At the end of 2015, I had the privilege of sitting through the funeral of a friend. In my line of work, funerals are a part of the package, but this was for a friend who was not on our hospice. His wife was one of my co-workers for almost ten years, so I got to know Don through that. However, I came to realize that I really didn't know Don at all. About ten years before I met him, he had a stroke that forever altered who he was. The Don that I knew was only a shadow of the man that was remembered that day.
That remembrance got me thinking. (All funerals should be an opportunity for reflection, after all.) Don had his stroke at age 60. For me, that's only 19 years down the road. If something were to happen to me in 20 years (or less), what would I look back and remember of my life? Lots of time at the office? Lots of saying "no" to my kids in order to work for that elusive financial security? Lots of late nights worrying and long days working?
As I have grown older, New Year's Day has become my favorite holiday. As I continue to work out my faith, I become more and more convinced that my "dominant image" of Jesus is the Redeemer, the one who makes all things new. A new year is a natural time for new things to happen and for old things to pass away. And rather than make resolutions, I choose to make goals -- tangible, measurable, achievable goals. (One goal for 2016 is to blog weekly. So far, so good.) This year includes some REALLY seismic goals, so I've been told that the best way to achieve them is to proclaim them and then allow your community to hold you to them. Over the coming weeks in this blog, I will lay out some of those goals. This first one is a biggie, so I thought I would devote my first blog of 2016 to it.
I woke up a few weeks ago and realized that I have four more years with my oldest daughter under my roof. Six years left with the 12-year-old. And the family dynamics of four children in a blended family have proven challenging, especially since I have four active kids in four different schools. So a change is in the works.
Before I lay those out, please know that I love the company I work for, Accolade Hospice, I love the people I work with and for, I love hospice work. I hope to continue my partnership with Accolade long into the future. I have learned so much about life by being around people with terminal diagnoses and the people that care for them. When I left the "church system" four years ago (THAT will be a topic for another blog), I wasn't sure that I could provide for my family outside of that system. The last four years have proven that I absolutely can.
They've also shown me that, when it comes to vocation, I am a little ADD. I have done the hospice thing and the t-shirt thing. I've done some book buying and selling. I've done some worship leading and some preaching. And I have enjoyed aspects of everything that I have done. But the one piece that I'm not really wired for is a 9-to-5, M-F office job. I can make it work when I have to, but it is not my preference. (I'm also not a big fan of business casual, but that's not a surprise to anyone reading this.)
So, there are some changes coming down the pike. Accolade is a very generous company and I am glad to be a part of that team. But I am looking at hopefully transitioning to a different role, which will require that I replace some income somehow. One of the arms of this plan has to do with my t-shirt job with Yahwear (www.facebook.com/yahwear). My hope is that, by pouring more time into marketing and customer relations, I can bring in a good chunk more business for that company. If you need custom t-shirts, polo shirts, promo items, etc., shoot me an email (dave@yahwear.net) and I'll take care of you!
The second arm of the plan is a network marketing gig. I sat down with an old friend to talk about the pros and cons of network marketing, and she convinced me that I could be successful at it. And she signed me up to work with her. I am officially a distributor for It Works! Now, I am still learning the company and the products, but I am excited about the possibilities! More than anything, I am hoping that this frees Wendy and me up to spend more quality time with our (soon-to-be-grown) kids and to spend more quality time together.
Over the course of the next few months (and beyond) you'll see a lot of posts (FB, Instagram, Twitter) from me trying to grow that business. I'll be looking for two types of people -- people that want to try some new products and give me some testimonies to be able to tell (Wendy and I can't use ALL the products) and people who want to jump on board with me and achieve some dreams and goals that go along with a successful It Works! business. My aforementioned friend moved from owning a brick-and-mortar business to just doing It Works! within a year of starting, so it can be done. It's going to require a lot of effort, but I think we can get there. My goal is to transition at Accolade by May of this year, so I have to get after it.
I never would have imagined this path for myself -- network marketing, It Works!, hospice -- none of it. But I am excited about what the future holds. If you are at all interested in what I'm up to, drop me an email (dave@raintreepm.org or dave@yahwear.org). If you're curious about It Works! and interested in knowing more, check out our product line at my website: http://davedrake.myitworks.com/ If you're up for a cup of coffee to catch up, I'm down with that, too. You can call or text me at 806-773-8413.
2016 is shaping up to be a fun year. I'll tell you more about it next time!
Showing posts with label redemption. Show all posts
Showing posts with label redemption. Show all posts
Tuesday, January 5, 2016
Sunday, August 19, 2012
A day of remembrance . . .
One year ago today, our family experienced its greatest day of loss. We were expecting our first son to go along with three wonderful girls. It had been a trying pregnancy -- we spent a night in the ER with a torn placenta, thinking we had lost him. Wendy was on bed rest to try and get the placenta to heal, which made things difficult around the house. On the evening of August 19th, after a wedding rehearsal I was performing for two dear friends, we came home to get the girls ready for bed. Faith (our then-8-year-old) came hollering for me through the house, telling me that Wendy needed me.
We didn't know it at the time (well, we probably DID know it, but didn't WANT to know it) but Wendy's water had broken. At 17 weeks. We called a sitter over, loaded up in the car, and headed to triage. A friend flagged us down on the way and jumped in the car with us. When we got to the hospital (they put us right into a birthing room -- should have been our second clue), there was no heartbeat. For whatever reason, Wendy's body had gone into labor. At 17 weeks. She delivered Warner Josiah a few hours later. He was 5 ounces, perfectly formed, and fit in the palm of my hand. I remember being completely worthless to Wendy during the delivery. I just couldn't look. I sat in a chair in the delivery room and just stared straight ahead.
Once he was born, we began to have to do all kinds of things we never thought we'd do. They asked us if we wanted to hold him. They asked us what kind of casket we wanted for him. They asked us if we wanted to have him buried with other stillbirths or of we wanted him in a place of his own. We had to go and sit at a funeral home and talk about arrangements. We had to buy a plot of land in a cemetery. We had to decide which grave marker we wanted for him. We had to make arrangements for a memorial. We had to ask one of our dear friends to perform the memorial -- something only a true friend or a complete stranger would ever do for someone.
We weren't sure we were going to try again for another child. We had three wonderful girls and the stillbirth had been a difficult turn of events. For a while after Warner's birth, I could hear Wendy lying in bed sobbing as she held her now-empty womb.
I don't know that we ever had a formal discussion about it, but we eventually decided to try again. If you've met our four-year-old, Tinsley, you know that the LAST thing she needs is to be a part-time only child. The girl needed a sibling. So we were excited when we found out we were pregnant again. Excited, but cautious. When we found out we were having another boy, we were delighted. Delighted, but apprehensive. When we got past the 17-week mark where we had lost Warner, we were relieved. Relieved, but anxious.
I don't know that Wendy and I really believed it was going to turn out well until last Saturday. At 4:53pm, we welcomed Blanton Caleb Drake into our family. A healthy 7 pound, 7 ounce baby boy. At 21 inches long, he might be able to be something other than a point guard on the basketball team. Up until the time he came out, I don't think Wendy and I were sure that this would work. But he is healthy, has a great appetite, and is doing amazingly well. We are blessed.
But today was the one-year anniversary of Warner's death. We have this little community of people that we call "church" that meets in our home every once in a while. Since we don't really have a set "church schedule" (which is GLORIOUS, by the way), we decided that the Drakes were going to have church out at Warner's grave. And we invited our community to join us. And they did. Thirteen of us stood and sat around a grave, reading Scriptures about confusion and loss, about redemption and restoration. We sang songs about a God who knows what it is like to experience the loss of a Child. We cried tears of hurt and tears of confusion. We took communion together as a family. We took pictures of our little family of seven. We took pictures of our church family gathered to celebrate redemption.
Redemption's a strange thing. When something is redeemed, it doesn't mean that the pain of the first experience is taken away. It doesn't mean that all (or any?) of the questions are answered. It doesn't give us back Warner. But redemption is a beautiful thing. It's a healing thing. It's a powerful thing.
And it's going on all around us, if only we're willing to see it. Even (especially?) on the anniversary of our darkest day.
We didn't know it at the time (well, we probably DID know it, but didn't WANT to know it) but Wendy's water had broken. At 17 weeks. We called a sitter over, loaded up in the car, and headed to triage. A friend flagged us down on the way and jumped in the car with us. When we got to the hospital (they put us right into a birthing room -- should have been our second clue), there was no heartbeat. For whatever reason, Wendy's body had gone into labor. At 17 weeks. She delivered Warner Josiah a few hours later. He was 5 ounces, perfectly formed, and fit in the palm of my hand. I remember being completely worthless to Wendy during the delivery. I just couldn't look. I sat in a chair in the delivery room and just stared straight ahead.
Once he was born, we began to have to do all kinds of things we never thought we'd do. They asked us if we wanted to hold him. They asked us what kind of casket we wanted for him. They asked us if we wanted to have him buried with other stillbirths or of we wanted him in a place of his own. We had to go and sit at a funeral home and talk about arrangements. We had to buy a plot of land in a cemetery. We had to decide which grave marker we wanted for him. We had to make arrangements for a memorial. We had to ask one of our dear friends to perform the memorial -- something only a true friend or a complete stranger would ever do for someone.
We weren't sure we were going to try again for another child. We had three wonderful girls and the stillbirth had been a difficult turn of events. For a while after Warner's birth, I could hear Wendy lying in bed sobbing as she held her now-empty womb.
I don't know that we ever had a formal discussion about it, but we eventually decided to try again. If you've met our four-year-old, Tinsley, you know that the LAST thing she needs is to be a part-time only child. The girl needed a sibling. So we were excited when we found out we were pregnant again. Excited, but cautious. When we found out we were having another boy, we were delighted. Delighted, but apprehensive. When we got past the 17-week mark where we had lost Warner, we were relieved. Relieved, but anxious.
I don't know that Wendy and I really believed it was going to turn out well until last Saturday. At 4:53pm, we welcomed Blanton Caleb Drake into our family. A healthy 7 pound, 7 ounce baby boy. At 21 inches long, he might be able to be something other than a point guard on the basketball team. Up until the time he came out, I don't think Wendy and I were sure that this would work. But he is healthy, has a great appetite, and is doing amazingly well. We are blessed.
But today was the one-year anniversary of Warner's death. We have this little community of people that we call "church" that meets in our home every once in a while. Since we don't really have a set "church schedule" (which is GLORIOUS, by the way), we decided that the Drakes were going to have church out at Warner's grave. And we invited our community to join us. And they did. Thirteen of us stood and sat around a grave, reading Scriptures about confusion and loss, about redemption and restoration. We sang songs about a God who knows what it is like to experience the loss of a Child. We cried tears of hurt and tears of confusion. We took communion together as a family. We took pictures of our little family of seven. We took pictures of our church family gathered to celebrate redemption.
Redemption's a strange thing. When something is redeemed, it doesn't mean that the pain of the first experience is taken away. It doesn't mean that all (or any?) of the questions are answered. It doesn't give us back Warner. But redemption is a beautiful thing. It's a healing thing. It's a powerful thing.
And it's going on all around us, if only we're willing to see it. Even (especially?) on the anniversary of our darkest day.
Tuesday, July 31, 2012
New jobs and such
I began a new job this week. As of yesterday, I am the Volunteer Coordinator for Accolade Hospice here in Lubbock. This will be my first non-church career, so it's been quite an adjustment already. Like any job in the medical field, most of this week will be training videos and reading, which makes for thrilling days. But I love the organization that I am working for and get the sense that they believe that I'm the right person for the job, so I'm excited about where this may be going. I really feel like I'm working with a great team of people.
In addition to watching the standard training videos this week, there is also a national volunteer conference for people in my position. So, I have watched a couple of these conference webinars in an attempt to better understand what it is that I am supposed to be doing. Yesterday I watched a seminar on how to approach faith communities about volunteering with a hospice organization. While the webinar is going on, there is a chat window where people can interact and ask questions based on what the speaker was covering.
It was pretty astounding to watch what people's perceptions of churches are. Comments like, "I approached one pastor who asked me why he would let me try to drum up volunteers for my organization when they won't even volunteer for children's ministry." Or "Pastors don't want anyone that can't help out their church." Or "One pastor asked me how much money I wanted. When I said I didn't want any, he told me that they couldn't help me." Over and over again the comments painted a church that was only concerned about itself and what was needed to keep the machine of church running.
It really saddened me, because I think the vision that Jesus had (and has) for his church is so much larger. You can argue with me if you would like (that's what the comment section below is for), but I believe that Jesus expects no less from his church than the redemption of the world. Pretty major vision. Or, as my Twitter friend Bob Goff says it, "God's plan for the world is as simple as it is inexplicable: It's us." When all the world sees in us is that we only care for ourselves, our people, our programs, something has gone terribly wrong.
Something has gone terribly wrong.
Sunday, April 8, 2012
Bringing Resurrection, Easter 2012
Today in the place in which I live, good Christian people gathered all over the city in beautiful buildings to celebrate a risen Savior. Songs of resurrection were sung and prayers of thanksgiving were prayed. Sermons were preached extolling the significant, world-altering event that took place 1985 (or so) years ago and the importance that it still has today. Thousands of dollars were spent on new dresses and ties and suits. Twitter and Facebook feeds blew up with pictures and Scriptures and praises and celebrations. My cousin participated in one of the 35 Easter services that his church put together. (He doesn't live in Lubbock, by the way, in case you were racking your brain to think of a Lubbock church big enough to pull THAT off.)
Also today in the place in which I live, good people gathered at major intersections to sell Sunday papers to try to earn some meager money for their massive needs. Others sat at hospital beds weeping over parents who were slipping away. Good families hunkered down in rooms waiting to hear news about the health implications of complications from a child's surgery. Brokenhearted people sat in desperate need of having their hearts bound up. Poor people waited desperately for someone to come and preach them some good news. Captives wondered who would come to them and proclaim freedom. Prisoners sat again in darkness, wondering where all the light had gone. Mourners looked around for someone to bring them comfort.
Maybe it is because today was the first Easter in my life that I didn't darken the door of a church building. Maybe it's because the things that God has been stirring in me are moving me toward action of a different kind. Maybe it's because I have surrounded myself with people who have challenged me to see the world as broken and in need of redemption. Whatever the reason, the dichotomy of the first two paragraphs that I wrote above hit me hard this Sunday. Today, churches across our country gathered for their high holy day -- Resurrection Sunday. Churches beefed up their greeter force and rocked out their worship. Churches spruced up their signage and weedeated (weed-ate???) their parking lots. Churches spent dollars on egg hunts and advertising. They gathered in their places of worship, counted their people and offerings. Compared this Easter's attendance with the year-to-date (and with the ghost of Easters past). Felt really good about what they did today.
And redemption happened. I have read tweets and posts about all of the good things that happened this morning. My friends at Ecclesia Houston had an overwhelmingly blessed Easter gathering in the heart of that city. My friends in Lexington, KY, brought hope and redemption to the lives of hundreds. My friends at Experience Life here in Lubbock lived up to their name and helped a packed house at their downtown campus experience that life. And while I haven't heard much from my family at Raintree, I know that it was a weekend of blessing and being blessed. There is no doubt that redemption took place in the midst of these gatherings that took place.
But just in the relatively modest city that we live in, there were so many missed opportunities to live out the Isaiah 61 reference alluded to above. God-followers would have had their pick of places to bring redemption to Lubbock today. Almost all the social organizations had opportunities to serve today -- Christians were busy gathering in their houses of worship and forgetting just what the Savior that they were celebrating spent most of his time doing. I am not saying this to minimize the amount of redemption that took place in those gatherings. I am saying that to try to get us to think about where God is already working and to get in line behind him.
One of my favorite authors, Leonard Sweet, made the contention SEVERAL years ago that God might just be more active in the world these days than he is in the church. When I first read that, I almost went ahead and dismissed him as a heretic. Seemed like an appropriate thing to do. But the more that I reflected on it, the more truth it seemed to hold. If God is a God of the oppressed and broken-hearted, then wouldn't it make more sense that He was doing His thing right in the midst of an oppressed and broken world?
I hesitate to tell you our story from today, because the last thing that I would want to convey is that I have it all figured out. That this is the only way. That I'm right and others are wrong. I merely tell you our story to try to get you to see that there just might be another way -- a more redemptive way. Today we loaded up our family at 6:40 am and headed to the Ronald McDonald House in Lubbock. For those of you unfamiliar with RMH, it partners with local children's hospitals to provide a place to stay for out-of-town families who find their children sick and in the hospital. A group of us went to cook breakfast burritos for the families that were staying there. And to bring them Easter baskets with games and activities designed to restore some sense of normalcy in their lives. And to generally let them know that, despite mounting evidence to the contrary, Jesus loves them. Dearly. And their sick children. Especially their sick children.
The lady in charge said that we would probably see parts of two or three of the ten families staying there. Most would prefer to stay in their rooms, hunkered down for the fight that they were in. I think we ended up meeting 7 or 8 of the families. Their stories were absolutely heart-breaking. A one-year-old experiencing complications from a second heart surgery. A 17-year-old on life support. A 17-week-premature baby fighting in NICU. A 7-week-premature baby that mom and dad are hoping to take home this week. And a kitchen-full of breakfast burritos gave us the opportunity to hear these stories. To encourage these families. To pray for these children. To bring life and hope and resurrection and redemption into a culture of hurt and brokenness and pain.
I feel like it was the first time I have ever really celebrated Easter.
Also today in the place in which I live, good people gathered at major intersections to sell Sunday papers to try to earn some meager money for their massive needs. Others sat at hospital beds weeping over parents who were slipping away. Good families hunkered down in rooms waiting to hear news about the health implications of complications from a child's surgery. Brokenhearted people sat in desperate need of having their hearts bound up. Poor people waited desperately for someone to come and preach them some good news. Captives wondered who would come to them and proclaim freedom. Prisoners sat again in darkness, wondering where all the light had gone. Mourners looked around for someone to bring them comfort.
Maybe it is because today was the first Easter in my life that I didn't darken the door of a church building. Maybe it's because the things that God has been stirring in me are moving me toward action of a different kind. Maybe it's because I have surrounded myself with people who have challenged me to see the world as broken and in need of redemption. Whatever the reason, the dichotomy of the first two paragraphs that I wrote above hit me hard this Sunday. Today, churches across our country gathered for their high holy day -- Resurrection Sunday. Churches beefed up their greeter force and rocked out their worship. Churches spruced up their signage and weedeated (weed-ate???) their parking lots. Churches spent dollars on egg hunts and advertising. They gathered in their places of worship, counted their people and offerings. Compared this Easter's attendance with the year-to-date (and with the ghost of Easters past). Felt really good about what they did today.
And redemption happened. I have read tweets and posts about all of the good things that happened this morning. My friends at Ecclesia Houston had an overwhelmingly blessed Easter gathering in the heart of that city. My friends in Lexington, KY, brought hope and redemption to the lives of hundreds. My friends at Experience Life here in Lubbock lived up to their name and helped a packed house at their downtown campus experience that life. And while I haven't heard much from my family at Raintree, I know that it was a weekend of blessing and being blessed. There is no doubt that redemption took place in the midst of these gatherings that took place.
But just in the relatively modest city that we live in, there were so many missed opportunities to live out the Isaiah 61 reference alluded to above. God-followers would have had their pick of places to bring redemption to Lubbock today. Almost all the social organizations had opportunities to serve today -- Christians were busy gathering in their houses of worship and forgetting just what the Savior that they were celebrating spent most of his time doing. I am not saying this to minimize the amount of redemption that took place in those gatherings. I am saying that to try to get us to think about where God is already working and to get in line behind him.
One of my favorite authors, Leonard Sweet, made the contention SEVERAL years ago that God might just be more active in the world these days than he is in the church. When I first read that, I almost went ahead and dismissed him as a heretic. Seemed like an appropriate thing to do. But the more that I reflected on it, the more truth it seemed to hold. If God is a God of the oppressed and broken-hearted, then wouldn't it make more sense that He was doing His thing right in the midst of an oppressed and broken world?
I hesitate to tell you our story from today, because the last thing that I would want to convey is that I have it all figured out. That this is the only way. That I'm right and others are wrong. I merely tell you our story to try to get you to see that there just might be another way -- a more redemptive way. Today we loaded up our family at 6:40 am and headed to the Ronald McDonald House in Lubbock. For those of you unfamiliar with RMH, it partners with local children's hospitals to provide a place to stay for out-of-town families who find their children sick and in the hospital. A group of us went to cook breakfast burritos for the families that were staying there. And to bring them Easter baskets with games and activities designed to restore some sense of normalcy in their lives. And to generally let them know that, despite mounting evidence to the contrary, Jesus loves them. Dearly. And their sick children. Especially their sick children.
The lady in charge said that we would probably see parts of two or three of the ten families staying there. Most would prefer to stay in their rooms, hunkered down for the fight that they were in. I think we ended up meeting 7 or 8 of the families. Their stories were absolutely heart-breaking. A one-year-old experiencing complications from a second heart surgery. A 17-year-old on life support. A 17-week-premature baby fighting in NICU. A 7-week-premature baby that mom and dad are hoping to take home this week. And a kitchen-full of breakfast burritos gave us the opportunity to hear these stories. To encourage these families. To pray for these children. To bring life and hope and resurrection and redemption into a culture of hurt and brokenness and pain.
I feel like it was the first time I have ever really celebrated Easter.
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
A Place at the Table, day 12
A couple of our friends came over for dinner last night. The fact that Wendy & I made my favorite dish (chicken macaroni casserole) didn't help with those struggles that I talked about yesterday. That pasta looked so good! Anyway, I'm finding that this Compassion diet is more of a nuisance than I would have imagined. Our friends were over and ready to eat and I realized that I hadn't made anything for myself! Praise Jesus for minute rice! I had corn tortillas and white rice in an instant!
Before I go into the story, I need to tell you a little bit about our friends. They are a relatively recently-married couple (2 years?) who have just moved to Lubbock. She is a Lubbock native who has traveled to such exotic places as China and Israel as a missionary. She is a tall blonde, so you can imagine that she kinda stuck out like a sore thumb in those places. (Is there a better analogy for "sticking out" than the whole "sore thumb" thing? I really have no idea what that means, but I use it all the time. If anyone can help me find a better simile, you'll get a free copy of the book I write. If I ever write one.) Her husband is a Syrian refugee whom she met on the island of Cyprus. He fled Syria as a younger man because of the political situation there. He spent some time in political prison before fleeing the country. He became a Christ follower while staying with a Christian family in Cyprus.
They are quickly becoming some of our family's favorite people -- especially for Tinsley and Scrappy. (Our four-year-old and our dog, for those of you who are reading this blog but have never met us.) And since the adjustment to Lubbock is a difficult one for them, we really want them to know that they have friends here. So we try to hang out with them as much as possible.
Last night's dinner conversation began by talking about one of his friends whose family was taken captive by the government of Syria. He found out about it a few days ago and then found out yesterday that, while the rest of the family was released, they kept the friend in custody. This friend (let's call him Rahm) has been in prison before and was told that, if he were captured again, it would probably not end well. That's why I'm a little paranoid about using his real name. Not that international agents read my blog, but no sense in taking the chance. Anyway, we prayed for Rahm and his family, and I would love it if you would stop here and say a prayer for them as well. And then go and research the political situation in Syria so your international prayers will be better informed. Go ahead and do that now. This blog will still be here when you get done.
There's a lot more that I want to say about our conversation yesterday -- frustrations with the church, with how people treat one another, etc. -- that are fascinating. It is always enlightening when someone from another culture/country moves in the neighborhood and you begin to see your culture through their eyes. It's not always good. But I want to reflect for a moment on how my eyes are constantly being opened by what God is doing here among & inside me. Through this A Place at the Table fast, I have become sensitive to the plight of hungry people across the globe. Through Living Water International, I have become attuned to the reality that clean water should be a right of every world citizen and that it IS the church's calling to make this a reality. (Maybe the verse should say, "If anyone gives even a cup of clean water to one of these little ones who is my disciple, truly I tell you, that person will certainly not lose their reward." [Matt.10:42]) And through this friendship, I am putting a face to the reality that people are being imprisoned, tortured, and killed because they do not agree with the man in power. And if I claim to be a God-follower who truly believes that Jesus is making ALL THINGS new, then these are not just political issues. They are spiritual issues. And my willingness to have my eyes opened to the plight of the oppressed DEMANDS that I do something about it. And that you do something about it, too.
Before I go into the story, I need to tell you a little bit about our friends. They are a relatively recently-married couple (2 years?) who have just moved to Lubbock. She is a Lubbock native who has traveled to such exotic places as China and Israel as a missionary. She is a tall blonde, so you can imagine that she kinda stuck out like a sore thumb in those places. (Is there a better analogy for "sticking out" than the whole "sore thumb" thing? I really have no idea what that means, but I use it all the time. If anyone can help me find a better simile, you'll get a free copy of the book I write. If I ever write one.) Her husband is a Syrian refugee whom she met on the island of Cyprus. He fled Syria as a younger man because of the political situation there. He spent some time in political prison before fleeing the country. He became a Christ follower while staying with a Christian family in Cyprus.
They are quickly becoming some of our family's favorite people -- especially for Tinsley and Scrappy. (Our four-year-old and our dog, for those of you who are reading this blog but have never met us.) And since the adjustment to Lubbock is a difficult one for them, we really want them to know that they have friends here. So we try to hang out with them as much as possible.
Last night's dinner conversation began by talking about one of his friends whose family was taken captive by the government of Syria. He found out about it a few days ago and then found out yesterday that, while the rest of the family was released, they kept the friend in custody. This friend (let's call him Rahm) has been in prison before and was told that, if he were captured again, it would probably not end well. That's why I'm a little paranoid about using his real name. Not that international agents read my blog, but no sense in taking the chance. Anyway, we prayed for Rahm and his family, and I would love it if you would stop here and say a prayer for them as well. And then go and research the political situation in Syria so your international prayers will be better informed. Go ahead and do that now. This blog will still be here when you get done.
There's a lot more that I want to say about our conversation yesterday -- frustrations with the church, with how people treat one another, etc. -- that are fascinating. It is always enlightening when someone from another culture/country moves in the neighborhood and you begin to see your culture through their eyes. It's not always good. But I want to reflect for a moment on how my eyes are constantly being opened by what God is doing here among & inside me. Through this A Place at the Table fast, I have become sensitive to the plight of hungry people across the globe. Through Living Water International, I have become attuned to the reality that clean water should be a right of every world citizen and that it IS the church's calling to make this a reality. (Maybe the verse should say, "If anyone gives even a cup of clean water to one of these little ones who is my disciple, truly I tell you, that person will certainly not lose their reward." [Matt.10:42]) And through this friendship, I am putting a face to the reality that people are being imprisoned, tortured, and killed because they do not agree with the man in power. And if I claim to be a God-follower who truly believes that Jesus is making ALL THINGS new, then these are not just political issues. They are spiritual issues. And my willingness to have my eyes opened to the plight of the oppressed DEMANDS that I do something about it. And that you do something about it, too.
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
A Place at the Table, day 11
I don't know why I think this, but I have a bad feeling that this week's going to be the toughest yet for those of us fasting. Maybe it's because the week got off to such a rough start. Feast day was not terribly kind to a portion of our group. One of our guys had a not-so-fun reaction to the reintroduction of fat into his diet (translation -- feast day = sick day), while one of the gals had to go to the doctor, where she was chastised for trying to do this kind of thing while dealing with an autoimmune disease. And that was just Sunday and Monday.
I have just had this sense that, unlike my first week-and-a-half where my body has responded well, my body's about to be not very happy with me. But maybe that's a cop out. Maybe what it really comes down to is that my self-control is beginning to wane. The chocolate that is sitting in the bowl on the counter is much more tempting this week than it has been in the past. (I know. If I moved the bowl out of sight, it wouldn't be a temptation. But where's the challenge in that?) Dinner with the fam yesterday was spaghetti and garlic bread, and those things looked significantly more enjoyable than my potatoes and tortillas. Every time that I open the fridge to make a lunch for the girls, I see that cheese that looks phenomenal. (I WAS born in Wisconsin, after all. Cheese is a birthright!) Even though my friend Jeremy covered his chicken bowl from Chipotle in nasty veggies at lunch, it STILL looked better than my brown rice.
Or maybe I'm just afraid that this is the week that the fast gets really personal. I've learned a lot about world hunger and thirst, the plight of the poor and needy, and how good the simple things can be on this fast. And those are great lessons for me to learn. But what happens when the lessons that I begin to be taught are lessons of purging the darkness from my own heart -- the greed and the lust, the unforgiveness and the judgment, the bigotry and the hypocrisy? Am I really ready to deal with all of that crap? I have a feeling that it's coming to the surface, whether I'm ready or not.
But I can't decide what my biggest fear is. Am I afraid for this to come to the surface because you might see it, and if you happen to see it, you might like me less? Am I afraid that when this comes to the surface, I'LL have to see it and deal with it and the delusion that I am somehow right and sane and figured out will come crashing down around me? Or am I afraid that, since I do such a good job of hiding behind my "figured-out-ness," Jesus will actually see me as I really am and HE'LL be ashamed? I know that makes absolutely ZERO since theologically, but there are times when I believe that if Jesus saw me as I really was, His holiness would not allow Him to love me.
Even as I re-read that last sentence, I am amazed that such a silly thought could exist inside my head. I know better. But the thought is there. And I'm usually so busy living a surface life that I never get deep enough to word such delusional thoughts. Fasting (in whatever form it shows up) has a tendency to move us beyond surface and into the deeper regions of our psyche that we don't want others or ourselves or even Jesus to see. But I am becoming convinced that, until we open up THOSE areas of our lives to the redemption of Jesus, we'll continue to live in the patterns of our lives, being hurt by people and turning around and channelling that hurt towards others.
So I guess what I'm talking myself into is that the reality that this might be a tough week is probably a good thing, long term. But, if I were you, I'd try to stay away from me until feast day. You might not like what you see. . .
I have just had this sense that, unlike my first week-and-a-half where my body has responded well, my body's about to be not very happy with me. But maybe that's a cop out. Maybe what it really comes down to is that my self-control is beginning to wane. The chocolate that is sitting in the bowl on the counter is much more tempting this week than it has been in the past. (I know. If I moved the bowl out of sight, it wouldn't be a temptation. But where's the challenge in that?) Dinner with the fam yesterday was spaghetti and garlic bread, and those things looked significantly more enjoyable than my potatoes and tortillas. Every time that I open the fridge to make a lunch for the girls, I see that cheese that looks phenomenal. (I WAS born in Wisconsin, after all. Cheese is a birthright!) Even though my friend Jeremy covered his chicken bowl from Chipotle in nasty veggies at lunch, it STILL looked better than my brown rice.
Or maybe I'm just afraid that this is the week that the fast gets really personal. I've learned a lot about world hunger and thirst, the plight of the poor and needy, and how good the simple things can be on this fast. And those are great lessons for me to learn. But what happens when the lessons that I begin to be taught are lessons of purging the darkness from my own heart -- the greed and the lust, the unforgiveness and the judgment, the bigotry and the hypocrisy? Am I really ready to deal with all of that crap? I have a feeling that it's coming to the surface, whether I'm ready or not.
But I can't decide what my biggest fear is. Am I afraid for this to come to the surface because you might see it, and if you happen to see it, you might like me less? Am I afraid that when this comes to the surface, I'LL have to see it and deal with it and the delusion that I am somehow right and sane and figured out will come crashing down around me? Or am I afraid that, since I do such a good job of hiding behind my "figured-out-ness," Jesus will actually see me as I really am and HE'LL be ashamed? I know that makes absolutely ZERO since theologically, but there are times when I believe that if Jesus saw me as I really was, His holiness would not allow Him to love me.
Even as I re-read that last sentence, I am amazed that such a silly thought could exist inside my head. I know better. But the thought is there. And I'm usually so busy living a surface life that I never get deep enough to word such delusional thoughts. Fasting (in whatever form it shows up) has a tendency to move us beyond surface and into the deeper regions of our psyche that we don't want others or ourselves or even Jesus to see. But I am becoming convinced that, until we open up THOSE areas of our lives to the redemption of Jesus, we'll continue to live in the patterns of our lives, being hurt by people and turning around and channelling that hurt towards others.
So I guess what I'm talking myself into is that the reality that this might be a tough week is probably a good thing, long term. But, if I were you, I'd try to stay away from me until feast day. You might not like what you see. . .
Friday, March 2, 2012
A Place at the Table, day 8
I could never be a writer. The thought of writing everyday in this blog sometimes terrifies me. It doesn't seem like much, but the everyday-ness of it can become daunting. One of my favorite writers, Donald Miller, makes it seem so easy. I'm sure that the real story is much more messy, but he makes it seem like he's weeks and months ahead on his blog, just waiting for the right time to post those life-changing thoughts that he planned out weeks before.
As I am sitting around throughout the day, I have all of these "brilliant" thoughts about what I'm going to write about. Then, when I sit down at the computer to write, something completely different comes out. Sometimes it has a little bit to do with the thought I had before, but most of the time it becomes just whatever thought pops into my head at the time. SQUIRREL!
I suppose that some of that has to do with the fact that I'm a little guarded in my thoughts. I don't know if you know this or not, but the Internet is available to people all over the world. And while I'm not arrogant enough to believe that the entire world is listening in on my thoughts, it HAS surprised me who is following these thoughts. Just a few moments ago in the coffee shop I am working in today, I ran into a friend that I haven't really talked to in months, and he commented on the fact that he has been following this blog.
One of the interesting things about a fast is that it opens you up to what is really going on in your heart. When you peel away the layers of facade that we put up in our daily lives, sometimes we don't like what we find underneath. There's this insight that my Master had into the human psyche -- "Out of the overflow of the heart the mouth speaks." While it doesn't seem like too much of a profound statement, there is deep truth in this simple statement. I have found in recent weeks (some even before this fast began) that I can have a relatively foul mouth. Now, I've been around church and life enough to know when not to use those words in public, but I find myself saying things in my private moments that are just not "churchy." As a matter of fact, I find myself inserting inappropriate words into the worship songs that I am singing in the shower. And, no, I don't mean "sing your freaking lungs out." (Obscure "Words to Build a Life On" reference for my Raintree peeps.) It would be easy for me to dismiss this as just Dave being Dave, but if Jesus is to be believed (and I kinda think He IS to be believed) these words give a window to what is going on in my heart. So, if my mouth is speaking filth, what does that say about my heart?
I was just looking up the passage that I quoted above to make sure my memory was correct (it was), and what I found convicted me even more. The context of this insight in Matthew is Jesus teaching about good trees and bad trees. The indictment right before this quote in Matthew is "You brood of vipers, how can you who are evil say anything good?" Not exactly the encouragement that I needed today.
Or maybe it IS the encouragement I need. Because that's what the real life looks like. When we open up the dark places of our souls and our hearts to the Liberating King, we might not like what we see there. But until we're willing to open our wounds to let His blood cover those dark places, true healing cannot come. One of the things I love about my Jesus is that He will not force Himself into the darkness of our lives. But once we open up those places to His light, we find healing, freedom, and redemption that we never knew was possible. Not that it's easy to get there, but I'm choosing to trust that the shalom that happens on the other side of this is worth the muck that we find ourselves in now.
As I am sitting around throughout the day, I have all of these "brilliant" thoughts about what I'm going to write about. Then, when I sit down at the computer to write, something completely different comes out. Sometimes it has a little bit to do with the thought I had before, but most of the time it becomes just whatever thought pops into my head at the time. SQUIRREL!
I suppose that some of that has to do with the fact that I'm a little guarded in my thoughts. I don't know if you know this or not, but the Internet is available to people all over the world. And while I'm not arrogant enough to believe that the entire world is listening in on my thoughts, it HAS surprised me who is following these thoughts. Just a few moments ago in the coffee shop I am working in today, I ran into a friend that I haven't really talked to in months, and he commented on the fact that he has been following this blog.
One of the interesting things about a fast is that it opens you up to what is really going on in your heart. When you peel away the layers of facade that we put up in our daily lives, sometimes we don't like what we find underneath. There's this insight that my Master had into the human psyche -- "Out of the overflow of the heart the mouth speaks." While it doesn't seem like too much of a profound statement, there is deep truth in this simple statement. I have found in recent weeks (some even before this fast began) that I can have a relatively foul mouth. Now, I've been around church and life enough to know when not to use those words in public, but I find myself saying things in my private moments that are just not "churchy." As a matter of fact, I find myself inserting inappropriate words into the worship songs that I am singing in the shower. And, no, I don't mean "sing your freaking lungs out." (Obscure "Words to Build a Life On" reference for my Raintree peeps.) It would be easy for me to dismiss this as just Dave being Dave, but if Jesus is to be believed (and I kinda think He IS to be believed) these words give a window to what is going on in my heart. So, if my mouth is speaking filth, what does that say about my heart?
I was just looking up the passage that I quoted above to make sure my memory was correct (it was), and what I found convicted me even more. The context of this insight in Matthew is Jesus teaching about good trees and bad trees. The indictment right before this quote in Matthew is "You brood of vipers, how can you who are evil say anything good?" Not exactly the encouragement that I needed today.
Or maybe it IS the encouragement I need. Because that's what the real life looks like. When we open up the dark places of our souls and our hearts to the Liberating King, we might not like what we see there. But until we're willing to open our wounds to let His blood cover those dark places, true healing cannot come. One of the things I love about my Jesus is that He will not force Himself into the darkness of our lives. But once we open up those places to His light, we find healing, freedom, and redemption that we never knew was possible. Not that it's easy to get there, but I'm choosing to trust that the shalom that happens on the other side of this is worth the muck that we find ourselves in now.
Monday, February 27, 2012
A Place at the Table, Feast Day 1
Yesterday was one of my favorite days in a long time. The way that this Place at the Table fast is laid out is that on Sundays, we are encouraged to feast with friends -- eat, drink, laugh, enjoy. So I had been looking forward to Sunday all week. It had been a long time since I had planned out my meals quite so fully. I was going to eat a Reese's Peanut Butter Heart (or 2) at midnight, and then get up early for a bowl of cereal loaded down with milk. Then, on my way to work, I was going to get a Cinnamon Dolce Latte (that girly coffee again). Lunch would be large quantities of meat, and dinner would be a feast as well. There was even a thought that I would squeeze one last meal in before going to bed.
Well, reality was less sexy. The Resse's happened at midnight (glorious!), but when I woke up, the cereal didn't seem so appealing. So I did the CDL from Starbucks and went to church. The conversation at church was awesome. Several of us chatted about what we had been learning about ourselves and our lives during this fast. After church, a group of us went to Texas Land and Cattle and waited forever to get a table. But it didn't matter (at least not to most of us) because the conversation was so life-giving. I ate red meat for the first time in a while, but it was again the community that was being formed around the table that was the most fulfilling. As a matter of fact, the burger and sweet potato were a little too much. I felt a little bloated.
So much so that when our community gathered last night for table fellowship and discussion, I wasn't really hungry. But I bought a chicken sandwich and a coke and was off to our meeting. It was again the community that was life-giving. It was our first gathering since we initially launched this lent fast, so we spent some time discussing what we had learned. I was blown away that, since our first meeting, three of our families had begun sponsoring Compassion kids. Our little community of 15-20 people had committed to changing 3 lives and bringing kingdom to earth in a tangible, food-on-the-table sort of way. We then discussed things like contentment and overindulgence and appreciating simple things. It was again an absolutely life-giving discussion.
We ended our time with some talk about healing and then we took communion together. The last thing we did was feast on some cake for one of our group's birthday. Not sure I've ever enjoyed birthday cake quite that much. I went home from that gathering, chicken sandwich in hand (I hadn't eaten it yet; I was still full from lunch!), very happy to have a community of faith that was trying to be intentional about hope and healing and redemption.
So now I begin the first full week of the fast. I'm sure there will be days of hunger and anger, frustration and exasperation. But, if week one was any indication, there will also be days of reflection, healing, community and shalom. Stay tuned.
Well, reality was less sexy. The Resse's happened at midnight (glorious!), but when I woke up, the cereal didn't seem so appealing. So I did the CDL from Starbucks and went to church. The conversation at church was awesome. Several of us chatted about what we had been learning about ourselves and our lives during this fast. After church, a group of us went to Texas Land and Cattle and waited forever to get a table. But it didn't matter (at least not to most of us) because the conversation was so life-giving. I ate red meat for the first time in a while, but it was again the community that was being formed around the table that was the most fulfilling. As a matter of fact, the burger and sweet potato were a little too much. I felt a little bloated.
So much so that when our community gathered last night for table fellowship and discussion, I wasn't really hungry. But I bought a chicken sandwich and a coke and was off to our meeting. It was again the community that was life-giving. It was our first gathering since we initially launched this lent fast, so we spent some time discussing what we had learned. I was blown away that, since our first meeting, three of our families had begun sponsoring Compassion kids. Our little community of 15-20 people had committed to changing 3 lives and bringing kingdom to earth in a tangible, food-on-the-table sort of way. We then discussed things like contentment and overindulgence and appreciating simple things. It was again an absolutely life-giving discussion.
We ended our time with some talk about healing and then we took communion together. The last thing we did was feast on some cake for one of our group's birthday. Not sure I've ever enjoyed birthday cake quite that much. I went home from that gathering, chicken sandwich in hand (I hadn't eaten it yet; I was still full from lunch!), very happy to have a community of faith that was trying to be intentional about hope and healing and redemption.
So now I begin the first full week of the fast. I'm sure there will be days of hunger and anger, frustration and exasperation. But, if week one was any indication, there will also be days of reflection, healing, community and shalom. Stay tuned.
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