Back To School

This week, I started graduate school. Freshman jitters were in force. But I packed my school bag the night before class, arrived early, and successfully found my classroom. Score!

Is it just me or do school books shrink as you progress through school?

My first class was interesting. The professor began with an explanation of the syllabus (typical). Then, we proceeded to have an hour long discussion about whether or not all people have free will. It's a topic that most have an opinion about, but there is really no perfect answer.  Especially here in America, it is easy to say that yes, everyone has a choice to do whatever they want. There are influencers and consequences, but people still use free will and make choices. The conversation becomes increasingly sticky when issues such as poverty, serious mental illness, and addiction are mentioned.

After the intense discussion, our professor briefly introduced an assignment, and class was dismissed. I felt jipped. The three hour class did not even hit the one and a half hour mark.

Oh well, I've recovered and I've come to realize that simply throwing out a possibly controversial discussion question is a great way to begin a class. The professor gets a feel for how boisterous her class is, and we get to know each other a little bit.

I am also beginning to realize how graduate school may differ from my previous schooling experiences.

I was impressed that my professor provoked us to discuss the topic freely. She did not promote or even share her opinion. Also, everyone in the class was able to have a respectful and intellectual discussion. Most of us have matured a bit since undergrad and have more life experiences under our belts.

The assignment that the professor introduced was for us to attend a cultural event or participate in a cultural activity. There is no writing or reflection paper associated with the assignment. We just have to do it and come to class prepared to talk about it. Perhaps, now that we are in graduate school, we can be trusted to complete an assignment on our own. Yay for less busy work (and less reflection papers)!

There may be less busy work, but there is a lot of reading, which I need to go do!

Terror

Have you ever been terrified?

I don't mean the adrenaline rush that would come with skydiving or the fear that accompanies seeing a mouse in the house. I mean the terror that is brought about by the threat of evil.

I live on a half mile dirt road. We are the only house on the road and traffic is sparse. 

A couple of weeks ago, on a Tuesday evening, I was home by myself. The sun was beginning to set and I was lazily dozing on the couch. But when dogs started barking their "intruder bark," I quickly perked up. I looked out the living room window, and I saw a white truck stopped on the road, facing my house, about twenty yards away. Two guys got out of the cab and one hopped off the truck bed. They were carrying guns, yelling words I couldn't understand, and sauntering towards my house.

My heart lept in my chest and my mind raced with uncertainty. As I ran to the kitchen to get my phone and lock the door, I looked out the window that faces the opposite direction. I stopped cold. There was another white truck stopped on the road, mirroring the first truck. Four guys emerged from the crew cab. Two carried guns and all four were hollering at the sky with words that I could not comprehend.

My dogs continued to bark ferociously. I could think of no other scenario besides the obvious: they were closing in on me. My legs began to tremble and scenes from action movies unfolded in my mind.

Before I could think to call for help, I saw three beagle dogs with hunter orange vests run up to the crew cab. The men grabbed the dogs, hoisted them into the bed of the truck, and tore down the road. They left only a cloud of dust and me, a pile of nerves on the floor. I went outside to attempt to calm my dogs but accomplished little with my legs still shaking.

Fear, in my plush American life, does not tread much further than hunters tracking down their wayward dogs.

But lately, it's apparent that violence is real and even threats of violence invoke widespread fear. Bombs in Boston and a threat to kill children in our local schools, filled the news this week.

I recently finished reading The Devil in Pew Number Seven by Rebecca Nichols Alonzo, an autobiography in which Rebecca describes the terror that her family endured. She was just a young child in the 1970s, when her father became the minister at the Free Welcome Holiness Church in North Carolina. The community quickly came to adore her father and her family. However, one member of the community felt the Nichols family was trespassing on his territory and infringing upon his influence in the town and the church. This man took it upon himself to terrorize the family, vowing that they would leave the town "crawling or walking, dead or alive."  Through multiple bombings, sniper shots, and threats, the family felt God's calling to stay and stand strong.

The book was written a couple of years ago and attention was drawn to the story when Rebecca and her brother appeared on The Dr. Phil Show in 2011. So I'm a little behind the times on this one, but I think the story is perhaps even more relevant today. Ya see, the author describes in detail how her family weathered the terror. They clung to Jesus' words, prayed together frequently, and drew strength from other believers.

In this country, we are becoming increasingly familiar with terror. It used to be so foreign to us. So we struggle to cope with our fears and we struggle to reconcile our faith with the emotions that accompany the current events that fill the news. This book portrays a model of how to bear those struggles and fears.

I won't reveal the ending; however, I will say that this book also models how to cope when it appears that the terror (the devil) has won. When God not only allows, but perhaps even blesses us with suffering.

Have we forgotten Matthew 5:11-12?

Blessed are you when people insult you, persecute you and falsely say all kinds of evil against you because of me. Rejoice and be glad, because great is your reward in heaven, for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you.

Or 2 Timothy 3:12?

In fact, everyone who wants to live a godly life in Christ Jesus will be persecuted

The author's story is remarkable. But near the end of the book, the author shares what is equally profound: forgiveness. This book reveals the path to forgiveness when untold harm is done. It's not a sermon with five steps that all begin with the same letter. It's not a theologian who has all the right answers. She is a real person who has experienced real suffering, and she is allowing others to peek into her life, her thoughts, and her journey of forgiveness.

You and I cannot walk away from what has been done to us. At the same time, as crazy as it sounds, we're commanded to speak the language of heaven, to forgive as we have been forgiven--generously, fully, and freely. That means we forgive with no strings attached; that may require us to forgive repeatedly. When we do, we shock the world with God's power at work within us. When they shake their heads in wonderment, when they struggle to understand how anyone could forgive like that, we have the opportunity to point them to the Cross, the ultimate act of forgiveness. (pg 198)

Regardless of the circumstances, may we learn from those who have endured and speak the language of heaven.

Blustery

Today, we planned our summer horse show tour. It's creeping up on us, and I'm excited for all things summer. However, it's currently snowing outside and it remains blustery cold.

You know how I feel about this.

But it is what it is, and I'm over complaining. The extended winter has encouraged much soup eating and book reading. I cooked up a pot of potato-corn-ham chowder. It's my favorite cold weather soup. I wasn't planning on making it again this winter, but mother nature has afforded me the opportunity.

Guess who we're rooting for in the tournament? Oregon is not well known for their basketball team, but they're making a bit of a run and Kb is all sorts of excited.

This weekend, I finished reading Covenant Child by Terri Blackstock. It is a gripping story about twin girls who are heirs to a fortune. After both of their parents died, their stepmom lost custody but remained committed to the girls from a distance. The twins were led astray and hated their stepmother, but she was there for them whenever they needed her. She never lost hope that the girls would make the decision to come back to her, and she never expressed disappointment in the girls for the poor choices they made.

I was so drawn into the story that it was not until the end that I realized it wasn't about the stepmom's commitment to the girls. It was about God. The devotion, love, and grace that she portrays mirrors Christ. The allegory is deep, and I've been mulling over it quite a bit.

It is a Christian fiction book. However, religion is not discussed in the book and it is not "preachy" in any way. Yet, it is the woman at the well, the prodigal son, and the good samaritan rolled into a beautiful message of covenant.

Flawed Saints

Some of my favorite books are autobiographies. I enjoy learning about people, their experiences and their cultures. Every person has a story. To have the courage to share that story, with all of its victories and its faults, is inspiring.

Mary Johnson surely put forth an extraordinary amount of courage in penning the book, An Unquenchable Thirst: Following Mother Teresa in Search of Love, Service, and an Authentic Life. I referred to the book in a previous post, and I have learned that I should not reference a book without having read it all the way though. The particular reference still holds true, but I think it's necessary to provide a few more details about the book.

The book is a memoir in which Johnson recounts her life as a Missionary of Charity, a nun, under the tutelage of Mother Teresa. At age seventeen, she felt a calling to become a nun, and she lived that calling for twenty years.  Johnson's description of her journey is utterly genuine, uniquely real. She struggles deeply with the union of her commitment to God and her commitment to be a Missionary of Charity. Johnson questions those in authority and the rules that they follow, yet she places no condemnation and emits no condescension (except for that she places on herself).

This book called into question the widely held impressions of Mother Teresa as faultless and beyond reproach. While this may be controversial ground, let me just say that we are all humans. We are all flawed, from Mother Teresa to me in my striped pj pants.  Despite admiration, position, or acts, God shows no favoritism.

Also, there is no doubt that Mother Teresa blessed and inspired so many with her commitment to care for the poor and orphaned. She did much good. But it would be easy to stop there and not consider that there could be another side, a distinctly human side. A side that ignored sexual assaults within the convents. A side that responds to sisters in Beirut who were under fire and in danger by saying, "Are you dead yet? Call me when you are dead." While the book is not primarily about Mother Teresa, the references to her stand out simply because of her stature, and because Mother's influence weighs heavily upon Johnson.  

Don't read this book if you hold saints to a super-human standard of virtue and righteousness. You will be disappointed.  Also, don't read this book if you have conquered human temptations and cannot relate to the pursuit of purity. Johnson's openness about her faults, even her sexual ones, will appall you.

Do read this book if you believe that we are all sinners in need of abundant grace. Not only will you gain insight into life in a convent, you will be inspired to seek God, striving to live a life that is pleasing to God and pushing against the forces that threaten your freedom in Christ.

The Struggle

There are 39,000 different Protestant denominations. Plus, there are all of those non-denominational churches that are too good to join a group. Just kidding; non-denoms are cool, too.

They are all different, yet they are the same. They have some different beliefs, yet they all claim to be Christian. They don't all get along, yet they serve the same God.

How can that be?

One of my youth pastors encouraged us to separate issues and beliefs into two categories: salvation issues and non-salvation issues. Obviously, the salvation issues are the important ones, the ones that matter.  Believing in the crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus Christ and acknowledging that Jesus is the only true God are salvation issues. The style of music (or even the presence of music) during a service and the color of the carpet in the sanctuary are not salvation issues.

I thought I had this idea down, my faith squared away and divided into nice little categories, until I went to that fancy Christian university in Texas. I quickly found out that they believed that you are not truly saved until you are baptized. Well, I wasn't baptized. I was raised in a church denomination that encouraged baptism, but did not view it as a requirement for salvation. Two of my professors, in particular, made sure that I knew that I was going to hell if I did not get baptized immediately. One of them was so concerned that he gave me a book that he had written on the subject.

This is how thousands of denominations are formed: disagreements about what truly matters to God.

I'm in the middle of the book An Unquenchable Thirst by Mary Johnson. It is a memoir in which Ms. Johnson recounts her experiences as a Missionary of Charity, a nun, under the leadership of Mother Teresa. I have really enjoyed the book thus far. It's awfully interesting to get a peek into the life of a nun. And to be honest, it's not quite what I expected.

But talk about an entirely different sort of denomination. Maybe everyone else is wrong and the convent is the place where Christians should be.

I'm not convinced that is what God desires either.

However, through the pages of this book, I have been reminded of one thing that I think God desires. He wants us to become immersed in the struggle. I'm convinced that this Christian life is primarily about a refinement through the process of our individual struggle to find, understand, and hear from God.

The internal battle to continually live a life of which God is pleased. The push for a faith that is not arrogant and allows space for change. The struggle to distinguish God's voice and not remain stagnant.

Even though she was a respected nun and well-versed in tradition and obedience, Ms. Johnson experienced this struggle of determining what is important to God and what is not,

"I had no trouble convincing myself that I lacked refinement--that was obvious. It was harder to shake the feeling that the Lord stood far less on ceremony than Sister Priscilla did, that the fuss about the right words and the proper gestures was a huge waste of energy, that the Church had room for both the refined and the common."

May we not blindly follow the lead of man, but may we have the courage to engage in our own struggle. And may we treasure the process.

A Better Story

I had the day off today. There are a few perks of being a state employee. My election holiday did not consist of much. I had a whole day with no responsibilities. Awesome, right? I slept in and vegged on the couch. Before noon, I ate couscous and chocolate ice cream but not at the same time. While perusing the internet and halfway paying attention to the political news on the tv, a cover of uselessness suddenly fell over me. Sitting there on the couch, I got cranky and despondent.
It's not the first time that has happened. I set out to have myself some lazy, do nothing time, and I end up feeling worthless.

I'm midway through a book by Donald Miller entitled A Million Miles in a Thousand Years, courtesy of my coworker's library card. In the book, Miller describes the process that he engaged in while creating the movie version of Blue Like Jazz. But it's so much more than that. In the process of making the movie, Miller realizes the correlations between living life and creating a story worth telling.

His writing style is quirky and somewhat random. It turned me off at first, but I kept reading. Miller is profound in a way that catches you off guard. And while I was sitting on the couch this morning, I could not help but think about my story.

"You can call it God or a conscience, or you can dismiss it as that intuitive knowing we all have as human beings, as living storytellers; but there is a knowing I feel that guides me toward better stories toward being a better character. I believe there is a writer outside ourselves, plotting a better story for us, interacting with us, even, and whispering a better story into our consciousness."     - Donald Miller, A Million Miles in a Thousand Years

Ice cream, a comfy couch, access to the world wide web, and a day with no responsibilities. Isn't that something people desperately want?  Perhaps not. Perhaps that despondence I feel when I'm camped out on the couch eating chocolate ice cream is a yearning for something more, a better story. 

"Humans are designed to seek comfort and order, and so if they have comfort and order, they tend to plant themselves, even if their comfort isn't all that comfortable. And even if they secretly want for something better."   - Donald Miller, A Million Miles in a Thousand Years

In an attempt to resurrect the day, I exercised and swept the floor. I paced the newly harvested field looking for rocks to edge the flower bed, and I discarded the newest creature that Bo drug up to the house. And I prayed.

Last Sunday, I sat around the dinner table with Kb and my parents. We talked about the respective church services we attended and the sermons that we heard. Kb and I are still searching for a "home" church. I don't like the process. Anyways, I told my parents about how the church Kb and I attended that morning was going to pack and send out two million meals around the world for the organization Feed My Starving Children. Eight thousand volunteers were required for the project. As of Sunday, they needed about two hundred more. My mom does not attend the church, but she had heard of the church's two million meal mission. Right away my mom asked what shifts needed additional volunteers and how to sign up to volunteer. My mom was all set to get to work to help a church that she does not even attend. I was taken aback. Not at my mom's willingness to serve, but at my own capacity to selfishly ignore a need.

"If I have a hope, it's that God sat over the dark nothing and wrote you and me, specifically, into the story, and put us in with the sunset and the rainstorm as though to say, enjoy your place in my story. The beauty of it means you matter, and you can create within it even as I have created you. I've wondered, though, if one of the reasons we fail to acknowledge the brilliance of life is because we don't want the responsibility inherent in the acknowledgment. We don't want to be characters in a story because characters have to move and breathe and face conflict with courage."  - Donald Miller, A Million Miles in a Thousand Years

 Like Miller, I find myself falling asleep on life, not participating in the greatness of the story that He is whispering into me. Kb and I are at this point in life where we can take our story anywhere. But regardless of where we are geographically or what passions we pursue individually and collectively, I must have the courage to strive for and engage in a great story.