being misguided by my own goodness

“Sometimes our greatest gifts can be the quickest way to sin.”

Walking with my dear college roommate brings me great pleasure (not to mention a cute figure) but also challenges my thoughts and actions. She once reminded me that Satan can use what we’re most good at to lead us astray, even if that simply means forgetting about God. I hate to admit it, but I had a taste of that today.

A family from Congo relocated here last July after leaving several years of “captivity” as refugees in camp. Life was hard with two meals a day of rice and beans all year long and no scenery or familiar landscape a part from the red dirt that surrounded the dwelling. So a new life in America seemed like a wonderful new life. Now the mom and kids are but a week away from being homeless.

These realities come with several long stories complicated by government systems, mistranslation, a hard winter, little understanding of the USA, and just life. I have no desire to go into these situations for the wrongs and rights, blessings and disappointments, joys and heartaches are too numerous to explain. The fact remains that this family’s life is broken and most tragically by not knowing where they will lay their head come June.

But don’t worry- here I come to save the day. SPLAT!

As a pro-active, driven, solution oriented person all I want to do is fix this circumstance. The family needs a new apartment? Here’s an application. Oh, she needs a reference? Let me send that to her work. A co-signer is necessary? With the ability to back her financially? With a mortgage? Um…I. I. Let me think.
And HERE is where I remain, thinking. I cannot afford to be her co-signer. I cannot move her into my place. I cannot even guarantee another place for her to live in six days. I cannot.

So even though my skills of networking, problem solving, and providing remedies seemed so necessary and sufficient, I know now what my roommate was saying. These talents distracted me from seeking out and relying on God. Instead I began to worship an idol of power and call on the name of organizational crisis management to rule over this issue.

God has to be in control. I can do what I can, but I cannot be God. He will fix or mold or handle this situation. I can be obedient, but I cannot decide for God. He will not grow weary of details or negate his promises. I can be bold, but I cannot be the strength of God.

God created the earth in six days and he didn’t call me for floor plans, operations management, and strategy consulting or even to fill up his coffee cup. Thus I’m letting God’s talents, untouched or obstructed by Satan, bring about utter goodness.

And I’ll use my talents to follow his lead.

this just in...

Developments in a friend’s life can leave a person searching for the right sentiments. Am I supposed to be happy or sad, excited or nervous, honest or just superficial? If I know the person well, I’m as truthful as I can be which often matches his or her sentiments. When my friends hurt, I hurt and when they bounce off the walls, I’m a pinball with them.

Today I shared some exciting news with my friend Rosette from the Congo. I told her I was planning a trip to Africa next summer. She cried out with great joy and delight, but just as suddenly, her cries brought tears. I’ve only ever seen this transformation in the movies, and I think the actors were holding onions. Rosette held nothing back; she didn’t fake a countenance of pure elation. Instead, she internalized the news and what it meant to her. It meant that her home seemed even further away, only to be visited by those who could afford in every way with time, money, and the liberties of US citizenship to go across the ocean. Well, that put me in another frame of mind, praying a pipe-dream of a prayer that she could go see her home and family someday soon. With God anything is possible, but in that small apartment with laundry to fold and lunch to make, that dream didn’t seem all that realistic.

I’m grateful the Bible tells us to mourn with those who mourn and dance with those who dance. Sometimes, when I’m not in the mood I need to just act in obedience to what God asked me to do. Go alongside a person in whatever state he or she might be in at present. I seek to be genuine and honest with my emotions and responses to news, and hopefully where my sentiments fall short God will fill in the gap with his own comfort or confirmation of exaltation.

Beyond just comfort or a God-sized smile, though, I think the greatest gift is Jesus’ promise to be our peace. Both moments of sadness and joy can be coupled with fear and anxiety for what the future holds. Only through the peace of God can I faithfully step forward into the reality of new developments. His peace assures me that I have security and love in him; it’s not a peace from the world that might show happy faces but gossips behind the back. His peace assures me of my worth in his eyes and the value he holds in my friends, especially those who shout with cheer and cry all in one moment.

no broken bones

When I was 11 years old remember distinctly wishing to break a leg. To break it for one day. I wanted to experience the pain, the crutches, the extra “get better soon” popsicles and ice cream and the test of maneuvering through school. As I had only had stitches once and no other major hospital visits, I desired the extreme. The extreme of senses and pain, emotion, challenge and in all honesty, attention. Now as a wise old woman (ha!) I realize everyday how lucky I am to be whole, at least with two unbroken legs.

Yet, as a wise old woman I still have childish fancies. I seek extremes in different areas of life. And like that of a broken leg, the extremes are those I’ve seen or heard about happening to other people. When I went to Africa, I so appreciated visiting the village and kind of wanted to stay there overnight. Never before had I been in a place or position of such humility and poverty. When my friend worked as a “sound gal” for a Tony Award winning Broadway musical, I wanted to experience the adrenaline rush of tech rehearsal, post show excitement and drinks, and the feeling of pure genius. And when my closest friends and family are sick or sad in a way that I can’t do anything but stand by, I instead want to feel the extremes of their pain and sorrow, if nothing else but to empathize with experiential clarity.

This thought process is probably the most unproductive wishing though, because not only would my life be completely altered by these circumstances, and not for just one day, but my role as I am meant to play (and am playing) would be lost. What good is a crippled friend to another crippled friend if they need to get somewhere? What good is another tech person when the show needs an amazed audience member? What good is extra heartache in comparison to the dry and waiting shoulder?

This life has offered me a great many opportunities to live out extremes of emotion, senses, excitement, desire, fear, and hope. I’m utterly grateful for these experiences and the ability to embrace them in their proper time. So as the weeks move beyond days of celebrations, heartache, suspension, limbo and the extremes that others knew, I’m praying that I can content myself with my wholeness as is. May I better grasp how that wholeness is a gift to connect me to others instead of the sign of empty empathy.

TRAINing the imagination

When did you last watch a train go by and wonder its contents? What did you picture inside each car? Who might be conducting such a long, winding, gargantuan snake of a vehicle down thin strips of metal?

These questions only came to me through a friend’s eyes that were seeing an American train up close and personal for the first time. Growing up in an area where trains passed through on a daily basis, the fascination of a train had escaped me many years ago. Plus I outgrew the Boxcar Children book series a while back. But my new Malawian friend peppered me with questions. And we came up with some great possibilities to the former questions.

The large boxcars concerned my friend. Really anything could be in there, she thought. And who’s to say why not? I told her all sorts of material such as coal (as energy products) and even animals travel in such cars. While riding her bike she so expertly started to jostle about as if the vibrations of the train were affecting her. In a shaky voice she said, “Can you imagine a poor cow on such a ride. Poor thing. Cows in Africa are never treated this way.” To that I could only reply with a chuckle and comeback question. “Do you mean to tell me your cows travel on couches, getting their hooves painted and drinking chai tea?” She laughed, “Of course.”

Many of the cars on the train were black barrels. When asked, I could only guess what was in them- natural gas, propane, or some other liquid/gaseous “energy” products. I’ve since learned that tanker cars (the proper name for the black barrels) coming through Spokane hold just such substances and are even proposed as training tools for haz. mat. specialists. Eek!
But another image popped into my head. They’re huge licorice treats. Giants use straws made from hallowed out trees to suck out the licoricey juice. Sometimes if the Giants are being naughty they’ll spit the juice like a spitball. This sticky mess actually finishes a lot of highway construction projects without using so much tar.

Finally the driver, aka conductor, came to our conversation. My friend thought it must be the most difficult of jobs, pull all of those cars and driving the winding trail. Indeed, it would be hard putting it that way. I thought the Flintstones had it rough, running in order for their cars to move, but pulling a train is too much. Then somehow the image of the car became tiny or the hand guiding it as if it were a toy train was giangumbous, and I marveled at the smooth movement of it all.

My friend helped me see the ordinary with a childlike imagination. Writing a children’s book is on my bucket list. Such a world as she helped foster offers fertile imaginary ground.

do tell...

Ever hear a story that went beyond your comprehension? A story that was so opposite or implausible compared to your own that it seemed fiction despite the personal testimony?

I love those stories. I love telling those stories of my own outrageous experiences. But admittedly they are difficult to swallow. As a listener, it’s hard to put myself in the other person’s shoes completely. Depending on location and culture, I have a fairly good picture of the physical surroundings and the ways various circumstances such as rudimentary housing, abject poverty, and a palpable desire to survive, could affect a person’s thoughts and feelings. But in the end, there's just enough disconnect to be frustrating.

As the story teller, the vividness of the scenes, the intensity of all five senses and the burning smell of the synapses firing, trying to connect the dots of a new world, are all too much to articulate. It’s like a scientist doing hundreds of hours of research and having to sum it up in a ten-page article. While the results of the research or the successes and experiences of a trip or life circumstance seek the limelight, it’s all the rest that continues to marinate inside.

This thought comes to me tonight as I pray for a team from our church that will return tomorrow from a ten-day mission and cultural immersion in El Salvador. Our pastor has been good enough to blog throughout the trip. However, he repeatedly apologizes for being both too tired and unable to find all the words to articulate how and why the trip has impacted him and the team in a unique way.

Likewise, I had dinner tonight with a friend who lived in a refugee camp for most of her life. She recalled memories from her original home in Burundi and then relayed some images concerning the camp in Tanzania. I desperately desired to know with all five senses and in a heart and soul way what life was like, but my head barely clung to her tale.

From my own experience, it’s a gift to share about times and situations in our lives that profoundly shape us. And each time I return from other trip, look at pictures from an experience, or replay a scene in my head, I realize even more how important that sharing is. I look forward to the return of the El Salvador team, but I am even more excited to help them share, process and grasp the richness of their experience.

As a traveler, always longing to go again, and also a seeker of great moments, I encourage my readers to seek out friends, family and strangers and hear their stories. Most will deny they have such awesome tales to tell, but if honesty comes forth, profound experiences will bubble forth and bless both the listener and narrator.

Recommitting

I just woke up from a Sunday afternoon nap, but didn’t actually want to get up.

I have a few things on my "to do" list, many of which I would enjoy, but they seemed so daunting compared to my soft pillow.

And one such item on my list was to write.

Of course, that “to do” has failure scribbled all over it. It’s like when a little kid asks me to draw a picture. Where to start? What’s the subject? What color crayon?
But adding such a to do on the list was my first real intention at recommitting to my blog, to journaling, and to writing as a joyous hobby. I’ve looked over the number of entries for past months and realized I wrote because I thought there was something worthwhile to say. I was touring the USA with kids from Africa. I was teaching English and kissing giraffes in Kenya. I was running for ridiculous distances (ridiculous for a sprinter).

So here I am, Sunday afternoon, doing normal life, looking at my “to do” list, maybe eating lunch and realizing, writing doesn’t always need an exotic subject. A picture can be a simple pink flower.

Don’t get me wrong. I don’t see the value to rehashing the mundane thoughts behind laundry- though I did read an interesting blog from a mom with nine kids who prays as she folds clothes, a prayer for the wearer. I do see real value, however, in putting down one word at a time. Making a switch to act rather than to sloth about.
Part of the gas fueling this ambitious engine is the book Switch by Dan Heath and Chip Heath. They write about the simple things that can change behaviors, attitudes, and realities. They have many profound and practical techniques that I’ve already begun to integrate into my work and personal life. (Perhaps I should dedicate this blog entry to them.) I highly recommend the book but in order for this thought to move off the screen and into action, I invite you to use a few of their suggestions:

1)On your list write: Look on Amazon.com for Switch.
2)Or Look in the telephone book for the library’s number to call and ask if they have it.
3)Better yet, find it on tape. The book’s already read for you. All you have to do is drive while the narrator reads. You’re half way done.

I love writing. I love reading. I love making dinner, working out, practicing music, emailing my friends, even brainstorming and executing projects for work. But sometimes it takes a little more enthusiasm and tactical trickery to get my elephant of motivation working.

Another one of my favorite writers, Anne Lamott, puts it like this. Her brother had a report due on the many species of birds in his home state. As any good teenage student would, he left it for the last minute. Stressed out and only slightly motivated, he sought advise (more in the form of HELP ME, DO THIS!) from his father. The father simply said, “Son, you’re just going to have to go bird by bird.”

I plan to modify my "to do" lists slightly. Say one prayer for someone you know in the world. Stop for 5 minutes and think. Put on your running shoes and go out the door. Pour yourself a half a glass of water. And now another. Write one sentence about what you see out your window. These aren't profound. They're not even interesting. But they're a start, one step in many miles.