I sit here with my belly over full, and my heart aching with shame. Since the end of December I have stuffed myself beyond fullness. Why? What am I looking to sooth with food? I look and find no answers, only a jumble of rationalizations, habits, and less than ideal circumstances that always lead me to food and paradoxically, to emptiness.
I’ve been reading Walter Wangerin Jr.’s novel Paul. Currently I am in the midst of the debate between Paul and the other Jews about circumcision and dietary restrictions. Paul insists that Gentiles should not be required to follow the Jewish tradition of circumcision, because to put that obligation on them diminishes the Gospel. Jesus is enough. It is for freedom that Christ set us free. Yet then there is the matter of dietary restrictions. Circumcision is for the Jews and not the Gentiles, but just as the Jews will follow the circumcision tradition, so they also follow the tradition of not eating certain foods. When eating with Jews, shouldn’t the Gentiles follow those rules as well? Paul says no, that is obedience, not freedom!
And I wonder, are obedience and freedom mutually exclusive? I guess the difference lies in what comes before -- obedience out of fear of punishment is completely different than obedience motivated by love. In one case, one might appear obedient because he hasn’t gotten caught. In the other, one is clearly aware of his lack of obedience because it is so small in comparison to the love. One compares himself to others, saying, “At least I’m not as bad as so and so.” The other weeps tears of regret at one hurtful act.
And freedom? Am I free to eat as much as I want? I find that as soon as I agree and say yes, I am no longer free. I am captive to that craving, and further more, captive by the emptiness that follows. What a wretched soul am I!
Real freedom is this - I am free resist the lies of this world. I am free to return to the fountain of Grace after I have once again searched for satisfaction elsewhere. I am free not of the consequences, but of the tendency to let them define me. God does not define us by our failures, instead he sees us as the person we will become. Oh, how I long to catch a glimpse of that victorious believer!
Life in Laura's Mind
Friday, January 21, 2011
Anticipation
That bit of an Advent sermon stays with me, even now as even Epiphany has passed. We prayed “Increase in us an anticipation of Your coming.” Advent is about the discipline of waiting, something so foreign in this instant society. Loosely quoting someone that our pastoral intern quoted in that sermon, “The only thing more wonderful than the event of Christ’s coming is the waiting for that wonderful event.”
That Sunday in Advent the words of that classic hymn spoke to me as well “O Come, O come Immanuel, and ransom captive Israel.” I questioned to myself “what inside of me is captive? “ The answer I found was this -- Hope is captive. Hope and the bold prayer for sweet reunion. Captive by the reality of “bitterness, envy and strife.” Captive by the reality of wounds -- both those that I have inflicted and those I have sustained. And following on that is the longing -- the longing I am afraid to give voice to because I cannot bear to hope and be disappointed again -- the longing to be embraced in the arms of those I have hurt, and the longing to finally forget the hurts I have had to forgive.
The reunion I long for is more than joining hands around a proverbial campfire and singing “Kum Ba Yah.” It’s a reunion that not just joins what has been separated, but instead makes something new and wonderful out of the broken pieces. Like a mosaic made of broken tiles, one which perhaps forms a cross, perhaps a chalice and loaf, perhaps a crashing wave of love…or perhaps something even more grand and wonderful than I can imagine. Will I see it this side of heaven? Don’t know… but I do know that God’s faithfulness is everywhere (Psalm 19, 108)
So I’m left here with my feet stuck firmly in the mud of that reality, and the sometime clear, sometimes faint vision of something more. And here is where I have to make myself forget the slights - real or imagined - and forgive. How do I make myself? The same way a house plant strains toward the light. Because of who I am, something in me knows that I need that healing light. But also because of who I am, I see places where I am deemed unworthy. Quickly on the heals of that thought, I have to find evidence of unmerited favor. It grates me to think of the crippled orphan that I was, and the grieving parents who swooped in to save me. I hate to think of the debt of gratitude that I can never repay. I still hear the ever-present “I love you” at the end of every phone call, and even when that doesn’t ring true, even when that human love shows itself imperfect, I turn my heart to faith, that stubborn optimism that cling to the truth knowing that without it I will surely perish.
So with the eyes of faith I say that some day my biological mother and father will meet my “real” parents, and that they will see beyond the walls of class, political party, lifestyle and beliefs to the people, the those who gave DNA, faith, tears, love dreams, and time … gave all of those things and more to me, or to just the idea of me … the baby and child and the woman who is all me. That each will see the sacrifice that was made as something divine, and that we’ll all be flooded with a holy awe, so much so that others will see and hear of it and say, “Wow, God. Wow. This could only be you, God. Wow.”
Come, Lord Jesus, Come.
That Sunday in Advent the words of that classic hymn spoke to me as well “O Come, O come Immanuel, and ransom captive Israel.” I questioned to myself “what inside of me is captive? “ The answer I found was this -- Hope is captive. Hope and the bold prayer for sweet reunion. Captive by the reality of “bitterness, envy and strife.” Captive by the reality of wounds -- both those that I have inflicted and those I have sustained. And following on that is the longing -- the longing I am afraid to give voice to because I cannot bear to hope and be disappointed again -- the longing to be embraced in the arms of those I have hurt, and the longing to finally forget the hurts I have had to forgive.
The reunion I long for is more than joining hands around a proverbial campfire and singing “Kum Ba Yah.” It’s a reunion that not just joins what has been separated, but instead makes something new and wonderful out of the broken pieces. Like a mosaic made of broken tiles, one which perhaps forms a cross, perhaps a chalice and loaf, perhaps a crashing wave of love…or perhaps something even more grand and wonderful than I can imagine. Will I see it this side of heaven? Don’t know… but I do know that God’s faithfulness is everywhere (Psalm 19, 108)
So I’m left here with my feet stuck firmly in the mud of that reality, and the sometime clear, sometimes faint vision of something more. And here is where I have to make myself forget the slights - real or imagined - and forgive. How do I make myself? The same way a house plant strains toward the light. Because of who I am, something in me knows that I need that healing light. But also because of who I am, I see places where I am deemed unworthy. Quickly on the heals of that thought, I have to find evidence of unmerited favor. It grates me to think of the crippled orphan that I was, and the grieving parents who swooped in to save me. I hate to think of the debt of gratitude that I can never repay. I still hear the ever-present “I love you” at the end of every phone call, and even when that doesn’t ring true, even when that human love shows itself imperfect, I turn my heart to faith, that stubborn optimism that cling to the truth knowing that without it I will surely perish.
So with the eyes of faith I say that some day my biological mother and father will meet my “real” parents, and that they will see beyond the walls of class, political party, lifestyle and beliefs to the people, the those who gave DNA, faith, tears, love dreams, and time … gave all of those things and more to me, or to just the idea of me … the baby and child and the woman who is all me. That each will see the sacrifice that was made as something divine, and that we’ll all be flooded with a holy awe, so much so that others will see and hear of it and say, “Wow, God. Wow. This could only be you, God. Wow.”
Come, Lord Jesus, Come.
It happened to me -- October 2010
I never thought I would be one of the ones who would tell a story about opening a piece of mail and finding a check at just the right time. I am bursting to tell the story -- the story of the tears pricking my eyes as I read the accompanying letter, of the letting go as I read on and those tears became a stream of joy bubbling up from a well within that I had feared had gone dry...but first I must back up a few days...
I have had 2 minor car accidents in the past week caused by cell phone use, and several other recent close calls which God used to wake me up. As a result, I imposed a strict no phone policy, and have promised my family that I will abide by it and pay a hefty fine to them if I don't. I even printed a sign for my dashboard to remind me - color printing & graphics to get the message across! These accidents have not only woken me up, but also have placed an addition strain on our finances, at just the worst time -- health insurance changes at John's work for 2011, another minor car accident for him on the very same day as one of mine (his wasn‘t caused by cell phone usage, but a deer), and lastly upcoming major surgery for our oldest son.
That is the background which made the following events even more impactful.
My husband came from a pastor’s family -- good German Lutherans whose stubbornness makes faith unshakeable and frugality second nature. Throughout his growing up years, the family took only camping vacations which were often cancelled because of a congregation member’s untimely death. In the family of four children, extra curricular activities were restricted because high school was a time to work to save for college. Shortly after he proposed to me, my future husband apologetically explained to me that with him, I would acquire his unpaid student loans. Having grown up privileged by comparison, that didn’t register with me at all. The frugality of his family life as a child was not just out of necessity, but also so that his parents could travel together after they retired. As it happened, his father died before retirement. His widowed mother did travel quite frequently, but now at 85, she has begun to disburse her savings regularly to each of her children. She receives so much joy in the giving, and because she is still with us, we avoid the inheritance tax. We never know when it will be our turn to receive, nor do we know the amount.
I was reaching for my cell phone as I was backing out of the driveway, and I ran over our mailbox. The following day, we received a letter from Grandma. When I saw the typewritten letter and the check, I knew I should read the letter before looking closely at the check. That’s the background...the prickling of tears, and the letting go as joy bubbled forth...
In the next several days, I thought a lot about my mother-in-law. We had received checks like this before, but somehow this was different. After we read the letter, we decided to share it with our children. What an impact it made! The letter talked about their plans to travel together, the travels that she enjoyed after his death, and about how no matter how bad things were financially, they never reduced their giving to their church. This is her legacy -- a legacy of being faithful, of accepting life as it comes, of holding loosely to the things of this world, of giving freely. As we passed around the check to each child, we saw their eyes widen. Our oldest wondered, “How did they do that in those days?“ As I shared their comments with the giver, she just couldn't keep from giggling!
In keeping with the spirit of the gift, we first discussed what we would do with the portion that we decided to give away. As each child made their suggestions, I took notes. Finally, each had an amount that they could give to the charity of their choice. They wrote their own checks, which I signed.
And I marveled at how yes, it had happened to me, to us.
I have had 2 minor car accidents in the past week caused by cell phone use, and several other recent close calls which God used to wake me up. As a result, I imposed a strict no phone policy, and have promised my family that I will abide by it and pay a hefty fine to them if I don't. I even printed a sign for my dashboard to remind me - color printing & graphics to get the message across! These accidents have not only woken me up, but also have placed an addition strain on our finances, at just the worst time -- health insurance changes at John's work for 2011, another minor car accident for him on the very same day as one of mine (his wasn‘t caused by cell phone usage, but a deer), and lastly upcoming major surgery for our oldest son.
That is the background which made the following events even more impactful.
My husband came from a pastor’s family -- good German Lutherans whose stubbornness makes faith unshakeable and frugality second nature. Throughout his growing up years, the family took only camping vacations which were often cancelled because of a congregation member’s untimely death. In the family of four children, extra curricular activities were restricted because high school was a time to work to save for college. Shortly after he proposed to me, my future husband apologetically explained to me that with him, I would acquire his unpaid student loans. Having grown up privileged by comparison, that didn’t register with me at all. The frugality of his family life as a child was not just out of necessity, but also so that his parents could travel together after they retired. As it happened, his father died before retirement. His widowed mother did travel quite frequently, but now at 85, she has begun to disburse her savings regularly to each of her children. She receives so much joy in the giving, and because she is still with us, we avoid the inheritance tax. We never know when it will be our turn to receive, nor do we know the amount.
I was reaching for my cell phone as I was backing out of the driveway, and I ran over our mailbox. The following day, we received a letter from Grandma. When I saw the typewritten letter and the check, I knew I should read the letter before looking closely at the check. That’s the background...the prickling of tears, and the letting go as joy bubbled forth...
In the next several days, I thought a lot about my mother-in-law. We had received checks like this before, but somehow this was different. After we read the letter, we decided to share it with our children. What an impact it made! The letter talked about their plans to travel together, the travels that she enjoyed after his death, and about how no matter how bad things were financially, they never reduced their giving to their church. This is her legacy -- a legacy of being faithful, of accepting life as it comes, of holding loosely to the things of this world, of giving freely. As we passed around the check to each child, we saw their eyes widen. Our oldest wondered, “How did they do that in those days?“ As I shared their comments with the giver, she just couldn't keep from giggling!
In keeping with the spirit of the gift, we first discussed what we would do with the portion that we decided to give away. As each child made their suggestions, I took notes. Finally, each had an amount that they could give to the charity of their choice. They wrote their own checks, which I signed.
And I marveled at how yes, it had happened to me, to us.
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