A right to life and a right to die

This post was written Thursday, October 22.  I had to let it sit awhile before posting.  

This morning I lay in bed in that half-awake dream state, waiting for my alarm to go off.  I can't tell what time it is by the light coming in my window, these days,  I'm one of the few who actually love the mornings when it is 6am and still dark...but I digress.  After battling with my want to stay asleep and the sounds of life coming up from the valley, I gave in to the knowledge that it was bus-to-work Thursday and I had no wiggle room in my schedule. I rolled over and flipped open my Kindle to check the time.  It was 37 minutes after my alarm was supposed to go off.  I had three minutes to get out the door to make the early bus.  Not happening.

The morning started in a rush.  As I was getting ready and listening to the news, I caught part of a scrolling headline...right to die bill likely to be held up for months...

Trigger.

Memories of June 2014 came flooding back and the moment when I knew we were to leave the hospital and Papa Bear wouldn't be coming with us.  The moment when I leaned over him and said "I don't like this decision but it is your decision to make and I will respect it."  That day Papa Bear made the decision to end his life.  We could have kept him on the machines and hoped and prayed and fought for him to stay alive but it was ultimately his choice...and we all honored that choice.

The tears started to flow.  It wasn't even 7am.

On the bus ride to work I started thinking about my friends D, J and S who are waiting to see if their Dad/Grandpa Hal, after almost two weeks of hoping and praying, will make a rebound.  The ups and downs of the days are eerily familiar.  He is on a ventilator.  There is gunk in his lungs that need to get out.  The question is, is he strong enough...**

Trigger.

I started thinking about modern medicine and science and God and faith and all the things that seem to stand either for or against the right to die bill.  We have come so far, with modern medicine, both for the good and the bad.  We stay alive longer but, do we keep people alive longer than they should be, causing a new set of angst and pain that didn't exist before scientists and doctors figured out a new way of attempting to fight diseases?  Does longevity of life outweigh quality of life?

Do we call it something different when someone is being taken off life support after, in our case, going through treatments in an attempt to save a life, which is why he was one life support to begin with, because it's easier to justify that then when someone doesn't want to wind up there at all, knowing that they have a terminal condition that is untreatable and wants to choose to end their life before the machines and the surgeries and the treatments deteriorate their quality of life?  Why is one right to die justifiable but the other not?

Papa Bear made the choice to end his life.  He chose to fight the leukemia to begin with but he also chose to stop fighting when hope ran out.  If circumstances had been different, if we knew that there was no hope from the beginning, and he wanted to end his life before his quality of life deteriorated, I would have supported that decision.  He had the right to live...he also had the right to die.

It's easy, so easy, to say what is right or what is wrong when you don't have to make this type of decision.  It's another thing altogether to be by the side of the person who is looking down the road, seeing the potholes and road closed signs.  It's easy to judge.  It is far harder to be in the passenger seat, trusting the decisions of the driver.

I woke up 37 minutes late this morning...4 hours in and it's already been a long, emotional day.

**Addendum: Hal was taken off the ventilator and a few days later he passed away surrounded by his family.  I will never again hear the hymn "Holy, Holy, Holy" without thinking of Hal.  Godspeed, Hal.

Pondering change courtesy of The Walking Dead

Somehow I became a fan of the TV show The Walking Dead.  If you know me in real life, you are probably just as surprised as I am. I don't like horror movies and do NOT like to be scared.  Zombies are not my usual fare. I am not ashamed to admit, I watch the show with my finger on the mute button. The zombie moans and sounds of heads being bashed in are too much for me. (Yo Momma would be recounting the story, right about now, of how when I was little I was watching something and got scared, prompting me to cover my ears and say "I don't want to watch, I don't want to watch."  It was the noise that was the problem.)

I got sucked into The Walking Dead by one of AMC's marathons.  I think I originally started somewhere in Season 3.  I got to know the characters after they had been entrenched in this zombie apocalypse for awhile.  They had this zombie thing pretty much under their belts and were dealing with the human conundrum.  I never went back to watch the first seasons, until the latest AMC marathon.   I got sucked in, again, but this time for another reason.  I sat there, looking back to the beginning of the show, amazed at how much changed in such a short time. Not only in the story line but in the characters themselves.  I "met" old-but-new-to-me characters.  I marveled at the differences in the voices of characters.  Really, go listen to Glenn in season one and then go listen to Glenn now...his voice has changed.  I almost didn't recognize Carol.  And Darryl...WOW!  He actually talked, a lot, those first couple of seasons...and his hair was really short.

It's just a TV show but marveling at the differences between season one and season five, I began to think about real-life.  We all go through changes, most are not nearly as extreme as the zombie apocalypse, but many are extreme and really tough to deal with just the same.  I wonder what I would marvel at if I was able watch a movie of my life...or my friends lives...or my family members.

I know that I'm not the same person I was 10 years ago or even a year ago.  I can look at family members and friends around me and say the same thing.  Our circumstances change us.  We adapt and, hopefully, grow with each new situation we find ourselves in.

The last few years have brought about a lot of changes in my life.  Some expected, some unexpected.  There are many I would like to go back and get a do-over on, but one thing is for certain, with each change comes new growth, new vision, new wisdom, new opportunities and a reminder that I have a responsibility to make something out of my life, right now.  I can just sit by and watch the days go by or I can choose to get up, to walk out the door each morning and participate in the life I've been given, changes and all.

Maybe, that's why I've connected so much with The Walking Dead.  These characters have found themselves in a situation where they are forced to adapt to the changes of the world around them, or die.  It's fascinating to see the metamorphosis of the characters as they learn to deal with the situations in front of them and fight to survive, as best they can, accepting the good and the bad inside of themselves.

Sunday night, as exhausted as I was from a super long day, I found myself staying awake, waiting for 9pm and the beginning of a new season of The Walking Dead.  It was gross and awesome and there was more humor amidst the darkness than I had noticed before.  I actually laughed out loud a couple of times...huh, change?

Pull up a chair, let's talk

On a Facebook page recently, there was a question - "When you meet God, how will you introduce yourself?"  I believe the question came from a book.  Since I haven't read the book and don't know the context of the question, I took the question at face value.  I was reading through the comments and thinking about my own reaction when I realized "that'll blog".

I believe God will know me when we meet, and I believe I will know God when the time comes, so I don't know that I will introduce myself.  Or, maybe I will say, "God, it's nice to see you face to face...now I have some questions."

I would like to sit and chat with God about those things which perplex me.  I would like to chat with God about all the things we God-followers say God stands for and really hear what God has to say.  I would like to know what God's true stance is on all the hot button topics - and would like the chance to say "A-ha!  I KNEW it!" but that's my ego talking. I would like to chat with God about the big picture, about the hard stuff that I've dealt with, the loss, the hurt, the confusion, the emptiness and the longing.  I would like to chat with God about that verse in Psalms - the desires of your heart one - and then unfold what the desires of my heart really were as opposed to my brain conjured desires.  I have a hard time telling the difference between the two sometimes.

I would like to ask God about the roads I've taken, the choices I've made and where I could have taken a different path.  I'm merely curious at what God would have done differently.

I would like to ask the silly questions:
- Why mosquito's?
- For that matter - black widows - rattlesnakes - scorpions - you get the picture.
- Which came first, the chicken or the egg?
- What was the fruit on the tree of knowledge?

There are tougher questions.  Questions that come up when I am in low spots, when I'm wondering what life is really all about.  Questions that plague me when things happen and people make remarks that fly in the face of my experiences of what is deemed God's nature.  Questions that will remain between me and God.

Yes, I have a lot of questions for God, from the silly to the serious.

I've had people tell me that when I meet God, I won't really want to ask any questions.  To which I silently say, "Thanks for pointing out how ridiculous I seem to you.  I'll stop talking now."  That doesn't stop me from having questions...and from hoping that when we meet, the God I follow would look at me, after my initial approach, and say, "Pull up a chair, let's talk."

I am concerned

I have concerns.  I have a lot of concerns.  I just don't know what to do with them.  Would you like a list?

I am concerned that modern day Christianity is being reduced to a list of do's and don'ts, and who is and isn't acceptable rather sharing the love, grace and peace of Jesus.  Sometimes I think Jesus just doesn't fit into the mold of modern day Christianity at all!

The game seems to be about "winning souls" for heaven.  I don't like that game.  If the whole point in knowing Jesus is going to heaven, why do we then stick around earth for so long?  Why doesn't Jesus just snatch us up the moment we believe?  It bothers me, a lot, that the people I am around seem to focus solely on that one area.  I'm not in the club because I get a "get out of hell free" pass.  That doesn't hold a lot of appeal.  What does have a whole lot of appeal is putting the words of Jesus into action, loving others, helping the poor and needy, being a light - a ray of hope- in the darkness, those things appeal to me.  That's why I'm in "the club".

I am concerned that politicians are too focused on women's bodies and the things that women SHOULDN'T be allowed to be allowed to do with THEIR bodies.  I am really bothered by the movement to restrict women's rights, in general. It concerns me that the work of generations of women, to be treated fairly and equally, seems to be taken for granted.  There's still work to do, ladies!

I am concerned that one portion of the movement to restrict women's rights is focusing on an organization that performs many worthwhile services to women who need health care.  Many more services than the one that is garnering the most attention.

I am concerned that I am plodding through life, just merely existing.  I'm not sure what to do about that one yet.

I am concerned about our nation's fascination with guns and the ideal that guns will "protect" us.

I am concerned that we are so politically polarized as a nation, we can't even listen to each other.

I am concerned about the potential of an El Nino year and the potential rain it will bring to our very dry state.  I foresee many landslides in the winter if the rain comes down, down, down.

I am concerned about the church I attend and the viability for the future.

I am concerned with the amount of time the man with the really awful hair running for President gets on TV and in the news media.  I'm extremely concerned that people are actually taking him seriously.

Switching it up - with all due respect to Papa Bear, I am REALLY grateful he isn't alive during this Presidential election.  He would be going through the roof.  I miss him, a lot, but I don't miss some of those political discussions (and I agreed with him 95% of the time.)

I am concerned...I am concerned...I am concerned.  Thanks for listening.

Reflections of a Hurricane Katrina volunteer- part 1

10 year have gone by since Hurricane Katrina ravaged the Gulf Coast.  9 1/2 years ago I made my first trek to Pearlington, Mississippi with a group of 20 teenagers and adults, ready to do whatever we were asked to do to help with the clean-up and recovery work.  We never expected to feel so tied to that community that we would go back, twice a year, for the next 6 years.  It just happened.

Mississippi changed me.  I found a part of myself there I wasn't aware existed.  I learned some hard lessons on those trips, and did a lot of growing up...A LOT.  I KNOW the grace of God.  Not just because of my experience with God's grace but because of the stories of those with whom we came into contact.  On that very first trip, one of the women at the First Missionary Baptist Church of Pearlington told our group "I'm so grateful for this storm!  If it hadn't happened I wouldn't have gotten to meet all of you!"  As I drove through town that week, as I pulled moldy sheet rock off the inside walls of the 2nd story of a house, as I heard the stories of the team each night, and slept on Army cots in a corrugated plastic pod, I couldn't really fathom being grateful for the storm.  It had done so much damage and taken so much away.

And yet...and yet all these years later I can say I am grateful for the storm.  I am grateful for the opportunities we had to make a difference.  To help others.  To make new friends.  To be light in the darkness. To look into the eyes of a stranger and know that we had helped to bring hope, laughter, goodness back into their lives in whatever small way we could.

It's been three years since I've been back to Mississippi.  Thankfully, there hasn't been a hurricane in that time frame.  I would go back in a heartbeat, though, if there was or if Mr. Ben called and said "I need help."  I would be on a plane as fast as possible.

There's a Mississippi state sign, on the edge of town that reads "Mississippi - It's like coming home".  I'm not sure why - my liberal, California woman beliefs definitely have a hard time meshing with the conservative Mississippi culture - but that sign felt true.  Every time we drove across the state line it felt like I was going home.  I miss it.

I want to go back.  I'm ready to rent a camp on the Bayou and sit in the humid breeze listening to the insects buzz.  To go with Mr. Ben and Miss Sue up the road to get the best fried chicken ever made by the man who will serenade you as it cooks. I'm ready to drive through the neighborhoods and see the changes made.  To sit on the porch at the Pretty House and watch the neighbors drive by, listening for the dogs at Mr. Sam's.  I want to go to the Turtle and eat Fried Shrimp po'boys while watching for the alligator.  I'm ready to go back and wander through the shops in Bay St. Louis and have coffee at the Mockingbird Cafe.  To drive along the coastline, to walk on the beach and put my toes in the water of the Gulf.  I'm ready to go back and watch for armadillos as we drive along the road (though, the armadillos might not want me to go back, I only see dead ones).  To burn my mouth on the hottest (spiciest?) corn on the cob ever  while trying desperately not to think about the yellow stuff that comes out of the head of the crawfish as I chow down.

Hurricane Katrina changed the Gulf Coast.  For many there wasn't anything to be grateful for about that storm.  I won't disagree.  Hurricane Katrina changed me and for that I am eternally grateful.

Earthquakes

A few weekends ago an earthquake struck the region in which I reside.  We are far enough away from the epicenter that we only felt the quake but didn't have any damage.  I woke up just before the rolling waves of the quake began.  The hanging plants were swaying and making a creaking sound, which is what I think first woke me up. As soon as I heard and felt the first wave, my whole body went on alert.  I was ready to pull the pillow over my head or jump out of bed and dash to the doorway.  It would have taken one thing falling for me to jump into action...been there, done that.

In the days since, I've become a frequent visitor to the Earthquake part of the USGS website.  This website shows all the recorded earthquakes in a 24 hour period around the world.  Folks, the earth is moving a lot.  Looking right now at the map, in the last 24 hours there have been 12 earthquakes over a 4.0. It's fascinating to see what is happening around the world that most of us never hear about...it's also fascinating to see what makes national headlines and what doesn't.  An earthquake that knocks down buildings and buckles roads get a lot more press than an earthquake in the middle of the ocean.

I've been paying attention to the national news a lot in the past few weeks.  I've seen the headlines and my heart breaks.  I feel helpless, in some ways, way to privileged in others, and I've become more and more aware of how sheltered my world is compared to others.  I work at not standing in denial of the unfair treatment of others and the realities of that unequal treatment but also struggle with a sense of what I can actually do to change the situation.  So I sit back, murmuring slightly, taking a good, hard look at my own soul, my own thoughts, my own reactions, judging my own thoughts and feelings and digging down deeper to my own, dare I say it, prejudices.  I may not be in the epicenter of this particular "earthquake" but I am feeling the rolling waves and am on alert.

There are people within my circle of acquaintances, family and friends that have said things over the years that make me cringe, blatantly racist or derogatory things said with little smiles that are just plain wrong. There are times when I could have spoken up and pointed those statements out and haven't.  There are moments when I have judged someone because of their differences from me, only later to find that I was completely and totally wrong.  I have allowed my own fears to get in the way when I have heard or seen an injustice.  I've lived in my own little world and turned a blind eye, at times, to the larger world that is filled with injustice and suffering.  It's not anything I am proud of, and I could make a million excuses for not doing, saying, seeing more of what the world really is like.  But sometimes it's just like earthquakes, among the little ripples happening all the time that I am unaware of, one suddenly jolts me out of my complacency and demands attention.

I'm paying attention to earthquakes these days...those that make the physical earth shake and those that shake my social and world views.

Filling the sound of silence

Back when I was a regular worship leader, I would lead prayers once or twice during the worship service.  At one point in time, I became aware that our prayer time was filled with a lot of words...one person speaking for the whole group to God.  It dawned on me that we were filling up our worship service with a lot of words and music but we rarely filled the space with silence.

So I tried it.  I didn't say anything in a prayer for a minute.  An uncomfortable minute for some as they shifted in their seats with some anxiousness, a beautiful minute for others.  Anytime I was in the place of praying during the worship service, I made a point to include silence...a time to process, a time to listen, a time just to breathe.

Today I was reading the latest headlines and I came across a headline that said "So and so, speaks out on so and so."  I didn't watch the video or read the transcript of what was said but my initial reaction to the headline was "I wish they would just keep silent."  I get that the media is always pushing for words but sometimes, sometimes silence really is best.

We jump in and fill spaces with words that may have been better left unspoken.  We say things that then require apologies that we may not mean.  We jump to conclusions and spout facts that are made up or speak before we know the whole story.  It's the way of the world but sometimes, sometimes we really should just be silent, to let our hearts and minds catch up with each other...so that our words really do reflect what we are feeling and thinking.  Silence is a good thing.

My first trip to Mississippi after Hurricane Katrina, the silence was deafening.  There weren't any birds chirping, nor was there the sound of cars driving by or radios playing.  During the day the sounds of construction work rang through but in the late afternoon and evening silence reigned...well, except for the teenagers in my group.  A few trips and a couple of years later the birds had returned, the cars had returned, the people had returned and busyness filled the air.

There were still times of silence.  The year that we scraped (by hand) the outside of the pretty house I spent a lot of time listening to the stillness of the air.  Being a quiet person by design, it was beautiful and refreshing to be perched on a ladder up near the rafters of an old house scraping paint surrounded by silence, while my team mates scraped the other sides of the house.  I enjoyed the moments back on the ground, laughing with the team but in those quiet moments on a ladder, I found peace.  I had time to process, to listen, to examine my own heart and mind...and be annoyed with the bird with the very irritating call that kept breaking the silence!

I think my heart, my soul is longing for that silence again.  I find myself longing to be places where I have found peace and rest in the silence...the lanai in Maui, the rocks at Zephyr Point, on a ladder scraping paint at the pretty house, in my car with the top down driving to nowhere, on a bench in D-land.  More than the silence, I'm longing for the peace that comes along after the silence.

I'm longing for that for myself, but also for this world, so used to noise that silence makes us shift uncomfortably in our seats, making so us jumpy we make up stories that aren't really true to fill the silence...and the news cycle continues.

Joyful does not equal happy

There is a quiet truth tumbling around in my soul.  I have been aware of the tumbling for awhile but have attempted to ignore rather than acknowledge this truth.  The time has come, though, to say it out loud...joy does not equal happiness in my life.

For so long I have thought those two words were synonymous.  In the last few years I have come to see them as vastly different.  I have the ability to be joyful while simultaneously unhappy...deeply unhappy.  How does this work?  It's convoluted.

I love to laugh. I am open to laughter and sometimes laugh at things other people can't find the humor in.  I try not be obnoxious but it's there.  I tend to smile with my whole being.  It comes from deep inside.  I feel the change in my soul.  In my life, joy comes from my soul.  I believe this joy comes from knowing the love and peace of God.  That does not mean that I am happy.

For me, happiness is a state of mind.  I can choose to be happy, I can choose to be a grumpy butt, I can choose to just be numb.  Lately I have lived in the state of numb. I smile and laugh but the joy, the happiness is only surface deep. There isn't anything substantial behind it. I still have the joy of knowing God, but there isn't much else in the way of happiness.

One of the places where I have found much joy AND happiness has been on Mission Trips.  As the days flew by and the Oklahoma trip approached, I found myself eagerly waiting those moments where we would laugh uncontrollably, where the joy of serving God and the happiness of the moments would come together creating a peace inside my soul that I have been seeking for a long time.

The trip started out with laughter.  I loved being in the airport with 28 teenagers sprawled out over the floor, laughing and having fun together...and talking "The Bachelor".  We laughed well the first couple of days and then something happened and laughter kind of died away.  The trip became serious.  Yes, laughter was still there, the joy in serving was still there but there was a solemnity settling over the entire group.  I had joy in what I was doing but I was not happy.

Friday morning arrived and I found that my happy was nowhere to be found.  After the fourth "get out of bed now" call to the young women in my care and with that feeling of tired almost-at-the-breaking point frustration beginning to overwhelm me, I turned to another adult and said "They are yours, I just can't do this today."  I walked down the stairs, down the hall to breakfast and prayed hard, "God, I need laughter today.  I need soul-filling conversations.  I need this week to end on a good note."

I love it when God answers prayer quickly.  Within a couple of hours I found myself on a job site with Yo Momma and 5 young women who were having a blast together.  By the end of the day I was driving a truck down the road with the 5 young women laughing so hard I almost had to pull over.  There had been some intense and soul-filling conversations during the day.  There was love and laughter flowing and in that moment, in that state happiness and joy were synonymous. 

Later that day the happiness had abated and in the weeks since I've returned that state of just moving through life, a little numb, not overly happy but always knowing a sense of joy deep inside my soul.  Even in the intense moments of grief these last few weeks, an uncontainable peaceful joy still resides just below that grief.  

I wish we had a society where people really truly understood the difference between happiness and joy.  I wish the Christian community understood the difference between the two.  I wish we could get beyond the black and white and see the messy, grey area of humanity and really understand and accept when someone says, I am not happy, but I am joyful and it's okay.

People, money, work and life

There are few things I detest more than dealing with money, especially other people's money.  Of course, what is one of things that I get to deal with in my current job?  Other people's money.  Ugh.

I don't write the checks. I process the forms to send to the treasurer who then writes the checks.  It's a multi-step process that seems clumsy at times and gets frustrating.  Some requests arrive in the mail, some are emailed.  If mailed I get to scan and compile the requests into a single document.  Some are emailed with one part being a PDF and another being a word doc.  Compiling all of those into a single document means cutting and pasting (if the cut and paste looks clear enough) but if that fails then I get to turn on the laptop computer, put all the files on a thumb drive, transfer them over to the laptop, open Adobe Acrobat and combine them into a single PDF, put them back on the thumb drive and transfer them back to the main computer and then continue.  (You may be asking why I don't have Adobe Acrobat on the main computer.  A.  Don't have the installation CD-ROM.  B.  It's an old version and the download files aren't available.  C.  There isn't money in the budget to buy the new version.)

The next step is to double check that the expense account is listed correctly AND make sure there is money in the budget.  If any there isn't I get to go up the chain of command and say, "Ummmm...."

The current system requires the overall committee chair to sign off on check requests.  Many people just send me the requests.  If there isn't a double signature I then get to email the file to the appropriate individual and wait for them to send me the signed file back.  That can take hours or days.  I get to follow up with the individuals for the 2nd signatures if I haven't heard back from them.

This year, instead of just recording the date, payee and check amount and the date I'm sending it to the treasurer, I also get to enter the information into the budget worksheet and track the budget to-date.  If the amount is over the budget limit, I flag the request and go up the chain of command..."Ummmm...."

I then compile all the files into a single email and send them to the treasurer, or in this case the treasurer's assistant who then processes them and comes back at me with "this is wrong, what about this" and so on...I seriously don't like this part of my job.

Now, add in this fabulous fact, the treasurer changes every.year.  Every year there is someone different who does things a little differently and the whole system goes through a major adjustment period.  Last year I sent requests in weekly and they were typically paid within 10 days.  This year I send in requests on the 1st and the 15th.  Sounds easy simple and like it would work well...not so.  If someone sends in a request on the 16th and there are 31 days in the month and the 1st is on a Saturday, that means that the request languishes for 15-20 days.  Add in those individuals (ahem) that wait a month or two or three before turning in receipts and things get dicey at times.  (Newsflash, if you want to pay your credit card on the due date with the funds owed by us, you need to send the receipt in within a day of purchasing your items!)

This is one of those weeks when the s**t has hit the fan.  "Where are my checks?  Why is it taking so long?" emails have been flying.  I had to question a couple of requests, which resulted in terse email strings (beginning to SERIOUSLY dislike emails).  The tension has begun to wind through my body until I cringe when that sound plays over the speakers indicating "You've got mail" and break out in a sweat.  My stomach is cramping, I can feel the hair on my head that is not already gray turning gray and I wonder, silently, do I love this job enough to deal with this?

And there, my friends, is where I have found myself week after week for months.  Asking questions. Do I love my job enough to keep doing this? If I changed jobs, there would be other issues with other things...would I love that job enough?  What am I going to do when I grow up?  Where am I headed?  Am I just marking time after being in full time ministry?  What am I passionate about?  Do I want to just have a job for the sake of making money to pay the bills and maybe (dream on) put some away for the future that just keeps getting closer?  What is it that God has in store for me?  Am I being too dense?  Have I ignored the signs?  Am I sabotaging myself because I'm afraid of failure?

I have no answers to those questions but I do know this...I really dislike dealing with people and their money...accounting, banking, anything financial is OUT!

Perfect hair

I am wary of people with perfect hair.

Actually, let me rephrase that.  I am wary of WOMEN with perfect hair.

I don't mean women who have those wash and wear haircuts that just look nice all the time.  I mean the women whose hairstyles must have taken hours to get just right and whose hair looks ah-maz-ing day after day from morning til night.  Whether up or down, their hair is perfect.  Those kinds of women make me edgy.

9 out of 10 days my hair winds up in a ponytail or sloppy bun by the end of the day.  I have hair bands everywhere.  In my purse, on the bedside table, on the vanity, on the gearshift of my car, in my backpack, in my luggage, on my key chains, everywhere I can put a hair band, I will.  I know at some point during the day I will have had enough and need to get my hair off my neck, out of my face, just up!  I get up in the morning and it's a ramble, shamble mess that only water and shampoo will tame.  I blow dry, style it, spray the heck out of it and walk out the door and by the time I get to the car my hair will have arranged itself into whatever semblance of order it decides it would like to be in that day and I have to live with it.  Perfect hair eludes me.

And so I am wary of people who have perfect hair because of my experience with my own hair and thus, I decided, it's impossible for anyone to actually have perfect hair and have a real life.  Thereby I am wary of anyone with perfect hair and I judge them.

Awhile back I had a conversation with a lady who has perfect hair.  She is one of the people I have been wary of and judged.  It was a short but deep conversation and as it was wrapping up I was overwhelmed with remorse.  This perfect hair woman was struggling with a decision, a pretty tough decision that showed me there was more to her than her perfect hair.  In our brief but intense conversation I finally got her.  She may have perfect hair but underneath that perfectness is someone just as messed up as I am.  She's got just as many doubts, just as many questions and struggles with just as much as I struggle with...she just happens to have perfect hair.

I've started looking at people with perfect hair from a different viewpoint.  I look past their hair and wonder about the person beneath the surface.  What are their fears?  What makes them happy?  What are the things they struggle with?  What are the secrets they are holding onto?  Do they feel loved?  How do they get that perfect hair??!!  Okay, so I can't get completely past that one; feel free to judge me.

Everyone has a story.  We all have doubts, fears, failures and successes that have shaped us.  We all have secrets and need to feel loved.  We all look different on the outside but on the inside there is so much that brings us together.  I'm working on getting past my perfect hair wariness, to look below the surface and see people for who they are and not what I perceive them to be.  It's a challenge, and sometimes I still am wary of the person beneath that superficiality but at least I've taken the time to get to know the person.

I accept my limitations.  I will never have perfect hair...but I know there is something about me that other people see and judge me for.  I wish we would all stop judging and start looking at the person beneath the surface.  There's a lot we are missing.

Tragedy in a small city

Tomorrow there will be a funeral processional made up of 200 police and other vehicles that drives some 30 miles from one small city to a larger city.  In that processional will be the families of two police officers from the small city who were just doing there jobs, a week ago Tuesday, and lost their lives in the process.  This small city was in the national headlines.  It's quite something to see your small city's name on the national headlines for something so devastating and incomprehensible.

The funeral procession will head over the big hill at the tail end of commute time, driving slowly in one lane, while the other is kept clear, thus blocking traffic for about an hour.  I am planning on getting up extra early tomorrow to take the earlier bus to work in anticipation of more congestion on the bus and on the roads.  My small sacrifice of a few more minutes of sleep is nothing in comparison to the sacrifice of lives made in the line of duty...or families who have been violently ripped apart.

It is expected that 6,000 law enforcement officers from around the country will be in attendance at the memorial service.  The state Governor will be there along with a recent American Idol Alumni that hails from Small City.  Small City has a newly created arena that can hold 4,000 people, which is where the memorial service was supposed to be held...but then larger city talked with small city and an arena that can seat up to 15,000 people was procured...30 miles away over the big hill.  They expect the arena to be full.

Now, one would think that small city would be amazed at the outpouring of respect and care being shown to the fallen officers and their families and be supportive of the move to the larger city, even though that means a drive for them and that the memorial service isn't in "their" town and yet...and yet...and yet.

Today, I'm praying for two families.  One who watched their mom and partner walk out the door going to her job as usual and another who said goodbye to their dad and husband like a normal day never knowing that would be the last hug, the last kiss, the last smile...

I'm praying for the families, pondering those who choose to put themselves in harms way for the good of the community and the inability humans have at times to see beyond themselves and what works for or pleases them as individuals.

Sometimes we really need to get over ourselves.

Patience

Patience is a virtue.  All these years of my life, I figured that phrase was in the Bible.  It's not...exactly.  It's in there in ways, alluded to in Scripture, but those four words do not appear together, that I can find!

Never-the-less, patience is something that God doled out to me.  Or maybe it's a combination of compassion and patience.  There are times when I am definitely impatient.  Waiting at red lights when I'm late...definitely impatient.  Waiting for an appointment when I was right on time and the one I have the appointment with is chronically late...definitely impatient.  Waiting for someone to do something on the computer when I know I could do it in half the time...definitely impatient.  I try not to show that impatience and exude grace instead.  Sometimes it works.

Still, patience is something that I have been given by God, as apparent when I'm with people who didn't get the full gift of patience.  I've been with many a person in a restaurant who get very impatient when their needs aren't taken care of within a given amount of time.  Then they get critical and my enjoyment of the experience takes a nose dive.  Sometimes, yes, sometimes the complaints are valid.  Many times, the complaints border on selfish.

I think that's the deal, for me, with patience.  There's a certain level of selfishness that comes into play.  When we are asked to be patient, we are asked to put our wants and need, our selfishness aside.  It's hard to be patient when we WANT something, really, really bad.  It's hard to be patient when things aren't going our way.  It's hard to be patient when we know we could do things differently and it would go better.  We want to hurry things along.  There are moments when we can step in, when we can push the agenda and get what we want or need.  Yet, what I have experienced in my Christ-walk has been over and over and over again the small voice of God saying "Wait".  

I want to know what tomorrow is going to bring.  God says, "Wait."

I want to have answers to questions.  God says, "Wait."

I want resolution to a situation.  God says, "Wait."

The gift of patience means that I wait.  I may complain a little.  I may whine.  I may get restless and shift back and forth and back and forth in my chair but by-in-large I wait.

A year ago I was beginning the waiting process.  I had quit my job with nothing on the horizon but God's promise that my work was done where I had been, that there was no place for me there anymore and the knowledge that now as the time to fly.  So I flew and landed...and waited.  That was a tough stretch of time.  There were moments when I was sure I had heard God wrong, that I had made the wrong choice and every time I asked God said, "Wait."  Eventually the next thing came along but still, as I accomplish and learn more, as I make new connections and pay the bills, still I know that I am being asked to wait.  There is more to come.  My timing isn't the one that is important...it's God's timing that is important...and so I wait.


**Side-note:  As I was writing this, I took a break and read an article on Yahoo news and had to laugh.  Here is what I read about an interview with the President and First Lady on The View:

As for Michelle, President Obama said, "She should run for office, but she says she doesn't want to."

"I mean, Michelle would be terrific," he continued, "but temperamentally I just don't think [she could]."

"Yeah, no," the first lady said. "It takes a lot of patience to be the president of the United States, and I'm not that patient."  

By the way, God, I have no desire to be President.  Thanks.

Letting go

I'm pondering many different subjects these days, some for this blog, some for other blogs (yes, I have more than one...and that's all I'm saying).  There are some hot button issues I'm almost ready to burst on but not quite ready to start the conversations.  There are some things that are wearing on my soul, actions I need to take, questions I need to ask, points I need to ponder.  Part of me would love to share, part of me is not ready to let anyone else in...so blog silence reigns on those subjects.

Tonight I'm contemplating letting go of things from the past in order to move into the future.  One action I need to take is going to be hard, really, really hard.  The action is also necessary if I want to move into the future.  The future which remains completely unclear but the future nonetheless.  While I contemplate letting go of things from the past in order to move forward, people from my life come to mind.  People near and dear to my heart who are clinging to past hurts and wounds.  People near and dear to my heart whose lives are so intimately tired to resentment and anger they can't see the future.  My heart grieves for them, for the life they are missing out on while they dwell in anger, while they stew in resentment, while they cling to festering wounds bound to never heal because they intentionally rip the scab off every so often just to re-freshen the wound.  While I can look into their lives and see steps to take and ways to begin to heal, I feel anxious when I look into my own life and see the same things glaring back at me.  I KNOW I don't want anyone else pointing those ways out to me, so I remain on the sidelines of these other lives, watching and praying.

I stand on the sidelines of others lives, watching and praying and reminding myself, I don't want that to be me.  I don't want to be the one who refuses to let go and allow healing to begin.  I want to move on, into the future and allow God to begin healing my heart. 

A review of sorts

I did something unusual for me the other day.  I went to a movie...by myself.  Shocking, isn't it?  Actually, it kind of is on a couple of levels.  One, I don't go to movies very often and two, I really never go to movies by myself.  It was a good thing.  I deliberately drove to work instead of taking the bus (thus messing up the adventures of the car stalker, but she was really gracious about it),  purchased a ticket online while at work and went to the last matinee of the day.

I went to see Blue Like Jazz.  I read the book by Donald Miller a long time ago and have followed the process of the movie being filmed over the last couple of years.  It has been awhile since I read the book, so I went into it just knowing I liked the book but not remembering all the details.

Can I just say, the previews for the movies, before Blue Like Jazz began, made me very uncomfortable?  When the five other people in the theater are over the age of 50 and remind me of my parents, viewing previews with so many sex scenes was just awkward.  AWKWARD!

Anyway, I went to the movie to A.) support the filmmakers, writers and people who helped produced the movie and B.) to watch a movie that deals with faith in a real way.  I rarely view "Christian" movies.  I find many of them pious and out of touch with reality.  Blue Like Jazz isn't a Christian movie, per se.  The movie deals with issues of faith but I wouldn't categorize it in the Christian genre.  Which, IMHO, is so refreshing.

There were moments when I was confused and trying really hard to remember where some scenes were in the book (answer:  they probably weren't).  I was admittedly distracted wondering what the other people in the theater were thinking, especially with the one part, with the one thing at the church. (Yes, being vague.)  When I stopped allowing myself to think about the people around me, I could appreciate the movie for what it was, an honest reflection of a young man's journey away from and back to his understanding of faith.  There wasn't an altar call.  There wasn't a pronouncement of the saving power of Jesus.  The moment was simple, the main character found his way back to the faith that he had abandoned...and took ownership of his part in how others viewed faith in God.

I don't know if this movie is going to have a profound effect on people.  I don't know if many people are going to "come to Jesus" because of this movie.  To me, it simply doesn't matter.  I walked out of the movie wondering what my part has been in the story of God, in the story of faith in this world.  I walked out pondering my own faith journey.  I walked out wondering if there are people out there that need to hear my own confessions.  If every Christian who sees this movie walks out pondering their own story, I think the movie will have done it's job.

My life as an introvert

The feeling was overwhelming all at once.  The need urgent.  I've lived this life for 37 years, I should know by now when to anticipate it, but still the feeling creeps up quietly and then pounces, like house cat going after a bird.  I should notice the signs, the frustration level that creeps up and up.  The little voice in my head that says all the sarcastic things that my regular voice only sometimes says (I can hear some people laughing at that.  Trust me, only a quarter of the sarcasm actually makes it to the air).  The tightness of my shoulders and back, the all-over tiredness.  They are all signs of impending meltdown.

The last six months I've wavered in and out of my experience of depression.  There were days when life looked very bleak, when the sun wasn't going to shine.  This is not the same.  Life is fine, I am fine, correction, I will be fine when I get time alone!  This is my life as an introvert.

Spending 11 years as a Youth Director and Worship Leader, I fought against my nature on a daily, weekly, monthly and yearly basis.  Small talk has always been ridiculously hard for me, it increased ten-fold on Sunday mornings.  I had to be "on" and "energetic" two modes of operating that took a lot out of me. Sunday mornings were painful at times, especially if I didn't have a chance on Friday or Saturday to recharge.  It took me a few years to realize just how much I needed those days to regroup and be ready to face another week.  I was an introvert living an extrovert life. 

Yet, I've learned how to deal with this part of my personality.  Not just deal, accept and accommodate my deeply introverted state.  I tend to sit in the back of the room, not as a way to escape, but as a way to prepare.  I can see everyone and have a view of the room to prepare when people are coming my way.  I sit quietly, not verbally engaging but smiling, in a group of people and wait until it feels safe to say something.  I keep myself busy, in the background, helping others so that I can avoid those oh-so-hard small talk times.  I find the one other person who struggles in these situations and hang out with them.  Most importantly, I take the time that I need to be alone and rejuvenate...though sometimes other people don't understand that.

Once I started really figuring out just how I worked, what would make me crazy in an instant or when I was hovering over the edge of complete and total meltdown, I started letting other people in on the secret to me.  It wasn't that I didn't want to hang out on a Friday night, I really couldn't.  It wasn't that I didn't love hanging out with youth who stopped in hours before youth group, I honestly needed a chance to prepare myself for youth group, mentally, and sometimes I just couldn't hang out.  It wasn't that I thought myself elite and above everyone else, it was simply painful to be in an unknown situation and hard to climb out of my introverted shy self.  I can put on the extroverted mask and be the one in charge for 22 hours of the day, but I need those 2 hours to be by myself and recharge before I can it again...okay, more like 21 to 3.  At the end of a long week with 20 other people on a Mission trip or any kind of other trip, I've put in all I can of myself and you can bet that I won't be perky and up to hanging out for a couple of days.  In fact, I may just hide for two days in my house.  Don't worry, I will eventually emerge again.  I just need space.

While I'm not in full-time ministry anymore, my personality hasn't changed.  I still am that introverted person.  I still face the realities of me every single day.  I accomodate my needs the best I can and put on a good face 75% of the time.  I am still, though, caught off guard from time to time when that feeling overwhelms me.  That desperate need to have space.  I've still got some learning to do.

I am an introvert...that's just the way God made me.

What color is your world?

My friend Emily left a comment about a post yesterday.  You can find it for yourself, if you like.  Her comment made me think about how I view life.

I'm not sure if I'm a glass-half-empty or glass-half-full kind of person.  I think it tends to change depending on the situation and how much sleep I've had.  I do know that I don't look at the world and see either black or white.  I look at the world and see a lot of color.

I look out at the world and see a plethora of color, of ideas, attitudes, genetic make-up, past history and future history that creates and molds human beings into the complex beings they are.  I look at problems and situations and don't just see right or wrong but the vast chasm of humanity in between.  I at the trees, plants, animals, all of nature in general and marvel at the details, the complexity of all that is there.  I see a lot of color.

In my judgement, people who only see black and white are missing out, limiting themselves, not seeing the complete picture of the world.  The attitude of "it's either this or that, but can't be anything else" saddens me, frustrates me and leaves the impression of a very small, very cold world.  I know many people who live in the world of black or white.  

I live in a world of color.  A world of confusion and complexity.  I live in a world where there are more things left unanswered than answered.  I live in a world of mystery, of grace, of chaos, of control, of ups and downs, lefts and rights, of beauty and ugliness.  I live in a world that allows people to be people, whether I get it or not.  I live in a world requiring me to recognize and accept the imperfection of people including myself.  I live in a world where I don't have all the answers, where I may never have answers and I have to be okay with that.  I live in a world with a great big God who can do great big mighty things, who knows so much more than I could ever know...and who has created some amazing colors.

What color is your world?

Pondering hypocrisy

I had lunch with a friend on Friday.  We are attempting to have lunch together once a month.  The two hours we have flies by, the conversation jumps around and around but usually settles on church.  We worked together in church for awhile.  We come from different backgrounds, have different political viewpoints, have different life viewpoints and yet the friendship is good and strong.  She talks, I listen.  I talk, she listens.  We respect each other and never once have I felt judged for disagreeing with her.  I hope, she has never once felt judged by me either.  Grace abounds in our friendship.  It is good.

At the tail end of our conversation on Friday, as we talked about church stuff, we got onto the subject of why people go to church or don't go to church.  It's a big topic these days.  I've read many a blog post about the subject from many a Christian and the responses vary but usually there is one constant theme running through the reasons for not attending church.  Hypocrisy.

I made the statement to my friend that as a church-raised, church-loving girl, I struggled a lot with the hypocrisy I see within the church.  I fall into the hypocrite category at times, so pointing fingers feels really wrong.  Not standing up and acknowledging the hypocrisy, though, seems wrong as well. 

We preach forgiveness and redemption and hold grudges and anger.  We preach social justice and grace and withhold grace to people who are "sinners" or don't look or act the way we think they should.  We label certain sins as really, really bad and tend to overlook the verse that says "all have sinned and fallen short of the grace of God."  We say that numbers of people in the seats don't matter, then look around and wonder where everyone is on a Sunday.  (True confession, I caught myself so many times overlooking the youth who were sitting right in front of me, wondering where everyone else was.)  We say God and Christ can do anything but give up on people when they don't change they way we think they should in the time frame we think they should.  We confess faith in Christ on Sunday but don't live that faith out Monday through Saturday.  Those are just a few of the things I've seen.

I've struggled with church a lot over the last few years.  I love the church. I also recognize the church is not perfect.  It's not perfect.  It's not ever going to be perfect because the church is made up of human beings...imperfect human beings.  I wonder if that is maybe the problem with the hypocrisy I see in the church.  We work really hard at forgetting we are imperfect, striving for a perfection just out of reach and stumble all over ourselves trying to cover up the mess we make in the meantime.

I don't have any answers, just a pondering mind, a desire to keep seeking God and recognize and admit my imperfection...and the imperfection of that institution I love...the church.

Young Adults

One of the hardest parts about leaving my former job was knowing that I would lose connections with the young adults.  Not that we wouldn't still be friends, but that I wouldn't see them on a regular basis.  Like Jon-boy.  I would see him two or three times a week.  Lately, I get to see him once a week and there is no real conversation.  That would be because we are too busy dissing "The Bachelor"...and I only started going to watch "The Bachelor" because it meant I could hang out with Jon-Boy and a couple of others.  I miss the long conversations standing in the parking lot after youth group or the impromptu Taqueria gatherings.  I miss the conversations about faith and life and humanity and all of the different things we would talk about at any given moment.  I miss the opportunities to be on the sidelines, to encourage and to gently guide.

Last night, though, last night the opportunity arose to hang out with some of those Young Adults.  We laughed, played games and started the deep conversations as the evening was winding down.  Typical.  I was up for a couple of hours after getting home just thinking.  If I could go back and do one thing over, I would have started that young adult group years before.  I would have invested more of my time and energy into being with them and helping them navigate the world outside of High School.  Because outside of High School is where the real conversations started happening.

I've been doing a lot of reading about Young Adults and the Church lately.  I've read the articles saying that Young Adults are walking away from the Church in droves and I've read a lot of speculation about why that is happening.  Last night, as I was talking with a few of the young people, I would have to say that this article by Tim King is dead on.  While that article has a definite political leaning, the ultimate meaning is the same, the Young Adults of this age are turned off by the hypocrisy in the Church.  While we're at it, I'm pretty sure it's not just the Young Adults of this age that are turned off by the hypocrisy of the Church.

During the discussion last night, one of my Young Adult friends said "I wish there was a way to be Christian without being labeled a Christian."  There was weariness in her voice.  A weariness that caught my heart.  She is entirely too young to be that weary of the Church and Christianity.  Sitting in the back of the car, there was nothing else that I could do then let my head fall back and let out a sigh of sadness.  I get it.  I understand.  It still hurts to hear that statement falling from the lips of one so young...

I have no answers.  I only have my thoughts, my concerns, my speculation and the desire to continue the conversation...and to continue to care for, love, encourage and gently guide the Young Adults as God brings them into my path.  

I am not my parents

I grew up (and still live) in a small town.  Yo Momma moved to this small town with her parents when she was 6 or so.  Papa Bear moved to the small town when he was 28, started teaching and quickly became known.  I grew up being known as "Brittany, the daughter of...".  Though I was the first child, I was not the most popular child.  Soon I became known as "Brittany, the sister of...".  That's what happens when you are a shy person, not good at sports in this small town.

Growing up in this small town I never expected to be known for myself, except around my friends.  I told myself it didn't matter but it did.  I told myself that I was okay being known as the daughter or sister of...but there were times when it got old.  Really old.  Then, one day it changed. 

I remember the day that Papa Bear came home and looked at me and said "It happened.  I introduced myself to someone and they said 'You're Brittany's Dad!' ".  There was a poetic justice in that and freedom.  I was no longer just someones daughter or sister, I was me.  The best thing, was that I wasn't riding the coat tails of my family members, I had struck out on my own and was just me.

I was reading an blog post today about someone who is in the spotlight a lot because of their last name.  It's a famous last name because of this person's Dad.  The Dad is respected, well liked and when The Dad speaks, people listen.  The child has ridden The Dad's coat tails a bit to get where they are and is trying to emulate The Dad but it's not working.  The child is not The Dad and though the media keeps trying to make the child, The Dad, more and more it's clear, the child is really not The Dad.

That whole thing started me thinking about those in the media who have been thrown into the spotlight because of their famous parents.  In a way, it doesn't seem fair that we expect the child of the famous parents to be just as eloquent or charismatic or good as the parent.  In another way, it seems really awful when the child tries to work off of their famous name to become famous themselves.  Especially as time goes on and it becomes crystal clear that the child isn't as lovable as the parents, yet they continually try to work off that name or are given more opportunities to speak out because of their famous parents name.  The child is not the parents.

If people looked at Papa Bear, who was the sports guy and a PE teacher, and thought "gosh, his children will be extremely fit and athletic people", well they would be right with one of those children but not the other.  I am not my Dad.  If people looked at Yo Momma, the outgoing people person, and thought "gosh, her children must be outgoing people as well", well, again, they would be right with one of those children but not the other.  I am not my Mom. 

I am the introverted, curvy (ha!), non-athletic, perfectly me child of my parents but I am not my parents.  I don't always think like them, I don't always agree with them and I am most definitely not them.  I have their last name but I am me.  I don't want to be "famous in a small town" because of my last name but because of who I am, what I have accomplished and what I am good at.  Actually, I don't really want to be famous at all, that's a lot of pressure.  I just want to be me.  

6 week makeover

About 8 weeks ago I was dealing with a body issue that has flared up a lot over the last 12 months.  In an effort to not over share, that's about as far as I'll go.  This particular issue is helped by the consumption of water, so I left the doctors office 8 weeks ago and drove straight to the water store and bought myself a pink reusable water bottle.  That water bottle has been my constant companion these last 8 weeks.  I've taken it everywhere with me.  It's one of the first things that I grab in the morning and the last thing I reach for at night before turning out the light.  So far, that pink water bottle has done its job...I've stayed hydrated.

I've heard that it takes about 6 weeks to change/adapt/get used to a new pattern or way of doing something.  6 weeks seems like such a long time and yet is relatively short when you start thinking about it.  I know from many experiences that after about 6 weeks on any diet, I would stop constantly thinking about food.  Those 6 weeks seemed like an eternity every time (and there have been many times, unfortunately).  My 8 weeks with my pink water bottle has gotten me into a new habit and started to edge out old ones.  I've found that my heartburn has disappeared the more water I drink as I've had less soda at night.  I've also found that I'm spending a little less money on beverages than I did before.  Though I still like my daily Nonfat, with whip, White Chocolate Mocha's or Diet Pepsi, thank you very much.  My 8 week habit is a good habit.

If it takes approximately 6 weeks for something to become a habit, then it seems like Lent was set up for such a purpose.  I've had a love/hate relationship with the whole idea of giving up something for Lent for a long time.  In Youth Group Days, I would discuss the reasons for Lent with the group and we would all share what we were giving up...except for the years when I encouraged them to do something new, like read their Bible's every day or pray or help other people or something that would get their focus off of them and onto Christ.  Inevitably there was always the one who would give up chocolate for Lent and then loudly let us know every.single.youth.group.meeting.  The meaning behind Lent always seemed to get lost in challenge of surviving the 6 weeks between Ash Wednesday and Easter.

The last few years I've not made any changes.  I thought about it this year.  I thought about giving up something for Lent and realized that I still have some issues there.  Years of feeling frustration with the "fad-ish-ness" of Lent (yes, I may have made up a word, deal) are still on my shoulders.  It just feels like another ritual of religion that has lost it's meaning and that makes me sad.  Lent feels like one more thing I do because of my faith and that's just not okay.

So maybe, for the next 6 weeks, I'll spend time not giving something up but seeking after something that has been lost in the shuffle of living as a believer in Christ and working in the church.  Maybe, for the next 6 weeks, I'll spend time with my Creator, looking for that spark, that energy, that vibrant belief that disappeared quietly along the way, buried beneath the load of rhetoric and dogma that is the church and not of Christ.  And maybe, in 6 weeks I will find myself reaching for God the first thing in the morning, the last thing and night and all the hours in between with new life, new energy and a renewed thirst.