Not just for kids…

I know that because I teach kids, I am exposed to Children’s Literature on a daily basis. I get to read, along with my kids, great books that (unfortunately!) fall into the category “Children’s Literature.” Adults skip right past them on the shelves because they think that the books are only for kids and the story lines and messages are basic, shallow and childish. Ugh!

I am reading this amazing book called The Tale of Despereaux, by Kate DiCamillo. It falls into the category of Children’s Lit. Sure, it is about an unlikely hero (a mouse, with exceptionally large ears, that doesn’t know how to be a mouse), and has a fairy tale plot line (the story of a mouse, a princess, some soup, and a spool of thread), but it is not as basic as it sounds at first!

I started to read it because all of my children are reading it. It is funny, engaging, an easy read and surprisingly thought provoking. Here are a few of my thoughts… and a brief synopsis!

The hero, Despereaux, is the only survivor of the last litter of mice born to Antoinette. She is so disappointed at his birth (he is, after all, tiny with big ears!) she names him Despereaux “for all the sadness, for the many despairs in this place” (DiCamillo, 2003, p. 12). Nice. But Despereaux, even though he knew the source of his name, chooses not to fulfill the future his name holds. He knows he is a mouse, but he doesn’t act like a mouse. He knows he brings despair to his family because he is not what a mouse should be, but that isn’t important to him. Why? Because of love, of couse!

Despereaux falls in love with the Princess Pea. His love for her changes his life. Despereaux forgets who he is supposed to be because he finds a love for that which is greater than he. Hmmm… Sounding familiar to anyone other than me?!

But the story is also about a rat, Chiaroscuro, or Roscuro for short. In The Tale of Despereaux, there is one fact that is made clear from the beginning—rats are hated. They are ugly, dark loving, RATS. Roscuro, however, is very similar to Despereaux. He is a rat, and he doesn’t feel like a rat. He doesn’t want to be a rat. He wants to live in the light. He yearns for it. But, he never feels the life changing love that Despereaux feels. Roscuro’s life is not irrevocably changed by the power of love. (I think you see where this is leading—in a children’s book, no less!)
Roscuro has a mentor, Botticelli. Botticelli teaches Roscuro the way of the Rat. He guides him down the dark maze that is the life of a rat. As Roscuro is about to be on his own, Boticelli tells Roscuro one last thing (DiCamillo, 2003, p. 90):

“I would very much like to torture a prisoner,” said Roscuro. “I would like to make someone suffer.”
“Your time will come,” said Botticelli. “Currently, all the prisoners are spoken for. But another prisoner will arrive sooner or later. How do I know this to be true? Because, Roscuro, fortunately there is evil in the world. And the presence of evils guarantees the existence of prisoners.”

Hmmm…. As I read this I thought, firstly, how glad I was that I had found the love that changes a life for a lifetime. Secondly, how much even the lowest of the low yearn for the light. And thirdly, I thought how much the evil in this world holds us captive. If we don’t know that life changing love, then how can we break the bonds that hold us to the evil world?

I know this is getting long, so I will draw this part to a close… But just think about it, for a moment, how much we are either like Despereaux (born in a world of sadness and despair) but find the love that changes us completely, or like Roscuro, who longs for the light, but has only found scorn, hate and darkness.

So anyhow, go out and buy your very own copy of The Tale of Despereaux—you will not think for long that it is just a children’s book. Books like this aren’t just for kids anymore.

Jesus--Author of my Soul

I have had a rough few months. I could break it down for you (with all the gory details that make the mundane interesting), but in reality, the tears, that are sure to come, are too high a price to pay for a list of events that I have allowed to define my life over the last few months. Needless to say, I have allowed my joy to be lost, and my ever-hopeful (yet broken) heart has said "ENOUGH."

I like to think of myself as an author. I LOVE to write. Now that I am an adult, I have less time than I would like to actually sit down and write, but my soul longs for a pen and a pad of paper more often than not. I crave the excitement of creating something that brings insight or entertainment to others. I have a million "first sentences" running through my head, and no novel to put them into. When I do get the time to pen a poem or a short story, or add another chapter to the book I am (poorly) trying to write, I revel in the sense of satisfaction of a job well done. Not that it is necessarily all that well written, but it is complete. Now I can go back and edit and revise and make it truly great.

I am, for lack of a better phrase, tied to my writing. I am connected on a level that I cannot explain. Criticize my work, criticize me. My skin is not tough enough to handle any disparaging word. My writing is, in essence, a piece of my soul. (And I am generally too chicken to share it with anyone!!!!)

Today in church, my pastor used a phrase that I had not heard. Maybe I live under a rock, or maybe he coined the phrase right then and there, but it really grabbed my attention and started this blog in my heart and head. Les said "Jesus is the author of your soul." Of course, I wrote it down immediately (like I might somehow forget!) and began to reflect on it.

When I sit down to write something, I look at the outcome. What am I trying, ultimately, to say? Am I praising God's nature? Am I hating men (or just one) because of a broken heart? Am I sad and cannot express it any other way? I always know how I want it to end. I know the steps I need to take to get my piece there, and which crafts I must use to accurately express my thoughts. Then I plan it out--every last detail. When I get someone to edit for me (which is rare because, as referenced above, I don't handle criticism of my work well!), I know where I want the editing and revising to go. I don't want to revision my piece (as implied by revising). I want it to be exactly as I planned it and exactly as I visioned it when I created it.

That is how Jesus is in my life. He wrote my life-song before I was even created. He set it to music, and he brought it into being. Jesus created my cadence and my rhythm. He wrote the opening and closing line. He crafted me. Jesus has a vision for my life, and He doesn't take too kindly to people (in this case, ME), re-visioning it for Him. It isn't my place to be editor of my life.

I am God's creation. Yeah--I know, that is not a shocking theological statement there. But, today, I realized--God is more protective of me and more connected to me as I am to a piece I have written. God doesn't have a thick skin when His creation is criticized. God looks at me--yes even sinful, evil ME, and sees a His new creation. He sees in me what he envisioned in the first place--not what I have revised myself to be. I am HIS--He planned for me, and wrote my life.

I am drawn to John 15. I love the "Message" translation of the Bible, so that is what I am using today. Jesus says '1 "I am the Real Vine and my Father is the Farmer. 2 He cuts off every branch of me that doesn't bear grapes. And every branch that is grape-bearing he prunes back so it will bear even more. 3 You are already pruned back by the message I have spoken.' It says nothing about being pruned (or in this authors world, 'edited') by anyone but Him.

Hmmmm.... This wasn't exactly where I thought I would go with this, but here I am, nonetheless. I guess all of this to say that I really would love for my book review, when I am dead, to say that my life was true to my author's vision. Is there any higher compliment?

Numbers

Numbers
I am NOT a mathematical person, but as I sat here today reading a friend's emails, some numbers came into my mind...
10--the number of months since I stepped out on faith--leaving the security of my job behind and moving back to the States
5,000+--the number of times I have questioned that decision
0--the number of times I have regretted that decision
2--the number of birth sisters I have
1--the only birth brother I have
2--the number of sisters of my choice
1--the number of brothers of my choice
6--the number of people who call me Aunt
5--the number of pages I am short on my final 5 page paper for one of my graduate classes. Er?
+1--the number of regrets I feel (1 more than I should!)
2--the number of broken hearts I have nursed back to health
2--the number of times I feared my heart wouldn't recover
1--the number of pets I have had on my own
6.5--the number of years I have been in school to become what I have always wanted to be.
3--the number of majors I had in college before deciding what I wanted to do with the rest of my life
0--the number of job prospects I have right now
5--the number of boyfriends I have seriously had
0--the number of boyfriends I have had this year
3--the number of children I want to have one day
0--the amount of independence I am willing to give up right now
??--the number of people who will read this blog!!!

Too

Too

Too—such a great word. It encompasses so much, and convicts so much. It acknowledges so much and shares so much blame. It shares responsibility. It gives credit. It is also one of the hardest words to add at the end of a sentence. You know what I mean—“My project was great, and his was great…too.” Or “He hurt me and I hurt him…too.”

So last night I had coffee (nectar of the gods, to some people) with my friend Alissa. She has been going through a difficult time in her personal life and we were talking about developments there and the lack there of in my life. Alissa has been a dear friend of mine for years. I met her when I was first out of college and going to Hunter Street Baptist Church. At first we were casual acquaintances, but over the course of serving in ministry together at the church, she became one of my closest friends. I missed her dearly when I took a job at SFS and moved to Korea. But, every time I was home, she was the one friend I could count on to remember me and make it a point to catch up. During our chats, she very often gave (and continues to give!) me food for thought.

A resounding theme in our conversation last night was the idea of compassion. I have always thought of my self as a compassionate person. But I realized after a few minutes that at the time in my life when I needed to show compassion the most, I did not. I chose selfishness—I chose to nurture my own hurt over comforting someone else’s pain. It was a complete shock to my system. But more on that later.

Compassion. That is such a hard concept--we all think we have it down pretty well, but in reality, do we? What exactly is compassion!? According the secular world, compassion is taking into account another person’s pain and trying to alleviate it. Because I was created a spiritual being, I think there must be more to it. In Matthew 9, Jesus felt compassion for the lost that he saw around him because they were “without a shepherd (vs. 36).” Then Jesus commanded his disciples to act on that—he said “The harvest is plentiful, but the workers are few. 38 Therefore beseech the Lord of the harvest to send out workers into His harvest." They were commanded to first beseech God on behalf of the lost, but also, I can’t help but wonder if an unspoken command was given there too—to go out and begin to reap the harvest. Compassion is not without command. Jesus didn’t have a personal relationship with these people, yet he loved them enough to feel true compassion for the lost. I think in the spiritual realm, compassion is not just taking into account someone else’s pain, but taking someone else’s pain. It is not about considering it and being moved by it. It is FEELING the pain and moving to action, regardless of our own hurts, fears, or concerns.

A few years ago I was in a relationship that I now know to have been bad for not just me, but him, too. Of course, at the time, I could NOT see it, even though most of the people around me were yelling “RUN!” The ending of that relationship was terrible. I was hurt more deeply than I have ever been hurt before. I never (for one little moment) thought that Tim was hurting, too. I remember, now, sitting in my living room, in tears. Tim was telling me over and over again that the person he showed the night before was not the person he really is. He, too, was broken in some way. Maybe not as deeply as I was, and maybe not for the same reasons. But he was broken, too. I did not have the monopoly on pain. He needed me to put aside my selfish hurts and say to him “It’s OK..” and I couldn’t do it. It was easier, in the short run, to have a difficult, nasty ending to our friendship than to deal with it and let it take its natural course.

Tim said that he was sorry. I wish that I’d had the courage to say that I was sorry, too.

Sticks and Stones...

So, any of you who read my blog often hear me talk about my good friend Dan. He uses the written word so effectively and our conversation (or just reading his blog!) inspires me. I was recently reading his last blog entry and it was about how much power words have. His blog dealt specifically with a specific word used to describe gays. (You all know what word I am talking about...) But the overall theme of his blog has stuck with me. It has made me look at words I use everyday... and how those words affect the world around me--and the world within me. The words I use to describe myself are more hurtful and damaging than those used by strangers. I know which buttons to push and which ones to ignore. And when it comes to myself, I can't simply apologise and say that I don't mean it--because I know better. I meant every word. And my world within cracks a bit more each time. And the world outside me also is affected by my world with in. If I refuse to believe my own apology, how can I believe the apology of the world?We all have heard (and probably used) that phrase Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me. Whatever. I have been teaching kindergarten for the last month or so. I love it. It is so wonderful. The best part of teaching kindergarten is the look of pure joy of discovery. Kids are learning so quickly how the world works. Who to emulate, who to avoid, who to tease and who to steer clear of. They are also learning the power of words.When conflict arises, a favorite phrase of mine is "Use your words to solve this problem." (Sound familiar anyone?!) But, what about situations where no words are sufficient? What about problems that are so big that words cannot even begin to express? What about those issues that are so big that you can't wrap your mind around it, much less articulate it intelligently. Kids look at the world so purely. There are no problems that are too big to solve with gentle words, a hug, and a pat on the back. When did we outgrow this simple mindset? Kids rarely put themselves down (unless there are underlying issues--but that is another blog altogether!). They choose to believe the best about their world within and the world outside. Why can't we? Why can't we believe the best about our own world and the world we live in? Why do we have to divide ourselves into 2 groups? Why can't we be the loved and the loving instead of the self-righteous and the impure? Where are the words to heal the hurts that have been inflicted? Any more, the power of words needs to be followed by the power of action. A gentle word, a hug and a pat on the back... Can you think of a better solution?

I Choose...

Each Day. . .
It's quiet. It's early. My coffee is hot. The sky is still black. The world is still asleep. The day is coming. In a few moments the day will arrive. It will roar down the track with the rising of the sun. The stillness of the dawn will be exchanged for the noise of the day. The calm of solitude will be replaced by the pounding pace of the human race. The refuge of the early morning will be invaded by decisions to be made and deadlines to be met. For the next 12 hours I will be exposed to the day's demands. It is now that I must make a choice.
Because of Calvary, I'm free to choose. And so I choose.
I CHOOSE LOVE. . .
No occasion justifies hatred; no injustice warrants bitterness.
I choose love. Today I will love God and what God loves.
I CHOOSE JOY. . .
I will invite my God to be the God of circumstance.
I will refuse the temptation to be cynical. . . the tool of a last thinker.
I will refuse to see people as anything less than human beings, created by God.
I will refuse to see any problem as anything less than an opportunity to see God.
I CHOOSE PEACE
I will live forgiven. I will forgive so that I may live.
I CHOOSE PATIENCE
I will overlook the inconveniences of the world.
Instead of cursing the one who takes my place, I'll invite him to do so.
Rather than complain that the wait is too long, I will thank God for a moment to pray.
Instead of clinching my fist at new assignments, I will face them with joy and courage.
I CHOOSE KINDNESS
I will be kind to the poor, for they are alone. Kind to the rich, for they are afraid.
And kind to the unkind, for such is how God has treated me.
I CHOOSE GOODNESS
I will go without a dollar before I take a dishonest one.
I will be overlooked before I will boast. I will confess before I will accuse.
I choose goodness.
I CHOOSE FAITHFULNESS
Today I will keep my promises. My debtors will not regret their trust.
My associates will not question my word. My wife will not question my love.
And my children will never fear that their father will not come home.
I CHOOSE GENTLENESS
Nothing is won by force. I choose to be gentle.
If I raise my voice, may it be only in praise. If I clench my fist, may it be only in prayer.
If I make a demand, may it be only of myself.
I CHOOSE SELF-CONTROL
I am a spiritual being. . . after this body is dead, my spirit will soar.
I refuse to let what will rot, rule eternal. I choose self-control.
I will by drunk only by joy. I will be impassioned only by my faith.
I will be influenced only by God. I will be taught only by Christ.
I choose self-control.
Love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control.
To these, I commit my day. If I succeed, I will give thanks. If I fail, I will seek His grace.
And then, when this day is done, I will place my head on my pillow and rest.

*Author--Unknown. I found this and loved it.

Home is where the heart is. . .

I went back to Korea last week. It was amazing. It was horrible. Being in Korea should have been like being "home." But, not to sound trite, but... you can never go back home. At least not to the home you remembered. Having lived in Korea for the better part of 22 years, you would think that it was "home." But Korea is not a place that readily accepts non-natives as their own. For as long as I lived there, and as much as I considered Korea my home land, it never considered me a native daughter, or even as an adoptive daughter. I was always a stranger in a strange land. I never felt the rejection as a personal rejection--it wasn't me that was being rejected--but everyone who is not Korean. I knew that, but it didn't change my feelings about the land I grew up in. Going back to Korea last week was a life changing experience. I didn't see enough of the people I wanted to see, and too much of the people I didn't want to see. But, as it turned out, as much as I loved being back in Korea, I was desperate to get back. Not only because of Wally the Wonder Dog, but also because my life has moved forward here--something I had not realized. I knew life in Korea had moved on--it always does. But no matter how much I thought I had not started moving on with my new life, I have. And it is a good thing. Going home is never easy, but once you get there, you realize that you have just left home. And it feels good.

So This is Christmas...

Every year, when Christmas comes around, I get caught up in the whole "I love Christmas, but hate the whole commercialism aspect." But this year, I came to the stark realization that this is Christmas. The Christmas's I remember from my youth are gone. The days of gifts being a $5 coffee cup for my parents are gone. Not because I can't find a $5 coffee cup to buy for them, but really, I think I allow myself to be caught up in what other people will think about what I am getting them. When did the sentiment "It's not the gift, but the thought that counts" cease to be a part of what we believe about Christmas? When the wise men came to worship Jesus after His birth, they brought with them the most valuable items of the day. But, it wasn't the value of gifts that is an important aspect of the story. It was that they brought was they had and that they gave it all to Jesus. It is the whole idea that we are to gift God with what is most valuable to us--our lives, our decisions, and ourselves. It is, in this case, both the gift and the thought that counts. Next year, I hope to be less concerned about what I am giving, and more concerned with the thought behind it--and the reason for the gift. I will use the time to remind myself of the commitment to God I have made, and the value of the gifts to Him I am giving.