Out of the Mouths of Babes...

Yesterday my brother "G" and I were waiting for a prescription at Walgreens. We were at the front of a long line of people, waiting as the kind pharmasist talked with my insurance company. It took a long time. I was one of those customers you don't want to be stuck behind.

G collapsed onto the ground. "Pick me up," he demanded.

"You're a big boy. You can get up."

"Am I strong?"

"Yes."

"Who's the strongest? Is God the strongest?"

"Yes. God is the strongest."

G considered this for a moment as he gazed at his feet above him. I noticed that the rest of the line had grown strangely silent.

"Does God keep us on the ground?"

"Well...God made gravity," and I began to explain the basics of Newton and his apple, and how there was less gravity on the moon, so you could sort of float a little there. If only I'd taken physics!

Before I'd dug myself into too deep a hole, the pharmasist came to the counter. "I'm pleased to say, your prescription went through. It comes to a total of $67."

I began writing my check when I felt a tug on my sleeve. "Does everyone die?"

"For the most part," I said, focused on my writing.

"DOES EVERYONE DIE??? WHEN WILL I DIE?????"

"That's a very important question. We'll talk about it in just a minute," I said.

And, with a few titters from the line and most people trying hard not to look at us, we left discussing death, Jesus' second return, and the plan of salvation.

My New Year's Resolutions

Here they are...*

-Learn to play the guitar

-Learn to use a digital camera (then I could show everyone what my world looks like...at its best)

-Learn to scrap-book (and actually do it...)

-Become a better cook (frozen pizza doesn't count)

Well, we'll see how it goes. And now I can even keep you updated with the wonderful photos I will be taking ;)

*These resolutions are subject to change without notice...and quietly disappear by mid-February.

More Thoughts for Advent

The website scared me. It wasn't the cutsie graphic of baby bunnies on the left or the pretty lavender background. It wasn't the title at the top of the page--something about love and God and struggle. It was the article. It said I was damned.

Actually, to be perfectly fair, it didn't say that I was damned. It just listed a bunch of things you needed to do, or not do, in order to be saved. So, to say that the article said I was damned isn't totally accurate.

But it was convincing. And if there really was a list like that of things one must do, or not do, in order to earn God's grace, then what about all that other stuff? I mean, that stuff they forgot to put on that list? Like those times I lose sleep over worry...and those days I struggle with some sin or other...what about those other times...the times that I didn't struggle...and I just gave in? If there was any line I could cross that would lead God to reject me, I would cross it. Not because I don't desire God, but because I am me.

The article scared me. Because some of it seemed to make so much sense. It seemed so true.

That Wednesday at Bible study I asked a friend about my questions--a wise older gentleman who knows just about everything and is a little bit like a cross between C.S. Lewis and Santa Claus. He helped knock some sense back into my head.

We know that there is nothing we can do to make ourselves worthy of God's love. "For if righteousness could be gained through the law, Christ died for nothing." One of the amazing reminders of Advent is that He has come to do it for us, because He loves us. He has come to give us a gift, the gift of Himself.

The gospel. It is a story most of us are probably familiar with. But to be honest, I sometimes need reminders. Like that day I stumbled across that website, I can be scared, wondering "what about this mistake? What about this sin? Does this disqualify me? Is this too much for God to forgive?"

That story of the One who was born for us, died for us, loves us, desires us. It's an old story, but I've found that I always love to hear it again.

Some Thoughts for Advent

I lied at the doctor's appointment that day. We sat there, me and the boys, discussing what would happen if worse came to worse, and I was trying to say all the right big-sisterly sorts of reassuring things, when the doctor walked in, breaking our discussion off mid-sentence. He went through that usual check off sheet--have you started any new medications? Who's the president? And so on. But what was I supposed to say when he asked me how my moods were? I couldn't tell him that life was going to heck in a hand basket. So I smiled and said great, just great. Well, I don't think he believed me, anyway.

That's the problem with pain, though. So much of it is hidden. So much of it makes us invisible, because our real selves--the ones who love and hurt and feel--have to be kept behind a happy smiling mask.

The man behind you in the bleachers is being mocked by his co-workers because of his epilepsy. The woman beside you in the pew is being harassed by social services and is afraid she'll lose her children--even though she's a great mom. The family declares bankruptcy. The marriage is rocky but somehow survives his porn addiction, her affair. The adoption is terminated. The baby is forgotten in the car.

Some kinds of pain are tricky because it can be hard to find a healthy or appropriate way to talk about them. It's hard to talk about them without hurting, or even endangering the people involved. There are many good families who are harassed by social services--I have known at least three. But you can't go to your co-workers and say "man, I'm having a bad week! I'm afraid of losing my children!" It doesn't look good.

And so his troubled past still haunts you. You have forgiven him, and yet you worry each time he comes home so late from work, or when he goes off on those business trips. And you wonder who you can turn to. Because it's so easy for us to label each other based on what we have done, or even what we look like, what our titles are. Instead of really seeing each other. You love him. And you know he really has repented. He really has changed. You don't want them labeling him, labeling your marriage...You just wish there was someone you could talk to.

Pain makes us invisible. We no longer see each other, we no longer see ourselves. But one of the amazing things about Christ is that He chose to become the ultimate Invisible Man. He chose to become us--first by taking on flesh, living in this world where we get rocks in our sandals and tangles in our hair; and then by taking on our sin, becoming our sin, becoming us so that we could become His righteousness.

God knows what it is to be invisible, overlooked, forgotten. And often, it is me who is doing the forgetting. God loves us enough to risk Himself and be forgotten. The God of the Universe sees us and knows us. So it is in turning to Him, we become less invisible. It is in turning to Him that we can know and be known.