cocooned

@rochangraphics

I don’t know about anyone else, but when Covid-19 landed here and swooped over the landscape like a dark cloud, I retreated. Over the last eighteen months I have remained both in a hyper-aware state and cocooned with my family at home, surrounded by Agatha Christie stories and coffee. Every decision goes through a flowchart: What’s the positivity rate? Is this safe? Are you vaccinated? Inside or outside? How do you live? It’s mentally…exhausting might be too strong of a word, but tiring is certainly fair. And once the reservoir of thinking is used up, the answer has been “no”. When in doubt, “no”. The once “I’m ready to build community”, put yourself out there, eager to meet and make friends person feels hesitant, desperately making risk calculations, capable of keeping up with friends who are known and long-term, more exhausted with anyone else.

And yet.

I’ve started to want to write again. This feels monumental, as it means there’s some bandwidth for deeper thought and vulnerability. Could it be that I don’t need such a protective barrier anymore? Is the cocoon feeling a little tight? Could I push a leg out and see how things go?

I suspect that this will be a slow process, and not without doubt, setbacks, and unforeseen events. But it’s enough, for now, to know that this could be a season, one that has taught lessons and brought hardship, but that also has glimpses of hope.

what does it mean to be faithful today?

My husband dreamt up a start-up a few years ago and made it happen. When we jumped into it, and let me be clear, we jumped, because it affected our whole family, not just him, I was clueless. Sure, I’d heard the word “start up” and knew there would be lots of work, lots of sacrifice, lots of time, but I never realized how many rollercoasters there would be, how emotions would rise and fall again and again. Tom shielded me from much of this, because I quickly realized that the constant changes unsettled me in uncomfortable ways. But sometimes there was no avoiding them.

My husband is pretty even-keeled, ready with a joke, sees potential and positives in nearly every situation. So when he was attached to his phone, pacing the house, and incapable of communicating with me because he didn’t really hear what I was saying, I knew things were rough. After watching our savings account dwindle, I felt my stress level rise. Everything with the business was out of my control; it scared me. No framework existed to let me know what the “right” next step would be. I prayed, but the future still appeared murky, and I knew it would continue to remain so.

In my discomfort I remembered Matthew 6:25-34:

Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothes? Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? Can any one of you by worrying add a single hour to your life?

And why do you worry about clothes? See how the flowers of the field grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will he not much more clothe you—you of little faith? So do not worry, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’ For the pagans run after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them. But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.

Each day has enough trouble of its own. Do not worry about tomorrow. Distilled down, I began asking this question: What does it mean to be faithful today? Bringing my focus back to this moment gave me an actionable step. I could love my family, I could call a friend. I could make some cookies and give some away. It grounded me.

Why bring this up now? Because in a global pandemic my thoughts are all over the map. Will we ever get out of stay at home? When will I see my parents again? What will happen to us? To our friends? To those on the margins? I long to see the future, to put in under my dominion. Pausing to realize that I a) don’t have the wisdom to have said dominion, b) don’t need to see the future, and c) can trust that God holds us all in the palm of his hand, brings me back to asking the same question: What does it mean to be faithful today? For me, it means helping my kids with their math problems, praying for my friends whose daughter started chemotherapy this week, making a fun breakfast for my family, seeing the beauty in my plant starts, and being grateful for sun and the chance to walk outside. It means I will call my mom and text a friend about her husband’s Covid19 antibody test. I will choose to see God’s hand in the mundane and pray for his mercy on our world, in our divided country, and in our states/cities/homes.

echo chambers and friendships

Is anyone else confused here? Do people actually like how divided our country has become? Here were some presuppositions with which I entered last week:

• our country is painfully divided
• painful is bad
• people want to not be so divided
• people will be pleased when they see bridges being built

I think I might be wrong. Because, apparently, there was a huge uproar that Ellen DeGeneres and her wife were sitting next to George W. Bush at a football game. Uproars happen, so I didn’t think much of it. What surprised me was the response that Ellen received when she responded on television and said that is was ok to be friends with people with whom you (sometimes vehemently) disagree. Watch here:

Yes, that was me at the Cowboys game with George W. Bush over the weekend. Here’s the whole story. pic.twitter.com/AYiwY5gTIS

— Ellen DeGeneres (@EllenDeGeneres) October 8, 2019

According to some media reports, she is still receiving “blowback” for sitting next to him, and nothing in her explanation changes that. It feels like the new mantra is this:

• You disagree with me
• I don’t need to respect or be kind to you
• You’re evil
• I’m going to go talk to my friends, who all think exactly like me

This makes me terribly sad. It’s this sort of thinking that makes me worried for the USA. As a Christian, I’m called not only to “be kind to everyone” but to love my enemies. What a standard, and one at which I regularly fail. But, by God’s grace, I will grow. Et tu, America?

stop looking for a formula

Let’s combine math and history. We’ll throw in relationships later just to make it murky.

History: I’ve been a part of beautiful Christian community. I loved it. When it was lost due to a move I mourned and tried (unsuccessfully) to recreate it in my new setting. In subsequent moves I was more realistic about the time it took to create such a community, but still, it was the craving of my heart. When it looked different, I was dissatisfied at worst, begrudgingly grateful at best.

Math: I’ve studied Acts 2 multiple times in my life. What I think I wanted to believe is that the rich community described there could be replicated as long as I contextualized it properly. It went something like this:

Communal living + Sharing things in common+ Giving to whoever had need + Shared meals + Fellowship + Studying scripture= Dreamy God-Fearing Community (DGFC for short)

Longing for DGFC isn’t bad, but I realized that my formula left out the Holy Spirit’s role in all of this. And I can’t add him in as a little side piece; His indwelling is what spurs the rest. It starts there. So instead of trying to micro-control my life, trying to recreate a wonderful gift from the past, I’m going to focus on listening to the Holy Spirit and encouraging others to do the same. Where He leads me, I will follow, and while I suspect there will still be a lot of the components of the Acts 2 community, I can humbly listen and act instead of striving harder to make things fit. There are both freedom (it’s not all about me working more and “making” it happen) and vulnerability (it might will likely look dramatically different than I expect want, and I have to trust that God’s plan is better than mine) in this place. I have to give up control.

How much mental space have I given to this topic in the last eighteen years? Lots. It feels like I’m giving up on intimacy, even though that’s patently untrue. I feel like the last few years God is teaching me, over and over again, how I attempt to wrest control from the God I claim to trust and serve. But recognizing the problem feels like the first step to change. So I’ll continue to pray. And I’ll rip up the formula.

 

heartache

Manipulation is the name of the game sometimes. I fell prey to it a few months ago, when a boy in a MAGA hat stood face to face with a Native American. The original news story said he was sneering, that people were chanting, “Build that wall!”. A friend posted an email that went to the school he attended. I wrote. It doesn’t matter that I tried to be reflective and thoughtful in what I said. I wrote. I was wrong. And then, two days (one day?) later, a new story emerged and newspapers hastily retracted the original interpretation. I felt used and conned and vowed to not react to stories until I was as sure as I could ever be in this day and age that the story was accurate.

Cut to today. I’ve seen stories for months about the crisis at the border, about separated families, about varying responses. Truthfully, I wanted to believe the stories were overblown, that each side was twisting the truth to its own ends. I was wrong. There is a crisis at the border, and it is not that too many people are seeking asylum in the USA. This is not about people coming here illegally. (Aside: seeking asylum is not an illegal act.) One can say that we need border control AND that we are responsible for how we treat the poor, the immigrant, the widow, the orphan. Both are true. But I suspect that the latter is probably more important to Jesus, and that’s whom I long to follow.

Like an ostrich who pulls its head out of the sand and blinks into the bright sunlight, I looked around today, blinked lots of tears, and my heart ached. It still does, and I’m glad. Because I think it’s that ache that finally made me act. Here are groups working with refugees that are vetted by others if your heart is breaking, too:

• https://worldrelief.org/families-together#donate
• https://www.raicestexas.org/donate/families-together-fund/?utm
• https://seekingpeace.org/donate/?utm
• https://www.borderperspective.org/welcomekit?utm
• https://ciudadnueva.org/donate/?utm

In addition, you can call your representative to ask that they are working to ensure that everyone seeking asylum is treated humanely. Here’s the switchboard number: 212-224-3121.

Use your heartache to do something good, to act justly. Forgive me, Lord, that it took this long.

 

Lot’s wife

In Genesis 19, we read about Sodom and Gomorrah, and about Lot and his family fleeing from Sodom after being commanded to do so by angels in their midst. Verse 26 states “But Lot’s wife looked back, and she became a pillar of salt.” For this post, I’m not interested in debating why Sodom and Gomorrah were destroyed; I want to focus on Lot’s wife.

There are various hypotheses of why she was turned into a pillar of salt. Was it because she longed for the evil way of life that was being destroyed? Because she saw God sending his wrath on Sodom? Looking back to see if her sons-in-law were coming? Was it because she didn’t trust God’s goodness in his directive to have her leave?

We move in one month and four days. I want to go, because I believe we are supposed to move. Doors opened and closed in such a way that it is clear that California is our next step. And I am convinced that God is good, all the time. So why am I struggling to find the positive emotions for the steps ahead? Instead, I find myself longing for evergreens, gazing at lakes and Seattle sights and sighing. Tears come unbidden too often for my comfort and can be conjured up on a moment’s notice.

I feel like I’m in this awful multi-pronged limbo:

• I find myself starting to pull away from some of my friendships here so the goodbye won’t be as emotional
• The “research” side of the peninsula is done: we have a place to rent, schools for the kids, and at least one of the extracurriculars ready to go
• House prep is never-ending, but now I need to balance “making memories!” with getting it all done. And now we need to find renters to start in (ideally) less than 1.5 months.
• I think I’m a little (not clinically) depressed and am developing really good avoidance techniques: lots of reading, sometimes running, and just frittering time away with anything and everything to avoid the lists

It just feels hard and sad and bad. And then I layer on guilt. “If God wants us to go and He sees the whole picture, who am I to be sad? How are my kids supposed to be positive about this if I am so sad?” (In my defense, I let the kids know I am sad, but I don’t dwell in that space with them. I go there when they need to talk, etc, but try to help point out the truth of God’s presence, etc to them.) So today I feel like Lot’s wife. Perhaps not for the same reasons, but I find myself wanting to look back on this life I love. Lord, for any sin that I harbor in this, forgive me. Change me. May I own my emotions but also truly trust through the tears.

pangs

My husband stepped into being an entrepreneur two and a half years ago. Having worked at very stable jobs, at very stable companies, my sense of what start-up life would be was nothing close to reality. There are lots of ups and downs; I cannot begin to express the rollercoaster ride we’ve both enjoyed and endured at various times. I’ve watched as stress mounts, as questions about the future unfold, and shared the times of joy and accomplishment. But even at the highs, when all feels well, there is a brevity, an ephemeral quality, a gnawing realization that this will pass more quickly than we want it to. So we choose to embrace the moment and laugh, a respite from an unknown future.

Prior to this I never much paid attention to the posts of comings and goings of businesses. I might walk past a store, recognize that it was gone, and quickly shrug and move along my way. Friends were self-employed and I never understood how challenging that could be. But now, it feels different. I hear of a closing, I read a poster in a window, and I gulp a little bit. Because I’ve watched the passion that it takes to start a new business, to step beyond the big company stability into something that springs from inside you. It’s a vulnerable place. It’s scary, and it requires sacrifice. My pace slows and I wish a blessing on those that put themselves on the line, my heart bursting both with pride and sadness for what could have been, for tears shed when the dream dissipates, leaving memories of bravery and loss.

memorial services and the fragility of life

It has been a rough few weeks here. The end of the year tends to be a bit crazy; this was my fourth such year and I’m accepting that this is part of the end-of-school season. Tom traveled more than normal, and my hat goes off to single parents, because it’s a rough gig. I’m so grateful for friends who took my children at 7am so I could dash to work. But really, what threw me for a loop was the tragic death of a friend and realizing the severity of another friend’s cancer.

I knew Mandy (not her real name) had cancer. I knew it was Stage IV. I even made the mistake of reading about it on Wikipedia and looked at prognosis. But it wasn’t until I met up with her, saw her with her tiny newborn, and listened to details about making agonizing choices regarding her treatment while pregnant that I got how terribly sick she was. That the fact that she was still here to care for her baby was a miracle in and of itself. I held (and hold) tightly to the fact that the tumor has stabilized and that she’s doing some really hopeful-sounding treatments now. I pray for her and her baby, that they would both grow and be strengthened and healed by the God who can heal anything.

Heal anything.

Echoes of that prayer linger as I think about Emily (not her real name, either). The same week I visited Mandy, Emily ended up in critical care after a freak bicycle accident. My heart is still too heavy to go into details, but suffice to say that Emily never woke up. At 40 years old she passed into the arms of her savior. Many in our school community are mourning the loss of this vibrant light.

I went to Emily’s memorial service. There were parts I loved. Here’s what I would add to what was said:

I know that there are lots of people in mourning right now, and it makes sense. When God made this world He never intended death to be a part of it. We mourn death partly because we don’t see a bigger picture, sure, but mostly because there’s something amazing and wonderful about life. There’s magic and beauty and laughter and love and music and art and relationships–why wouldn’t we cry when someone is removed from that? And even if we believe in heaven, where we’ve been told it will be even better than it is here, it’s hard to let go of our people, who make this world all the more amazing.

There’s a tension I want to acknowledge right now. I believe God is sovereign over all things, that he knows the number of hairs on our heads, that he loves us more deeply than we can imagine. I also believe that we live in a broken world, where awful things happen and tragedies occur. I can’t explain why it seems like God intervenes in some situations and not others. So I grasp both realities, knowing that they at times feel in opposition to one another.

In the midst of that tension, here’s the promise I claim and that I offer: God promises to never leave nor forsake us. Never. Ever. In the midst of tragedy or in the midst of triumph, God is with us. Emmanuel means “God with us”; Jesus came into this world and paid the ransom for all of us. Because of Jesus there is hope, there is reconciliation with God, there is grace for all who want it. It’s in times like these that I tightly grip these promises and lean my weary head (and heart) on him. Feel free to join me.

 

becoming an angry white woman

I had an uncomfortable realization last week. As I was reading about another unarmed black man being killed by police, I got angry. Really, Lord? Why is this happening again? Why does justice feel so far away sometimes? Why? Why? Why?

It took me a long time to realize my own preconceptions: my experience with police officers and authority figures in general has always been positive. Frankly, my experience with people in general has been positive. My overwhelming tendency is to trust people and to take what they say at face value. Call me naive, but it’s really a reflection of my experiences in life. It didn’t occur to me that others’ experiences were different and therefore would lead them to alternate starting points, lenses to see the world far different from my own.

Many people get frustrated when people of color talk about discrimination. The voices they hear sound strident, harsh, angry to their ears. Honestly, it sounds that way to me, too. I back away. I don’t want to engage. But I shifted in my seat when I got upset. Because what I heard myself think was this: “If I start speaking out about these injustices, time and again, people will consider me a downer. I’ll sound angry all the time.” Gulp. I’m not an angry person, and anyone who knows me knows that. Could it be, I thought, that those “angry” people I’ve shirked in the past are actually just trying to speak truth into darkness? Could it be that they have seen too much, felt too much and really just want a better place for all of us?

I remember learning in one psychology class that anger is a secondary emotion. There’s a deeper emotion that presents as anger. I suspect that many times pain sounds an awful lot like anger. When sharing your heart gets shut down, it creates a scar. When we say we value justice, hear others questioning if a breach occurred, and blithely disregard their concerns without due process, hot coals sear people’s hearts and they cry out.

For those of you opening your mouths in protest, wait just a minute. I am still wary to jump to conclusions when there are altercations anywhere that I didn’t see. I do think that whatever lens we wear can lead us to first impressions that are wrong. But are any of us willing to step back from our own viewpoint long enough to say that the world is a wholly just place? That we are free from the brokenness of this world? Friends, in this week after our Easter celebrations let us be reminded that Jesus came because we are broken and in need of a Savior. Jesus redeemed us and is making all things new. But the world still groans. Sin is conquered but not removed.

I believe that God broke the dividing wall–between both us and him and each other. I believe that when we hear from others different from ourselves–be it race, gender, age, life experience, culture, etc.–that we see a fuller image of God. Let us listen, let us remove our lenses, let us cry out…even if it sounds angry to others.

speaking out

There’s an interesting line one treads when one decides to enter the inter webs. It’s not “real life” in the sense that anyone can read or comment, regardless of their knowledge of you. This is not a, “hey, come over and let’s have coffee” sort of gig. I weigh that (probably too) heavily when I think about writing. Because I have this penchant for nuance I struggle with the idea that my thoughts could be twisted or taken out of context. So I tend to sit on the sidelines. I don’t think that’s a bad thing, but sometimes I wish I could throw caution a to the wind a bit more. It’s not like I’m running for political office or have some grand platform I’m trying to protect; no one really needs to make soundbites out of my writing. I’m ok with that; I started writing because I like to write and it helps me organize and process my thoughts.

Speaking of politics…boy, where do I start? Long ago I established that I’m “purple”–a mixture of democrat and republican. I generally agonize at every election cycle, trying to decide which candidate espouses more of my perspectives on policies. But this year I’m flabbergasted. I’ve never voted against someone; that’s not how I work. “Tell me what you’re for!” is my mantra. But I want to add my voice to those frustrated, concerned, scared, and otherwise shocked that a candidate like Donald Trump is not only still running, but is winning, state after state. My friends at both ends of the political spectrum (yes, it’s both possible and helpful to have both in your life!) are in agreement: this man does not represent anything for which we stand.

I have friends who think we really need to up the screening process for any refugees we allow to enter; I have friends who think it is rigorous enough as is, but none of us believe that we need to track Muslims or their neighborhoods.

We all agree that everyone needs to be treated with dignity and respect–even when we disagree vehemently with each other. Someone is not “stupid” because they have a different perspective.

We agree that one does NOT make America great again by belittling people.

We agree that women should not be objectified. We do not go around talking about women’s bodies.

We agree that we all make mistakes. However, we don’t brag about them, and we show remorse. Mr. Trump, the fact that you brag about having affairs with married women in your book disgusts me.

We agree that to be a Christian one must confess that they are a sinner in need of a savior. There are lots and lots of things that we disagree about, but that’s a safe topic of consensus. Mr. Trump, I would strongly encourage you to read your bible.

I actually don’t believe that all of Trump’s supporters actually think through everything Trump says. I think that there is a large group of people who feel rejected and misunderstood by those that fit well into the political arena today. They are voting against a group they feel have rejected or ignored them–they’ve lost jobs, they’ve seen their quality of life go down, they are scared about the terrorism in the world and want it to stop before it reaches their hometown. I wish I could talk to them, because there is no doubt in my mind that Trump is not the solution to their prayers. So, for them and for everyone else, if (God forbid) he actually gets the nomination, I will most assuredly be in the #nevertrump camp.