I wrote this on January 1, 2017…and here I sit on January 1, 2020, resolving to return once again. This year, I have a little support — our faith community has committed to reading the Bible through chronologically, following The Bible Recapreading plan and podcast. Maybe you’d like to join me.
My daughter and I spent yesterday morning together at a “Breathe out 2016, Breathe in 2017” yoga class and afterward talked briefly about resolutions — the positive thrust toward change and the set-up for unrealistic expectations and imminent failure. The yoga instructor, intentionally or not, seemed to suggest that we could will good things to come to us by just opening our arms and our spirits to them.
Oh, that it were so.
Last night, at a New Year’s Eve worship service where my husband was filling in for local pastors away for the holidays, we sang the words, “Christ has done away with sadness,” and my daughter turned to me and cheekily said, “has He really done away with sadness?”
Oh, that it were so.
Truly, we don’t need to look far to see sadness. Every day we witness hatred, violence, murder, poverty, chaos, and, yes, sadness. Just last night in Turkey, thirty-nine people were senselessly murdered as they attempted to ring in the new year. The past year has had more than its share of sadness. Indeed, the coming year will not be immune.
So what are we to do? Wear sackcloth and ashes? Walk around wringing our hands and gnashing our teeth? Shall we shake our fists at God in anger, demanding that He do something?
Nah.
We should do the same thing He’s been telling us to do since the Creation of the world — return to the Lord our God. That’s all. Our salvation is not in losing our holiday weight, in getting our finances in order, or in building a better portfolio. It’s in recognizing that God is still God even when He hasn’t done away with sadness.
When my husband asked the congregation last night to write down one way to connect with God in the coming year, I wrote down the same thing I wrote down last year: return to daily Bible study, return to daily prayer, return to regular writing. I had to write it down again this year because, as we have established, I am bent on turning away and am in constant need of returning.
The world, which is full of sadness, needs Jesus followers to immerse themselves in the Word and in prayer, because when we do this, we can’t help but reflect His mercy and His grace. We become beacons when we allow His light to take residence within us. We point to our Source of Hope and spread love rather than fear.
Will you commit with me to return to the Lord and allow Him to use us to shine His love into the lives of those around us? Imagine a new year that is filled with hopefulness that comes from Christ’s light shining in the darkness.
Behold I am doing a new thing…I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert.
On Monday, I suggested we return to the Word of God as we try to find our way through the coronavirus crisis. I wrote this post in the fall of 2016 during another challenging time in this country — another time when I found myself returning to the Word of God for solace and guidance.
My blog has been silent for a few weeks. It’s not that I haven’t had anything to say; I just haven’t had anything I wanted to put in print.
My brain has been processing a flood of images and information — in addition to the madness that we will call the election of 2016, my husband and I traveled to South Africa for a week, came back for a week, and then went to Austin, TX for four days. Oh, and we’ve also been holding down our day jobs — he’s the dean of students at a small university and I am an adjunct professor of English and a private tutor.
I’ve really wanted to write more about what we observed in South Africa and how that has informed the ways in which we see our community, but when we got back, we saw things in our community that were very unsettling — so much posturing and name-calling, blaming and shaming, people positioned on the figurative both sides pointing fingers and shouting accusations. We, or perhaps I should switch now to I, I reeled.
While in South Africa, we were in a unique position to just observe. For as long as I can remember, my husband and I have been in positions of leadership, so being free to observe with no responsibility for others was very unusual. We met people, heard their stories, were inspired by their dreams, saw their struggles, and shared their joys. We didn’t really do anything other than bear witness to their lives. And then, about a week later, we were put in a similar position. In Austin, although my husband had minimal responsibilities, for the most part, we were again observers. Seeing. Listening.
Is it too egotistical of me to imagine that God crafted these experiences so that we could come back and observe what has been happening in our very own community, in our very own country? Because I really think that is what happened. For the last two weeks, we have been watching and listening. We debrief with one another in the evenings, of course, and I’ll admit, I’ve shared a bit on social media, but for the most part, we have tried to position ourselves in conversations in which we can hear what people are saying. We want to understand how a country can be so divided. We want to be able to speak peace into the hostility. But how? People are positioned. They are sunk in. Nobody seems to want to move. Where do we start?
So, yesterday, when I walked into church and saw who would be our pastor for the day, I hugged him and said, “Yay, we’re going to get a good word!” I was being playful in greeting him, because he’s a dear friend, but my playfulness revealed my hope that God would speak a good word through him.
And guys, He did.
Now, let me just give my standard disclaimer. I am very distractible in church. My husband often asks me about his sermon — did his main point come through? What did I think about a particular illustration. I want to be generous to myself and say that 50% of the time I can give him a meaningful response. My mind often takes tangential journeys away from the sermon. So, I won’t mention the pastor’s name or try to claim what he actually said. I will just tell you what I heard.
Jesus reigns. Over everything. Period.
No political candidate reigns. No political party reigns. No particular country reigns. No particular church body reigns. I don’t reign.
Jesus reigns.
It has been rather tempting over the past days, weeks, and months to become aligned with a particular ‘side’, hasn’t it? I have heard Christ-followers on both sides (myself included) claim that certainly Christians “should” feel this way or that. And we’ve been making these claims waving our fists in the air at each other. We are passionate, are we not? We are passionate about politics, but are we just as passionate about our True Leader?
I gotta admit, I’ve been misdirected.
My friends in South Africa showed me what it looks like to be passionate about the One who reigns. They worshipped — I mean three hours or more of singing, dancing, clapping, marching worship! They breathe thankfulness and reverence as they walk through their days.
Me? I’ve been grumbly and judgmental. It’s almost as if I’ve forgotten that Jesus reigns over everything. Will he stop reigning if we turn and go our own way? Nope. We’ve seen story after story written in His Word about generations who have turned away to idols and godlessness. Yet, He reigns.
We’ve heard stories about how God has worked among peoples who are oppressed and disadvantaged. We know that He is a God who steps into difficult places and makes a way for His people. Will He stop now? No. He will continue to reign.
So, should we stand idly by? No. We should be engaged in the discourse of our community, our state, our country. However, we can be careful that what we speak gives honor to the One who reigns, and the only way to do that is to continually look to the written Truth.
I can’t rely on myself right now. Not in this emotionally-charged environment. I need to turn, once again, to what has been written.
“Love the Lord, your God, with all your heart, soul, and mind, and love your neighbor as yourself.”
“Do not think of yourself more highly than you ought.”
“Be devoted to one another. Honor one another above yourselves.”
“Do justice, love mercy, walk humbly with your God.”
How about if we start there? What if Jesus-followers across the country and around the world just saw and loved the people in front of us? What if we stopped shaking our fists and really cared about individuals in ways that showed we were devoted to them? What if we cared about the widow, the fatherless, and the foreigner? What if we looked after the sick, the homeless, the marginalized, the disgraced? What impact would that have?
I’d like to find out. Wouldn’t you?
It is written; Christ is risen. Jesus, you are Lord of all.
We’re back in the states. After seven days in South Africa, we spent about twenty-four hours traveling to Michigan. We got home, unpacked our suitcases, started laundry, and tried to re-acclimate ourselves to our former lives before reality struck this morning.
Several hours later, I’ve already taught three sections of students and interacted with a number of people who wondered, “Well, how was your trip?” I’m really glad they asked, because as I answered people, I began to learn what impact this trip to South Africa has had on me.
It became rather clear early in the journey that our purpose, or at least my purpose, was to be an observer. This was a new role for me. Often I am a leader, presenter, director, and planner. This past week, I was a follower, listener, observer, and receiver. In this role, I was free to take in South African culture, to hear the stories of a variety of people, to let go of responsibility, and to bear witness to the contrast between my life in the United States and the lives of the people I met in South Africa.
First of all, although I often think I need more, I recognize now how much I have in contrast with many of the people I saw. For example, I complained at the beginning of my semester because the classroom where I teach didn’t come equipped with dry erase markers or an eraser, even though it did come equipped with a computer, projection, and wifi. I easily purchased a pack of markers and an eraser for less than $5, a textbook was provided to me, and I am paid a fair salary to teach under 25 students in each of my three classes. In contrast, my colleagues in South Africa have no internet in their classrooms at all — not even dial-up. They have a few mostly outdated textbooks, worn posters on the walls, drying up markers, and classrooms crammed with up to 40 students — and that was in a kindergarten class! And guys, despite the fact that they earn very little, they aren’t complaining. They are teaching and learning. The instructors are engaging their students. The students take pride in their work.
Yes, the contrast was palpable.
It was also evident in the ways that I noticed people interacting with one another. Each time people see each other during the day, they greet one another, “Good morning! How are you?” Even if they have seen each other several times, they still formally greet one another before they move on in conversation. This was a challenge for me! I am known to jump right in with “Hey, did you get my email?” For a week, I practiced acknowledging the person in front of me instead of the task that he or she could perform for me. The simple practice of speaking a greeting shifted my perspective. That, plus the fact that I had no real responsibilities, allowed me to see people and listen more carefully than I am typically apt to do.
In fact, I noticed today, here in Michigan, that I was looking at people in the eyes a bit more, listening a little more intently, worrying a little less about getting to the next task on my list. I hope it lasts.
The third difference I will note today is the energetic spirit I saw in the people of South Africa — particularly the black South Africans. Apartheid ended a number of years ago, but the differences and division between whites and blacks could not be more obvious. In one week’s time I noticed that black South Africans have less — less status, less power, less money, and less opportunity than the white South Africans. Yet they do not seem defeated. Their spirit propels them to walk great distances along red clay paths — rain or shine — to work and to school. They sit up tall in their classrooms, raise their hands high, and open their mouths to sing as they work, whether their tasks are menial or meaningful. Rather than seeming angry or sad, they exude joy! Their worship was filled with dancing, clapping, and even marching! They smiled, laughed, and played with one another — despite their seeming disadvantage. I was struck by this. I have not experienced the kind of disadvantage that all of them have experienced. I have led a life of plenty. I have not gone one day without food, clothing, or shelter in my fifty years of life. I have had every opportunity for education, employment, and entertainment that I have ever desired. Yet I am often discouraged, stressed, and even angry about what I don’t have.
So, you know what’s coming, don’t you? I opened my Bible study today and turned to the reading in Psalm 37. (I really can’t make this stuff up.) When I read the words, “Delight yourself in the Lord and He will give you the desires of your heart,” I pictured my new South African friends smiling, clapping, and dancing — delighting themselves in the Lord. They are happy and celebrating the fact that they have Him, regardless of the things that they don’t have.
I can learn a lot from these people. I think I have begun to.
Psalm 37: 23-24
The steps of a man are established by the Lord, when he delights in his way;
We’re halfway through day three in South Africa, and I am not surprised that my body demanded to be ‘grounded’ today. I mean, we left Ann Arbor less than 90 hours ago and with all we’ve done, you’ll wonder why I didn’t get benched sooner. I already know the reason why — I have been flying high on adrenaline and intrigue. I have not stopped being amazed since I got here. And, you know, I’m not even upset that I’ve been plunked down on a couch for the day. I am enjoying the time to reflect and process all that we’ve seen and heard. Want to join me?
For forty-eight hours before we left on this trip, I kept telling people, “I’m a bit anxious about being on a plane for fourteen hours straight.” I was worried about claustrophobia mostly, but I was also concerned about the wear and tear on my body. As it turns out, it wasn’t terrible! We had a little hiccup in Detroit when I made it easily through the security lines only to see that all the machines had shut down just as my husband’s backpack went into the x-ray machine. Not to worry, within fifteen minutes, someone restored the machine and we were on our way to our gate.
We were also a little concerned that although I had purchased side by side seats for the long leg of the journey our boarding passes had us sitting one behind the other. We checked with the gate agent in Atlanta, but he said he was unable to help us. Not to worry, the woman sitting next to me, a nurse on a mission trip, offered her seat to my husband even though she had already wiped it down with disinfectant, unpacked her belongings, and situated herself.
Then, when it was time for take-off and everyone was comfortably seated with their items stowed, the captain informed us of a delay — the baggage compartment wouldn’t lock. We waited and chatted, wondering if we would have to de-plane and reload before we took off. Not to worry, the problem was resolved and we were on our way. I will say that flying coach for fourteen hours is a bit cramped and sleeping is difficult; however, we both did sleep for large chunks of time — even without taking the melatonin we packed. We ate well (they even provided me with all gluten-free trays), we chatted, we read, and we watched three movies each as we crossed the Atlantic.
We arrived in Johannesburg and wondered how we would connect with our friend who was picking us up. We didn’t think our cell phones would work in South Africa. We didn’t know how long it would take to get through customs or how long we would wait for our bags. Once again, not to worry. We waited in line at customs for what seemed like fifteen minutes; our bags arrived in about that much time, too. When we exited the secure area, our friend was right there, waiting to buy us bottled water and tea.
We had arrived unscathed in South Africa.
You would think that after twenty-four hours of travel we would have collapsed. Not at all. We arrived at our guest house and met our new friends. This couple, retired teachers/administrators from Texas, have volunteered three months of their time to come alongside the teachers here in Middleburg. They are observing, evaluating, coaching, and supporting these teachers. Over glasses of South African red wine, we discovered our shared purpose and kindred spirits. We chatted late into the evening.
The next morning, (and, yes, we slept that first night — despite our confused body clocks), we made our way to St. Peter Confessional Lutheran Church for its 27th Anniversary Celebration Worship. I’m pretty sure that this service should have its own dedicated post, but let me summarize here by saying that for three and half hours my eyes were wide and my smile was broad as I witnessed these people singing, dancing, celebrating, and worshiping.
From there, we walked a short distance to the elementary school, which is called St. Peter’s Lutheran College. At this site, we were ushered to VIP seating inside a tent. Many people were acknowledged and recognized, we were entertained by a local jazz/brass ensemble, and then we were fed. I suspect a whole post will be dedicated to the food and beverages we’ve enjoyed, but just know that the red carpet has been rolled out for us — this group of about a dozen Americans who have come to celebrate what God has done and dream about what He has yet to do here.
After the meal, we were entertained by a local group of male dancers and then a group of female dancers. By this time, I will admit, I was utterly exhausted. The festivities were wrapping up, so we headed back to our guest house where I decided to lie down for a few minutes. After a short but intense power nap, I was whisked away to visit our friends, the Bersons. We enjoyed snacks and more South African wine, played with our soon-to-be five year old “niece”, and were then delivered back to our guest home where we ‘slept the sleep of the dead.’ And that was just day one!
Yesterday, day two, we toured the preschool and the elementary school. The schools are just several years old and have grown from several dozen students to almost 900 between the two sites. Classrooms are crammed with bodies and very few resources, yet the children are well-behaved and very attentive to their instructors. Classrooms are continuously being built.
We ate lunch, then traveled about an hour to the home of a local naturopath — a doctor who uses nutrition, herbs, and the like to treat maladies. He is partnering with one of St. Peter’s pastors to build a worship location where people can receive not only physical but spiritual healing. Right now, about forty people are worshiping in his home/clinic every Sunday while they plan to build a worship site.
The doctor and his wife joined us for dinner and then we began our journey home. My body was already in distress, but I was drinking in all the details. Over dinner, I heard the stories of a couple from Chicago who are on their third trip to this ministry. I chatted with my husband and a friend from MI as we sat in the back seat of a van. When we arrived back at the guest house, we sat up until late again, sipping great South African wine and sharing our observations and our hearts.
My body cried all night long; it wouldn’t let me sleep. I wasn’t angry or disappointed but rather apologetic. “Yes, yes, I know. I have expected so much of you, haven’t I? Shall we stay home today to rest, reflect, and recover?” A resounding yes could be heard throughout Middleburg.
Most of our group traveled today to another site — a location that wants to build an orphanage. They will drive a bit, tour the site, eat lunch, then visit another site. I am sorry to miss these experiences, but I am looking forward to joining the group this evening to hear their stories.
Right now I am drinking in details. I am filing evidence in folders called ‘juxtaposition’, ‘contentment’, ‘vision’, and ‘commitment.’ I am learning, to be sure, but the fullness of the lessons has not yet been made clear. I will keep you posted, but right now, I am going to put my feet up and enjoy being grounded.
Psalm 34:8
Taste and see that the Lord is good; blessed is the one who takes refuge in him.
Once upon a time, a middle-aged woman took a break from work to rest and assess some health issues. For six months, she barely worked at all. Instead, she cultivated friendships, attended Bible study, exercised, read, wrote, and rested. For another six months, she gradually eased back into the working world. Through trial and error she learned what amount of work was enough and what was too much.
Or did she?
I’m entering my third year here at the little house by the river. That first fall I had so much time on my hands! My house was so clean and uncluttered! I prepared meals fairly regularly. I took time for coffee and lunches with friends. I traveled to see family regularly. I exercised several days a week. I started most days with Bible study and blogging. It was a lovely season.
I’ll admit I was a little bored.
I’m not bored any more.
My new challenge is to offer myself grace when my house is cluttered and in need of a deep cleaning, when my husband and I have to scrounge through the fridge to find leftovers — again, when I turn down one more offer to meet a friend for coffee, when it’s been weeks months since I’ve seen some of my family, when I miss a full week of exercise, or when I’ve failed to make time for daily Bible study and prayer. Because, honestly, this has become the norm for the moment.
I know it’s just a moment. I agreed to a heavier course load for a semester — not forever. We are taking two international trips in the next four months, but then we probably won’t go anywhere again for years! It’s a season, just like many other seasons we have weathered. It’s just for a moment, but in the moments, it feels overwhelming.
So, instead of taking time to pause, reflect, and pray, I spend those moments online ordering travel pillows and earplugs. In place of going to the gym, I fit in an appointment for immunizations. Rather than meeting friends for coffee, I spend the morning grading papers and preparing for the next class. When I could take a day trip to visit family, I find myself on the couch recovering from another hectic week.
It’s a season, I tell myself. Yet life is made up of seasons, is it not? Do I wait for the next season, when I’ll presumably have more time, to fit in the disciplines and pleasures I love so well? Or do I adapt so that I can taste them even in this season?
Yes, that was a rhetorical question.
I’m in the sixth week of this semester. So far — yes, it’s Tuesday — I’ve managed to start my week off with worship, connections at church, a completed stack, time with my husband, a couple of prepared meals, an hour of Pilates, a physical therapy session, and, this morning, an hour of Bible study, reflection, prayer, and blogging. Ahhhh. Now, see, isn’t that lovely? Why don’t I keep this rhythm every day? Every week?
Well, because I am human. I am bound to be buried in the to-dos very shortly. After all, I am not only planning for tomorrow’s classes and grading yesterday’s papers, I am also preparing my students for the fact that I will be gone for a week. As if that weren’t enough, I’ve also planned to see seven private students this week and travel to see our granddaughter this weekend.
As my husband would say, “Every bit of it is good stuff!” I love being in the classroom! I love reading student writing! Watching students learn is what feeds me! And, certainly, squishing that little granddaughter is second to no other activity in my life!
Yet, I remind myself, if I want to be able to do all of the stuff that I love, I must take time to oxygenate myself first. I can’t be an effective wife, mother, friend, or teacher, if I let myself get completely depleted. And that’s what happens when I neglect my personal disciplines and my social interactions. Let’s be honest — the messy house isn’t gonna kill anyone. And, truly, there’s enough cereal and chunky soup in the kitchen; no one is going to starve.
I’m learning, guys. Something has to give. If I want to teach more and — gasp — travel, I’ve got to shift my expectations of myself. In the past, I’ve sacrificed self-care in order to maintain an orderly house and the appearance that all is well. What I’m learning is that being truly well is less about appearances and more about my daily disciplines and meaningful connections.
Hang in there with me folks, I’m shifting gears and trying to enjoy the journey.
This morning I read a blog written by a former student. She re-posted a blog she had written while attending the high school where I taught. She had come out as gay while attending this small Christian high school. She decided during her senior year to document every homophobic remark she heard while at school. She graduated three years ago. I had no idea this blog existed until this morning. I am not shocked by what I read, but I am deeply saddened.
How can it be that in a Christian high school, a brilliant and kind young woman would have to endure hateful language on average six times each day for a total of 929 homophobic comments during her senior year? Lest I disparage the reputation of the school that I taught at and loved for nine years, let me say that this type of behavior is not uncommon in Christian circles.
How can we who have been shown so much love, who have accepted so much forgiveness and grace, turn and treat our neighbors with such cruelty and hatred? Isn’t that the behavior of those who have no hope?
Now, I am writing today neither to condone nor condemn homosexuality.
I am writing because I am troubled by the cruelty I see among God’s people. We shake our fists at ISIS and their beheading of Christians in the Middle East while watching each other treat people right here in our neighborhoods with derision. I am not innocent. I have at times been homophobic. And racist. And agist. And sexist. And condemning toward anyone who is ‘other’ than me. I have been ignorant. And insensitive. And judgmental. We all have. If we think we haven’t, we are kidding ourselves.
Some of us judge those who are poor. Some of us hate those who have too much money, too much privilege. Some of us are prejudiced toward people who are too fat. Or too skinny. Or too white. Or too black.
We position ourselves in opposition to one another instead of coming alongside one another. We keep one another at arm’s length assuming our views are right, maybe afraid that we might be proven wrong. And in creating this distance we rob ourselves of the opportunity for conversation, community, and growth.
In the name of Christianity? Is that what Christ modeled for us? Can you point out a time that He called someone a derogatory name? Or made someone feel inferior? Or refused to have a conversation, even when people were attacking him, or crucifying him?
No. You can’t. Because He ate with tax collectors. He forgave prostitutes. He touched and healed lepers. He endured insult without retaliation. He spoke truth when He was spat upon.
How could he do that? Because He knew who He was. He was not threatened. He was love.
We can do it, too. If we remember whose we are. We are not in danger. We are loved.
Anybody can be rude and hateful. Only those who have been shown unconditional love can give it.
I John 4:7-8
Beloved, let us love one another.
For love is of God and everyone that loves is born of God and knows God.
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