The Lord our God is One and in Him, all the fragments of life are woven into one piece. In Christ, we’re aren’t ever torn. In Him, all brokenness is made whole, all moments are made holy, all pieces are made one.   –Ann Voskamp

Why must we always insist that the destination is the most important measure of success? We put so many worry hours into our future only to discover that it keeps changing.

My years pursuing and practicing the job of sign language interpreting were not wasted. They brought with them necessary gifts for my life: the gift of listening for the purpose of understanding, the gift of learning how to do the work, the gift of becoming comfortable in my own skin.

That season prepared me for this one. But at the time, I was sure that season was all there would ever be. I was sure I would be a sign language interpreter for the rest of my life.

What you are doing now may not be what you’ll be doing this time next year. Those things you care so deeply for now may seem small a month from now. Might I boldly suggest that the season you are in carries hints of what you’ll be doing next? This season is a kind companion, escorting you to the next one. And then the next. We would be wise to sit back a bit and enjoy today’s adventure, whatever gifts and sufferings they may hold.

Neither the accolades nor the critiques are worth anything. Don’t force something as valuable and sacred as the definition of your life to fit onto the small, flat, earthly paper of a degree or a certificate. They will come and they will go and they are important. But they do not get the final say. For in HIM we live and move and have our being. –Emily Freeman

“Gandalf! I thought you were dead! Is everything sad going to become untrue?”

And the minstrel sang to them… until their hearts, wounded with sweet words, overflowed, and their joy was like swords, and they passed in thought out to regions where pain and delight flow together and tears are the very wine of blessedness.  — Tolkien, The Return of the King

 

 

Then I started wondering if God intended us to stay in Eden forever. Did He create Eden with the contingent plans of redemption and healing that would be necessary after the sin and brokenness that would enter the perfection?

These aren’t new questions, and I’m sure there are answers. I’m reading Bonhoeffer right now, and he was a practical theologian, and spent years studying and teaching deep theories and ideas. He was dissatisfied with keeping all of that only as theory, and did his best to flesh out the ideas he believed.

For a fleeting moment today, thinking about Eden, something in me wanted to study and discuss and write and come to a nice, tidy conclusion about God’s purposes and what He had in mind at creation. Good people spend years talking and writing about these kinds of things, and some of that appeals to me.  But not now.

Instead, I felt most fulfilled today, not pondering vast ideas, but teaching and talking with little children. One opened the house door for me but hid under his bed until his mom yelled at him to come for his English lesson. I considered leaving and not getting into a conflict. There’s no point in twisting someone’s arm to learn English. But I gave him a chance, and it turned out to be a delightful 45 min. lesson. He ended up giving me more words than he’d ever done before.

The next class was a brother and sister. She was in a funk and embodied a dark gray storm cloud. It was wonderful to read them a story, meet her eyes now and then, and watch the light gradually seep back into her. I’m learning to relax in children’s classes, and not get all up tight when the lesson doesn’t go as I planned. To go with the current, and if they deviate from my plans, to take that route and make it a teaching opportunity. As one who likes serendipity, this kind of class lets me fly. And they’re not out of control, so I can let them go, which means we played Hangman even if I hadn’t planned to.

I mean,  if, while the sister finishes a project,  the brother writes 13 blanks on the board and asks me to guess his word and it turns out to be christmastree, I’m not going to complain.

Then I treated myself to a fancy coffee (to write the letter mentioned above) and bumped into another student with her 3 yr old who resents his mother talking to anyone except him. But I took him and kissed and tickled his cheeks and made him laugh, and he liked me a little after all.

This is my kind of theology. It’s where I best put my energy. I don’t know what you call it, but it suits me.

“Life isn’t perfect,” she said.

Oh. Yes. That’s what’s wrong.

I remember when it occurred to me, after years of insisting that life is wonderful (and it is), that it feels a lot more honest and freeing to admit imperfection. To acknowledge that Eden was a long time ago. To remember that perfection is still ahead of us.

One thing I hate about the enemy is that he’s the source of imperfection, but that’s not enough: he uses our longing for perfection to pit us against life and  each other. So we’re not perfect, and we hate that, but at the same time we hold others to our expectations of perfection. It can get really ugly.

I wonder how Jesus lived in this tension of knowing perfection but walking, sleeping, eating, loving in a fragmented world. Maybe what made it possible for Him to live well was that He was full of Grace and Truth. He knew reality– the unchanging, clear sense of what was accurate about the moment, but He had grace to cover the shards, elastic to stretch past real limitations.

I’m thinking alot about perfection and imperfection since the week of Christmas, which held more laughter and tears than my normal capacity. In a perfect world, we would understand each others’ hearts and have no expired passports.

The week was also filled with grace. Magnanimous, expansive grace.

Two days after Christmas, my parents, sister and brother-in-law, a friend, and I took a train to Berlin. Our 3 days there were filled with education, laughter, coffee, good weather, discussions.   I think laughter is such a big grace that it’s almost sacred. All of trip was a wonderful way to recharge the batteries.

I have no New Year’s resolutions. I am unspeakably grateful that God is over time, and doesn’t mark years and days as we do. With Him, the next moment is always the moment that is untouched, clear, and ready for new beginnings. For that reason, I know He doesn’t mind when I keep pleading with Him for His grace and truth to become the fabric of my life.

Grace and truth. Truth and grace.

I mull the words, mixing them in a million ways, and always they stay only two words. Two words that dazzle me, words so big that I can’t get my head around them. It’s good I’m not trying to understand ten words.

I am desperate, panting, wanting to absorb what they mean and what they are.

Truth defies darkness, illumines, clarifies. To live with one lie–even half a lie–is too much darkness to endure. What is the truth about this situation? What can dispel the lie I believe here? Living in light is what we were created for, and it is beautiful.

But truth alone can kill, can cut to the bone, can devastate. Truth can be scary, and we unconsciously adopt ways to avoid it.

Grace moves into the cracks that truth opens. Grace soothes and softens. It never refutes truth, never distorts the light. It gives space and understanding and patience. It gives when it could rightfully demand. It forgives when it could justly expose.

Humans, in their finiteness, are prone to the either/or limitations of grace and truth. We try to be balanced, and try to come out with a good average. But Christ, in His fullness and perfection, came FULL of both grace and truth.

The wonder of it catches my breath and makes me hungry for the same fullness, the same richness. I know how my fallible heart harps on truth without the balm of grace, but the next minute slathers grace in the shade, disregarding the full truth.

I see that real change in the world and in me happens at the place where grace is poured onto truth.

The bishop told Jean Valjean who’d stolen the silver:  “You promised to become an honest  man. You no longer belong to evil but to good. With this silver I ransomed your soul, and now I give you back to God.” The truth was that he no longer belonged to evil. Accepting the grace poured onto that made Jean Valjean a changed man .  Javert, though, tried to live his life without breaking a single rule but truth by itself it had no power for lasting change in himself or anyone in his world.

(If you’ve never read Les Miserables go quickly and get a copy to read over Christmas break.)

He who is full of Truth and Grace is my life model, and I love Him, however feebly and childishly. His truth takes away the shadows of untruths, and His grace softens the hard edges of this fallen, tired, broken world.

He rules the world with truth and grace, and makes the nations sing!

Michelle and her sister Christy co-authored this book, and I’m so proud of them. To be honest, I’ve not read it from cover to cover–oh yes, I guess I did when it was still a Word document–because it’s not the kind of material I need in this stage of my life. But women who have read it give it rave reviews. And I’m even one of the guest authors, and slipped in a chapter about brides relating to their single friends. So you could read the book just for that chapter. Ha!

It’s a happy memory: Michelle and I cross-legged on her couch, both with a laptop, editing each other’s manuscripts. So it wasn’t professional editing, but there’s nothing like a friends being honest with each other about how to tune up their words.

I believe in the book’s message, and the way that Michelle and Christy come along-side women, and let them feel that they’re not alone. Writing from the middle of their lives as new brides gave them a voice of understanding and credibility. The book is honest, personal, and articulate. I cheer for their vision and the way I see them pour their lives into their own families.

If you don’t win the book, you can contact Michelle: (434) 760-3853, or visit the website to order a copy for yourself and/or a friend. It makes a wonderful gift, you know.

I’m so glad he urged me. I’ve read eleven of Yancey’s books, some of them several times. I read his books because of his honesty, the way he grapples with hard questions, and the way he uses words. His sentences carry a rhythm, a cadence, that takes you along with his thought processes.

His Polish publisher organized the day, and we convened in a small, quaint hotel’s conference room on the 2nd floor. From my seat I looked out the window and saw the pastel row houses of Old Town, Warsaw.  There were maybe 100 people there, which made the sessions feel relaxed and personal.

We were together the whole day. Philip had four sessions where he talked mostly about the subjects he writes about: faith, prayer, grace, and God’s ways of creation and redemption. The last hour was a Q&A session.

Uncharacteristically, I hadn’t let myself hope for much. I didn’t want to go to be in awe of him, because I dislike raving fans of anyone. It’s not fair to be agog at someone. But I do respect him hugely, but  I didn’t know if he would be as engaging as his books are.  And I knew it was unfair to take for granted that I knew him as a person. When you read someone’s words, it’s only part of the whole person, and you can’t expect to know them just from that. (Have you heard this before?)

As Philip spoke to the group, I got the feeling that this is a common man who thinks uncommon thoughts, and I wished that I could know him casually, like be able to go to his house with my friends to have coffee with him and his wife.  Later, I had a chance to talk with him, and it was most pleasant. He was gracious and interested in whoever was in front of him. I felt like we spoke the same language, and that it transcended our words.

Later I found his website, and read this: “Unlike many websites, this one emphasizes words and de-emphasizes graphics. I am, after all, a writer.” Ah! Someone else who blogs because of words and not photos! It made me happy that I not only met a writing hero, but also came away feeling that we understand each other.

As for recommendations, read his Disappointment with God, as well as Soul Survivor (it’s is favourite, he said), all the ones co-authored with Dr. Paul Brand, and his latest: What Good is God?  which is a collection of his speeches and the context behind them.  I hope that when you read him, you’ll feel understood too.

But if I owned a house, and could paint and decorate according to my whims, I would most certainly, definitely have a wall like this where every guest would write something they’re thankful for when they come, or before they leave.  They could choose the color marker they want, and draw a picture instead of write a word. Really, I understand children’s compulsion to write on walls. They’re such wide, open places with endless possibilities.

I would want a wall that no one could pass without having their routine tweaked a little bit. Because nothing is easier than complaining, and giving thanks takes effort. We need something tangible to remind us that to be thankful is to live honestly, to acknowledge a giver, to admit we are unbelievably rich, to help each other remember that lament is also worship.

color- hot soup- warm scarves-big mugs-hugs and wet kisses from my niece and nephews last wkend-students and friends who call the best from me–these words I would write on that wall today.

She’s not old, it’s just that she and I just go back a long way. I’ve  blogged about her before here and here and here. The thing that amazes me when we get together or talk on the phone is how either of us gets a word in edgewise, but somehow it works. We can even be quiet together. But rarely. We’re generally pretty noisy.

So if you want to have a chance at winning a book for yourself or a friend, have a go there. And yes, well, she says some nice things about me, which is awfully kind of her.

I’m glad she’s doing this giveaway because  I’m not thinking about my book much right now. What I’m thinking about is the incredible gift of meeting Philip Yancey last Saturday. He’s my absolute favourite writer, and the wonderful day deserves a blog post. Sometime.

I’m not sure if I’m a writer, because ‘wroter’ seems to be more accurate: I wrote a book once. I dream of writing another book, hopefully in the next ten years, just because I love the experience. I love the research, the playing with words, rearranging them to make them work. But for now, I have one book finished, and you have a chance to win a copy.

Then when I trained to become a massage therapist, I started wondering where does the therapist go for therapy?

I don’t know how our present generation compares with former ones. I only know that me and my peers tend to think we’re pretty well-informed on every subject, and we can spout off ideas and opinions, and we think the world owes us an audience. I think it’s partially connected to the narcissistic behavior we can adopt on blogs and social media.

That said, we do have good things to learn from each other. We CAN build up each other, inform, teach, advise.  At the same time, I want always to be able to listen, to be taught, to know my own mind but to acknowledge that my perspective is limited and even flawed.

Every counselor needs a counselor. Every therapist needs a therapist. And EVERYone needs a mentor.

My mentor is a wise lady who, several years ago, asked me a pivotal question that changed my life direction.  She’s a gift because I didn’t go out to look for her. She saw me and pursued me and even when she saw how ugly and messed up I was, she didn’t cringe or flinch. I don’t live near her, but at least a couple times a year, I email her with my current questions and issues. She answers with insight and calmness that heals me like little else does. And she keeps me from being dependent on her, because she keeps pointing me to God and what He’s up to.

When I’m afraid that I’m using her, she reminds me that God uses people to help people, and that she wants to hear back from me.

I say this here because EVERYone needs someone like this in their life. You might have to ask someone to be your mentor. You might have to make the first move, and tell someone that you really need them to give you perspective and advice on your big issues. And don’t kid yourself–you’ve got issues. If you don’t think you do, ask yourself why you got so angry the last time someone disappointed you. Or why you heard yourself talking to/thinking about your co-worker or sister or boss in a less-than-loving way.

I’m not talking about slotting into the touchy-feely world where you only think about your feelings and experiences. You can give, and give well, but you can never know so  much or have so much experience that you don’t need others to help you.

My old wrinkly-faced friend Pepita used to tell me, “The day you stop learning, your toes curl up.” She was over 90, so she should’ve known.

I caught myself thinking, “Wow, what cultured, classy people live in Warsaw.”

Later, I wondered if that was a fair assessment. I’m thinking out-loud here, and maybe I’m wrong, but I think it’s not fair or right to judge what a person’s personality is, who they really are,  by how they dress. The classy, got-it-together appearance can hide a falling-apart soul. Just as an out-of-fashion, homely appearance can veil a sparkling, keen heart and unsung talents.

I maintain that clothes reveal a person’s priorities, and not who they really are. Ok, admittedly, some of this is about me, because I don’t want people to judge me according to what I wear. I don’t like to spend a lot of time thinking about how I look, and a photo session can put me in a funk for awhile. Like most women, the times I believe I’m beautiful are rare and fleeting.

I have often seen people look askance at my veil and dress, and on good days, it makes me pity them because they don’t know what I nice friend I could be to them. =)  On bad days, their disapproval makes me want to hide. But generally, I don’t mind, because my priorities are serving my God by following His standards and wanting His approval for my decisions, plus I sort of like doing things that make people ask questions.

We are human, and we only see the outside, so that is what we quickly assess and judge. But maybe we shouldn’t. Maybe we should keep asking for Jesus’ eyes to see people as they are, to see their hearts. I think it is usually possible to see a person’s heart by what they reveal in their eyes . It takes time and gentleness and care. And if we don’t have the luxury of spending time with a stranger, we should at least give them the benefit of the doubt, and believe that, no matter how they appear, they are, in C.S. Lewis’ words, “never ordinary: you have never talked to a mere mortal.”

Nations, cultures, arts, civilization–these are mortal, and their life is to ours as the life of a gnat. But it is immortals whom we joke with, work with, marry, snub, exploit–immortal horrors or everlasting splendours. –Lewis