"In Ireland, my favourite journalistic justification for this bloodbath came from my old mate Kevin Myers. 'The death toll from Gaza is, of course, shocking, dreadful, unspeakable,' he mourned. 'Though it does not compare with the death toll amongst Israelis if Hamas had its way.' Get it? The massacre in Gaza is justified because Hamas would have done the same if they could, even though they didn't do it because they couldn't. It took Fintan O'Toole, The Irish Times's resident philosopher-in-chief, to speak the unspeakable. 'When does the mandate of victimhood expire?' he asked. 'At what point does the Nazi genocide of Europe's Jews cease to excuse the state of Israel from the demands of international law and of common humanity?' "
It bothers me that our bent in reporting and in placing judgments on the Middle East and specifically in Gaza seems favor Israel. I think it's dishonest. I admit that I don't understand what's going on over there. It's extremely complicated. But from what I can gather there is no flat out good guy and no flat out bad guy. It's like watching The Dark Knight. Only worse. And who you're listening to determines who should be held accountable for their irresponsible, defiant and self-centered actions.
I risk pissing off two of my closest friends and my vet by saying these things, but the excerpt from an article above sums up how i'm inclined to feel about Israel right now.
I hope that doesn't make me Anti-Semitic (kind of like I hoped criticizing America's decision to put her thumb on top of Iraq by going to war with her didn't make me Anti-American). I hope it just makes me honest. The violence needs to end no matter who thinks who started it because it's like all the fights you had with your little sister growing up. There was never any ending and never any beginning. Once that child was birthed the disagreements began and no one is really to blame. But there comes a time for everyone to leave home and go off to college and discover that low and behold she does actually love her sister and misses her and her sister feels the same. So much so that they decide to work on getting along better when they are actually at home and living together under one roof. And that is a miracle. The miracle of growing up.
So you know what Israelis (and Palestinians)? Grow up. Grow up. You live in the same land. Deal with it. Figure out you actually love your sisters and brothers and if you don't, you need to. It's way past time you learned how to get along.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Monday, January 12, 2009
New Year
I like to post music videos when I think they're uber good or when they relate to a holiday. So in honor of New Year's, here's New Year by one of my favorite bands, Death Cab for Cutie.
Saturday, January 10, 2009
Guess Who's Back?
My friends Patrick and Angela!
You may remember them because they were the first couple I ever "married." They had a beautiful outdoor wedding in June, 2006 at Chapel Dulcinea where Pete and Joy were married the summer before. (Yes, they were warm weddings!)
Pat and Ang left for Peru several months after their wedding to join the Peace Corps. While there they did peace corpsy thingys like build toilets, teach kids about geography and try not to get eaten by scorpions.
Anyway, they're back. Angela's working at Safe Place again and Patrick just got a job with Animal Trustees. (Yes, in case going into the Peace Corps and sticking it out for two years didn't signal that they are amazing people, their chosen vocations should!).
Speaking of animals, Zorba is doing better, but isn't healed yet, which is giving me anxiety. I may have to call Dr. B. Dr. B, you remember is my vet, whom Patrick used to work for and whom I began seeing (well, my pets began seeing) after Radley died and I adopted Potter from the dumpster with all of his dumpster diseases.
Okay, long story short, they're back and I got to hang out with them Friday night! It was awesome and I'm thrilled to hang with them again after a two year hiatus.
Hurray for friends!
You may remember them because they were the first couple I ever "married." They had a beautiful outdoor wedding in June, 2006 at Chapel Dulcinea where Pete and Joy were married the summer before. (Yes, they were warm weddings!)
Pat and Ang left for Peru several months after their wedding to join the Peace Corps. While there they did peace corpsy thingys like build toilets, teach kids about geography and try not to get eaten by scorpions.
Anyway, they're back. Angela's working at Safe Place again and Patrick just got a job with Animal Trustees. (Yes, in case going into the Peace Corps and sticking it out for two years didn't signal that they are amazing people, their chosen vocations should!).
Speaking of animals, Zorba is doing better, but isn't healed yet, which is giving me anxiety. I may have to call Dr. B. Dr. B, you remember is my vet, whom Patrick used to work for and whom I began seeing (well, my pets began seeing) after Radley died and I adopted Potter from the dumpster with all of his dumpster diseases.
Okay, long story short, they're back and I got to hang out with them Friday night! It was awesome and I'm thrilled to hang with them again after a two year hiatus.
Hurray for friends!
Friday, January 09, 2009
Speaking of Professions... Awkward Moment of the Week
So i spent most of yesterday at the hospital hanging out with a student who's mom was in surgery. While we were playing cards, "B*llsh*t" i believe, some relatives of the woman in surgery came over to say good-bye to us. THey'd been sitting with her grandmother.
After the formal introductions, and upon hearing of my vocation, the couple began telling me of their daughter who went to seminary in the 80s and then was hired to be a singles and senior adult minister and wasn't that weird? and their daughter-in-law was a receptionist once at FBC in waco. yes i knew the church, my own seminary met in their building for several years before we got on own on baylor campus...
blah blah, the usual. but then this woman says,
"Well, I'll be praying for you. Ministers do hard work dealing with us." I glance over at Donna and Kelly (these are pseudonyms) who both go to my church (and are therefore my "parishioners"), trying to discern where this conversation was going.
"Yeah, it's hard dealing with all us stubborn sheep. We're just wandering around all stubborn, I know. So I'll pray for you. You're doing good work."
I giggled nervously. "But I like my job and the people I work with." The woman went on and on about how she knows but she also knows sheep go their own way and ministers have to take care of all of them...
Um... "Thank you." I said finally hoping she's stop talking.
And the couple left. Thank God. My two friends burst out laughing and I began apologizing profusely.
"I'm so sorry that woman called you sheep and called you stubborn! I don't think of you like that, I promise!"
"It's okay," Kelly said, "I know I'm no walk around the park. Besides she was probably just commenting on me since I'm her niece and I have no manners."
"But y'all do as much ministering to me as I do to you!" We laughed some more.
Either way, the three of us agreed that that was the most awkward conversation: one woman expressing her theology while putting one person on the spot and offending everyone else.
Hmm. Maybe it wasn't so uncommon after all.
And we returned to playing cards.
After the formal introductions, and upon hearing of my vocation, the couple began telling me of their daughter who went to seminary in the 80s and then was hired to be a singles and senior adult minister and wasn't that weird? and their daughter-in-law was a receptionist once at FBC in waco. yes i knew the church, my own seminary met in their building for several years before we got on own on baylor campus...
blah blah, the usual. but then this woman says,
"Well, I'll be praying for you. Ministers do hard work dealing with us." I glance over at Donna and Kelly (these are pseudonyms) who both go to my church (and are therefore my "parishioners"), trying to discern where this conversation was going.
"Yeah, it's hard dealing with all us stubborn sheep. We're just wandering around all stubborn, I know. So I'll pray for you. You're doing good work."
I giggled nervously. "But I like my job and the people I work with." The woman went on and on about how she knows but she also knows sheep go their own way and ministers have to take care of all of them...
Um... "Thank you." I said finally hoping she's stop talking.
And the couple left. Thank God. My two friends burst out laughing and I began apologizing profusely.
"I'm so sorry that woman called you sheep and called you stubborn! I don't think of you like that, I promise!"
"It's okay," Kelly said, "I know I'm no walk around the park. Besides she was probably just commenting on me since I'm her niece and I have no manners."
"But y'all do as much ministering to me as I do to you!" We laughed some more.
Either way, the three of us agreed that that was the most awkward conversation: one woman expressing her theology while putting one person on the spot and offending everyone else.
Hmm. Maybe it wasn't so uncommon after all.
And we returned to playing cards.
Wednesday, January 07, 2009
You're In the Wrong Profession
What would you do?
What would you do if someone told you you were in the wrong profession?
Not because you messed up or failed at something or whatever. Rather, because you were gifted at something else. What would you do if your gifts didn't match your profession?
Someone asked me that tonight and i didn't know what to say. Probably because the economy is crappy and one of my friends just lost her job (take that all you people who keep reporting that jobs are up in austin), and because i don't have a savings account and i'm freaking out, and because many people my age are having babies and not really worrying about "what they want to be when they grew up."
So what would you say to someone who told you they were in the wrong profession? What would you say in 2009? The year of frugality? They year of opportunity?
Would you have told her, go for it?
Would you have said, do something practical?
Would you have said, stick with the job and the money, life's unpredictable?
Or would you have said, do what you like, what makes you happy ... honey, go for it.
That's what my parents say. I tried to stir the waters a bit when I was at home for Christmas. I announced in the car after my parents and i'd been out for a movie (Emily had a party and we were "excused" from the home front). "I'm considering going to opera school," I announced.
"That's great," mom replied. "Whatever makes you happy."
Please. I just said it to get a reaction. Perhaps like the person who told me the "wrong profession" comment.
I mean, don't get me wrong, I'd like to go to school for opera, but really. I'm too old to go pursuing whimsical fantasies.
So what would you tell this woman, blog world? Cause Lord knows I don't have all the answers.
What would you say if someone told you, "You're in the wrong profession"?
What would you do if someone told you you were in the wrong profession?
Not because you messed up or failed at something or whatever. Rather, because you were gifted at something else. What would you do if your gifts didn't match your profession?
Someone asked me that tonight and i didn't know what to say. Probably because the economy is crappy and one of my friends just lost her job (take that all you people who keep reporting that jobs are up in austin), and because i don't have a savings account and i'm freaking out, and because many people my age are having babies and not really worrying about "what they want to be when they grew up."
So what would you say to someone who told you they were in the wrong profession? What would you say in 2009? The year of frugality? They year of opportunity?
Would you have told her, go for it?
Would you have said, do something practical?
Would you have said, stick with the job and the money, life's unpredictable?
Or would you have said, do what you like, what makes you happy ... honey, go for it.
That's what my parents say. I tried to stir the waters a bit when I was at home for Christmas. I announced in the car after my parents and i'd been out for a movie (Emily had a party and we were "excused" from the home front). "I'm considering going to opera school," I announced.
"That's great," mom replied. "Whatever makes you happy."
Please. I just said it to get a reaction. Perhaps like the person who told me the "wrong profession" comment.
I mean, don't get me wrong, I'd like to go to school for opera, but really. I'm too old to go pursuing whimsical fantasies.
So what would you tell this woman, blog world? Cause Lord knows I don't have all the answers.
What would you say if someone told you, "You're in the wrong profession"?
Sunday, January 04, 2009
True Love Lasts A Lifetime... Sometimes
Considering the divorce rate in America is 41% (for first marriages), this article was a little nugget of encouragement. Of course, it was only 10% encouraging which I guess means its 90% discouraging, but still. It's 2009 and I'm clinging to the 10%... and to my imaginary boyfriend named Bob. We've been off and on since High School.
I actually had a teacher ask me about him once when I came back to visit her when I was in college.
That's not right.
But... that's my life. Sometimes he buys me imaginary flowers.
10% chance. 10% chance. 10% chance.
I think I can. I think I can. I think I can.
:)
I actually had a teacher ask me about him once when I came back to visit her when I was in college.
That's not right.
But... that's my life. Sometimes he buys me imaginary flowers.
10% chance. 10% chance. 10% chance.
I think I can. I think I can. I think I can.
:)
Friday, January 02, 2009
Cute and Caring
These fifth graders are starting the year off right, saving the world one kid and one car at a time. Understanding that they "couldn't tell parents to buy Hybrid cars cause they're too expensive," they're helping the environment by asking parents instead not to idle their cars in the long line waiting to pick up students after school. What a great idea, boys. Cheers to you for caring!This made me think: where do i sit idly? At the bank teller window when I deposit checks! At sonic when I'm getting a chocolate cherry coke (only when i'm feeling nostalgic)! So thanks 5th graders at Casis Elementary School! I'm changing my behavior because of you. You are making a difference!
Thursday, January 01, 2009
Saying Good-bye and Good Riddance
2008 did not go gentle into the good night, that's for sure.
It went kicking and screaming.
As if to make a point that 2008 was indeed a year to be feared, and maybe even to up the ante to replace 2005 as the worst year of all time, 2008 threw curve balls right up until the last second.
So after driving 12 and a half hours back to Austin from Missouri, I saw flashing lights behind me. Yes, in Austin, after I turned off my cruise control and was cruising to my house, not five miles away from my destination and closing down the 1400 mile trip, I got a speeding ticket. Crap. Thanks 2008. All the money I saved not buying a plane ticket will now go to the City of Austin cause some cop needed to make quota and I was on auto pilot.
New Year's Eve arrived, one of my favorite holidays of the year (the symbolism of turning over a new leaf, a new year is VERY important to me if you haven't figured that out yet) and I held a funeral service for 2008 in my back yard.
Because we still had a few hours left, I performed last rites over the year. And instead of the year confessing it's final sins, we funeral attendees wrote our sin, sadness we felt in 08, evil that happened to us or friends... stuff like that, on pieces of paper that we then threw into the small bonfire and burned. It was lovely. Then we went inside and wrote things in 09 that we are looking forward to including Pete & Joy's baby, Zoe, Chris & Michelle's baby "L," a new play (Inherit the Wind) at church, a Chile Mission Trip, etc. We put those papers in the center of the table and took turns picking one out, reading it out loud, and then cheering and toasting it with champagne and sparking grape juice. Finally, we planted a few new cacti in a flower pot and the service was over. We went our separate ways to prepare for the evening's festivities.
I went to the Animal Hospital. Because although the very sick 2008 had received it's last rites, as i mentioned before, it would not go gently into the good night. With 10 minutes until my vet closed, Zorba came inside the house covered in leaves with a swollen eye that was leaking fluid. I spent the next two and half hours at the animal hospital trying to ignore the urine smell and straining to read the subtitles on Pirates of the Carribean playing in the waiting room from the examination room Zorby and I had been put in. And because there were two emergencies that came in around that same time, Zorba had to wait. Consequently I had to wait. And wait and wait. I threatened to go home and just wait there for my vet to re-open on Jan 2, but Zorba's nurse threatened that my cat might lose his eye. So we stayed. And 2008 just smirked.
Two and a half hours (and a full movie) later, we left for home. Zorba threw up and then pooped on himself in the car.
I was cleaning that up when I realized that not making concrete plans for New Year's but rather "maybe meeting up" with about four or five separate groups of people may mean that I wasn't going to actually have any plans for New Year's. Fortunately, my best friends the Gold-Johnsons knew my diress and said, "Lines be damned we're going to Hyde Park Bar & Grill." There were no lines though and with our tummies filled with delicious food and bloody mary's (except for Michelle who's pregnant), we met with with the also pregnant Pete & Joy at Epoch and then on we went to the Gallagher's whom P & J hadn't seen since they returned from Israel.
An hour later with champagne in hand, Johnson gave a beautiful toast about years and memories, and it was poetic, but i don't remember a single word of it, and then 3-2-1, 2008 gasped it's last few breaths and then... was... gone. Gone.
Thank God.
And 2009 left our imaginations and entered into our lives. 2009.
2009. Welcome. I will bless you if you bless me. And maybe if we promise to get along, your last rites won't be so painful in 12 months. Cause that's all you get. 12 months. So let's make the most of it, okay?
January 1, 2009 This is the day that the Lord has made, let us rejoice and be glad in it.
RIP 2008.
It went kicking and screaming.
As if to make a point that 2008 was indeed a year to be feared, and maybe even to up the ante to replace 2005 as the worst year of all time, 2008 threw curve balls right up until the last second.
So after driving 12 and a half hours back to Austin from Missouri, I saw flashing lights behind me. Yes, in Austin, after I turned off my cruise control and was cruising to my house, not five miles away from my destination and closing down the 1400 mile trip, I got a speeding ticket. Crap. Thanks 2008. All the money I saved not buying a plane ticket will now go to the City of Austin cause some cop needed to make quota and I was on auto pilot.
New Year's Eve arrived, one of my favorite holidays of the year (the symbolism of turning over a new leaf, a new year is VERY important to me if you haven't figured that out yet) and I held a funeral service for 2008 in my back yard.
Because we still had a few hours left, I performed last rites over the year. And instead of the year confessing it's final sins, we funeral attendees wrote our sin, sadness we felt in 08, evil that happened to us or friends... stuff like that, on pieces of paper that we then threw into the small bonfire and burned. It was lovely. Then we went inside and wrote things in 09 that we are looking forward to including Pete & Joy's baby, Zoe, Chris & Michelle's baby "L," a new play (Inherit the Wind) at church, a Chile Mission Trip, etc. We put those papers in the center of the table and took turns picking one out, reading it out loud, and then cheering and toasting it with champagne and sparking grape juice. Finally, we planted a few new cacti in a flower pot and the service was over. We went our separate ways to prepare for the evening's festivities.
I went to the Animal Hospital. Because although the very sick 2008 had received it's last rites, as i mentioned before, it would not go gently into the good night. With 10 minutes until my vet closed, Zorba came inside the house covered in leaves with a swollen eye that was leaking fluid. I spent the next two and half hours at the animal hospital trying to ignore the urine smell and straining to read the subtitles on Pirates of the Carribean playing in the waiting room from the examination room Zorby and I had been put in. And because there were two emergencies that came in around that same time, Zorba had to wait. Consequently I had to wait. And wait and wait. I threatened to go home and just wait there for my vet to re-open on Jan 2, but Zorba's nurse threatened that my cat might lose his eye. So we stayed. And 2008 just smirked.
Two and a half hours (and a full movie) later, we left for home. Zorba threw up and then pooped on himself in the car.
I was cleaning that up when I realized that not making concrete plans for New Year's but rather "maybe meeting up" with about four or five separate groups of people may mean that I wasn't going to actually have any plans for New Year's. Fortunately, my best friends the Gold-Johnsons knew my diress and said, "Lines be damned we're going to Hyde Park Bar & Grill." There were no lines though and with our tummies filled with delicious food and bloody mary's (except for Michelle who's pregnant), we met with with the also pregnant Pete & Joy at Epoch and then on we went to the Gallagher's whom P & J hadn't seen since they returned from Israel.
An hour later with champagne in hand, Johnson gave a beautiful toast about years and memories, and it was poetic, but i don't remember a single word of it, and then 3-2-1, 2008 gasped it's last few breaths and then... was... gone. Gone.
Thank God.
And 2009 left our imaginations and entered into our lives. 2009.
2009. Welcome. I will bless you if you bless me. And maybe if we promise to get along, your last rites won't be so painful in 12 months. Cause that's all you get. 12 months. So let's make the most of it, okay?
January 1, 2009 This is the day that the Lord has made, let us rejoice and be glad in it.
RIP 2008.
Saturday, December 27, 2008
When Hackers Ruled the World
I don't know why but this article about a guy who tried to take over all the hacking industry (um... i'm not sure this is what it's called) really fascinated me. Check it out if you've ever had your credit card stolen or feared credit card theft.
This man has a gift, a talent, a joy. it's just that it happens to manifest itself as criminal activity. The crazy part is, I always thought credit cards were stolen by pickpocketers. I'm so naive. This article is nuts.
This man has a gift, a talent, a joy. it's just that it happens to manifest itself as criminal activity. The crazy part is, I always thought credit cards were stolen by pickpocketers. I'm so naive. This article is nuts.
Thursday, December 25, 2008
'Twas the Night Before Christmas... at the Pittman's
'Twas the night before Christmas when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring not even a mouse
(neither were the squirrels in the attic but that's another story)
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care
In hopes that St. Nicolas soon would be there;
Little Emily was nestled all snug in her bed,
While visions of iPhones danced in her head;
Carol in her jammies, and Mike in his cap
Had just settled down for a long winter's nap,
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter
I sprang from the couch to see what was the matter.
Away past the window I flew like a flash
Tore open the door by where coats are all stashed;
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But my sister, Amy, and her doggy so dear,
With a giant, spry labrador, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment that it wasn't St. Nick.
More rapid than eagles my dog also came,
And we whistled, and shouted, and called them bad names;
"Now, Sophie! now, Janie! now, stop that! Get down!
No barking! No jumping! Stop horsing around!
To the top of the couch! to the top of the wall!
They dashed away! dashed away! dashed away all!"
So all over house then the coursers they flew,
Drug their leashes behind, and their mommies too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the stair
The determined descent of the one with red hair.
As I drew in my hand, and was turning around,
Down the stairs Crazy Carol came with a bound.
A wink of her eye and a twist of her head,
Soon gave us to know we had nothing to dread;
She spoke not a word, but went straight to the fridge,
And pulled out two bones; then turned with a jerk,
And pointing her finger at the fighting canines,
And giving a nod, they sat on their behinds;
She sprang to the microwave, punched defrost, set the clock
And the tails they both swished liked they'd just hit the jackpot.
Then I heard her exclaim, ere she tossed them the bones..
Merry Christmas to all, and to family come home!
Not a creature was stirring not even a mouse
(neither were the squirrels in the attic but that's another story)
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care
In hopes that St. Nicolas soon would be there;
Little Emily was nestled all snug in her bed,
While visions of iPhones danced in her head;
Carol in her jammies, and Mike in his cap
Had just settled down for a long winter's nap,
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter
I sprang from the couch to see what was the matter.
Away past the window I flew like a flash
Tore open the door by where coats are all stashed;
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But my sister, Amy, and her doggy so dear,
With a giant, spry labrador, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment that it wasn't St. Nick.
More rapid than eagles my dog also came,
And we whistled, and shouted, and called them bad names;
"Now, Sophie! now, Janie! now, stop that! Get down!
No barking! No jumping! Stop horsing around!
To the top of the couch! to the top of the wall!
They dashed away! dashed away! dashed away all!"
So all over house then the coursers they flew,
Drug their leashes behind, and their mommies too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the stair
The determined descent of the one with red hair.
As I drew in my hand, and was turning around,
Down the stairs Crazy Carol came with a bound.
A wink of her eye and a twist of her head,
Soon gave us to know we had nothing to dread;
She spoke not a word, but went straight to the fridge,
And pulled out two bones; then turned with a jerk,
And pointing her finger at the fighting canines,
And giving a nod, they sat on their behinds;
She sprang to the microwave, punched defrost, set the clock
And the tails they both swished liked they'd just hit the jackpot.
Then I heard her exclaim, ere she tossed them the bones..
Merry Christmas to all, and to family come home!
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Christmas Vacation Day 1: Driving and Sleeping
But not behind the wheel, thank God.
When I left Austin, Texas it was 46 degrees. When I arrived in Wichita, Kansas it was 11 degrees. I lost about ten per state. And yes, it is cold. Uber cold.
Janie is pacing around the motel room. i can't tell if she's still checking the place out or just really has to pee. But it's so cold, I don't want to take her out again.
Ha! Now's she's stopped to look at herself in the full length mirror. Fabulous. My dog's a narcissist. Or just recognizes super duper cuteness when she sees it. One of the two.
The cats are probably shivering since I turned off the heat and... yes... left them in Austin. I know. I was teary when I pulled out of the driveway too. Anyone left in Austin over the holidays, feel free to go visit them. Even Satan's Little Helper gets lonely, you know. Clarence the wonder-neighbor is feeding them.
When I left Austin, Texas it was 46 degrees. When I arrived in Wichita, Kansas it was 11 degrees. I lost about ten per state. And yes, it is cold. Uber cold.
Janie is pacing around the motel room. i can't tell if she's still checking the place out or just really has to pee. But it's so cold, I don't want to take her out again.
Ha! Now's she's stopped to look at herself in the full length mirror. Fabulous. My dog's a narcissist. Or just recognizes super duper cuteness when she sees it. One of the two.
The cats are probably shivering since I turned off the heat and... yes... left them in Austin. I know. I was teary when I pulled out of the driveway too. Anyone left in Austin over the holidays, feel free to go visit them. Even Satan's Little Helper gets lonely, you know. Clarence the wonder-neighbor is feeding them.
Friday, December 19, 2008
Toujours Tingo
Hilarious. Words we use. I mean, who knew there even was a sound that a grandfather clock makes right before it strikes and who knew we would need to name that sound?
I also like the word for the person chosen by a woman to tell her boyfriend she's broken up with him. You mean that happens outside of the sixth grade?
I also like the word for the person chosen by a woman to tell her boyfriend she's broken up with him. You mean that happens outside of the sixth grade?
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Loving God: A Sermon
No, Jesus cannot be your boyfriend.
I overheard a couple of young ministers talking once about the singles ministry at their church in podunctville, tx (I should have known the story was going downhill). He said that for Valentine’s day the ministry was throwing a "Jesus Is My Valentine" party.
No.
No. No. No.
You may not throw a party with that title.
Bad theology. Bad gimmick. Bad idea.
What does that tell singles?
"No one wants you but Jesus... lucky you!"
"You're too ugly to get a real boyfriend, so you get Jesus!"
"That bit about a nice personality doesn't date well, but an invisible savior does!"
I can't believe we buy into that. Jesus is not our lover. Gross. He's a god, not a boyfriend. We don't snuggle up with God under a plush blanket and watch chick flicks. We don't get flowers from God. We don't kiss God good night. And we sure as hell don't...well...you know….
Yuck. Not to mention that if you call God "Him," you've got a bunch of single men calling God their Valentine. So I guess homosexuality isn’t an issue for conservatives anymore?
Okay, I know. I've crossed the line. It's just that I hate that crap. I hate feel-good, cheesy, substitute-Jesus-for-what-culture-says-I'm-lacking-in crap. It's not right.
Yes, Jesus loves you.
Yes, people love you.
Yes, you are okay single and alone.
Yes, it sucks that your friends are being mushy with their significant others and you're going to watch your 159th rerun of Sex in the City. But it's all good. I love Sex in the City.
So if that’s not what it means to love God, what does it mean? What does it mean to love Jesus?
Jesus tells us during his ministry that the greatest commandment is to love God. He pulls from the ancient Jewish code to Love God as well. You can see those scriptures posted on the wall. So what does loving God look like? What does that mean? Jesus elaborates by saying that the second greatest commandment is to love your neighbor, so perhaps loving our neighbors is a fleshing out of what it means to love God.
But it seems to me that somewhere in between Jesus is my boyfriend and I love God through social justice, there has to be a middle ground.
In the Christmas story, the magi, the astrologers, the three kings, whatever you want to call them showed up at Jesus’ playpen with three fantastic and expensive gifts. They were the intellectuals of their day using reason and science to get to the baby King. The shepherds were there before them though, travelling with their sheep, their livelihood, perhaps in fear from the appearance of the angels, perhaps in awe of something so full of love that even shepherds could get a slice of it. There were also the devout religious people who greeted the baby. And although we don’t include them in our nativity scenes, Simeon and Anna spent hours in prayer, pouring over scripture, waiting for the appearance of the messiah only to have him placed in their arms. All these people, the scholars, the blue-collar workers, the religious fanatics, all journeyed in their own way to see the child-king.
What was their motivation?
What is ours?
Is the answer love?
While I don’t tend to get along well with the types of people who put this on their car and while we all still manage to anger each other in traffic, I can appreciate the bumper sticker: “real men love Jesus.” According to Society in 2008 Men are supposed to be strong, financial providers, hard-hearted. They don’t like chick flicks, they don’t cry at funerals and they sure as hell don’t get all mushy about God. So while I would never date a man with this bumper sticker on his car, I appreciate the counter-cultural nature of it’s text: I can surrender, I can let down my guard, I can admit that I am weak, I can admit I can’t do this on my own, I know I need a Savior… Real Men Love Jesus.
Real men love their wives too. They understand that when Jesus hollers at the Pharisees when they ask him about divorce: “should the woman serve the papers, or can just a man divorce his wife, blah, blah, blah;” what Jesus is really telling the Pharisees is, “it doesn’t matter!” What does matter is that the Pharisees are missing the whole point of love. While the law is concerned with rules, God is concerned with the heart. So who cares who serves who the divorce papers? “Don’t even look at a woman lustfully,” Jesus says. Because at the root of the issue is love, not the law. Before there is divorce there is adultery. Before there is adultery there is lust. Before there is lust, there is a heart and mind that views women as objects. This is an issue of the heart, Jesus says.
So what motivates you?
What’s in your heart?
It’s pretty easy to love a baby boy in a manger, but as Carley Bobby says in Talladega Nights, “Jesus did grow up.” So what does it mean to wrestle with the idea that a God became a man? What does it mean to love a God who asks us to pray for our enemies? What does it mean that God died on a cross and in doing so supposedly wiped away our sin? Does it make you grateful? Teary-eyed? Or just confused?
Sometimes it’s easier to feed a homeless person than it is to accept the idea that God loves you.
Sometimes it’s easier to donate all your giftedness to the church: singing in choirs, going to Sunday school, buying presents for Angel Tree children than it is to explore what it means to live completely surrendered and dependent on God.
Sometimes it’s easier to memorize all the stories and know all the answers and heck maybe even some of the questions too than it is to admit that your life is changed, that your heart is changed because of your relationship with Jesus Christ.
I don’t know where that leaves us except in a place of mystery. And so this holiday season I pray that in the baby you will experience the wonder, mystery and joy of God becoming like us. And as that baby grows into a child, so will your relationship with Him grow as you learn God’s character and begin to model it in your own life. And the child grows into a teen and you begin to take greater steps yourself, steps of spiritual discipline, challenging yourself to grow. And the teen becomes a man and suddenly you realize that man who will die on a cross is as fragile as your own humanity and yet it is infused with God and on God you will both rely, live and eventually die. Greater love has no man than this that he would lay down his life for a friend and so Jesus did as well. For a friend, for a dream, for a kingdom. And now it’s our turn to love so deeply, so intimately that we would die to ourselves to live in Christ.
Amen.
I overheard a couple of young ministers talking once about the singles ministry at their church in podunctville, tx (I should have known the story was going downhill). He said that for Valentine’s day the ministry was throwing a "Jesus Is My Valentine" party.
No.
No. No. No.
You may not throw a party with that title.
Bad theology. Bad gimmick. Bad idea.
What does that tell singles?
"No one wants you but Jesus... lucky you!"
"You're too ugly to get a real boyfriend, so you get Jesus!"
"That bit about a nice personality doesn't date well, but an invisible savior does!"
I can't believe we buy into that. Jesus is not our lover. Gross. He's a god, not a boyfriend. We don't snuggle up with God under a plush blanket and watch chick flicks. We don't get flowers from God. We don't kiss God good night. And we sure as hell don't...well...you know….
Yuck. Not to mention that if you call God "Him," you've got a bunch of single men calling God their Valentine. So I guess homosexuality isn’t an issue for conservatives anymore?
Okay, I know. I've crossed the line. It's just that I hate that crap. I hate feel-good, cheesy, substitute-Jesus-for-what-culture-says-I'm-lacking-in crap. It's not right.
Yes, Jesus loves you.
Yes, people love you.
Yes, you are okay single and alone.
Yes, it sucks that your friends are being mushy with their significant others and you're going to watch your 159th rerun of Sex in the City. But it's all good. I love Sex in the City.
So if that’s not what it means to love God, what does it mean? What does it mean to love Jesus?
Jesus tells us during his ministry that the greatest commandment is to love God. He pulls from the ancient Jewish code to Love God as well. You can see those scriptures posted on the wall. So what does loving God look like? What does that mean? Jesus elaborates by saying that the second greatest commandment is to love your neighbor, so perhaps loving our neighbors is a fleshing out of what it means to love God.
But it seems to me that somewhere in between Jesus is my boyfriend and I love God through social justice, there has to be a middle ground.
In the Christmas story, the magi, the astrologers, the three kings, whatever you want to call them showed up at Jesus’ playpen with three fantastic and expensive gifts. They were the intellectuals of their day using reason and science to get to the baby King. The shepherds were there before them though, travelling with their sheep, their livelihood, perhaps in fear from the appearance of the angels, perhaps in awe of something so full of love that even shepherds could get a slice of it. There were also the devout religious people who greeted the baby. And although we don’t include them in our nativity scenes, Simeon and Anna spent hours in prayer, pouring over scripture, waiting for the appearance of the messiah only to have him placed in their arms. All these people, the scholars, the blue-collar workers, the religious fanatics, all journeyed in their own way to see the child-king.
What was their motivation?
What is ours?
Is the answer love?
While I don’t tend to get along well with the types of people who put this on their car and while we all still manage to anger each other in traffic, I can appreciate the bumper sticker: “real men love Jesus.” According to Society in 2008 Men are supposed to be strong, financial providers, hard-hearted. They don’t like chick flicks, they don’t cry at funerals and they sure as hell don’t get all mushy about God. So while I would never date a man with this bumper sticker on his car, I appreciate the counter-cultural nature of it’s text: I can surrender, I can let down my guard, I can admit that I am weak, I can admit I can’t do this on my own, I know I need a Savior… Real Men Love Jesus.
Real men love their wives too. They understand that when Jesus hollers at the Pharisees when they ask him about divorce: “should the woman serve the papers, or can just a man divorce his wife, blah, blah, blah;” what Jesus is really telling the Pharisees is, “it doesn’t matter!” What does matter is that the Pharisees are missing the whole point of love. While the law is concerned with rules, God is concerned with the heart. So who cares who serves who the divorce papers? “Don’t even look at a woman lustfully,” Jesus says. Because at the root of the issue is love, not the law. Before there is divorce there is adultery. Before there is adultery there is lust. Before there is lust, there is a heart and mind that views women as objects. This is an issue of the heart, Jesus says.
So what motivates you?
What’s in your heart?
It’s pretty easy to love a baby boy in a manger, but as Carley Bobby says in Talladega Nights, “Jesus did grow up.” So what does it mean to wrestle with the idea that a God became a man? What does it mean to love a God who asks us to pray for our enemies? What does it mean that God died on a cross and in doing so supposedly wiped away our sin? Does it make you grateful? Teary-eyed? Or just confused?
Sometimes it’s easier to feed a homeless person than it is to accept the idea that God loves you.
Sometimes it’s easier to donate all your giftedness to the church: singing in choirs, going to Sunday school, buying presents for Angel Tree children than it is to explore what it means to live completely surrendered and dependent on God.
Sometimes it’s easier to memorize all the stories and know all the answers and heck maybe even some of the questions too than it is to admit that your life is changed, that your heart is changed because of your relationship with Jesus Christ.
I don’t know where that leaves us except in a place of mystery. And so this holiday season I pray that in the baby you will experience the wonder, mystery and joy of God becoming like us. And as that baby grows into a child, so will your relationship with Him grow as you learn God’s character and begin to model it in your own life. And the child grows into a teen and you begin to take greater steps yourself, steps of spiritual discipline, challenging yourself to grow. And the teen becomes a man and suddenly you realize that man who will die on a cross is as fragile as your own humanity and yet it is infused with God and on God you will both rely, live and eventually die. Greater love has no man than this that he would lay down his life for a friend and so Jesus did as well. For a friend, for a dream, for a kingdom. And now it’s our turn to love so deeply, so intimately that we would die to ourselves to live in Christ.
Amen.
Saturday, December 13, 2008
A Chuckle and a Smile
Most amusing headline of the day: Wonder why Illinois governor didn't just put Obama's seat on eBay? by John Kelso, Austin American Statesman's Opinion Columnist. What a mess.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
A Christmas Sermon
I have a secret... I don't like Christmas.
Remember when you were a kid and you used to ask your friends, "What's your favorite holiday?" and then you'd quickly qualify it with "...Other than Christmas." I heard myself asking someone that earlier this year and a thought blew threw my mind, "Actually Christmas isn't my favorite holiday." But I quickly identified it as heresy and as soon as it had appeared in my head it was gone.
After some hard speculation this week though, I've decided it's actually the case: Christmas is not my favorite holiday.
Now, Halloween, I love. Yes, the devils' holiday. The holiday some Christians won't even "celebrate" or acknowledge because it's so anti-Jesus or pro-Satan or something. I don't know. The Devil only showed up to one of my Halloween parties and he looked suspiciously like my friend Alysa Little, so quite frankly I'm not confident it was really him.
But I like Halloween. I like Halloween because you get to be creative and dress up and pretend you're someone you're not and everyone knows you're pretending because they're pretending too and it's not the kind of pretending you have to go to therapy over, it's just fun and it makes people laugh. And not only do you have the Princesses and the Super Heroes and the Cartoon characters but you've got the ghosts and ghouls and an occasional hobo. So I like Halloween; it’s well rounded.
But I’m starting to not like Christmas. Because at Christmas many people put up beautiful decorations all over their houses, their offices even sometimes their cars: silver bells and gold balls and red bows and draped greenery and shimmering lights and on and on and on. At my parents’ house each room is color coordinated. There's the gold room where the decorations are predominately gold or gold glitter. The bows are gold, gold stars are wrapped into the garland. It's the gold room. Likewise we have the pink and white room with the softer colored tree ornaments and the white ribbons and the pink poinsettias and the white angel on top of the tree. And finally there is the red room. Nutcrackers, ornaments, bows, ribbons, lights, bears, plants, all are decorated with white lights and red or complimentary to red... things.
And it is beautiful.
Beautiful.
Every Christmas in high school and especially in college I would think of any excuse to have a party and invite friends over to see my house. It is breathtaking and homey with a fire in the fireplace and a family that gets along most of the time and cinnamon cider on the stove and delicious little delicacies in the oven...
It was great. And everyone always loved being there even if it was a little cold in that old drafty house.
But for some reason now I almost resent it. While I will appreciate the decorations, the house is beautiful without them. While I know churches work hard on putting together special music or dramas, I'd just as soon stick to a normal Sunday schedule. And my father knows I gave up on picking out "the perfect tree" years ago even when I lived in town and was able to attend that ritualistic family outing.
So why? Why isn't Christmas my favorite holiday anymore?
No, it's not because of commercialization. It's not because we spend a lot of money giving people we love presents. It's not because "the secular world" has taken over our "religious celebration." Please. Look at what we've stolen from them.
I think it's because I hate pretending.
But didn't you just say that Halloween is your favorite holiday because you get to pretend?
Yes. But we all know we're doing it.
What I hate about Christmas is the pretend perfection of it: the effort spent beautifying things that aren't inherently beautiful. The effort spent lighting up and decorating and lives when our souls remain hidden dully in darkness. The dressing up of what's down. I hate pretending when people pretend they aren't pretending. Glowing lights on your house doesn’t always mean you’re glowing on the inside. Finding the tallest fullest tree doesn’t fill up the emptiness in your heart. It makes me feel like I’m faking Christmas cheer.
I've never been one for living like that. When I was six I told my babysitter I hated the hamburger she made me for lunch and I did. It was a big fat hamburger (I evidently recognized I wasn't fond of meat at an early age) cooked and then placed on a slice of raisin bread. Seriously? Who puts a slab of beef on cinnamon raisin bread? Gross. So when she asked me if I liked it, I didn’t even try to pretend. “No,” I said.
This inability to "fake it" has carried with me.
Do you like wearing dresses? No.
Do you like Chemistry? No.
Do you like sexism? No.
Do you think racism is a good thing? No.
Do you think adultery is cool? No.
Do you think the porn industry should get tax breaks? No.
Do you think having a sweet little baby will solve a couple's marital issues? No.
Do you think a little baby Jesus will solve your salvation issue? No. No I don't.
I Don't.
I don't think you can decorate your depravity and sing happy songs about a baby being born and suddenly expect to have meaning in your life!
It's dishonest.
But maybe it’s a means to an end. If we sing about Jesus maybe we’ll start to believe in Jesus. If we dress up in pretty red velvet maybe we’ll start to feel pretty inside. Maybe not.
And so I’m having trouble getting into the carols and the costumes and the lights and the decorations… it feels too dishonest.
Maybe it'd be a little better if we hung hobo ornaments on our tree. Hung pictures of our broken families on our walls. Framed our divorce certificates and put our D+ test scores on the fridge. Maybe we could get a gift for that lump growing in mom's breast. Put an ankle bracelet on the snowman we rolled in our front yard - he's under house arrest, you know.
I hate that we put so much effort into making life beautiful that we miss the absolute ugliness of it.
Perhaps I'm bothered by this because it's actually in the ugliness that I find Jesus. In a feces-splattered, dark and dingy barn we find an exhausted mother and a father cleaning up afterbirth.
Last night on the tea bag I put into my mug full of hot water, I read, "Let things come to you."
"Please," I thought. “Nothing comes to you. You have to work hard for everything. Grades. Promotions. Relationships. Book deals. Physical health and beauty. Nothing comes to us. We have to go and get it.”
Grumpily, I passed my decorated palm plant and slumped down into the couch next to my decorated fake evergreen tree. I felt overwhelmed by the desire to make the world a better place in 2009 when Christmas is over and we look to New Year’s. Unfortunately, I completely lack the confidence to do so though, let alone the know-how. And then I realized I was wrong. Christmas and New Year’s and even Peace on Earth isn’t about that. I was wrong.
Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.
Jesus comes to us.
In a world that asks us to give give give to this charity, that organization, this board, that event, this church, that family...
In a world that expects us to work work work for happiness, for success, for money, for normalcy, work to be the best...
What if it's time to receive receive receive?
Stop pretending. Stop pretending that the pretty lights and the purple stoles and the gingerbread houses and the scented candles and the olive wood creches cover the stench of our lives... the stench of a stable.
And the receive the gift, the gift of salvation that started before there was a baby and a virgin, even before there was a prophecy and a people... a savior before there was earth but on earth came into the chaos we call life and lived and laughed and said yes and said no and was put to death for saying to much and came alive again because he had much more to say... a gift of salvation that keeps on speaking into our lives and saving us every single day.
So let it come to you. Stop seeking and working to make things look better this holiday season on your house or in your heart, because Jesus has come to wrap you in the most beautiful gift of all... life…lived honestly…amidst the slime of sin with the sacredness that only comes in receiving the Savior.
Stop. Stop the dreams, the wish lists, the therapy sessions, the home makeovers. Stop trying and start receiving.
The light is already shining...
It’s a difficult concept for a culture that doesn’t take siestas, a culture that takes their iPhones with them on vacation. A culture that pushes students to prep their resumes for college, pushes moms to have the baby and the career all at once, pushes dads to give so much to their family that they spend more time making money than they do making memories.
When resumes require job experience and education and continuing education and field work and community volunteering and the model family…
When are we ever told to receive?
Where does that go on the resume? When is that listed in our job description? When were we graded on that in school?
When are we told to receive, to stop trying, to get the gift of grace?
When are we told to stop praying and volunteering and trying to be the best and to instead receive the best: the baby in a barn, a stable, a cave?
Receive the love of God. Receive the salvation of Christ. Stop fretting for it. Stop working for it. Stop pretending you’re full and start letting go. Release your grip on the Christmas lights and see the stable. Remember what brought Jesus into this world and remember that we’re still waiting for God’s Kingdom to be realized on earth. And when you do that, pause. Let the grief overwhelm you. Let your sin embarrass you. Let yourself go, and be released into the arms of a child, of a Savior.
And hang a picture of that on your Christmas tree.
Remember when you were a kid and you used to ask your friends, "What's your favorite holiday?" and then you'd quickly qualify it with "...Other than Christmas." I heard myself asking someone that earlier this year and a thought blew threw my mind, "Actually Christmas isn't my favorite holiday." But I quickly identified it as heresy and as soon as it had appeared in my head it was gone.
After some hard speculation this week though, I've decided it's actually the case: Christmas is not my favorite holiday.
Now, Halloween, I love. Yes, the devils' holiday. The holiday some Christians won't even "celebrate" or acknowledge because it's so anti-Jesus or pro-Satan or something. I don't know. The Devil only showed up to one of my Halloween parties and he looked suspiciously like my friend Alysa Little, so quite frankly I'm not confident it was really him.
But I like Halloween. I like Halloween because you get to be creative and dress up and pretend you're someone you're not and everyone knows you're pretending because they're pretending too and it's not the kind of pretending you have to go to therapy over, it's just fun and it makes people laugh. And not only do you have the Princesses and the Super Heroes and the Cartoon characters but you've got the ghosts and ghouls and an occasional hobo. So I like Halloween; it’s well rounded.
But I’m starting to not like Christmas. Because at Christmas many people put up beautiful decorations all over their houses, their offices even sometimes their cars: silver bells and gold balls and red bows and draped greenery and shimmering lights and on and on and on. At my parents’ house each room is color coordinated. There's the gold room where the decorations are predominately gold or gold glitter. The bows are gold, gold stars are wrapped into the garland. It's the gold room. Likewise we have the pink and white room with the softer colored tree ornaments and the white ribbons and the pink poinsettias and the white angel on top of the tree. And finally there is the red room. Nutcrackers, ornaments, bows, ribbons, lights, bears, plants, all are decorated with white lights and red or complimentary to red... things.
And it is beautiful.
Beautiful.
Every Christmas in high school and especially in college I would think of any excuse to have a party and invite friends over to see my house. It is breathtaking and homey with a fire in the fireplace and a family that gets along most of the time and cinnamon cider on the stove and delicious little delicacies in the oven...
It was great. And everyone always loved being there even if it was a little cold in that old drafty house.
But for some reason now I almost resent it. While I will appreciate the decorations, the house is beautiful without them. While I know churches work hard on putting together special music or dramas, I'd just as soon stick to a normal Sunday schedule. And my father knows I gave up on picking out "the perfect tree" years ago even when I lived in town and was able to attend that ritualistic family outing.
So why? Why isn't Christmas my favorite holiday anymore?
No, it's not because of commercialization. It's not because we spend a lot of money giving people we love presents. It's not because "the secular world" has taken over our "religious celebration." Please. Look at what we've stolen from them.
I think it's because I hate pretending.
But didn't you just say that Halloween is your favorite holiday because you get to pretend?
Yes. But we all know we're doing it.
What I hate about Christmas is the pretend perfection of it: the effort spent beautifying things that aren't inherently beautiful. The effort spent lighting up and decorating and lives when our souls remain hidden dully in darkness. The dressing up of what's down. I hate pretending when people pretend they aren't pretending. Glowing lights on your house doesn’t always mean you’re glowing on the inside. Finding the tallest fullest tree doesn’t fill up the emptiness in your heart. It makes me feel like I’m faking Christmas cheer.
I've never been one for living like that. When I was six I told my babysitter I hated the hamburger she made me for lunch and I did. It was a big fat hamburger (I evidently recognized I wasn't fond of meat at an early age) cooked and then placed on a slice of raisin bread. Seriously? Who puts a slab of beef on cinnamon raisin bread? Gross. So when she asked me if I liked it, I didn’t even try to pretend. “No,” I said.
This inability to "fake it" has carried with me.
Do you like wearing dresses? No.
Do you like Chemistry? No.
Do you like sexism? No.
Do you think racism is a good thing? No.
Do you think adultery is cool? No.
Do you think the porn industry should get tax breaks? No.
Do you think having a sweet little baby will solve a couple's marital issues? No.
Do you think a little baby Jesus will solve your salvation issue? No. No I don't.
I Don't.
I don't think you can decorate your depravity and sing happy songs about a baby being born and suddenly expect to have meaning in your life!
It's dishonest.
But maybe it’s a means to an end. If we sing about Jesus maybe we’ll start to believe in Jesus. If we dress up in pretty red velvet maybe we’ll start to feel pretty inside. Maybe not.
And so I’m having trouble getting into the carols and the costumes and the lights and the decorations… it feels too dishonest.
Maybe it'd be a little better if we hung hobo ornaments on our tree. Hung pictures of our broken families on our walls. Framed our divorce certificates and put our D+ test scores on the fridge. Maybe we could get a gift for that lump growing in mom's breast. Put an ankle bracelet on the snowman we rolled in our front yard - he's under house arrest, you know.
I hate that we put so much effort into making life beautiful that we miss the absolute ugliness of it.
Perhaps I'm bothered by this because it's actually in the ugliness that I find Jesus. In a feces-splattered, dark and dingy barn we find an exhausted mother and a father cleaning up afterbirth.
Last night on the tea bag I put into my mug full of hot water, I read, "Let things come to you."
"Please," I thought. “Nothing comes to you. You have to work hard for everything. Grades. Promotions. Relationships. Book deals. Physical health and beauty. Nothing comes to us. We have to go and get it.”
Grumpily, I passed my decorated palm plant and slumped down into the couch next to my decorated fake evergreen tree. I felt overwhelmed by the desire to make the world a better place in 2009 when Christmas is over and we look to New Year’s. Unfortunately, I completely lack the confidence to do so though, let alone the know-how. And then I realized I was wrong. Christmas and New Year’s and even Peace on Earth isn’t about that. I was wrong.
Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.
Jesus comes to us.
In a world that asks us to give give give to this charity, that organization, this board, that event, this church, that family...
In a world that expects us to work work work for happiness, for success, for money, for normalcy, work to be the best...
What if it's time to receive receive receive?
Stop pretending. Stop pretending that the pretty lights and the purple stoles and the gingerbread houses and the scented candles and the olive wood creches cover the stench of our lives... the stench of a stable.
And the receive the gift, the gift of salvation that started before there was a baby and a virgin, even before there was a prophecy and a people... a savior before there was earth but on earth came into the chaos we call life and lived and laughed and said yes and said no and was put to death for saying to much and came alive again because he had much more to say... a gift of salvation that keeps on speaking into our lives and saving us every single day.
So let it come to you. Stop seeking and working to make things look better this holiday season on your house or in your heart, because Jesus has come to wrap you in the most beautiful gift of all... life…lived honestly…amidst the slime of sin with the sacredness that only comes in receiving the Savior.
Stop. Stop the dreams, the wish lists, the therapy sessions, the home makeovers. Stop trying and start receiving.
The light is already shining...
It’s a difficult concept for a culture that doesn’t take siestas, a culture that takes their iPhones with them on vacation. A culture that pushes students to prep their resumes for college, pushes moms to have the baby and the career all at once, pushes dads to give so much to their family that they spend more time making money than they do making memories.
When resumes require job experience and education and continuing education and field work and community volunteering and the model family…
When are we ever told to receive?
Where does that go on the resume? When is that listed in our job description? When were we graded on that in school?
When are we told to receive, to stop trying, to get the gift of grace?
When are we told to stop praying and volunteering and trying to be the best and to instead receive the best: the baby in a barn, a stable, a cave?
Receive the love of God. Receive the salvation of Christ. Stop fretting for it. Stop working for it. Stop pretending you’re full and start letting go. Release your grip on the Christmas lights and see the stable. Remember what brought Jesus into this world and remember that we’re still waiting for God’s Kingdom to be realized on earth. And when you do that, pause. Let the grief overwhelm you. Let your sin embarrass you. Let yourself go, and be released into the arms of a child, of a Savior.
And hang a picture of that on your Christmas tree.
Tuesday, December 09, 2008
Lisa and the Legless Man
So on Facebook there are these magical little things called "status updates" and it works like it sounds. You update your status ("Ann is sick"... "Ann is at work"... "Ann is wishing she wasn't at work"... "Ann is still sick"... etc. and Facebook tells your friends you've updated your status so they may always keep an eye on you - oops, i mean, keep up with you.
So a few days ago I read this in my newsreel about my friend Lisa in Africa (I've written about her before)...
"Lisa was acosted and held hostage by a man without legs. [yes, i'm fine.]"
And yes, what you just uttered under your breath or perhaps exclaimed out loud is exactly what i said.
So of course all of her friends instantly begged for more details on her facebook page to which Lisa responded with this brief recap:
"let's just say, christmas shopping in monrovia doesn't exactly put one in the 'christmas spirit'! downtown + drunk, former rebel fighter + white woman = opportunity for financial gain! the guy grabbed my legs then followed me in to the car...hopped on my lap and wouldn't leave the vehicle until he got his money. 10 min. later, legless man still not budging and 25 people surrounded the car yelling and adding to the chaos - best show in town apparently! all ended well somehow...although not sure what the crowd did to my little friend after we left...ah, sweet christmas memories in monrovia."
Obviously, I can not add anything else to this story, so i will stop now.
Except to say... I have the coolest friends with the craziest lives.
So a few days ago I read this in my newsreel about my friend Lisa in Africa (I've written about her before)...
"Lisa was acosted and held hostage by a man without legs. [yes, i'm fine.]"
And yes, what you just uttered under your breath or perhaps exclaimed out loud is exactly what i said.
So of course all of her friends instantly begged for more details on her facebook page to which Lisa responded with this brief recap:
"let's just say, christmas shopping in monrovia doesn't exactly put one in the 'christmas spirit'! downtown + drunk, former rebel fighter + white woman = opportunity for financial gain! the guy grabbed my legs then followed me in to the car...hopped on my lap and wouldn't leave the vehicle until he got his money. 10 min. later, legless man still not budging and 25 people surrounded the car yelling and adding to the chaos - best show in town apparently! all ended well somehow...although not sure what the crowd did to my little friend after we left...ah, sweet christmas memories in monrovia."
Obviously, I can not add anything else to this story, so i will stop now.
Except to say... I have the coolest friends with the craziest lives.
Sunday, December 07, 2008
Oh To Be Rich
...and "struggling." Check out this excerpt from an article in Vanity Fair. My favorite is the coupon lady...
Only months ago, ordering that $1,950 bottle of 2003 Screaming Eagle Cabernet Sauvignon at Craft restaurant or the $26-per-ounce Wagyu beef at Nobu, or sliding into Masa for the $600 prix fixe dinner (not including tax, tip, or drinks), was a way of life for many Wall Street investment bankers. “The culture was that if you didn’t spend extravagantly you’d be ridiculed at work,” says a former Lehmanite. But that was when there were investment banks. Now many bankers, along with discovering $15 bottles of wine, are finding other ways to cut back—if not out of necessity, then from collective guilt and fear: the fitness trainer from three times a week to once a week; the haircut and highlights every eight weeks instead of every five. One prominent “hedgie” recently flew to China for business—but not on a private plane, as before. “Why should I pay $250,000 for a private plane,” he said to a friend, “when I can pay $20,000 to fly commercial first class?”
The new thriftiness takes a bit of getting used to. “I was at the Food Emporium in Bedford [in Westchester County] yesterday, using my Food Emporium discount card,” recounts one Greenwich woman. “The well-dressed wife of a Wall Street guy was standing behind me. She asked me how to get one. Then she said, ‘Have you ever used coupons?’ I said, ‘Sure, maybe not lately, but sure.’ She said, ‘It’s all the rage now—where do you get them?’”
One former Lehman executive in her 40s stood in her vast clothes closet not long ago, talking to her personal stylist. On shelves around her were at least 10 designer handbags that had cost her anywhere from $6,000 to $10,000 each.
“I don’t know what to do,” she said. “I guess I’ll have to get rid of the maid.”
Why not sell a few of those bags?, the stylist thought, but didn’t say so.
“Well,” the executive said after a moment, “I guess I’ll cut her from five days a week to four.”
Only months ago, ordering that $1,950 bottle of 2003 Screaming Eagle Cabernet Sauvignon at Craft restaurant or the $26-per-ounce Wagyu beef at Nobu, or sliding into Masa for the $600 prix fixe dinner (not including tax, tip, or drinks), was a way of life for many Wall Street investment bankers. “The culture was that if you didn’t spend extravagantly you’d be ridiculed at work,” says a former Lehmanite. But that was when there were investment banks. Now many bankers, along with discovering $15 bottles of wine, are finding other ways to cut back—if not out of necessity, then from collective guilt and fear: the fitness trainer from three times a week to once a week; the haircut and highlights every eight weeks instead of every five. One prominent “hedgie” recently flew to China for business—but not on a private plane, as before. “Why should I pay $250,000 for a private plane,” he said to a friend, “when I can pay $20,000 to fly commercial first class?”
The new thriftiness takes a bit of getting used to. “I was at the Food Emporium in Bedford [in Westchester County] yesterday, using my Food Emporium discount card,” recounts one Greenwich woman. “The well-dressed wife of a Wall Street guy was standing behind me. She asked me how to get one. Then she said, ‘Have you ever used coupons?’ I said, ‘Sure, maybe not lately, but sure.’ She said, ‘It’s all the rage now—where do you get them?’”
One former Lehman executive in her 40s stood in her vast clothes closet not long ago, talking to her personal stylist. On shelves around her were at least 10 designer handbags that had cost her anywhere from $6,000 to $10,000 each.
“I don’t know what to do,” she said. “I guess I’ll have to get rid of the maid.”
Why not sell a few of those bags?, the stylist thought, but didn’t say so.
“Well,” the executive said after a moment, “I guess I’ll cut her from five days a week to four.”
Friday, December 05, 2008
Promptness is next to Godliness when it comes to Godless Christmas shopping.
Dear Family,
I have yet to receive any of your Christmas lists. Dad usually requires us to have them by Thanksgiving which means you're tardy. My list was posted on time of course. :) However, since Dad also likes our lists to be decorated creatively with markers and glitter and chalk and whatever else you artists can muster up and since I have no talent in this area, mine is just a typed list with links to items. Grr. Deal with it. Maybe I'll creatively sing my list to you when I get home or something. Anyway, if I'm going to lose the creative award with regard to Christmas lists as always, at least I'll win the most timely award.
Long story short, either fax or email me your duly decorated lists pronto, otherwise, lord only knows what i'll get a hankering to buy you...
Love,
Ann
I have yet to receive any of your Christmas lists. Dad usually requires us to have them by Thanksgiving which means you're tardy. My list was posted on time of course. :) However, since Dad also likes our lists to be decorated creatively with markers and glitter and chalk and whatever else you artists can muster up and since I have no talent in this area, mine is just a typed list with links to items. Grr. Deal with it. Maybe I'll creatively sing my list to you when I get home or something. Anyway, if I'm going to lose the creative award with regard to Christmas lists as always, at least I'll win the most timely award.
Long story short, either fax or email me your duly decorated lists pronto, otherwise, lord only knows what i'll get a hankering to buy you...
Love,
Ann
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