

For our failures
cannot frustrate God's plan.
He stands outside of time.
He has beach-side breakfast mornings
planned months and years ahead.

Relational love.
He wants to feed us.
He wants to laugh and hug us-
to say that my great sin
is small
compared to his great love.

Sweet God of second chances.
Thank you for loving me enough
to make me breakfast.

Giving to God

So, I regularly wake up and consider the importance of giving God my best. I mean I pray and study religiously so that I can give God more. My heart is right. But my stupid mind keeps getting in my way - i am not even sure exactly what it is getting in the way "of". Is it my serving God, or pleasing God, or just simply my effectiveness and my joy? See what I mean? My mind complicates things.

Anyway, I have been wanting to give God my best and I have made my service a pride thing. I would wake up and say, "I am so thankful for my iphone because it helps me stay focused and organized as a mom." I really thought that a lot of people want things, but I was different. I needed that iphone because it was a tool to help me do all the things the Lord gives me to do. I justified that iphone because I wanted it.

Now, my iphone has been misplaced,I am forced to say oh well. Part of me wants to say, "Oh well, I hope I never get another phone again. I've learned to value my time differently and that things are never really mine, but God's." But the other me just wishes wholeheartedly that I wasn't so stupid and forgetful. I'd just say careless, but I really do care. I am apparently incapable of holding onto things. Luckily I hold onto people quite well.

This morning, then, when I awoke to give God my all, I realized maybe I have been doing it all wrong. Instead of pridefully rising to try and give him everything, maybe I should be bowing and giving him my humility. Today, I do not pray that he would use my good works and selfless deeds to further his kingdom. Today I pray that he could use my mess and insufficiency. May he use my mistakes to bring his glory. And that thought, to me, is beautiful. Then he truly will get the glory. The thought gives me peace because maybe I have been cheating God with my praise. I have a wonderful family, and a beautiful home, and a masters degree. It is so easy to fall into the trap of thinking that I achieved this. But these are all gifts.

Let me be done with giving you amazing things with the faulty thought that you need my help. Instead, let me give you my humble brokenness and watch you use that for your glory.

May the Righteous be Glad and Rejoice Before God

Five years old has been a year of whining. My girls turn six this week and my greatest praise is that they are learning to be content. They ask less often for ice cream for breakfast and they fuss less when it is time for bed. They are learning, I guess, that although there is a world of opportunity out there and sparkly, sugary things to grab - sometimes mom just knows best. They takee me at my word now with less dejection. And by any means it is not always. Just yesterday we cried for a bike ride in the middle of a thunderstorm, but we are getting there and I see progress. And I cannot help but think, Praise God! They are finally learning the obvious!

But when I turn in my devotions, and I see Israelites acting like children - I remember I too am called a child of God. And I wonder- am I learning to believe the obvious? If I know that I know that God is good and has great plans for me, why do I so persist in mine? The last few weeks I have been quiet inside, wonderig if my career path is chosen for me. Really, though, I have been begging for a new thing to do. I have not been content before the Lord - and if I am not even content, then how can I rejoice and praise him? And how will others know and yearn for him - not from my example.

So today I turn back and say this prayer. May the righteous be glad and rejoice before God (Psalm 68:3). He daily bears our burdens. Let not my restlessness be a burden to Him.

Amendment: "On Holiness and Schweitzer"

In an earlier post I said that we need to remember God's holiness, and Schweitzer says almost the exact same thing - only with much academic brillance - when he speaks of how the "heroic"ness of Jesus is fading. When I said - maybe we shoudln't wear jeans to church - I meant that "We must be forced to lay our faces in the dust, without daring even to wish to understand his nature." I meant that we need to see him as a hero that stands so far in awe above us that we cannot even bow without begging permission.

He is everywhere I am. And I pray he keeps throwing words at me.