I have decided for life.
I have decided to grow,
to do more than survive,
to grow through the fog to the sun,
that attractive star.
I have decided to ignore
the coaxings, the threats,
the requests to turn into stone.
I have chosen to keep in motion.
I have decided
to take my chances with the abyss,
to weather the painful in-betweens,
to wake in my own blood,
to mourn my lost innocence
in the process of growth,
because all growth has as it's heartflower
pain in it's endless variations,
and its petals are the many colors of suffering.
But I have also decided
to overcome all obstacles,
to stand triumphant at the end,
the child tuned into man
and into child again.
—Ulrich Schaffer
Saturday, November 13, 2010
Monday, February 1, 2010
Twenty One? Twenty Two? No...It's 23!
There's always that strange awkwardness when you bump into someone that you haven't seen for a long time, someone you had gotten to know, but for some reason or another your life takes you down a different path and you lose touch. But then there's that realization of bonds that had been created and the seeds of love sown that quickly put you at ease with each other, and once again you are walking along the same path.
I hope that blogs are like that.
It has been so long since I have posted. My new job had the longer hours and hour commute, and as much also wanted to share my life with my circle of friends I had gotten to know online, my time to blog had a deep gash cut into it.
I have been popping in on your sites from time to time. Weddings have happened, books have been published and twitter poetry has sprung up.
My life has taken a turn and I hope to tell you all about it, but for now I just want to say, "hello again!"
I hope that blogs are like that.
It has been so long since I have posted. My new job had the longer hours and hour commute, and as much also wanted to share my life with my circle of friends I had gotten to know online, my time to blog had a deep gash cut into it.
I have been popping in on your sites from time to time. Weddings have happened, books have been published and twitter poetry has sprung up.
My life has taken a turn and I hope to tell you all about it, but for now I just want to say, "hello again!"
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Sheer Goofiness
We adopted a shepherd puppy for my daughter's birthday in February. This is not our first dog, in fact, we already have a fluff-n-luv at home, so we knew what to expect (but it has been eight years, so there are somethings we have forgotten.)
With having a puppy in the house, there is the amazing, soft, loving part where you ask yourself "why didn't I adopt this fluffer-nutter earlier, what a cutie! She is fun to play with, she is afraid of the oddest inanimate things, and she sleeps on your feet while you do the dishes. And then there is the poo part that comes in tandem with it, many times in the wrong places, at the wrong times, between the wrong toes. And it doesn't take too long for you to realize why God made them so cute, or they would be so dead.
Beyond the innocence, the kisses, and tootsie roll surprises, a pup brings something to life's equation something that I think we all so desperately need. Sheer goofiness. I think that life would be more fun if we all resolved ourselves to, (at the right times) a measure of sheer goofiness.
In remembrance of goofiness, here are some fun things I that I have done through the years. I hope they inspire you, and that you will share some of your stories, too.
I have blown streams of bubbles over the top of my cubical with my fan.
I have bubble-wrapped many car tires.
Filled a locker with popcorn.
Offered plastic chicken legs to people at the strangest times.
With kids in tow, I would stalk my wife's car, and when she went into a store, I would move it very far away from where she parked, and then we would wait to watch her look for it.
Called one of our kids at school, had them come to the phone in the office just to tell them I set a new personal record in bench-press that morning. She still laughs about it.
Once, on a day over 100 degrees, I turned the heater on in our van until I was pouring sweat, and found a great polka channel before I picked up our kids from the mall.
I love to make up dialogue for people walking into and out of stores. It can really be a fun way to pass the time while waiting for someone.
I have a watch that can control TV volume— a source of great fun at the gym.
I have been known to four-wheel in a two-wheel drive vehicle, hitting the brakes, jerking the wheel and engaging the wipers, sometimes while dropping the kids off at school.
I have great impressions of Alpaca salesmen and Indian Cobra dealers I use when I leave voice-mail. My Jimmy Stewart is 98% on, and of course I can do Arnold Schwartzenegger very well.
Your turn!
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
If Memories Were Sparrows
If memories were sparrows they would nest in my hair, and sing in my ear their songs of deliverance.
If memories were sparrows, I would mend up their broken, and set flight the dark wing—the wild thing on bough.
If memories were sparrows, I would feed them on dreams and the seeds of my longing, shelter their offspring from rain and from fire.
And then they would flourish—guarding my journeys with song ever-present
On earth and in sky.
If memories were sparrows.
This poem, written for "The Great Poem Caper"
to see more about The Great Poem Caper
the blog of L.L. Barkat: "seedlings in stone".
If memories were sparrows, I would mend up their broken, and set flight the dark wing—the wild thing on bough.
If memories were sparrows, I would feed them on dreams and the seeds of my longing, shelter their offspring from rain and from fire.
And then they would flourish—guarding my journeys with song ever-present
On earth and in sky.
If memories were sparrows.
This poem, written for "The Great Poem Caper"
to see more about The Great Poem Caper
the blog of L.L. Barkat: "seedlings in stone".
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Too Much Love
These cold Fall Wisconsin mornings, my daughter and I wait for her school bus in our "rural" driveway. It's not a lot of time, but I am thankful that I get to spend these moments with her.
We play frisbee with our dog, and admire the way the morning sun back-lights her, making the edges of her white fur glow.
We examine the structure of snowflakes that land on her black gloves.
We have a special routine of hugs and handshakes that we go through each day. We also recite God's promises we have memorized. Some mornings, it's so cold we can see our breath as we practice these verses, saying them out loud into the air.
Recently it has been, "For you have not received a Spirit of fear, but of power, love and a sound mind," out of 2 Timothy. This was verse we learned at bed time, and very appropriate the days she is feeling anything but courageous.
One morning, after saying this verse to me, I looked into her big blue-green eyes, misty with emotion. She hugged me tightly, not wanting to let go and then she said, " I think I have TOO MUCH love, dad."
We play frisbee with our dog, and admire the way the morning sun back-lights her, making the edges of her white fur glow.
We examine the structure of snowflakes that land on her black gloves.
We have a special routine of hugs and handshakes that we go through each day. We also recite God's promises we have memorized. Some mornings, it's so cold we can see our breath as we practice these verses, saying them out loud into the air.
Recently it has been, "For you have not received a Spirit of fear, but of power, love and a sound mind," out of 2 Timothy. This was verse we learned at bed time, and very appropriate the days she is feeling anything but courageous.
One morning, after saying this verse to me, I looked into her big blue-green eyes, misty with emotion. She hugged me tightly, not wanting to let go and then she said, " I think I have TOO MUCH love, dad."
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
On Growth
All growth
leads to contact
to touching
and being touched
where our life force flows.
I don't have time
for the waiting rooms of small talk,
to play at being alive,
to resolve religious problems.
My growing is
having a yearning that hurts,
being breakable by words alone,
and taking the risk
of living on the edge.
But that is how we meet.
Our brokenness touches
and in our craving for the light
we lift off,
dancing angels with weighty feet.
—Ulrich Schaffer
leads to contact
to touching
and being touched
where our life force flows.
I don't have time
for the waiting rooms of small talk,
to play at being alive,
to resolve religious problems.
My growing is
having a yearning that hurts,
being breakable by words alone,
and taking the risk
of living on the edge.
But that is how we meet.
Our brokenness touches
and in our craving for the light
we lift off,
dancing angels with weighty feet.
—Ulrich Schaffer
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Unexpected Surge
Every time we stand in church to sing, my 8-years old daughter nestles into my side and my arm goes around her. This always reminds me of the closeness I can have with Christ my Father, and how dearly He loves me. Sounds simple, but trust usually is, right? I am looking to once again trust Jesus like this, but I struggle with even the best evidence perceivable in my own life, because of the scars that seem not to have healed.
Ten years ago we left our home and jobs in California and used all of our savings to follow the leading of the Lord to join a floundering missions organization. Pouring ourselves into the people, the work and the culture for almost six years was not a difficult choice. We had some great times of growth, and we saw so much good! And to be a part of such an accepting and close-knit group was incredible. To this day believe we were following the Lord's leading to be a part of this work He was doing in Asia. The eyes of our heart were opened—but in more ways than we were hoping for.
It has been four years since my family was abused and abandoned by those in leadership of this mission organization. Our family was not alone. Many families were preyed upon and many left shortly after we were kicked out, and the number has grown to about 20-30% of the staff. I believe that us being fired opened the eyes to the toxicity of this dark religious environment. This will sound twisted, but I was so grateful to be let go, grateful that I didn't have to choose, because I was very willing to stay and suffer for the sake of the gospel there...and I now see that I just didn't have to, and that my family would have paid a very steep price if we stayed there.
When abuse, lies and abandonment come from those you trust and love—even though my family and I have made it through (and things are so, so good now) I still struggle with the fear. My feelings unexpectedly surged this month when I was physically drained from surgery, medication, no gym-time, and chronic physical pain. I know the time to think rationally is not when one is under such stress, but like a flood, there were these feelings that I thought I had long said goodbye to. I mean, I was the one who just left my last position, I was not forced out. I have a great job now that has been unmatched in respect and care. What do I need to do before I am healed?
I feel like I will be abandoned by those closest to me, that I will be misunderstood, spiritually abused if I allow anyone close, if try to stop or point out abuse, or simply disagree with anyone. These are the things I did that brought down the boom at the dot-org.
So, I have been thinking a lot lately about why I feel the way that I do and what conditions accelerate these bad feelings, what feelings are present exactly, and what has conditioned me to behave this way. Trying to identify what I exactly feel is difficult. How do I break free from this victim mentality? Is it a victim mentality?
Do I just need to just trust Him, to allow His arm around me, and know He is standing with me (like my daughter does when we sing at church) and allow even more time and circumstance to heal me, or...do I need professional counseling? Yes, I want to be fully healed.
When I first thought of blogging, I was hoping to only write about the good things in life that I did not want to forget because I wanted to think only about them and forget my recent past. I was coming out of these painful times and the denial part was wearing off, and I didn't want to wade through the muck of processing it all. I was, and may still, not be strong enough. But wow, it feels good to even have these few clear thoughts written out.
Ten years ago we left our home and jobs in California and used all of our savings to follow the leading of the Lord to join a floundering missions organization. Pouring ourselves into the people, the work and the culture for almost six years was not a difficult choice. We had some great times of growth, and we saw so much good! And to be a part of such an accepting and close-knit group was incredible. To this day believe we were following the Lord's leading to be a part of this work He was doing in Asia. The eyes of our heart were opened—but in more ways than we were hoping for.
It has been four years since my family was abused and abandoned by those in leadership of this mission organization. Our family was not alone. Many families were preyed upon and many left shortly after we were kicked out, and the number has grown to about 20-30% of the staff. I believe that us being fired opened the eyes to the toxicity of this dark religious environment. This will sound twisted, but I was so grateful to be let go, grateful that I didn't have to choose, because I was very willing to stay and suffer for the sake of the gospel there...and I now see that I just didn't have to, and that my family would have paid a very steep price if we stayed there.
When abuse, lies and abandonment come from those you trust and love—even though my family and I have made it through (and things are so, so good now) I still struggle with the fear. My feelings unexpectedly surged this month when I was physically drained from surgery, medication, no gym-time, and chronic physical pain. I know the time to think rationally is not when one is under such stress, but like a flood, there were these feelings that I thought I had long said goodbye to. I mean, I was the one who just left my last position, I was not forced out. I have a great job now that has been unmatched in respect and care. What do I need to do before I am healed?
I feel like I will be abandoned by those closest to me, that I will be misunderstood, spiritually abused if I allow anyone close, if try to stop or point out abuse, or simply disagree with anyone. These are the things I did that brought down the boom at the dot-org.
So, I have been thinking a lot lately about why I feel the way that I do and what conditions accelerate these bad feelings, what feelings are present exactly, and what has conditioned me to behave this way. Trying to identify what I exactly feel is difficult. How do I break free from this victim mentality? Is it a victim mentality?
Do I just need to just trust Him, to allow His arm around me, and know He is standing with me (like my daughter does when we sing at church) and allow even more time and circumstance to heal me, or...do I need professional counseling? Yes, I want to be fully healed.
When I first thought of blogging, I was hoping to only write about the good things in life that I did not want to forget because I wanted to think only about them and forget my recent past. I was coming out of these painful times and the denial part was wearing off, and I didn't want to wade through the muck of processing it all. I was, and may still, not be strong enough. But wow, it feels good to even have these few clear thoughts written out.
Sunday, May 25, 2008
Six Random Things
I had the honor of being tagged by my gluten-free friend to list six random things about myself. Here goes!
1. I love watermelon. My grandpa had a hidden watermelon patch in the sandy soil of his cornfields. After he cut sample squares to taste a few with his Case pocket knife, he would cut me large pieces with his machete on the tailgate of his pickup, and we would feast! It was warm, but very sweet and extremely juicy.
2. My wife and I were house-parents for 11 years: seven in a sorority and four in a group home for pregnant teens.
3. We served as missionaries for six years, stationed state-side, but have traveled throughout India.
4. Rodeo Clown: I think a lot about this profession—how they step into the bull to avoid the horns. Probably my true calling or a reflection of the way I think about life.
5. This weekend marked 22 years for Mrs. 23 Degrees and I. I truly found favor with the Lord by finding her—and she still laughs at all of my jokes.
6. An Etch-A-Sketch, a wheat penny, Stone Crossings, a small bust of Abraham Lincoln, an "I Love you daddy" note from my daughter, and a photo of my son on the football field: a few things on my night-stand.
If you are game, I would love to tag:
Laama Momma
LL Barkat
A Reluctant Blogger
And I tag Kirsten back, because I know she has six more random things she has thought of since this post that she wants to share.
1. I love watermelon. My grandpa had a hidden watermelon patch in the sandy soil of his cornfields. After he cut sample squares to taste a few with his Case pocket knife, he would cut me large pieces with his machete on the tailgate of his pickup, and we would feast! It was warm, but very sweet and extremely juicy.
2. My wife and I were house-parents for 11 years: seven in a sorority and four in a group home for pregnant teens.
3. We served as missionaries for six years, stationed state-side, but have traveled throughout India.
4. Rodeo Clown: I think a lot about this profession—how they step into the bull to avoid the horns. Probably my true calling or a reflection of the way I think about life.
5. This weekend marked 22 years for Mrs. 23 Degrees and I. I truly found favor with the Lord by finding her—and she still laughs at all of my jokes.
6. An Etch-A-Sketch, a wheat penny, Stone Crossings, a small bust of Abraham Lincoln, an "I Love you daddy" note from my daughter, and a photo of my son on the football field: a few things on my night-stand.
If you are game, I would love to tag:
Laama Momma
LL Barkat
A Reluctant Blogger
And I tag Kirsten back, because I know she has six more random things she has thought of since this post that she wants to share.
Friday, May 9, 2008
The Ground is Down There
My feet dangled over the edge of my dreams for a of couple of months, as I waited to jump into my new job. It was tough sitting there, wanting to immediately leave, and I was tired of the posturing and office politics. But I waited, giving thanks that this new path had opened up, seemingly with no prompting from me.
Thinking about how great it would be to leave, I felt a long-missed sense of freedom and often found myself swinging my legs, anticipating the new adventure.
Some days I wondered if it was all true. I tried to focus on my day to day tasks as I felt feelings of relief and also some small doubts that it may not turn out. But conditions were poor and steadily getting more out of control where I was at. At no point did I wonder if I should stay. These days gave way to the reality of what I believed to be His hand leading me beside quiet waters: confirmations and re-assurances that He sees me and knows every detail.
Typing up my notice gave me goose bumps. Turning it in felt like a 1000 pounds lifting from my shoulders. My two weeks went quickly and my last evening was spent raising glasses and telling stories, getting hand shakes and hugs from friends and enemies.
I have just finished my second week at my new post and my feet haven't touched the ground. There is a sense of honor, care and humility present at my new work place that has given me wings. Even the atmosphere is ultra-creative with wide open spaces, sculptures suspended from the ceiling, space to roam, think, draw, move. No cubicles, no clock watchers.
I realize I am still honeymooning, but wow, what a honeymoon!
Thinking about how great it would be to leave, I felt a long-missed sense of freedom and often found myself swinging my legs, anticipating the new adventure.
Some days I wondered if it was all true. I tried to focus on my day to day tasks as I felt feelings of relief and also some small doubts that it may not turn out. But conditions were poor and steadily getting more out of control where I was at. At no point did I wonder if I should stay. These days gave way to the reality of what I believed to be His hand leading me beside quiet waters: confirmations and re-assurances that He sees me and knows every detail.
Typing up my notice gave me goose bumps. Turning it in felt like a 1000 pounds lifting from my shoulders. My two weeks went quickly and my last evening was spent raising glasses and telling stories, getting hand shakes and hugs from friends and enemies.
I have just finished my second week at my new post and my feet haven't touched the ground. There is a sense of honor, care and humility present at my new work place that has given me wings. Even the atmosphere is ultra-creative with wide open spaces, sculptures suspended from the ceiling, space to roam, think, draw, move. No cubicles, no clock watchers.
I realize I am still honeymooning, but wow, what a honeymoon!
Thursday, February 28, 2008
"Take Care of Your Boy"
He sat alone, although a crowd encircled him in the overly-heated room. Many friends and family had come to pay respects, but no one could begin to have words that would comfort, or offer apologies that would alleviate his sorrow.
I tried to picture myself in his place: sitting uncomfortably in the overstuffed chair, staring out the window into the winter landscape, listening to the dull voices of those sharing memories and tearful embraces. I tried to put myself in his place, but the pain was too overwhelming, the grief too heavy for my frame. My God, how can he bear this? How could this have happened?
His son lay in the next room, killed by his best friend, with what was thought to be an unloaded gun.
My son stands in the dimly lit doorway of the funeral home greeting a small group of people who have just arrived. I hear him recite his name to those who have come here be alongside of this family who has lost so much. We are a part of this community, a part of these lives, and together we have come to grieve as one and say goodbye to a friend, a neighbor—a son.
I look at my 15-year old and I see the best in me: I see his unique personality that has developed from his view of the world, and from the unusual experiences he has had moving cross-country (more than a couple of times) and having his folks involved with the arts and ministry. When I look at him, I see the little boy that would make sketchbooks full of sea monsters, the boy that would chase the ocean waves and stare up into the redwoods in wonder. I see the child who would sleep with his toy trucks and build spacecraft with his Lego's and call charlie-horses "horsey-joes." My son, the child who prayed each night for two years that God would provide him the perfect dog, the one who worked beside me to renovate our first house. I see the football player, the joker, the romantic. I see the boy who is fast becoming a man—who told us that he didn't know how he would do today, and asked us to be close. I understood. Less than a year ago we were in the same room as he grieved with a friend who lost his mom. He is holding fast, our eyes meet and he gives me a sign that he is okay.
Being new in our community, I never met this dad before, but I knew that I had to go to him.
Walking over, I offer my hand and sit down. He knows my son and tells me a story about him and his boy, and we both share a smile. This memory brings him joy for a moment, until once again the overbearing reality sets in, that his son is now gone.
“I can’t bear to go into the other room,” he says, “I can’t see my boy like that.”
Turning his head away, he cries, wiping the tears as they flow down the well-worn paths on his face. As I sat there in the silence of his grief, deep down I knew that we shouldn't be here—this should not be happening. We should be at a basketball game or a concert, anywhere else—anywhere but here.
I didn't know what to do, but to just be there. Looking at him, I uttered the only thing I knew to be true, "You will see him again," I said, as my hand fell onto his shoulder.
His eyes were red, and his voice stifled, but he managed to look up and say that this was his hope.
As I got up to leave, his eyes fixed on mine, and he said to me, "Take care of your boy."
I could sense his love for his own son in these words, and knew they would echo in my heart for a long time, because the meaning of his words were: "Take care not to miss even a moment of time you could spend together with your son. Help him know who he is and how proud you are of him. Tell him that you love him.
"I will," I said, keeping his gaze, "I will."
I tried to picture myself in his place: sitting uncomfortably in the overstuffed chair, staring out the window into the winter landscape, listening to the dull voices of those sharing memories and tearful embraces. I tried to put myself in his place, but the pain was too overwhelming, the grief too heavy for my frame. My God, how can he bear this? How could this have happened?
His son lay in the next room, killed by his best friend, with what was thought to be an unloaded gun.
My son stands in the dimly lit doorway of the funeral home greeting a small group of people who have just arrived. I hear him recite his name to those who have come here be alongside of this family who has lost so much. We are a part of this community, a part of these lives, and together we have come to grieve as one and say goodbye to a friend, a neighbor—a son.
I look at my 15-year old and I see the best in me: I see his unique personality that has developed from his view of the world, and from the unusual experiences he has had moving cross-country (more than a couple of times) and having his folks involved with the arts and ministry. When I look at him, I see the little boy that would make sketchbooks full of sea monsters, the boy that would chase the ocean waves and stare up into the redwoods in wonder. I see the child who would sleep with his toy trucks and build spacecraft with his Lego's and call charlie-horses "horsey-joes." My son, the child who prayed each night for two years that God would provide him the perfect dog, the one who worked beside me to renovate our first house. I see the football player, the joker, the romantic. I see the boy who is fast becoming a man—who told us that he didn't know how he would do today, and asked us to be close. I understood. Less than a year ago we were in the same room as he grieved with a friend who lost his mom. He is holding fast, our eyes meet and he gives me a sign that he is okay.
Being new in our community, I never met this dad before, but I knew that I had to go to him.
Walking over, I offer my hand and sit down. He knows my son and tells me a story about him and his boy, and we both share a smile. This memory brings him joy for a moment, until once again the overbearing reality sets in, that his son is now gone.
“I can’t bear to go into the other room,” he says, “I can’t see my boy like that.”
Turning his head away, he cries, wiping the tears as they flow down the well-worn paths on his face. As I sat there in the silence of his grief, deep down I knew that we shouldn't be here—this should not be happening. We should be at a basketball game or a concert, anywhere else—anywhere but here.
I didn't know what to do, but to just be there. Looking at him, I uttered the only thing I knew to be true, "You will see him again," I said, as my hand fell onto his shoulder.
His eyes were red, and his voice stifled, but he managed to look up and say that this was his hope.
As I got up to leave, his eyes fixed on mine, and he said to me, "Take care of your boy."
I could sense his love for his own son in these words, and knew they would echo in my heart for a long time, because the meaning of his words were: "Take care not to miss even a moment of time you could spend together with your son. Help him know who he is and how proud you are of him. Tell him that you love him.
"I will," I said, keeping his gaze, "I will."
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
Sunday, February 3, 2008
Two Candy Hearts
With a sheepish little grin, my daughter walked into the kitchen and handed me two tiny candy hearts. You know, the ones where the words are almost never centered, the ones hard enough to break the tooth of a Pitbull?
On one heart was stamped the word, "TO," on the other was the word was,"DREAM." As I looked down at them cupped in my hand, I realized this is something that I haven't done in a long time.
The last few years have been hard, and admittedly, I have been in quasi-survival mode, making a living and coping with my job, my coworkers, trying to find my voice again—recognize my own laugh. My tears have been all too a familiar taste in my mouth.
This is why Friday was a great day. I was asked to lunch with the creative director of a local firm—to dream.
I have been praying and searching for a new place to hang my hat, and amazed this person sought me out. She said that she showed my work around and the consensus was, "we have to have him!" "So," she said, "here I am asking if you will consider joining us." I was stunned. Amazed. This woman who was sitting across from me has won more awards for her design than sequels to Rocky, and I would get to work alongside of her. Am I dreaming?
My current position, although very challenging, has been difficult to enjoy. Through some very strange re-structuring, my work load has increased dramatically. And, a person I have to work closely with has a personality I have found very difficult to be around for most of my waking hours.
Deadlines have also been an issue. My copy is always late and my margin to create in very small for a monthly rag. This seems to be an ingrained problem that I have tried to address, but it seems those in question feel they are above questioning, above scrutiny.
Although I get apologies for the lateness and recognition for always making my final deadlines, it comes with a price of many extra hours the last week before press. I have enabled this behavior by not taking a strong stance, but I feel like I have had no one to turn to, and I fear pressing the subject further would very much risk my job.
Company wide, there has been so much posturing that many creatives have left because their voice was smothered, their gifts unused. My friend, the one who was now asking me to join her company, was one of them.
What I have learned:
1. to work with difficult people, and pray for them
2. I can meet impossible deadlines
3. 45 minutes of heavy lifting at lunch works wonders
4. I can only have responsible relationships with responsible people
5. God sees me and is for me
6. Seeds of hard work and kindness I sow now will reap opportunities later
7. Holding those over me to be accountable is difficult—something I need to learn how to do
8. I have a choice where I want be
So, here I am with a great offer on the table, my head spinning, my heart thanking the Lord—my dreams about to become reality.
On one heart was stamped the word, "TO," on the other was the word was,"DREAM." As I looked down at them cupped in my hand, I realized this is something that I haven't done in a long time.
The last few years have been hard, and admittedly, I have been in quasi-survival mode, making a living and coping with my job, my coworkers, trying to find my voice again—recognize my own laugh. My tears have been all too a familiar taste in my mouth.
This is why Friday was a great day. I was asked to lunch with the creative director of a local firm—to dream.
I have been praying and searching for a new place to hang my hat, and amazed this person sought me out. She said that she showed my work around and the consensus was, "we have to have him!" "So," she said, "here I am asking if you will consider joining us." I was stunned. Amazed. This woman who was sitting across from me has won more awards for her design than sequels to Rocky, and I would get to work alongside of her. Am I dreaming?
My current position, although very challenging, has been difficult to enjoy. Through some very strange re-structuring, my work load has increased dramatically. And, a person I have to work closely with has a personality I have found very difficult to be around for most of my waking hours.
Deadlines have also been an issue. My copy is always late and my margin to create in very small for a monthly rag. This seems to be an ingrained problem that I have tried to address, but it seems those in question feel they are above questioning, above scrutiny.
Although I get apologies for the lateness and recognition for always making my final deadlines, it comes with a price of many extra hours the last week before press. I have enabled this behavior by not taking a strong stance, but I feel like I have had no one to turn to, and I fear pressing the subject further would very much risk my job.
Company wide, there has been so much posturing that many creatives have left because their voice was smothered, their gifts unused. My friend, the one who was now asking me to join her company, was one of them.
What I have learned:
1. to work with difficult people, and pray for them
2. I can meet impossible deadlines
3. 45 minutes of heavy lifting at lunch works wonders
4. I can only have responsible relationships with responsible people
5. God sees me and is for me
6. Seeds of hard work and kindness I sow now will reap opportunities later
7. Holding those over me to be accountable is difficult—something I need to learn how to do
8. I have a choice where I want be
So, here I am with a great offer on the table, my head spinning, my heart thanking the Lord—my dreams about to become reality.
Thursday, January 3, 2008
What I Did Over Christmas Vacation
This year I took vacation the week before and after Christmas. Time off was welcomed after putting so many rushed hours in on our last rag, (editors, take note: meet your deadlines and have happy art directors!) I dreamed about the things that I could do and the time I would have to think, create and breathe outside air. I made a list in my journal, hopeful I could accomplish each item, giving no thought to any practicalities.
I knew there were non-negotiables: Christmas shopping, my wife's birthday, and taking the kids tubing (did you know tubes on snow can go over 40 mph?) But some other things like shooting photos of my town's grand old Victorians blanketed in Christmas lights and snow, I wasn't sure I would get to—but I surprised myself.
It was hard to cut the umbilical after pushing hard to meet my deadline, and I actually snuck in some half days on to jump on next month's issue (had to drop my son off close to my office for his new job, so I could just pop in) and yes, I actually accomplished not checking my email for a few days from home...okay, two days!
Although I was used to hours in front of the computer, I tried not to spend my time there. But, I found that I missed the fellowship of the blog and I have looked forward to this post. I pray all those in my small blog community had a Christmas full of wonder. I am thankful for you and the gift of oneness you have been to me, for the encouragement, and for the inspiration of your stories. I think Kirsten echoes my heart on the matter when she said, "We all have stories. And I think we all want our stories to be validated somehow; we want to share them, we want them not to be forgotten. We use them to connect with one another in this virtual blogging space."
So I sit here, on a cloudy day with my list tucked away for now. The snow is falling and I contemplate the mystery of Immanuel, God with us. I also think of the new year and what it may hold.
Under our tree, we have a nativity that was given to us as a gift some years ago. The nativity seems so serene, but even this miraculous arrival had many tough days prior to it. Mary, a pregnant teen, unmarried, giving birth in a stable—perfection born in imperfection. She was a willing vessel to the Lord. When the angel told her that the savior would be created inside of her she responds in with some questions she would like answered, specifically on how a virgin could accomplish such a task, but also in faith: "And Mary said, Behold the handmaid of the Lord; be it unto me according to thy word."
She was willing for perfection to be born in imperfection.
In the first chapter of Luke, Zehariah prophecies before Jesus is born, "Morning light is about to break upon us, to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, and to guide us to the path of peace."
May we each allow His light truly break upon us—perfection born in imperfection—this year of 2008, making the shadows of death, despair, depression flee far from us, and may this light guide us, no matter what our circumstances, to the path of peace—His peace.
"Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid."
I knew there were non-negotiables: Christmas shopping, my wife's birthday, and taking the kids tubing (did you know tubes on snow can go over 40 mph?) But some other things like shooting photos of my town's grand old Victorians blanketed in Christmas lights and snow, I wasn't sure I would get to—but I surprised myself.
It was hard to cut the umbilical after pushing hard to meet my deadline, and I actually snuck in some half days on to jump on next month's issue (had to drop my son off close to my office for his new job, so I could just pop in) and yes, I actually accomplished not checking my email for a few days from home...okay, two days!
Although I was used to hours in front of the computer, I tried not to spend my time there. But, I found that I missed the fellowship of the blog and I have looked forward to this post. I pray all those in my small blog community had a Christmas full of wonder. I am thankful for you and the gift of oneness you have been to me, for the encouragement, and for the inspiration of your stories. I think Kirsten echoes my heart on the matter when she said, "We all have stories. And I think we all want our stories to be validated somehow; we want to share them, we want them not to be forgotten. We use them to connect with one another in this virtual blogging space."
So I sit here, on a cloudy day with my list tucked away for now. The snow is falling and I contemplate the mystery of Immanuel, God with us. I also think of the new year and what it may hold.
Under our tree, we have a nativity that was given to us as a gift some years ago. The nativity seems so serene, but even this miraculous arrival had many tough days prior to it. Mary, a pregnant teen, unmarried, giving birth in a stable—perfection born in imperfection. She was a willing vessel to the Lord. When the angel told her that the savior would be created inside of her she responds in with some questions she would like answered, specifically on how a virgin could accomplish such a task, but also in faith: "And Mary said, Behold the handmaid of the Lord; be it unto me according to thy word."
She was willing for perfection to be born in imperfection.
In the first chapter of Luke, Zehariah prophecies before Jesus is born, "Morning light is about to break upon us, to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, and to guide us to the path of peace."
May we each allow His light truly break upon us—perfection born in imperfection—this year of 2008, making the shadows of death, despair, depression flee far from us, and may this light guide us, no matter what our circumstances, to the path of peace—His peace.
"Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid."
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Marching to the Beat of a Different Drum (stick)
Today, as I was heading down the stairs to leave for church, I saw it out of the corner of my eye. Turning, I bent down, grabbed it, stuck it in my pocket and had a quick chortle (not to be confused with a giggle) and headed to church.
I wasn't sure what I would do with a plastic chicken leg, or should I say, plastic "drumstick" (seeing that it is "cooked" and all) but I figured if it got one giggle from my seven-year old (giggle is okay here) at an inappropriate time, it would be worth lugging it around in my Dockers (not to be confused with knickers.)
During the sermon, my daughter was drawing and leaned a little close to me, resting her thigh against my left pocket where she felt the lump of the toy. She knew from sitting close to me every Sunday that this was unusual, so she started to reach in...and to stop what could have been an outburst, I stopped her hand and shook my head.
Now she was curious, so being a good seven-year old, she persisted. Looking straight at her, I pulled it to the edge of my pocket and gave her a peek. She cupped her hands over her mouth and her eyes did a devious dance as they looked into mine. My first success.
After the service, I was conversing with the family in front of us. Their pre-teen daughter was telling me about the buck she had shot last week, and at a pause, I knew I had my opportunity. Out came my hand and in it was the drumstick. "Want a drumstick?" I said. She just looked at me and laughed, shaking her head no, rolling her eyes, and nudging her mom to show her what I was up to.
As we were filing to go down to the fellowship hall, I stopped to talk with a guy who I hardly ever see laugh, or even smile. After listening for a while, I offered to help him do some tiling in the new addition he is building, all the while knowing the formed plastic that was colored to a perfect brown glaze resting in my pocket would NEVER get a rise out of him.
But then God smiled upon me...his daughter came up, pulled on his arm and muttered the words that only a 40-year old wanna-be comedian who had a fake chicken leg in his pocket could love..."I'm hungry!" Out came the drumstick. Success number three.
Traversing the crowd in the fellowship hall, I ran into the worship director who invited me to attend the creative planning meetings on Thursday mornings, which I was hoping to do again, and had emailed her about it only a few days prior. She told me there would be breakfast provided—and to that comment the finely-crafted kids toy made somewhere in China (where the chicken that modeled for it is obviously very small) made it's last appearance and got it's last laugh, with the footnote from her, that a guy who carries a fake chicken leg in his pocket definitely needed to attend these type of meetings.
I wasn't sure what I would do with a plastic chicken leg, or should I say, plastic "drumstick" (seeing that it is "cooked" and all) but I figured if it got one giggle from my seven-year old (giggle is okay here) at an inappropriate time, it would be worth lugging it around in my Dockers (not to be confused with knickers.)
During the sermon, my daughter was drawing and leaned a little close to me, resting her thigh against my left pocket where she felt the lump of the toy. She knew from sitting close to me every Sunday that this was unusual, so she started to reach in...and to stop what could have been an outburst, I stopped her hand and shook my head.
Now she was curious, so being a good seven-year old, she persisted. Looking straight at her, I pulled it to the edge of my pocket and gave her a peek. She cupped her hands over her mouth and her eyes did a devious dance as they looked into mine. My first success.
After the service, I was conversing with the family in front of us. Their pre-teen daughter was telling me about the buck she had shot last week, and at a pause, I knew I had my opportunity. Out came my hand and in it was the drumstick. "Want a drumstick?" I said. She just looked at me and laughed, shaking her head no, rolling her eyes, and nudging her mom to show her what I was up to.
As we were filing to go down to the fellowship hall, I stopped to talk with a guy who I hardly ever see laugh, or even smile. After listening for a while, I offered to help him do some tiling in the new addition he is building, all the while knowing the formed plastic that was colored to a perfect brown glaze resting in my pocket would NEVER get a rise out of him.
But then God smiled upon me...his daughter came up, pulled on his arm and muttered the words that only a 40-year old wanna-be comedian who had a fake chicken leg in his pocket could love..."I'm hungry!" Out came the drumstick. Success number three.
Traversing the crowd in the fellowship hall, I ran into the worship director who invited me to attend the creative planning meetings on Thursday mornings, which I was hoping to do again, and had emailed her about it only a few days prior. She told me there would be breakfast provided—and to that comment the finely-crafted kids toy made somewhere in China (where the chicken that modeled for it is obviously very small) made it's last appearance and got it's last laugh, with the footnote from her, that a guy who carries a fake chicken leg in his pocket definitely needed to attend these type of meetings.
Tuesday, October 9, 2007
Fear
Today, as I was running on the treadmill at the "Y", it came over me again—and I asked the Lord why. For weeks I have had to walk step by step, moment by moment through this darkness, not allowing myself to run away or be paralyzed.
Sometimes my fears are larger than I can believe, and I think to myself, "I have stood many times at Glacier Point in Yosemite, gazed in awe over the the rim of the Grand Canyon, I have stood in the Pacific Ocean, witnessed the birth of my children, and I know my father created these things, yet I still fear? I ask myself, is this fear greater than God Almighty? The God who lives in me? No, but it certainly feels this way right now, and I can't explain it.
I am not frightened easily. As a martial artist, I have stood my ground when the odds were 11 to 2. I have faced the death of both of my folks, lived alone since I was 16, faced the shunning of a religious group which forced me to uproot my family— moments that have defined me and have helped me not to fear, but to trust in the goodness of Lord.
I can clearly see God is with me.
As I ran, I prayed for clarity. Then God answered: I was allowing the fear in. I was giving permission for someone to speak into my life. I was allowing someone to intimidate me whose reputation in dealing with me has only been to cause grief. It was that simple.
The Word says to guard our hearts with all diligence, for out of it flows the wellsprings of life. Diligence is defined as a "constant and earnest effort to accomplish what is undertaken; persistent exertion of body or mind."
So my remedy: keep persistent exertion to extinguish, at the threshold of my mind, the verbal and nonverbal voices of this person and the people who do not love me or have my best interest at heart.
I am to bless those who curse me, and pray for those who spitefully use me. But, I don't trust them or allow them to speak into my life.
How did I get to this place? Maybe I need more reminders of how he has led me though my past to keep me from ending up here??
I wonder, after David cut off Goliath's head, if he picked up the stone that felled the Philistine to keep it with him to remind him of that day? I have read he was given his sword. What are some of the things I can use as reminders?
We read later in his life David faced the brother of Goliath and other Gath giants, but he and his warriors killed each of them. Wow, I wonder how he felt when he saw another giant come over the horizon? (Does this story fit in with New Covenant theology?)
Have you had fear that seemed larger than life? What is your story?
Sometimes my fears are larger than I can believe, and I think to myself, "I have stood many times at Glacier Point in Yosemite, gazed in awe over the the rim of the Grand Canyon, I have stood in the Pacific Ocean, witnessed the birth of my children, and I know my father created these things, yet I still fear? I ask myself, is this fear greater than God Almighty? The God who lives in me? No, but it certainly feels this way right now, and I can't explain it.
I am not frightened easily. As a martial artist, I have stood my ground when the odds were 11 to 2. I have faced the death of both of my folks, lived alone since I was 16, faced the shunning of a religious group which forced me to uproot my family— moments that have defined me and have helped me not to fear, but to trust in the goodness of Lord.
I can clearly see God is with me.
As I ran, I prayed for clarity. Then God answered: I was allowing the fear in. I was giving permission for someone to speak into my life. I was allowing someone to intimidate me whose reputation in dealing with me has only been to cause grief. It was that simple.
The Word says to guard our hearts with all diligence, for out of it flows the wellsprings of life. Diligence is defined as a "constant and earnest effort to accomplish what is undertaken; persistent exertion of body or mind."
So my remedy: keep persistent exertion to extinguish, at the threshold of my mind, the verbal and nonverbal voices of this person and the people who do not love me or have my best interest at heart.
I am to bless those who curse me, and pray for those who spitefully use me. But, I don't trust them or allow them to speak into my life.
How did I get to this place? Maybe I need more reminders of how he has led me though my past to keep me from ending up here??
I wonder, after David cut off Goliath's head, if he picked up the stone that felled the Philistine to keep it with him to remind him of that day? I have read he was given his sword. What are some of the things I can use as reminders?
We read later in his life David faced the brother of Goliath and other Gath giants, but he and his warriors killed each of them. Wow, I wonder how he felt when he saw another giant come over the horizon? (Does this story fit in with New Covenant theology?)
Have you had fear that seemed larger than life? What is your story?
Wednesday, August 8, 2007
Starlings
Art by 23 degrees from Lorado Taft's Recording Angel - click to enlarge
I happened upon this sculpture by Lorado Taft and was struck not just by how beautiful she was but stunned by the scale of the cast—she must be 12 ft. high.
This Recording Angel sits on a hillside of a cemetery overlooking a pond and surrounded by trees, but that day I also captured a starling migration, which I felt had to go into this digital study (although barely noticeable)
Friday, August 3, 2007
Literary Kung-Fu
Recently I asked Kirsten to list her top ten titles and authors and make a list of books she has read twice, and I have accepted her invitation to do the same. Not being a voracious reader, I feel like I am standing here in my underwear without a whole lot of depth to my lists. Ilse made a comment I can relate to about reading level, and although I have read Tolstoy, Steinbeck, and Chekhov, my literary kung-fu is still waning. I am always looking for good suggestions, so please look at this as an invitation to share your ideas, or even better, a post of your favs.
Walking on Water is a title I share with my creative my friends and have given as a gift many times. I would love to hear comments on it if you have read it. Here is a quote: “As Christians (and artists) we live by revelation, so we must be careful to never get ourselves into rigid molds.”
Top Ten
Walking on Water - Madeline L’Engle
Growing into the Blue - Ulrich Schaffer
Surprised By Light - Ulrich Schaffer
Two-Part Invention - Madeline L’Engle
Power of One - Bryce Courtenay
What’s So Amazing About Grace - Philip Yancey
Ruthless Trust - Brennan Manning
Walking with the Saints - Calvin Miller
Toxic Faith - Stephen Arterburn (thanks LM)
Wild at Heart - John Eldredge
Titles I have read more than once:
Walking on Water - Madeline L’ Engle
Matthew Volume I - William Barclay (a commentary, but a good read)
Walking with the Saints - Calvin Miller
Tree and Leaf - Tolkien
Two-Part Invention - Madeline L’Engle
Listening to Your Life - Frederick Buechner
Ruthless Trust - Brennan Manning
Soul Survivor - Philip Yancey
Surprised by Light - Ulrich Schaffer
Growing into the Blue - Ulrich Schaffer
The Normal Christian Life - Watchman Nee
A Grief Observed- C.S. Lewis
Harold and the Purple Crayon - Crockett Johnson
The Stinky Cheese Man and Other Fairly Stupid Tales - Jon Scieszka and Lane Smith
Something Under the Bed is Drooling - Watterson (Calvin and Hobbes)
Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day - Judith Viorst
Top three authors:
Madeline L’ Engle
Brennan Manning
Phillip Yancey
Walking on Water is a title I share with my creative my friends and have given as a gift many times. I would love to hear comments on it if you have read it. Here is a quote: “As Christians (and artists) we live by revelation, so we must be careful to never get ourselves into rigid molds.”
Top Ten
Walking on Water - Madeline L’Engle
Growing into the Blue - Ulrich Schaffer
Surprised By Light - Ulrich Schaffer
Two-Part Invention - Madeline L’Engle
Power of One - Bryce Courtenay
What’s So Amazing About Grace - Philip Yancey
Ruthless Trust - Brennan Manning
Walking with the Saints - Calvin Miller
Toxic Faith - Stephen Arterburn (thanks LM)
Wild at Heart - John Eldredge
Titles I have read more than once:
Walking on Water - Madeline L’ Engle
Matthew Volume I - William Barclay (a commentary, but a good read)
Walking with the Saints - Calvin Miller
Tree and Leaf - Tolkien
Two-Part Invention - Madeline L’Engle
Listening to Your Life - Frederick Buechner
Ruthless Trust - Brennan Manning
Soul Survivor - Philip Yancey
Surprised by Light - Ulrich Schaffer
Growing into the Blue - Ulrich Schaffer
The Normal Christian Life - Watchman Nee
A Grief Observed- C.S. Lewis
Harold and the Purple Crayon - Crockett Johnson
The Stinky Cheese Man and Other Fairly Stupid Tales - Jon Scieszka and Lane Smith
Something Under the Bed is Drooling - Watterson (Calvin and Hobbes)
Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day - Judith Viorst
Top three authors:
Madeline L’ Engle
Brennan Manning
Phillip Yancey
Sunday, July 8, 2007
Belonging
It has strong heartfelt connotations.
All of us desire it. We sacrifice to attain it, sometimes even trading our lives.
It comes with a decision.
In return we get cards, patches, decals, tattoos, acceptance, a place to fit in.
When we attain it, we get a feeling of being larger than ourselves, of feeling like we are not alone, of being one with another human or being part of a group, a team, a second family.
Couples, families have a strong sense of belonging, even severely dysfunctional and abusive families. (Is it hope that keeps this kind of belonging alive, or fear?)
I get a certain sense of belonging when I blog and get response to words that I have written. I feel a part of something, and it feels good.
I think we are meant to belong to each other. It's normal to innately know this and to innately crave it. As believers in Christ we are one and our deep desire is to see this oneness lived out. Jesus' last prayer before he was crucified wasn't to feed the hungry, heal the sick, or for world evangelism—it was that we would be one as He and the Father are one. (He knew we would have unconquerable power to change the world as one, and by no other means.)
But...what does it look like to put this belonging to a group or person above all else?
We don't make waves, don't question, we play it safe and overlook serious offenses to others and ourselves in the name of "peace." We are afraid of jeopardizing our position, and maybe with that our house, friends and what we think is our security. We don't hold leaders accountable. Our inner warrior becomes our inner jellyfish.
Maybe when we crave above all else to belong to any person or group, no matter how noble the pursuit, no matter how the end justifies the means, we find ourselves allowing this entity to become the god of our lives? Do we find ourselves no longer living by revelation from Christ, but from the revelation of the group and it's leaders, trusting only in their lead?
What do you think? Where has belonging become dangerous?
What does belonging to Jesus look like?
All of us desire it. We sacrifice to attain it, sometimes even trading our lives.
It comes with a decision.
In return we get cards, patches, decals, tattoos, acceptance, a place to fit in.
When we attain it, we get a feeling of being larger than ourselves, of feeling like we are not alone, of being one with another human or being part of a group, a team, a second family.
Couples, families have a strong sense of belonging, even severely dysfunctional and abusive families. (Is it hope that keeps this kind of belonging alive, or fear?)
I get a certain sense of belonging when I blog and get response to words that I have written. I feel a part of something, and it feels good.
I think we are meant to belong to each other. It's normal to innately know this and to innately crave it. As believers in Christ we are one and our deep desire is to see this oneness lived out. Jesus' last prayer before he was crucified wasn't to feed the hungry, heal the sick, or for world evangelism—it was that we would be one as He and the Father are one. (He knew we would have unconquerable power to change the world as one, and by no other means.)
But...what does it look like to put this belonging to a group or person above all else?
We don't make waves, don't question, we play it safe and overlook serious offenses to others and ourselves in the name of "peace." We are afraid of jeopardizing our position, and maybe with that our house, friends and what we think is our security. We don't hold leaders accountable. Our inner warrior becomes our inner jellyfish.
Maybe when we crave above all else to belong to any person or group, no matter how noble the pursuit, no matter how the end justifies the means, we find ourselves allowing this entity to become the god of our lives? Do we find ourselves no longer living by revelation from Christ, but from the revelation of the group and it's leaders, trusting only in their lead?
What do you think? Where has belonging become dangerous?
What does belonging to Jesus look like?
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Learning Healing
I read a news piece about a man who recently regained his sight.
Made me think about the people that Jesus healed, in that they may have been made whole, but had to learn how to incorporate the healing into their everyday lives. The man who recently regained his sight (he lost it at three years) had to learn again what things were and how to relate to simple everyday occurrences as one who can see—no simple task, come to find out. The brain has to learn everything again, literally through new eyes.
When Jesus made the blind see again, I somehow do not think they knew how to totally function. They were healed and whole, but had some work to do. I have read the analogy of this like one walking out of a labyrinth, imagery that speaks volumes.
Coming out from a very controlling and abusive religious situation I realize that re-programming (learning to see and respond to people and normal circumstances) will take some time.
Although much of the wounds are gone over lost relationships and severed trust, I know these scars will mark my life. But, then I think of another who is marked by the scars man has given Him, and I am humbled at the price He paid, "for the joy set before Him."
Made me think about the people that Jesus healed, in that they may have been made whole, but had to learn how to incorporate the healing into their everyday lives. The man who recently regained his sight (he lost it at three years) had to learn again what things were and how to relate to simple everyday occurrences as one who can see—no simple task, come to find out. The brain has to learn everything again, literally through new eyes.
When Jesus made the blind see again, I somehow do not think they knew how to totally function. They were healed and whole, but had some work to do. I have read the analogy of this like one walking out of a labyrinth, imagery that speaks volumes.
Coming out from a very controlling and abusive religious situation I realize that re-programming (learning to see and respond to people and normal circumstances) will take some time.
Although much of the wounds are gone over lost relationships and severed trust, I know these scars will mark my life. But, then I think of another who is marked by the scars man has given Him, and I am humbled at the price He paid, "for the joy set before Him."
Monday, May 7, 2007
A Friend Indeed
I lost a good friend about two years ago.
Not only did we work together every day, we were neighbors. Our families would watch movies together, sing around the piano and even pray together. We celebrated over the birth of my daughter and wept over the loss of her mother. We were as close as brother and sister for about six years.
It wasn't by death that I lost her, but by the silence that comes from a belief that it was wrong for me to question the spiritual authority of the religious group our families were a part of—a group whose leaders had spiritually and emotionally abused our family—in the name of reaching the lost with the love of Christ. A leadership that I had to stand up against.
Many people who were a part of this organization visited us, called us, and helped us process and move forward, shared with us their stories, and to our surprise we found that we were not alone. Many families left the org soon after we were dismissed, and there has been a steady flow ever since of people who wake up to the fact that they are needlessly suffering for the Gospel and that all leadership has to have accountability.
Through all this, my friend has chosen to remain silent, which has left a large hole in my heart that has been difficult to ignore, but slow for me to come to terms with.
So what has happened to me as I have carried this wound? I have had to learn to trust again, but it has been a very gradual process. I have learned that I can only have responsible relationships with responsible people. I am also convinced now that loving someone cannot come without risk of pain, and the closer someone is, the more it hurts when the silence comes.
What else happened? God convinced me He knows who you need in your life to help your heart heal, and pull you out of the ashes.
Over the last year, I have made this kind of friend. She has helped me to laugh with my soul and truly has helped pull me from the muck and distrust I have carried around for too long. She has helped me to think a lot about my family because of how interconnected she is with her own, and has helped me to hunger for heaven because of the sense of justice she owns in standing up for herself and what she believes in. She's not afraid to ask questions, to be herself.
There is a verse that says, "He who waters will himself be watered." Other translations say "he that refreshes "—nonetheless I used to think this meant that if you are a nice and giving person then one day people will be nice and giving to you. Well, we do reap what we sow, but I think this verse has an immediacy to it as in when you refresh someone—you are refreshed at the same time.
This is my hope (and God's promise) for my friend. If you ever read this, thank you! Be well watered!
Not only did we work together every day, we were neighbors. Our families would watch movies together, sing around the piano and even pray together. We celebrated over the birth of my daughter and wept over the loss of her mother. We were as close as brother and sister for about six years.
It wasn't by death that I lost her, but by the silence that comes from a belief that it was wrong for me to question the spiritual authority of the religious group our families were a part of—a group whose leaders had spiritually and emotionally abused our family—in the name of reaching the lost with the love of Christ. A leadership that I had to stand up against.
Many people who were a part of this organization visited us, called us, and helped us process and move forward, shared with us their stories, and to our surprise we found that we were not alone. Many families left the org soon after we were dismissed, and there has been a steady flow ever since of people who wake up to the fact that they are needlessly suffering for the Gospel and that all leadership has to have accountability.
Through all this, my friend has chosen to remain silent, which has left a large hole in my heart that has been difficult to ignore, but slow for me to come to terms with.
So what has happened to me as I have carried this wound? I have had to learn to trust again, but it has been a very gradual process. I have learned that I can only have responsible relationships with responsible people. I am also convinced now that loving someone cannot come without risk of pain, and the closer someone is, the more it hurts when the silence comes.
What else happened? God convinced me He knows who you need in your life to help your heart heal, and pull you out of the ashes.
Over the last year, I have made this kind of friend. She has helped me to laugh with my soul and truly has helped pull me from the muck and distrust I have carried around for too long. She has helped me to think a lot about my family because of how interconnected she is with her own, and has helped me to hunger for heaven because of the sense of justice she owns in standing up for herself and what she believes in. She's not afraid to ask questions, to be herself.
There is a verse that says, "He who waters will himself be watered." Other translations say "he that refreshes "—nonetheless I used to think this meant that if you are a nice and giving person then one day people will be nice and giving to you. Well, we do reap what we sow, but I think this verse has an immediacy to it as in when you refresh someone—you are refreshed at the same time.
This is my hope (and God's promise) for my friend. If you ever read this, thank you! Be well watered!
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