Sad

I've been feeling so sad all day today. I don't know if it is the little bit of closure or the immense lack of closure surrounding Bin Laden's death that is disturbing me so. The wounds Bin Laden inflicted can never be healed by his death. We still groan. We still long for something better. But even as I write this...thank you, Jesus.

Bid My Anxious Fears Subside

Is life really this cyclical, or am I just that dense? Graduating in two months, I feel very much in the same position I was in five and a half years ago, only a little more educated, a little more experienced, a lot more in debt, and just as confused. One difference now, though, is that I have a taste of how bad it can get, and I am terrified of some of my darkest moments coming around again.

In what ways is my perception of God, and His attitude towards me, all wrong? This has been the question challenging me all semester long. During a January term class, Pastor Scotty Smith taught from Matthew 25, the parable of the talents. The master gave three of his servants different numbers of talents: to one servant he gave five, to one he gave two, and to the last he gave one. The first two of the servants invested their talents wisely, reaping double what they had started with. The last servant, however, had this to say when his master returned:

"'Master,' he said, 'I knew that you are a hard man, harvesting where you have not sown and gathering where you have not scattered seed. So I was afraid and went out and hid your talent in the ground. See, here is what belongs to you.'"

to which the master replied:

"'You wicked, lazy servant! So you knew that I harvest where I have not sown and gather where I have not scattered seed? Well then, you should have put my money on deposit with the bankers, so that when I returned I would have received it back with interest."

Scotty's emphasis was not that God is a harsh taskmaster; in fact, it was just the opposite. Notice how it is the the servant's distorted perception of his master that affects his actions. Because he perceived his master as hard and unjust (harvesting where you have not sown and gathering where you have not scattered seed), he was paralyzed by fear. He was afraid. He was loathe to take chances.

I am so much like that servant. I know I view God as a harsh taskmaster. As I think about the future, I am practically paralyzed in fear. I look back at what God has allowed me to go through in the past, and I think of Him warily, knowing that if He allowed those experiences once, He could allow them again. Instead of looking hopefully into the future, I brace myself for pain to come.

What was it that was so bad in the past? It was the loneliness. The challenge of a demanding job with no local support system in place. Not knowing who to trust - at work, in the neighborhood, or at church. That is what I am so frightened of. Living by myself, not knowing a safe embrace for weeks on end, always being asked "How are you?" but rarely being listened to.

Why am I so scared? I used to view that time as the LORD pouring out severe mercy, drawing me to Himself. Why am I know viewing Him like the antagonistic prison warden in Shawshank Redemption, putting me in dark solitary confinement for weeks on end, if for nothing else than to break me?

I am frightened, but it has less to do with my circumstances and more to do with who I believe God is. Do I really believe that the God who died on the cross for me and had the power to rise again won't care enough to provide or be powerful enough to provide for me in the coming months? But I'm not deserving. Do I really believe I was more deserving on the day of Jesus' death than I am on this day as I plead for help from the LORD?

I am the grumbling Hebrew, rescued from slavery in Egypt, fearful that my rescuer will let me languish in the desert. Let me have a better memory than that. Let my memory not fail me now. To the God who brought the Hebrews out of Egypt. To the God who through that nation of Israel blessed all nations. To the God who sent His Son, Jesus Christ, to live, to die, and to rise from the dead so that we might have HOPE. To the God who has promised to restore all things as they should be. To the God who gave me countless faces and voices to shape me, challenge me, and care for me. To the God who gave me Mom and Dad and a neighborhood and a brother and a sister-in-law and all those other blessings and people whom I am hesitant to mention for fear of whom I may leave accidentally leave out. To this God, let my memory not fail me now. "Bid my anxious fears subside."

Past, Future, and Grief

I'm nervous about visiting my great Aunt Lote when I return home. I haven't seen her since the beginning of last summer, before I went to Denver. In that conversation, she must have asked me about my plans for the summer a half-dozen times. When I told her that I was taking a ten-week internship in Colorado, her eyes lit up with surprise as she said, "Really? What will you be doing? That's great..." each and every time. For her birthday over the summer, I wrote her a letter, but I did so hesitantly, fearful that her feelings would be hurt because she would think that I neglected to tell her I was even going to Denver. I grieve the loss of my aunt's memory. Probably, from now on, I will no longer grow in her mind. I, for the rest of her life, will be a teacher and a seminary student. I will never be a seminary graduate, I will never live anywhere besides St. Louis, I will never be in my thirties, I will never be married.

I'm nervous about visiting my Grandma when I return home for the holidays. She's on oxygen now. I've never seen her on oxygen. She becoming less mobile all of the time. She can't reach up very high anymore. She walks very slowly with her cane. It wasn't too long ago that she was moving all over the house, up and down the stairs, carrying laundry, setting the table, vacuuming. She was a RN at a nursing home, giving patients their meds, helping dress and undress them, pushing that cart. Now, she gets so out of breath walking from one room to the other that she has to set and rest once she's reached her destination. I miss the Grandma that I grew up with. I miss the Grandma that I could play with, cook with, and depend on. I miss the Grandma that took care of me.

It's not that I'm unwilling to take care of my grandma and my aunt. I love them. They have given so much to me, I would sacrifice anything to give back to them. But, I am saddened by the change. In a society that worships youth at the expense of the wisdom that comes with age, I'm hesitant to say anything negative about aging, for I think we should learn to embrace the experience that comes with years, not resent it. Also, there are so many ways in which we as a society demoralize older people: we force them into retirement instead of valuing their wisdom, we complain about their driving, we talk to them like little children when visiting them in the nursing homes, we don't seek their advice. However, while I exhort myself and everyone else to seek the wisdom of older people, and, even when their minds cannot recall the knowledge they gained in their younger years, to still to honor them, I am convinced that the deterioration of the mind and the body is not the way God intended it to be.

So, I ache as I think about what used to be compared with what is now. I ache as I think of Grandma sitting on the sidelines watching her children and grandchildren zip back and forth. I ache as I think that Aunt Lote will not even remember the visits I make over the holidays. But it is comforting to know that I ache, not only because things are not what they once were, but also because things are not presently the way they will be in the future.

There will be a day when suffering will end, when our bodies will not constrained to gradual deterioration and death. There will be a day when all of the pain and aching that come along with a world where death exists will be gone. God has redeemed this place. He's going to make it new. Death is going to be shown the way out. The way things are supposed to be will someday be. And nothing will be able to destroy it.

Keeping Warm

“The cold brings us back to reality, and the reality is we are very lucky,” or so says Garrison Keillor. While walking home in the cold tonight, my mind swimming with thoughts of church splits and broken hearts, my memory somehow stumbled on Bethel Church of my hometown. I’ve never been inside that tiny white frame church, and I can’t recall a soul who ever attended church there, but I remember Reverend and Mrs. Badger standing over the tomb of the unknown soldier and leading our community in “The Battle Hymn of the Republic” each and every Memorial Day. The frail Rev. Badger would remind us of the words as Mrs. Badger wielded an accordion twice her weight. Rev. Badger would play his trombone during the chorus. Neither one of them would sit down. Everybody would sing. The reality is we are very lucky.

As the leaves are beginning to turn, I find it eerie to think that by the time the trees blossom, I will be preparing to leave seminary and start over again, somewhere different, doing something new. I'm not comfortable with this.

Everything is Illuminated

I love this film. It gets better every time I watch it. And though I had watched it, studied it, and prepared to lead a discussion on it, tonight, as I talked about the movie with others, they offered insights that I never would have obtained on my own. It is just more evidence that the world around us should not be contemplated in isolation. We need each other for better vision.

Everything is Illuminated teaches us this. The movie is so full of symbols, meaningful glances, and purposeful choices of color, music, and camera angles, it is unlikely that anyone would be able to catch everything of significance on her own. And the characters themselves - they need each other for illumination. They need each other to understand the past; they need each other to understand the present.

I love movies like this. There is plenty on the surface to laugh and cry over, yet the depths require careful thought and, though often neglected, discussion. I don't discuss enough. My opinions, my responses to art, my interpretations of the world around me are too much the product of my own mind, even if unconsciously fed by status quo's and dominant cultural philosophies. My vision is limited. Illuminate me, please.

narcissism and so much depending on a moment lacking solitude

I'm studying William Carlos Williams right now. You probably read his "The Red Wheelbarrow" in high school.

So much depends upon
a red wheelbarrow
glazed with rain water
beside the white chickens.

The way he bestows dignity on the ordinary has made him my favorite poet of the early twentieth century, if not my favorite poet overall. He was a physician and poet, often writing his poems in the car on his way from one house call to another, weary from a flu epidemics and measles outbreaks. Early in his career, he longed "to get away" from the urgency of every day life so that he could concentrate on his poetry. Somewhere along the way, however, he realized that his poetry could be written - in fact, must be written - within the clamoring and stress of his hectic life.

Perhaps this is why I have not been blogging lately. I have several half-written posts, yet, as I have sat here at my desk and have written at the end of the day, the ideas typed on the screen seemed to be of little importance - hardly relevant to myself, let alone someone else. What was vibrant in my mind during a car ride or a conversation or a church service hours earlier fell limp as I tried to convey an emotion or thought in quiet solitude.

So, as I type in the silence of the end of the day, I do not know how to share my insights or thoughtful meanderings in a way that will interest any of you. I've always felt slightly narcissistic in my blog writing as I've assumed that people are interested in reading about me. Yet, I'm interested in reading about others, so I assume it all eventually works out for everybody's good. So, everyone, things are going well. I've loved my time here in Denver, and yet I look forward to returning to the sticky Midwest again soon. Thanks for putting up with my narcissism; I look forward to putting up with yours in return.