Housekeeping

Tonight I am looking around the house and feel completely overwhelmed and disappointed. This day feel like a fail. Dishes half-started, completely unfinished. Toys strewn around, projects for the day never touched. Clutter still littering countertops, end tables, and most other flat surfaces. Laundry has been washed, dried, and folded - and is creating an attractive leaning tower on top of the bench in our bedroom. Discussions I wanted to have, phone calls I wanted to make, and matters I wanted to settle have gone undone.

I have spend most of the day pouting as I watched one plan after another unravel. Add to that that I have not felt in the best shape and just wanted some downtime today (which I did not get much of at all), and I really had some nasty moments of selfishness, eye rolling, and heavy sighs. You know what I mean.

More important than the disarray of my home, I am realizing the state of my heart is desperate. I have bitterness, resentment and discontent scattered on the shelves of my heart. The mess in my home does not even begin to reflect the mess inside. So instead of spending time cleaning, tidying, and doing tonight, I think I will sit. I will pray. I will ask forgiveness. And tomorrow will grant a new space to practice contentment, love, and obedience.

Speck

Over my heart hovers a lens
Backwards over my heart.
This makes the big things
Smaller
And the littlest ones
So tiny now.

You see,
It hurts.
To crane my neck and look back
Back to my heart.
And I prefer it this way
So much easier,
Comfortable
Looking at yours.

Yours is darker, bigger
Nasty
Putrid.
My lens tells me
I am better,
Not-quite-so-nasty,
Certainly a bit more fragrant.

Now if you will just listen, I can fix you
I can help you be good like me.

Redemption & Rhymes with Pill

I once had a student whose name rhymed with pill. That is easy to remember because there were more than a few days where I would rather swallow a horse-sized one than deal with the conflicts he brought to my classroom. The funny thing about Rhymes with Pill was that he was very smart (though spacey) and when asked, he could recite the classroom rules and expectations word for word. (Whether or not he followed those rules to the letter is another story for another time.) However, he rarely paid attention to the specific thing I was asking the class to do at a particular time. He figured that if he worked within the general guidelines of the basic rules of the class that he could ignore my spoken directions and he would be fine. Rhymes with Pill figured he could set his own guidelines when it came to specifics. This caused a lot of problems, particularly if the routine varied slightly from one day to the next, or if I introduced something new. Despite his confidence that he could figure everything out, he instead would often find himself doing the exact opposite of what the rest of the class was doing.

He did not know (nor was he capable of knowing) what the best decision would be for the entire class. He was not aware of particular requests or decisions made by other teachers, staff or myself. Yet day in and day out, he would do his own thing. Repeated conversations, consultations, and disciplines did not seem to make a difference. For whatever reason, he was wired to do his own thing. It has taken me over a year to realize this, but I am not unlike my funny student, Rhymes with Pill.

I know my black and white rules. The ten commandments, the greatest commandment, the marriage vows. I try my best to follow them. But I know that at the heart of things, it is not what my faith is about. Sometimes I am thoroughly confused, however. What am I supposed to do in these situations that are not solved in a Sunday School answer way? What do I do when things are just "fine." What do I do when there is this small, but loud and aching piece that knows, knows with great confidence, that there is MORE. There is more than what I am doing. I try to read a book for answers or talk to a wise friends. That may help for a while. But really, I need directions that are specific. I need clarity and meaning for me, for now.

I have, for a long, long time, let myself believe that everything is okay because I follow rules. Yet I have failed in one way. I have not listened. It is not one of the 10 commandments. "Thou shalt listen." It is just a given. When I break one of the Black & Whites, I far too often fill my own ears with the ringing of my own apologies, my weeping and gnashing of teeth. I am so busy making myself feel fully sorrowful, that I miss a chance to listen. My regret is not sincere, but it is pronounced, and pronounced loudly. Yet there is no change. Maybe repentance is not sobbing pleas, maybe it is quiet. Maybe it is listening.

Perhaps all I need to do is stop talking. Perhaps all I need to do is stop.

Discipleship

To love is to obey. To care is to try.

I fail frequently, but I want to make efforts even more often.

Luke 14:28-33

"For which of you, desiring to build a tower, does not first sit down and count the cost, whether he has enough to complete it? Otherwise, when he has laid a foundation and is not able to finish, all who see it begin to mock him, saying, 'This man began to build and was not able to finish.' Or what kind, going out to encounter another kind in war will not sit down first and deliberate whether he is able with ten thousand to meet him who comes against him with twenty thousand? And if not, while the other is yet a great way off, he sends a delegation and asks for terms of peace. So therefore, any one of you who does not renounce all that he has cannot be my disciple."

Do. Not. Quit. My testimony depends on it.

Not going there

Most foods have sounded unappealing.

But I have been starving.

I have heartburn.

And I am very tired.

I am not letting my mind go there.

But I guess I just did.

This Day Is A Grace

Sometimes I forget. I wonder, why? Why dont you help? We are here, trying, working. Trying to make do. Trying to love. Trying to hope and help each other. Trying to work and trying to be free. Trying, trying, trying. Effort is nothing. It takes us nowhere. Effort is for the karma-believers, the humanists, the haters. Some believe that effort wins. Sometimes I believe it too.

But really, I know better. I know grace.

I know grace because I read about a family that lost their baby, the one born with the broken heart. And then I read about the family who has their sweet daughter, the one born fifteen weeks before she was supposed to. And I hear, and I see, and I know. Effort does not matter. God does. Grace does.

This day is a grace. I want to beat my fists at this window, on this table. I want to cry and heave and weep. Life is not fair. You do not always get back what you gave. But then - what did I do to get this day? This day that is a grace? It was not mine, I did not make it. I did not work it into being. This day was crafted in splendor and with colors that rival the sunrise over a glassy, mountain-circled lake. It was written with glory and glow, purity and passion. Yet it did not happen the way it was written. Because many, many, many days before this one, a choice was made. A choice that shrouded this day with a veil. We can see dimly, yet we still do not really know. We do not fully see. But their are hints. There are hints of grace.

And when I want to shake with sobs or bend in sorrow, I remember that this day was never mine, nor was anything in it. Instead of instinctively clenching and shaking my fists, I pray I will someday intuitively open them. I will open them and let the gifts of grace, in their joys and in their sorrows, fill them up. I can hold them tight because they are from a Giver. A Giver who sees beyond this day and who sees through the veil.

Spontaneously Combusting

I hope I have a really good reason for being this frikkin emotional right now.