A Rearrangement of Ideas

This is vintage Rich Mullins:

"God calls us to 'be strong' and we mistake that for a call to omnipotence. We confuse strength to endure trials with an ability to walk unfrustrated through life. We convince ourselves that if we were strong we would never fail, never tire, never hurt, never need. We begin to measure strength in terms of ease of progress. When our illusion of omnipotence is shattered we condemn ourselves for being weak..."

It is the kindness and mercy of God that so coordinates events to instruct us in how this thing really works. He has always been aware of my frailty and how regularly I need Him. If I walk blind to that truth, He is glad to open my eyes. It is His delight and His glory for me to need Him, to be aware of my need, to be grateful for His provision.

depraved indifference

I am lifting this title from a brief talk given by a fellow named Eric Ludy...

Indifference to another human's plight is spoken of in clear terms in Proverbs 24: 'Rescue those being taken away to death: hold back those who are stumbling to the slaughter. If you say, "Behold, we did not know this," does not he who weighs the heart perceive it? Does not he who keeps watch over your soul know it, and will he not repay man according to his work?'

How do you apply a teaching like this one? Where does this fit? I have had God use this to highlight my self absorbed agendas more than once. There are stages in my life that one could accurately describe my choices as ignorantly indifferent. Because I may not have been made aware of oppression or slavery or cruel need. But once I know, then my indifference is 'depraved'.

And this may seem so small as to be laughable or worse, but I cannot drink coffee that I know was harvested by unpaid and ill treated child slaves. Thousands of them toiling and dying. I cannot eat a piece of chocolate that is made from beans harvested by unpaid and ill treated child slaves. And if this is too paltry, then God, please lead me to a way that will effectively abolish slavery.

The 4th of July

Dale and I were singing the National Anthem the other day and both of us were surprised that we were moved to tears. As I was wiping my eyes, it seemed more real to me that this song was written during a battle. While Francis Key was waiting through that long and noisy night, others were fighting with all they had. Men were being wounded and dying. Property was destroyed as shells and bombs landed. And the burning question was, 'will we win?'

In the dark you couldn't see which flag was displayed over the port. You had to wait until daylight to see if Old Glory was still waving or if it had been replaced by the Union Jack. How excruciating! All that death and dying and exhausting labor, and not knowing if, in the end, you would lose. Or win.

Seems like a metaphor for life in this body. I know that the end of the story has a glorious victory for all of us. We will smile like cheshire cats at each other and praise the Lamb for what His sacrifice accomplished. But in this life, while still in this body, we can struggle to overcome. We can labor and fight the dark. And lose. Or win.

Joy is wafting

I was making iced tea so that I could offer more than water to our guests tonight. I felt this wafting, gentle, breeze around me as I reached up for the tea bags. Not moving air, but something internal. Margarita was in the living room and wants me to teach her to make pasta salad, so I was thinking how to break up the steps for her to be able to use the concept any way she wants once she returns to Monterrey. And I stopped to 'feel' that internal movement.

Ever since Monday when two little girls, daughters of Crystal's good friend, called me Noni I have felt this inner breeze. I do believe its joy.

Thanks, E.B.

I arise in the morning torn between a desire to improve the world and a desire to enjoy the world. This makes it hard to plan the day.
E. B. White

I like this one. Sometimes the best way to thank God for what He has done is to enjoy it.

When my life is over I want...

This is from a documentary from Sara Groves:

When my life is over I don't want my kids to have seen me hug the wall. I want them to have an unforgettable image of me running, with my head held back.

Nashville rhymes with so cool.

It does if you pronounce it correctly, with the stress on the first syllable. Sort of.

Last night my little car pulled into our driveway after a long day on the road. I was tired but still feel a very strong satisfaction in having been able to see a recording wrapped up. After 6 days of being in the 'deep south' Crystal has 6 of her songs saved on her computer. Waiting for the project to be mastered is going to be hard! I want others to be able to hear what I heard.

Here is what it was like for the girls: Long hours of singing. Over and over again. Listening to different options and then singing some more. Andy Osenga's excellent ear and technical skills helping shape the songs. Lots and lots of laughing and conversations, but always getting back to work. Heading out twice a day to find a new place to eat. Meat and three is a great way to eat! Nebraska needs to try this! A hotel only 5 minutes from the studio so I could write. (I finished my story!) A tornado landed right downtown. I thought the midwest had the franchise on that. When you repeat the lyrics of a song, you notice the brilliance of those words. I got to do that every day. Crystal wrote songs from observing her life, and from describing how God is seen in every step of the journeys that make up her life. Getting to see sisters blend their voices. Watching Melissa work so hard to make the music better. She skillfully submitted her powerful voice to be smooth and harmonious.

My heart is full of gratitude.

words worth reading many times

Tonight we are having a Literary Night. To the uninitiated, this is a time where we bake up some treats. Pour out some beverages. Set up some good reading lamps. Pull into a circle and read select portions to each other. 'Select' can be funny or deep or a well written Christmas letter. It can be a journal entry or a dear john letter. I swear we were moved to tears on those readings. We have roared through James Herriott, even while the reader was fallen over sideways, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes.

I often default to Mark Twain. Perhaps because you cannot match his cleverness or self-effacement. His honesty is like a tonic. Like this, from his newly published autobiography:

By my count I have been in the right mood for competently and exhaustively feeding my ancient grudges in the cases of only thirteen deserving persons. It makes good reading. whenever I go back and re-read those little biographies and characterizations it cheers me up, and I feel I have not lived in vain. The work was well done. The art of it is masterly. I admire it more and more every time I examine it. I do believe I have flayed and mangled and mutilated those poor people beyond the dreams of avarice.

But then there is Wangerin writing about someone who has recently found the love of his life:

Chauntecleer healed more quickly than anyone else. This was not just because he had so strong a constitution, one well able to knit even the most open wound. But this was also because his spirits were so high. He laughed enormously and often, these days. He talked much, and he would talk on any topic available, to anyone who asked a question. And Chauntecleer began to fancy himself a philosopher. He stared up and spoke grandly of God and of the ways of the Deity.He disclosed the hidden patterns of his effective rule. And most particularly he discoursed on beauty- female beauty - its attraction to the male. And he smiled in his sleep these nights, Chauntecleer did, because his dreams were all good. And he healed very quickly.

The value of a night like this, of course, is to be introduced to other authors. I have been delighted to read the whole book after hearing a short reading. And I have learned to avoid an author after just a brief sample. Sorry Cameron, but Pride and Prejudice and the Zombies didn't make the grade with me.

What's this about relief?

What is it about relief and glad, glad news that makes it seem unnecessary to write? When I am deep into the weight of a struggle, I write to process my thoughts and my emotions about those thoughts. But when the struggle is over, when the weight is off, when the present view is so saweeeet, I do not need to write. I don't even want to.

So pushing against disinclination, here goes: I don't have to have any treatment for thyroid cancer this year. Maybe not even next year. I am free to put down things on the calendar that won't be squeezed around trips to Omaha. I am able to look ahead and smile. I am looking and smiling.