Inequalities:

Tonight I was in Target--one of my favorite passtimes--with my sister Michele picking up a few necessities… and a few unnecessities, too! As I was browsing in the stationary aisle (my favorite aisle in the store!) I saw a spiral notebook that said "I>u." The first grade teacher in me kicked in and I immediately thought "hungry alligator eats the bigger/greater value." And as it dawned on me the message on the cover, everything inside me rebelled. (For once I rebelled at the right thing!) The selfishness and the me first attitude that was conveyed with those three characters was mind boggling.

We live in a culture that has lost respect for the needs of others. Selflessness has become synonymous with "door mat" and looking out for number one has become de rigueur. Since when did people looking out for others and doing a kind turn become almost foreign to us?

Philippians 1:20-21 says, "According to my earnest expectation and hope, that I will not even be put to shame in anything, but that with all boldness, Christ will even now, as always, be exalted in my body, whether by life or by death. For me, to live is Christ and to die is gain." Those verses right there are the antithesis of "I>u" whether the u is others or the U is Christ. To live is Christ and to die is gain is the least selfish thing you can do--dying to Christ ultimately means that you put yourself aside and "I" is no longer important. I am not defined by these things--they are not who I am.

So here I am thinking of my own inequalities…

I

10 Years Later

Ten years ago today, my life changed. If there is one event I could change in my lifetime, this would be it. Today is the 10 year anniversary of the attacks on the United States on September 11, 2001. Today is a day of mourning for what was lost--the loss of human life and the loss of a sense of security we had up to that point. The images are astounding, heartbreaking and bewildering--even 10 years down the line. I don't know that I will ever be able to think about that day or see a news piece featuring the events without tears.

As I have watched the coverage and memorials off and on all day I am struck with so many emotions--some easily identifiable such as anger, sadness, and nostalgia of an easier time and some not so easy to pinpoint. But that being said, right now I am grateful.

Yeah--you read that correctly. I am grateful. I am grateful for the sacrifices heroically made by the firemen and women, police men and women and military men and women who have sworn to "protect and serve" and did that day and have every day since and for the every day men and women who risked their lives to help complete strangers. I am grateful that while many rightfully ran away from the devastation, those brave first responders were running towards it, hoping to save the innocent while knowing they were likely running to their deaths. Likely leaving the second wave of victims of the horrible attacks that day--the ones who were left behind and lost their loved ones. The victims who lost their loved ones because they were too brave to run away. To quote a survivor, "The sight of a fireman was a calming sight." Without their leadership (and the leadership of so many others--from the helping hand that pulled many from the rubble to Mayor Giuliani to President Bush and everyone in between), many more lives would have been lost.

I am also grateful that we are 10 years down the road from such a terrible event. We survived. Instead of crumbling under the terrible and oppressive fist that tried to break our spirit and destroy our way of life, we found courage in our fear. Hope in our loss. We have had 10 years to heal our wounds and figure out a new way to be "American." And I think we've done an admirable job of it. Some of our wounds will never heal. Some of our scars we will wear proudly for the world to see. And some we will keep private.

Today in church, our sermon was on joy. One statement stuck out to me so clearly. My pastor, Les Hughes, said (to paraphrase) that the more we are thankful for the more joy we have. And that is not a situational truth. That is a universal and lifetime truth. The more things in this world that I can find some kernel of thankfulness for, the more joy I can find. I don't want to live a life of angst. I don't want to live a life of sorrow. I want to live a life of joy. In order to do that, I must find something to be grateful for in every situation--no matter how heinous or terrible the events might be. And I can think of no more terrible of an event in my lifetime than the attack on our country on September 11, 2001. So today, I am choosing to be grateful for the resilience and compassion of my people and rejoice in the sovereignty of my God.

My Own Lady Lazarus

When I was in high school, I fancied myself a poet. I still write poetry now, but now I really focus on other forms of written expression. I fell in love with poetry and met a sad, melancholy poetess, Sylvia Plath. In the midst of my teen-age angst I felt like Sylvia Plath understood me--and her sadness reflected my own. How wrong I was… thankfully.

I read and fell in love with a poem called "Lady Lazarus" that Plath wrote towards the end of her life. She talks about having become an "expert at dying…" though she never quite succeeded--until attempt #3. (But I don't think she ever meant to kill herself--comparing herself to a cat with 9 lives. Maybe she was just trying to release some of her demons and pain. I am no expert, so take that for what it's worth!) She compares her pain to the plight of the Jews in Hitler's Europe, and being a walking miracle.

She also compares herself to Lazarus from the bible--raised from her own death. I, too, am my own Lady Lazarus, but not for the same reasons Plath dubbed herself Lady Lazarus. You see, I too died and have been spared through no effort of my own. You see, I was saved from death by this amazing enigma called grace. For Plath, her saviors were the humans who saved her from physical death. And though she sought reprieve from her own anguish and darkness, she did not find it.

I died. I was raised. But my savior is Jesus Christ. I am saved from something worse than death--but I am saved from the eternal separation from God. Hell. I have been granted reprieve from anguish, darkness and my sorrow has been assuaged. I no longer cry out in loneliness for something "more." I have it.

Plath says, in Lady Lazarus, "A sort of walking miracle, my skin" which is about the only part of this poem I now identify with--I am a walking miracle. How can I be alive and dead at the same time? I am. I am my own Lady Lazarus.

My Own Lady Lazarus

A sort of walking Miracle, my skin*
covered in grace that lives.
Covered by blood that forgives.

But I, a woman on my own,
am not alone.
Hand in hand we walk.

A heart that is yours.
Seeking to be sought.
Sought while seeking.

Raised again out of darkness, sorrow
no longer my companion.
A sort of walking miracle*

Thankfully.
Covered in grace that lives.
Blood that forgives.

*Line borrowed from "Lady Lazarus" by Sylvia Plath

Forgiveness Rules:

When I was little, I used to daydream that I would find a genie and he would ask me for my 3 wishes. Being the clever kid that I was, I would ask for 10,000 wishes and trick the genie into giving them to me. Now, everyone knows that according to the “Genie Rules,” the first rule is that you can’t ask for more wishes. But, in my world, I somehow managed to finagle extra wishes.

As a kid, I was also rather manipulative. My sister Michele was the prime target of my machinations and because of who she is—that beautiful person—she gave me a skewed idea of what forgiveness is about. No matter what I did, Michele forgave me—and I never deserved it!—and she did it without qualm or second thought or consequence. She made me think that everyone is as forgiving as she is and that because I was sorry, it was all OK. She was, and still is, the most forgiving person I know.

In my spiritual journey, I accept the fact that I need forgiveness, but the actual forgiveness I have a hard time accepting. I think that’s pretty natural—human nature, if you will. And I get to the point where I just throw my hands up in the air and say: Accepting forgiveness can suck. Yep. I said it. Feeling forgiveness can really suck—especially when I don’t deserve it. Rough estimate here, but that averages out to be about 100% of the time. I never, and I mean NEVER, deserve the forgiveness I am given.

Today I read an amazing piece on forgiveness. My college friend, Jon Acuff posted on his blog an amazing story on forgiveness. He reminded me that no matter how many times I mess up and how often I stray, God forgives me. And not only does He forgive me, but he throws a party in celebration of my return. And it sucks because I don’t get it—I don’t understand how there is a love that is that encompassing and that pure that it can forgive the things I have done and said. It sucks to be forgiven just because I’ve asked—especially when I realize that I don’t deserve it—at all.

In fact, I feel so undeserving, my prayers to God often sound like this:

OK, God. I’ve done it again. Why can’t I love YOU more than I love the world? Why do I put myself in front of you? I want you, God. I want to be closer to you and to know you. But I’ve done it… AGAIN. I am so sorry. Change me, God. Change me.

To pray that prayer continually for years—sometimes a hundred times a day—I feel like I am running out. Running out of grace. Running out of words. Running out of forgiveness. But the beauty of God is that I am not even close. The blog I read today talks about God having 10,000 welcome home banners waiting for me—and it’s true. Not only are there 10,000 banners but also there are 10,000 forgivenesses waiting to be given. And what happens when I run out of those 10,000? I get 10,000 more. Unlike “Genie Rules,” God’s “Forgiveness Rules” are much more lenient—all I have to do is ask and I will be forgiven—no matter what I’ve done. And that is hard to accept.

And even though I’ve acknowledged my need for forgiveness and asked for it, when it is given so freely, I have a hard time accepting that I have been forgiven. Eventually I will learn how to accept forgiveness with the same grace it was given. Until then… being forgiven while feeling so unworthy sucks.

Thank God for “Forgiveness Rules.”

Just give me one tree.

Not too long ago, I had a tree planted in my back yard. The main reason I did this was because I wanted Wally to have some shade, but little did I realize that the tree I could afford is a scrawny little Charlie Brown Christmas Tree. I know it will eventually it will grow into a full tree that gives shade in the summer and gorgeous colors in the fall. But until then, I hope it doesn't snap in two when the wind gusts and that it's baby roots are digging deep.

Tonight I was reading in Genesis 2--the passage where God is providing for Adam through the Garden of Eden. I am in the middle of a huge transition right now in my life. I am in a job that is OK--but I know that there is a job out there that I love. I used to teach--and I loved it. I was fulfilled, I was happy, I was making a difference. Then I was fired. I was reeling, I was in pain, I was shocked. Now I am in a job that provides amply for me and has been a true blessing. But, this job is temporary. I don't know how much longer this job is going to be available to me.

So I have been praying lately about what to do about my job situation. I know that God has something special for me--but I am scared. It's natural--I know. But I hate being in limbo. And I have been in limbo for over a year. And it's rough.

As I read the passage about God providing not just a tree for Adam and Eve, but an entire garden. Now, we all know how well that ended for them--for us all, really. But God did it--he provided an entire garden for them. And I was reading about this garden, all I could think was "God, just give me one tree--one tree. One provision." I know I sound so selfish, but I don't know what else to pray--I need a shelter from this storm in my life. I need sustenance to keep me moving in God's will. I need roots to keep me from drifting away.

I need my tree.