When I was a girl I was very dramatic about my emotions. I yelled loudly, I laughed loudly, I cried loudly. Everybody in the vicinity could tell how I was feeling at any given moment. As a teenager, I would fight with my mom and then go to my room to loudly weep copious tears, sometimes for hours. It is to my mom's credit that though she was busy, and often still exasperated with me that she would come and hold me on her lap and rock me. "Shhh, its okay, I love you even though I don't agree with you," she would say. It was comforting.
Oddly, as an adult, I seem to have lost my ability to express most of my emotions. I can count on one hand the number of times I remember crying real tears in the past 30 years. Oh, I can still yell loudly, though I don't even do that quite as often as I used to. I still laugh loudly sometimes. It seems that I can express anger or happiness well enough; hopefully I am able to communicate love, but most of my deep emotions remain, well, deep.
I was surprised therefore, this morning, when I found myself crying real tears. I am getting over a bout of the stomach flu, so I decided not to go to church today. I sat down with my crocheting and a glass of something warm to drink and turned on an online sermon preached by Randy Nabors, the pastor of the church we were a part of in Chattanooga. The sermon covered alot of ideas, but one of the statements which was especially poignant to me was about how when we do good works they should be motivated by Christ's love, not by a sense of obligation or guilt. To expand, they should come from the overflow of Jesus' love in our hearts, not form any sense that we need to work harder to gain acceptance or approval from God.
I am not really sure if it was this statement, or if it was just hearing Randy's voice, but I suddenly had a vivid memory of standing and talking with him in our back yard in Chattanooga. Then, as now, our weaknesses seemed to be right out there on public view. Our yard was messy, our house needed work, we were poor, and didn't seem to handle our money very wisely, we committed to help with more things than could actually be done in a 24 hour day, and to top it off, we kept having more and more babies. I kept hearing these things, but they were never juxtaposed with the things we were doing right. I am not sure if we were doing anything right. And, I was overwhelmed and helpless to change most of the situation - including the new babies, which we tried not to keep having. I really did love God, and I don't think that I ever felt like I needed or even could win His approval. I was so totally convinced of my own inabilities that I KNEW that it was all up to Jesus' work on my behalf.
To summarize, even though I was confident of God's promises for the future, I was pretty discouraged with the NOW of my situation. One day Randy came by and picked up little Lester and took him to ride bikes with his son, Gyven while he ran. When they came back, Randy lifted Lester's bike out of the back of his truck and said something like, " Little Lester is a nice kid. He is polite, kind and well-behaved. He is an obvious reflection that you and your husband Love the Lord and are doing something right."
That is the memory that brought tears to my eyes this morning. I still struggle with the same doubts that I can't seem to get things right even though I love God and attempt to faithfully serve Him. All of our weaknesses, messy house, messy yard etc. still exist. I still care that we seem to be more often defined by our failings than by our strengths. I find myself repenting for defining others by their weaknesses as well. I often wonder if pouring the love God put into my heart, and pouring a lot of myself along with it, into other people is really making any difference. I am grateful for this morning's reminder that regardless of whether or not we see it, when we love, we are getting it right.
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Already There
One of the Bible's Old Testament stories which I especially like is the story of Elijah moping in the wilderness. Maybe it seems like I am making light of his depression and discouragement by calling it moping, but I truly am not. The reason I like the story is because I so often become discouraged myself. I ask myself, "What is a country girl like me doing here in inner-city Saint Louis? Are we even making any difference here?" It is so easy to descend from these points of discouragement into self-pity, or if you will, moping.
When we first came to Saint Louis, Lester had, probably for the only time in his life, a very specific call from God to come here. I had become quite content in Chattanooga, TN, where we lived before, and God was not talking to me about moving. In short, I resisted. I did not want to come. "If God is telling you to go to Saint Louis, how come he is not telling me the same thing?" I asked my husband in a thousand different ways. He was adamant. We are going.
As time passed, I began to see that during that time, God had given me a pretty specific calling as well: Be a good wife and mother. This was a job that did not require a specific location, just a commitment to serve God and my family.
After living in a temporary apartment for nine years, an opportunity came to move even deeper into the city. By this time, through the relationships we formed with the neighborhood kids through our church's various ministries, I had caught, if not a vision for the community, at least a sense of compassion for the needs of the children here. I was eager to move, though I admit that the big yard and the promise of a garden and a chicken coop certainly did not harm my enthusiasm.
I suppose that there was a part of me which, despite the yard, saw myself as a light moving into a dark and Godless community. One of the first people I met after we bought the house, was an elderly man sitting in a lawn chair in the yard next door. As I talked to him I found out that he had lived here for many decades. He had been a tuck-pointer by trade. He kept this trade to support his real job, which was to pastor a church which could not afford to pay him. Even in his late eighties after having had a stroke, he still taught Sunday School every week. I was humbled. Elijah, in the wilderness called out to God saying, "I am the only one..." and God answered that he had kept a remnant for Himself. I moved to this neighborhood thinking that I was bringing God with me, but when I got here, I found out that he was already here.
When we first came to Saint Louis, Lester had, probably for the only time in his life, a very specific call from God to come here. I had become quite content in Chattanooga, TN, where we lived before, and God was not talking to me about moving. In short, I resisted. I did not want to come. "If God is telling you to go to Saint Louis, how come he is not telling me the same thing?" I asked my husband in a thousand different ways. He was adamant. We are going.
As time passed, I began to see that during that time, God had given me a pretty specific calling as well: Be a good wife and mother. This was a job that did not require a specific location, just a commitment to serve God and my family.
After living in a temporary apartment for nine years, an opportunity came to move even deeper into the city. By this time, through the relationships we formed with the neighborhood kids through our church's various ministries, I had caught, if not a vision for the community, at least a sense of compassion for the needs of the children here. I was eager to move, though I admit that the big yard and the promise of a garden and a chicken coop certainly did not harm my enthusiasm.
I suppose that there was a part of me which, despite the yard, saw myself as a light moving into a dark and Godless community. One of the first people I met after we bought the house, was an elderly man sitting in a lawn chair in the yard next door. As I talked to him I found out that he had lived here for many decades. He had been a tuck-pointer by trade. He kept this trade to support his real job, which was to pastor a church which could not afford to pay him. Even in his late eighties after having had a stroke, he still taught Sunday School every week. I was humbled. Elijah, in the wilderness called out to God saying, "I am the only one..." and God answered that he had kept a remnant for Himself. I moved to this neighborhood thinking that I was bringing God with me, but when I got here, I found out that he was already here.
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Image Bearers
Ten years ago when I was first asked to teach art classes at the Freedom School, I re-opened some ongoing contemplation in my brain about the nature of being both Christian and Artistic. I wanted to clarify the many thoughts I have had on the subject into a context that could be communicated to young children. Since then I have begun every year of teaching by reading the account in Genesis of how God created the world, and how he created mankind in his own image.
"Because we are made to look like ( bear the image of ) our Creator, we are creators too," I tell the students. "We don't all create in the same way, but we all Create. Some people create by being artists, some people create by being musicians, some people create with words and are story writers or poets, some people create with numbers and are mathematicians, some people create order out of chaos and have neat homes (not me), some people create new hairstyles, and some people create by cooking yummy food."
Meanwhile, at Harambee, ( http://restorestlouis.org/harambee/index.asp ) my husband and other staff members also teach the youth who participate that they are image bearers of God. They point out to them that even God worked, and that when they work, it is one way of reflecting the nature of God. They teach them that because they are made by God in his own image, they have worth, dignity, and something to offer to others.
Of course, the list of the many ways we as humans, and more particularly as Christians, are image bearers of God, could go on at great length. When I look around at church and see the many cultural heritages that are represented - people from every inhabited continent- I marvel at both God's creativity, and the subsequent creativity of the people he made. I love talking to new friends and leaning about the unique characteristics of their cultures. At the same time, I am always impressed by the ways that we are all the same.
For example, little boys of every culture like to show me their mighty muscles. They draw pictures of super heroes and space aliens in class. They try to gross-out the little girls. Little girls give me pictures of flowers and hearts. I'm not saying that there are no cross gender similarities, but, in some ways , all little girls are alike, and all little boys are alike. To take it even further, all grown girls, and all grown boys also are alike. Maybe it is because if you go far enough back in our genetic history, we all are descendants of the same two people ( whom, incidentally, probably shared identical DNA, since Eve was made from the body of Adam ... just something to think about), or maybe we are the same because each one of us is made in the Image of God.
"Because we are made to look like ( bear the image of ) our Creator, we are creators too," I tell the students. "We don't all create in the same way, but we all Create. Some people create by being artists, some people create by being musicians, some people create with words and are story writers or poets, some people create with numbers and are mathematicians, some people create order out of chaos and have neat homes (not me), some people create new hairstyles, and some people create by cooking yummy food."
Meanwhile, at Harambee, ( http://restorestlouis.org/harambee/index.asp ) my husband and other staff members also teach the youth who participate that they are image bearers of God. They point out to them that even God worked, and that when they work, it is one way of reflecting the nature of God. They teach them that because they are made by God in his own image, they have worth, dignity, and something to offer to others.
Of course, the list of the many ways we as humans, and more particularly as Christians, are image bearers of God, could go on at great length. When I look around at church and see the many cultural heritages that are represented - people from every inhabited continent- I marvel at both God's creativity, and the subsequent creativity of the people he made. I love talking to new friends and leaning about the unique characteristics of their cultures. At the same time, I am always impressed by the ways that we are all the same.
For example, little boys of every culture like to show me their mighty muscles. They draw pictures of super heroes and space aliens in class. They try to gross-out the little girls. Little girls give me pictures of flowers and hearts. I'm not saying that there are no cross gender similarities, but, in some ways , all little girls are alike, and all little boys are alike. To take it even further, all grown girls, and all grown boys also are alike. Maybe it is because if you go far enough back in our genetic history, we all are descendants of the same two people ( whom, incidentally, probably shared identical DNA, since Eve was made from the body of Adam ... just something to think about), or maybe we are the same because each one of us is made in the Image of God.
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Busy
For the past 27 years I have been busy. I was busy completing my senior year of college. I was busy getting married. I was busy having babies. I was busy raising children. I was busy educating children. I was especially busy raising teen-agers. By especially busy I mean mind-blowingly busy. Now my mind is blown permanantly, and I still have 2 teenagers at home.
My oldest daughter got married a little less than 3 years ago. My dad died a little more than one year ago. Both of these events caused me a lot of introspection. A few days after getting home from my dad's funeral, I got up one morning and actually looked at myself in the bathroom mirror. I was shocked. Somehow in all the busy-ness of life I failed to notice that I was aging. All those years of rushing through morning routines, I was too busy looking only at necessary elements - teeth, hair, skin care - to really look at the whole. It made it seem like one day I looked at the mirror and I was young with my life ahead of me, and the next day, in some cruel twist of fate, I looked in the mirror and I was OLD.
I started watching Korean dramas online. My family is perplexed. They wonder why I am wasting time on something so mindless. Actually, I am resorting to mindless entertainment, because it is one of the few ways I found to quiet an otherwise always active mind. Sometimes you just need to rest for a while. And why do I need to rest? I need to rest because I have been so busy.
My oldest daughter got married a little less than 3 years ago. My dad died a little more than one year ago. Both of these events caused me a lot of introspection. A few days after getting home from my dad's funeral, I got up one morning and actually looked at myself in the bathroom mirror. I was shocked. Somehow in all the busy-ness of life I failed to notice that I was aging. All those years of rushing through morning routines, I was too busy looking only at necessary elements - teeth, hair, skin care - to really look at the whole. It made it seem like one day I looked at the mirror and I was young with my life ahead of me, and the next day, in some cruel twist of fate, I looked in the mirror and I was OLD.
I started watching Korean dramas online. My family is perplexed. They wonder why I am wasting time on something so mindless. Actually, I am resorting to mindless entertainment, because it is one of the few ways I found to quiet an otherwise always active mind. Sometimes you just need to rest for a while. And why do I need to rest? I need to rest because I have been so busy.
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