Month: October 2010 (Page 3 of 5)

Lately, several instances have caused me to stop and reflect on my life and all that encompasses it. I feel very fortunate, lucky, blessed. I can give a brief synopsis why:

• Last night at midnight when M was hungry, my ultra-thoughtful husband retrieved her and I didn’t have to get out of bed. 
• I have a freezer full of cow and chickens to eat whenever so inclined.
• All 8 million of my cousins and their kids live within driving distance to regularly wreck havoc in a well-reciprocated manner.
• My kids’ grandmas and grandpas (all 4 of them) live close enough to feed them too much junk food. 
• My bookshelf offers multiple options for my next bookclub selection.
• I speak to at least one of my friends on a daily basis. 
• I own shoes that can match any outfit I put together. 
• I don’t hate my job.

I have many reasons to feel blessed. But I realized that “blessed” is a tough term to swallow for some because the thinking could be, “why you and not me?” Plenty of people in the world do not experience the same joy and contentment on a daily basis. Why would God not shower down the blessings upon them?

Glee highlighted it as a common stumbling block when Finn up and left his Grilled Cheesus faith because the guidance counselor told him that the graven image didn’t really make him special. He wanted an all-access pass to the good life, thanks be to the almighty Bread and Cheese. When he discovered that the universe operated otherwise, he jumped ship on the whole belief system of something beyond.

We like the idea of a God who will bless us if we follow Him. A+B=C. I follow, you give, we’re both happy. As a rule-driven creature of logic, I grasp this concept with clenched knuckles. But when faced with “when bad things happen to good people” one of our only choices of response tends to be “We don’t know why God does things” and “We can’t see the whole picture.” They are true; we don’t know and we can’t see. But that doesn’t offer much hope to a family at the hospital whose loved one is loosing a battle with depression and a destructive lifestyle.

My wanderings take me to the original father of faith, Abraham. God told Abe that he would bless him – lots of descendants, a promised land, lots o’ milk and honey. But a key phrase is often omitted.
“I will make you into a great nation
       and I will bless you;
       I will make your name great,
       and you will be a blessing.
 ³ I will bless those who bless you,
       and whoever curses you I will curse;
       and all peoples on earth
       will be blessed through you.”
 

And you will be a blessing… and all will be blessed through you. What if faith is about far more than ourselves and God, something our individualistic culture frequently abhors?

I’m not trying to take God out of the blessing-giver role. Clearly, he’s the main show. And I’m not about to heap fault on to someone for the bad things happening. But what if my blessings aren’t just the direct result of something good I’ve done, but rather the faith of those around me? What if, because my parents are faithful, I have become the recipient of the blessings of opportunity and provision? What if, because my friends tend to live in a way that is loving, generous, patient (oh, my friends ARE patient with me!) and kind, and my life is blessed as a result. God still gives, but it’s a matter of vehicle.

Taking this on adds a whole new level of codependency that I’m sure some counselor would resist. But it’s an option I’m willing to explore.

In a matter of one post and 350 words or less I managed to make several unfair assumptions.
1. That people actually read this, other than KLM (or Connie G or Anna G).
2. That readers would be guaranteed hear what I’m trying to say,  rather than what is actually said.
3. That I am incapable of committing the same blunders as that which I critique.
Those are just the big ones. There’s a comments section, feel free to add your own running tally.

Now that I realize my blunders (thanks to the loving awareness of a good friend… and a quick sidenote: everyone needs at least one, if not four, friends that can play the awareness card for you without fear), I must make bloggy amends. Because if I don’t, then I wouldn’t be living what I strongly to be true about God, people, words and love.

Today on the View (how’s that for a segue?) they revisited last week’s debacle of the Bill O’Reilly interview. Because I don’t watch much TV (including news) and apparently none of my facebook friends watched either (because that’s where I get my news) I had no idea. But today’s conversation about how people speak of others really made me think. BO’R makes his mark through extreme, unthoughtful comments, often at the expense of others who typically have no voice. I don’t appreciate that. I think it’s lousy entertainment and downright awful “journalism” if you insist upon putting him in that category.

But this evening served as a reminder that these clothes aren’t fireproof. Though not intended (and I will attempt to limit this as my only justification), perhaps my flippant comments may also seem to be at the expense of others. I’ve said before how I hate limiting a conversation to simply issues, but I nevertheless find myself painting with a wide brush. If I claim to respect differing opinions but my remarks can be interpreted on the scale of hurtful, unthoughtful or disrespectful, then perhaps I should take up paper mache rather than writing.

The book of Hebrews tells us that the Word is a double-edged sword, able to cut to the deep (MM Paraphrase). Though I hold the scriptures in higher regard than other literature, or perhaps a blog, I do live with a profound conviction that words matter. I wouldn’t be at my desk night after night if they didn’t. Words have the ability to heal and to hurt. It is by a person’s word that you discover true identity. I believe the differentiator between really, really good parents and the rest of us lies in how they speak to their children and one another (Do they do what they say? How do they speak of & respect others?). God created the universe with the power of words; He spoke Life into being. 

So let tonight be an open letter of apology to anyone who I’ve carelessly tossed under the bus, as they say in corporate-world speak, especially when done so inadvertently. If I’ve taken your liberties in telling a story or painted a picture with the wrong colors, please forgive me. If I’ve recklessly tossed around words or ideas and you care deeply about those concepts, allow me the grace to say, “I’m learning” and also “I’m sorry.”

That, any perhaps I should hire an editor.

If I were to count all the weddings I’ve attended since college graduation, I’d ballpark today’s to be number 387. Though perhaps a harsh overestimation,  the year we did 13 (mostly crammed into July) did push us to our limits. It’s been a lot of Sherry’s baked chicken and stuffed shells with a chocolate fountain or two.

Of all these nuptial celebrations, I still enjoy the traditional liturgy (“with this ring, I thee wed…” and “let no man put asunder”). I’ve heard it enough that until this afternoon I would’ve felt confident reciting as if a monologue.

However, today’s service caught me off guard. I’m not sure if it was the extra man up front with the colorful robing or if I simply listened a tad better with no toddlers pulling on my dress. Perhaps Stephanie comes from a background that is more pacifist in nature – she did go to Ashland, you know.

Whatever the case may be, I heard no less than three times the charge for D & S to love one another so that the peace of God may bless their home. Now, though all of these are church-y enough words to be peppered throughout a service, the cause and effect nature of them – and then mostly the effect end – had me pause to reflect.

Wayne read that they were called to a “perfect love.” I was thrilled to hear that: we’re not called to perfection, or even a perfect marriage, only a perfect love. This type of lofty goal doesn’t immediately send me into doomed-for-failure mode, so it’s a starting block.

But the many times I heard “peace” this afternoon turned my wheels. What does a household established in peace even look like? Is it one of those places where you have to take off your shoes to enter the dining room, complete with dishes never used? Is it a garden with a little running water fountain to “reflect” in solitude? I hope not, because neither of these sound either exciting nor attainable.

Peace, if you ask me, lies not in the absence of conflict but in the ability to navigate through it with grace and love. I’d laugh in your face if you told me that contemplative reflection should encompass at least an hour of the day in my household – 2 under 2 just doesn’t make room for that. But I still believe that peace can rule it. I believe that in the stacks of books and in the toys strewn about comes opportunity to live peacefully. Sure, chaos might ensue when trying to leave the house before a predetermined time, but as moments in time are strung together, if done so with a bit of foresight and thoughtfulness, it can be worn as a necklace marking beauty amid struggle.

I’ve been in homes where, by entering, your blood pressure begins to rise and you find yourself envying the coats in the closet, hidden from the awkward, tense atmosphere. But I’ve also been welcomed into spaces that encourage you to kick back, take off your shoes and simply enjoy. Coincidentally, the second type of house typically offers the best conversation. 

So here’s to establishing the home in peace, rooted in love. Here’s to cutting out the words that reduce and belittle others. Here’s to having *enough* patience to listen and respond carefully. And here’s to loving and enjoying everything I have, not just what I wish would be.