We're in This Together Until We're Not

Tuesday night I had an interview with the Commission on Ministry. The Bishop is supposed to call me and let me know if they have recommended me to go forward in training. He hasn't called yet--needless to say I jump at every ring of the phone.

Wednesday afternoon, my 11 year old tried out for the school basketball game. Basketball is his true love but he's never played on an organized team. He came home and was very nervous. The list was to be posted the next morning. Christopher tried to get to sleep, but he kept getting up. Around 10:45 he crawled into my bed, put his arm around me and said, "We're both having a hard time just waiting." True solidarity!

Wednesday morning we rushed to school where YIPPEE Christopher made the team. He rushed out to tell me, give me a high five (and even a hug in front of his friends). Then all afternoon, he talked on and on about it. Now I am a mother so you can imagine the pride I feel for my son. On the other hand, he seems to forgotten I am still waiting! This has me thinking--I certainly don't expect an 11 year old in all his excitement to stay focued on me, but I wonder how often we do this to other people in other situations and how alone and abandoned it might make someone feel?

When a company has announced they are going to do layoffs, the employees become close but if we are not let go, are we so relieved that we forget about those who were? That's just one example--how many more are out there? Solidarity in times of anxiety and turmoil is a good thing, and most people are happy for others good fortunes, but do we forget the ones left behind?

A Window's View of God

Last night Chris and I had a huge arguement. It's not really important what it was about except to say it wasn't about anything important. But I was very angry and in my anger I said some things I shouldn't have and I thought a lot of things that were very naughty. In the midst of this, I decided that it was too hot in the house. I also decided that I didn't "need" any help to fix this problem, and I certainly wasn't going to ask Chris to help. So, I climbed up on the kitchen counter, raised the window and put my arms in to raise the storm window and lower the screen. Now there was a piece of wood sitting there and I thought about using it to prop the window, but it seemed to be staying up so nicely on its own. Big mistake! Before I knew it, the window came crashing down on both my wrists. I was trapped by the window and screaming loudly. Chris ran in, lifted the window and my wrists immediately began to swell. We both knew they were broken.

This morning in church, I began to think about what happened and where God was in it. It really makes one think about their theology and where they see God acting in the world. One could say that God caused the window to fall to punish me for my ugliness, and I can say I would deserve that punishment. One could say that "no God is a loving God who doesn't cause pain for punishment, but that He made the window fall to stop me from saying and thinking anything else unkind." Or one could say that an accident happened, the window fell, and then I saw God. I saw God in my husband's loving face as he forgave everything I had just done and took care of me. He forgot about my ugliness and let his love enfold and protect me. Chris lived the incarnational love of Christ--no paybacks, no keeping score, and no reminding me today of how ugly (and stubborn) I was--just pure love.

Theologically that's where I see God. Bad things happen, sometimes really bad things. God doesn't cause it, but if we look we can see that God is right there with us in the ugliness and pain. God works for the good in all things--last night I felt the love of God, and this morning as I look and feel my very sprained and bruised but not broken wrists, I am reminded of God's love. And, although I believe God didn't cause the window to fall to punish me, I do believe that I can use this experience to remember to guard my tongue. It was a lesson learned in so many ways.

Love in the church?

My dear friend and mentor shared the following quote with me many months ago.

Theology of chaordic organisation
"Heaven is purpose, principle and people.Purgatory is paper and procedure.Hell is rules and regulations."
Dee Hock describing his theology of chaordic organisation in Birth of the Chaordic Age. (p.146)

Sunday, Caroline was to be an acolyte at the 10 am service. She has been waiting months for this day; Saturday she attended training, and Sunday morning starting around 8 am she was ready to go. She was supposed to be there by 9:45 to robe. We went out to the car where we found the battery was dead. After scrambling around a minute or so, we jumped into another car and arrived at church at 9:50. I was asked to go upstairs and check on some Sunday school classrooms and Caroline went running to robe. Seven minutes later, I was met in the hall with a hysterical (and I'm not exaggerating) child who was told she was too late. She kept saying over and over, "Just take me home." Instead, we went to the doors of the church to go in; alas, the procession still had not begun. In the time we stood waiting, she could have switched the robe from the "stand in" (who was more than willing to give it up), but it did not happen. Caroline and I went into church where she continued to sob which started my tears going; we left to compose ourselves. My heart was breaking and I realized that we both felt unloved and insignificant.

I contrast this to a year ago when I was giving a sermon at our church in England. At the last moment, Chris couldn't be there, so the children would be sitting alone. William became very upset--the same type of sobbing. In a true act of love and compassion, our Vicar took him by the hand and had him join us in the procession. William then spent the service sitting on the altar with me.

What makes one different--it's looking beyond the rules and for that matter past time (would it have mattered if the procession was 2 minutes later this past Sunday). But it's beyond looking past rules it's looking deep into the heart and souls of people. I think the people who do it, don't even realize it's impact. It's Christ's love showing through and for them it's just the right thing to do. I know that rules are important in large organizations, but where do you draw the line? And within a church, aren't we supposed to be the model for other organizations?

Caroline has rebounded from the experience and William has never forgotten he was "allowed" to sit with me. We are one family--how many more families are affected in this way and how many leave a church because they feel unloved? It was unintentional, but that doesn't change the hurt.

This morning my devotional ended with this quote "Church is the school of genuine love--it should be the place where our ability to love is stretched to the limit." Guidelines-Jan-April 2008 (p.125)

Anonymity vs Identity

Moving a lot and life have me considering this challenge. There is something freeing in people not knowing much about me, but at the same time it is also lonely. When I come to church and I'm quiet, does anyone recognize that I'm hurting or do they just assume I'm a quiet person? Sometimes I want to be recognized and sometimes I want to fade into the background. There must be a medium somewhere.

Years ago I was the person known for having so many small children, for sewing all their clothes, and for volunteering at the preschool and church. That moved into being known as the person who still loved to cook and sew and volunteer but who also was a good leader for some ministries. I moved from that identity to the American in the village and then to the American who interned at the church.

Now I'm no longer the sole American, I'm not sure what my place in the church will be, I sew very little and we're not home most evenings before 8 pm so cooking is limited at best. I feel the things that defined me and that I was good at are no longer applicable. It's freeing--I have lots of time to think, write and read but it's lonely. Not only do others not know me, but I'm not sure I know myself.

Kevin Vanhoozer says, "To deny people a voice is to deny them their person hood." I suppose we all need to know what we want to say.

I wish I had hindsight now

Today I feel like wallowing. I know it's not a good place to be and that in fact it will just make me miserable. This move has been hard; it's been more than hard--it's been a huge challenge for me as a person and for us as a family. I'm so happy that the children have adjusted so well; they are active with sports, school and many friends. I need to focus on that and not that they are all teenagers or preteens with all the attitudes and hormones that go with it. They are good kids and I truly think at least one of them will be a phenomenal trial lawyer who can take care of me in my old age. They are getting plenty of practice stating their cases! We've (Chris and I) done a good job landing the children with minimum discomfort. I wish I was a kid again and in school where making friends just came along with the day. Hindsight shows me how much easier life was then, but you couldn't have told me that then.

Actually all of our moves have been hard in some ways. (I still firmly believe that this has been the hardest) But hindsight shows me the blessings that each of those moves has given to me personally and us as a family. My path has been accelerated because of our move to England; the friends we now have all over the United States and England. Friendships I will treasure forever. I look back on the experiences that led me to grow personally and for us to grow as a married couple and a family. I know that God met me where I was and worked for good in all things--and I now, with hindsight see that good. On days like today, I wish I could just get a glimpse of that hindsight for this situation. Instead, I get to hold onto hope. I will cling to the hope for the future which is not pie in the sky hope. It is the sure knowledge that God has been with me before in hard times and that indeed good did come. It is remembering that I am not alone--it is remembering the past goodness that has come into my life and trusting in the hope of the future.