Tonight my church's womens ministry took over a coffee shop for the express purpose of allowing women to "mingle" with women of other generations. It's a great idea! I couldn't make it because I had another commitment.
I did, however, have a chance for some inter-generational mingling. With my 14-year-old babysitter. It's sort of a funny coincidence, but while i was driving her home, we got on the subject of siblings and things. She talked about how her mom had lost several babies, and how she always wondered what it would have been like with those extra brothers, and how she couldn't wait to be together with them in heaven.
then I told her about my brothers who hadn't made it. It's weird. I don't think that I've ever really been able to share those feelings with someone who understood and had the same kinds of questions. Growing up, we just didn't talk about it much. I'm sure I've told people about my missing brothers, but it was different, saying it to a girl who wondered the same things about her own life, who wished for those missing family members. It's not a deep wound or anything, but it felt good to just say it and know that she understood.
Some things are so different between generations. Some things will probably always be the same.
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Peter in the Garden
So this isn't really a final draft, but I wanted to post it today, lest I don't have a chance over the rest of the weekend. Besides, it's Maudy Thursday so what better time?
It's a little long. But it's kind of hard to cram Peter into a poem. I think it would make a better monologue, since this actually sort of sounds like poetry slam or something. But it's what I got. It's what I've been thinking about, how faith can be so weak even as Jesus is accomplishing His greatest acts. I might have to write Peter part 2, since I love the account of him and Jesus on the beach frying fish. But there just wasn't room for it with this one.
It's a little long. But it's kind of hard to cram Peter into a poem. I think it would make a better monologue, since this actually sort of sounds like poetry slam or something. But it's what I got. It's what I've been thinking about, how faith can be so weak even as Jesus is accomplishing His greatest acts. I might have to write Peter part 2, since I love the account of him and Jesus on the beach frying fish. But there just wasn't room for it with this one.
The Last Night
In the upper room for Passover,
While we were busy clamoring,
The teacher stooped and washed our feet.
I didn’t understand then how much it would mean.
Instead I argued, like I always do,
hoping something I said would make him explain
and he told me unless I was washed, I had no part with him.
It still didn’t seem right.
And neither did it, when he told us he’d be betrayed by one of us.
I didn’t want to think it was me
And I felt a sense of relief, when he passed that dipped bread to Judas.
Then he shared the cup with us, and told us of future glory
In His Father’s kingdom
And something about his broken body and spilled blood.
On the walk to the garden he prophesied again
And he said we would all fall away
They would strike the shepherd and the sheep would scatter
And I knew I shouldn’t argue but I said it anyway
I wouldn’t. I never would.
Then he told me I’d deny him, even tonight before the rooster crows
But I still promised I would follow to the death
And I could see the darkening of his face in the fire we lit while we sang a hymn.
He took me and John and James further in
And then he walked away
For a while I watched, and I could hear Him crying
Begging for the cup to be passed
And I think then I realized tonight would be different than the last three years
Tonight, whether in glory or death, His kingdom would begin.
I fell asleep there and I don’t know why. I still wish I hadn’t.
When I saw him next his hair was wet
And I thought there was blood mixed in his sweat
But his face was set like flint there in the moonlight—
Resolve and duress in his eyes.
They came with swords and clubs
A detachment of soldiers, wielding their best weapons
And Judas there at the lead, lighting the way
He kissed the Rabbi’s cheek
And if I could have reached him then, I would have hit him
The men asked for Jesus, and he said “I am He” with such power
They retreated and fell on their faces.
And I held my breath, waiting for his power to be revealed.
But he let them seize him instead.
And I was the only one who drew a sword to protect him.
He just walked away with them
And I stayed behind with a sword in my hand.
We didn’t know where to go
So some of us followed behind
And now I wonder what made me afraid
How did I ever come to that place?
Holding on in such fear and weakness of faith
When I was the one who had walked on water
Why was my heart, always so quick to fight,
Suddenly frozen? My tongue, so quick to speak and
Silenced there by the fire outside the Sanhedrin.
a little girl and a slave, asked if I knew him
And I said I didn’t. When they asked again, I said no.
The third time I swore with curses, with my Galilean accent telling of the lie
Then a rooster crowed.
And I, the one who had sworn first to follow unto death,
Stood there and wept, swallowed up by grief and doubt.
But it felt then like the world had become dark
While he was with us we saw the light
Yet in that moment, from the time he had been taken away
All that I’d built my confidence in seemed to fade
When they put him on the cross, I could hardly see.
Amidst the earthquake and the darkness and the rain
I just thought about that rooster, how Jesus had never been wrong
How all the things He’d told us would one day come to pass
While I didn’t understand them, I understood that one thing.
I had betrayed Him.
The Living God, who possessed the words of eternal life. The one true and rightful king.
There would be no room now at his right hand,
No kingdom come for me.
And yet, I still believed.
Because with Jesus, nothing was ever as it seemed.
He’d told me the rooster would crow.
He’d told me we’d all be scattered.
But before that He’d promised not to leave us and he’d said not to be afraid.
So that night I remembered how he’d stood in the boat and calmed the waves
How he’d appeared to us like a ghost on the raging waters
And I’d walked out to him with my wavering faith.
And with that shard of hope, I thought
maybe tomorrow, he’d be among us again
Laughing at the wind.
Calling us his friends.
Thursday, April 14, 2011
SO EXCITED
It always feels good to finish reading a good novel. Unless it was meant to be depressing, but I don't usually read that kind. I usually get kind of hyper when I finally read the last chapter, even if I'd read ahead and knew how it would finish. Because I like seeing how it all comes together.
There's a kind of euphoria you experience that's similar, when you write your own novel.
I've written a lot. I started in seventh grade on my dad's work laptop, and I haven't been able to stop. I was probably geek-ville, because I think, when I was tweleve, I'd written at least 3 70+ page novels. Not to mention the countless ones scribbled out in notebooks.
They were all stupid, but at age 12, they were pretty cool. My friends even liked them.
At age 20-something, it's still amazing to finish. I finish a lot less often. I've gone back and edited a lot. And, often, I leave a story knowing I'll have to come back and tweak it and change certain plot points. But it hasn't got enough steam at the time to keep me going.
Today I finished one that I've had in my head since ninth grade. I didn't even start writing it until maybe five years ago. It never came together quite right until the last year or so. I decided to revisit the half-finished manuscript. I then decided to redo it. I kept bits and pieces, but most of it got hacked.
The end result? Perhaps my most favorite story I've ever written. (As mentioned before, I've written many. More than 20 probably, although most of them are for teenage audiences so I don't know fi that counts). I can't even share the details since we're on the internet and someone would steal them.
There have been so many that needed work. That have just been a little under par. (over par? I don't play golf).
But this. This I feel I could market. It's amazing. I've always felt like it had more potential than the others. I think I'm just happy about the end, because it involves a cabin on the prairie and horses. And it ended a little differently than I planned it to. But doesn't everything?
There's a kind of euphoria you experience that's similar, when you write your own novel.
I've written a lot. I started in seventh grade on my dad's work laptop, and I haven't been able to stop. I was probably geek-ville, because I think, when I was tweleve, I'd written at least 3 70+ page novels. Not to mention the countless ones scribbled out in notebooks.
They were all stupid, but at age 12, they were pretty cool. My friends even liked them.
At age 20-something, it's still amazing to finish. I finish a lot less often. I've gone back and edited a lot. And, often, I leave a story knowing I'll have to come back and tweak it and change certain plot points. But it hasn't got enough steam at the time to keep me going.
Today I finished one that I've had in my head since ninth grade. I didn't even start writing it until maybe five years ago. It never came together quite right until the last year or so. I decided to revisit the half-finished manuscript. I then decided to redo it. I kept bits and pieces, but most of it got hacked.
The end result? Perhaps my most favorite story I've ever written. (As mentioned before, I've written many. More than 20 probably, although most of them are for teenage audiences so I don't know fi that counts). I can't even share the details since we're on the internet and someone would steal them.
There have been so many that needed work. That have just been a little under par. (over par? I don't play golf).
But this. This I feel I could market. It's amazing. I've always felt like it had more potential than the others. I think I'm just happy about the end, because it involves a cabin on the prairie and horses. And it ended a little differently than I planned it to. But doesn't everything?
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Goodbyes
I said goodbye to two good friends this last week. One is a friend Kelly I'd met through a young adults group back before I had kids. We've stayed in touch and she had her own kid, got married, and we were enjoying the same Bible study the last two years. Her husband took a new job in Arizona and now they're on their way down there. She's lived here her whole life. I didn't expect her to ever move away, and now she doesn't think they'll ever move back to the area. I'll miss her a lot.
The other one was the young adult pastor and his family. They've been here basically since I got married, building up a little flock of young adults in the church and doing a lot of work with people in my age and phase of life. They decided to go and learn how to plant churches, and then go ahead and plant one somewhere in Iowa. (River Tree Project) They're excited. They knew God was moving them on. They knew God had plans in store for them. And, as a person who was never super close to them, but always appreciated everything they did, I just... didn't really want them to go.
It was sort of like how I felt when my brother and sister-in-law moved to the other end of the globe. You know it's what God wants for them. And you know that it's good and right. But it doesn't feel like that, when you're the one left behind.
I guess mostly because I don't really like change, when it's something I really like having that way. I wish that we didn't live off of change. That life weren't so static.
But, here we are. And I think this is a time of life when a lot of people my age are moving around and trying new things. There's that 7-year itch, when careers become kind of stale and people want to try something different. we're made for change.
But I really didn't want to say goodbye to either of my friends. And in those few moments that I had at their individual going-away parties, I had time to talk with them and realize it was probably the last conversation we'd have in a long time. Maybe ever. I know you can stay in touch through the internet and all of the great technology, but it isn't the same as week to week face to face contact. There's something about that that makes a different dynamic in a relationship.
I'm glad for the few moments I had with all of them to say goodbye. The pastor and his wife, and my friend Kelly. I can't wait til heaven when we can all visit with each other as much as we want and no one will go away, and no one will be too busy, and we can share our stories with each other.
Billy Sprague has a song called "Heaven is a Long Hello". I'm tired of saying goodbye to people. I can't wait for that long hello.
The other one was the young adult pastor and his family. They've been here basically since I got married, building up a little flock of young adults in the church and doing a lot of work with people in my age and phase of life. They decided to go and learn how to plant churches, and then go ahead and plant one somewhere in Iowa. (River Tree Project) They're excited. They knew God was moving them on. They knew God had plans in store for them. And, as a person who was never super close to them, but always appreciated everything they did, I just... didn't really want them to go.
It was sort of like how I felt when my brother and sister-in-law moved to the other end of the globe. You know it's what God wants for them. And you know that it's good and right. But it doesn't feel like that, when you're the one left behind.
I guess mostly because I don't really like change, when it's something I really like having that way. I wish that we didn't live off of change. That life weren't so static.
But, here we are. And I think this is a time of life when a lot of people my age are moving around and trying new things. There's that 7-year itch, when careers become kind of stale and people want to try something different. we're made for change.
But I really didn't want to say goodbye to either of my friends. And in those few moments that I had at their individual going-away parties, I had time to talk with them and realize it was probably the last conversation we'd have in a long time. Maybe ever. I know you can stay in touch through the internet and all of the great technology, but it isn't the same as week to week face to face contact. There's something about that that makes a different dynamic in a relationship.
I'm glad for the few moments I had with all of them to say goodbye. The pastor and his wife, and my friend Kelly. I can't wait til heaven when we can all visit with each other as much as we want and no one will go away, and no one will be too busy, and we can share our stories with each other.
Billy Sprague has a song called "Heaven is a Long Hello". I'm tired of saying goodbye to people. I can't wait for that long hello.
Friday, April 08, 2011
15 Years Ago
Everyone has these events in their life that shape their future and become that black thread in their tapestry. Some of them are really huge. Divorces, parents leaving, deaths, breakups. Some people have more than one. Some people probably have hundreds, linked up together with other ones, inseparable from the reds and blues and greens.
I don't have very many. And it sounds so trival when I talk about it. I know it isn't monumental, and I know it's really not "that big of a deal", but it took a long time to really get over it.
15 years ago, we were at a church where things went amuck. I can't really share all of the details because I don't feel like it. There were so many things happening behind the scenes. So many creepy dark spiritual things that I hate even remembering. And, many of the things were just simple church politics gone wrong.
Dad confronted the leadership, who, I think were a little self-serving and self-absorbed. Mostly just deceived. They asked him to leave the church. They called him the devil, and said that we were blaspheming the Holy spirit. Whatever that means.
I can't really explain it the way I should. I think, at age 15 I understood most of what was happening. But I can't explain it well. especially if you've never been injured by a church. It doesn't really make sense. It's like, you should just move on and find a better church, right?
But when people you trust, and love and spend so much of your life with, turn their backs on you, it's really hard to handle.
I had a guy friend back then. We weren't officially anything, mostly because he was two years younger than me and I was pretty good friends with his sister. we were close, though. He'd call me up and kind of try to argue about why we'd left. I didn't really have any good answers, I just knew it was right. And he stopped calling eventually and I didn't really see him again for a long time. I still miss him and wonder what might have happened if he'd stayed in touch.
When the people who are your spiritual leaders all forsake you, it leaves you kind of at a loss. My dad of course, was the biggest spiritual leader, and I followed him ultimately. but it did make me start to wonder if what I'd learned my whole life was even true. I had no idea how to filter out what was actually true and what was nonsense and lies and unbiblical.
So we left, and really, in the end, only one of my friends stayed friends with me. I wasn't really popular at school. By "wasn't really" I mean I had one actual friend who I even liked talking to and a couple of other geeks who I talked to a lot by default since we were always the losers. That left me my brothers (who are awesome), my best friend Bethany (whose parents are way more mature and wise than most of their peers and didn't get so wound up over some theological differences, and still let their daughter hang around me even though they probably actually didn't want to) and my internet friends. Primarily Brian who is still one of the most amazing people I know.
It was lonely. Wow, it was lonely.
And there was a lot of other crap going on. Creepy things. Some people would call it "spiritual warfare" or "spiritual attack". People left weird sidewalk graffiti outside of our house. Someone broke the window in our van (right outside my bedroom window). My sister got hit by a car. My mom had episodes where she couldn't breathe. There were nightmares. It was just creepy.
I was fifteen. i loved Jesus but at that point, that was all I knew. I hated church. I wanted to like it but I just didn't. We were visiting other places, trying to find a good fit. None of them fit. Not that our first church really did either. I'd never liked the youth group there. But I did like my Bible quiz team and my four friends, and now they were gone.
We visited a lot of churches. We were seriously considering one. Then my folks decided to try one of the other ones that they'd gone to without us a few weeks ago. We all went.
That day, I found light in my darkness. I found the best youth group I'd ever seen with people who were friendly and actually cared about spiritual things, and really let God live in their hearts. The pastor preached a REAL sermon. The music was great and engaging. They all seemed to like each other. After the service, the pastor walked among the people and talked with them like they were all his friends. And they were.
Fifteen years ago, the black thread in my tapestry had a bright yellow thread wound around it. And, there were years of scars to take care of ahead of me. But there, in that awesome youth room with blue and yellow ceiling tiles, and cheerful kids and good Bible teaching, I found home. And I'd never even known that I could be in a place so comfortable, so welcoming and so right.
It was streams in my desert. It was a feast set before me when I'd been eating dry bread. And it still is that way, 1,000 more people later. A husband, two kids, and hundreds of friends later. I love it there. And, God redeems and restores.
I don't have very many. And it sounds so trival when I talk about it. I know it isn't monumental, and I know it's really not "that big of a deal", but it took a long time to really get over it.
15 years ago, we were at a church where things went amuck. I can't really share all of the details because I don't feel like it. There were so many things happening behind the scenes. So many creepy dark spiritual things that I hate even remembering. And, many of the things were just simple church politics gone wrong.
Dad confronted the leadership, who, I think were a little self-serving and self-absorbed. Mostly just deceived. They asked him to leave the church. They called him the devil, and said that we were blaspheming the Holy spirit. Whatever that means.
I can't really explain it the way I should. I think, at age 15 I understood most of what was happening. But I can't explain it well. especially if you've never been injured by a church. It doesn't really make sense. It's like, you should just move on and find a better church, right?
But when people you trust, and love and spend so much of your life with, turn their backs on you, it's really hard to handle.
I had a guy friend back then. We weren't officially anything, mostly because he was two years younger than me and I was pretty good friends with his sister. we were close, though. He'd call me up and kind of try to argue about why we'd left. I didn't really have any good answers, I just knew it was right. And he stopped calling eventually and I didn't really see him again for a long time. I still miss him and wonder what might have happened if he'd stayed in touch.
When the people who are your spiritual leaders all forsake you, it leaves you kind of at a loss. My dad of course, was the biggest spiritual leader, and I followed him ultimately. but it did make me start to wonder if what I'd learned my whole life was even true. I had no idea how to filter out what was actually true and what was nonsense and lies and unbiblical.
So we left, and really, in the end, only one of my friends stayed friends with me. I wasn't really popular at school. By "wasn't really" I mean I had one actual friend who I even liked talking to and a couple of other geeks who I talked to a lot by default since we were always the losers. That left me my brothers (who are awesome), my best friend Bethany (whose parents are way more mature and wise than most of their peers and didn't get so wound up over some theological differences, and still let their daughter hang around me even though they probably actually didn't want to) and my internet friends. Primarily Brian who is still one of the most amazing people I know.
It was lonely. Wow, it was lonely.
And there was a lot of other crap going on. Creepy things. Some people would call it "spiritual warfare" or "spiritual attack". People left weird sidewalk graffiti outside of our house. Someone broke the window in our van (right outside my bedroom window). My sister got hit by a car. My mom had episodes where she couldn't breathe. There were nightmares. It was just creepy.
I was fifteen. i loved Jesus but at that point, that was all I knew. I hated church. I wanted to like it but I just didn't. We were visiting other places, trying to find a good fit. None of them fit. Not that our first church really did either. I'd never liked the youth group there. But I did like my Bible quiz team and my four friends, and now they were gone.
We visited a lot of churches. We were seriously considering one. Then my folks decided to try one of the other ones that they'd gone to without us a few weeks ago. We all went.
That day, I found light in my darkness. I found the best youth group I'd ever seen with people who were friendly and actually cared about spiritual things, and really let God live in their hearts. The pastor preached a REAL sermon. The music was great and engaging. They all seemed to like each other. After the service, the pastor walked among the people and talked with them like they were all his friends. And they were.
Fifteen years ago, the black thread in my tapestry had a bright yellow thread wound around it. And, there were years of scars to take care of ahead of me. But there, in that awesome youth room with blue and yellow ceiling tiles, and cheerful kids and good Bible teaching, I found home. And I'd never even known that I could be in a place so comfortable, so welcoming and so right.
It was streams in my desert. It was a feast set before me when I'd been eating dry bread. And it still is that way, 1,000 more people later. A husband, two kids, and hundreds of friends later. I love it there. And, God redeems and restores.
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