Useless

     My family has the doubtful joy of living next door to a helicopter tree. For the unlucky souls who have not seen one, it releases thousands of seeds attached to a boat-like sail-fan that causes them to whirl around and around as they fall. It is a wonderful playmate to the wind--and a terror to our gutters. We have five downspouts, and each time a rainstorm comes the ladders come out, the children go up, and our grouping hands pull dirt-like leaves and sodden helicopter seeds off the top of each downspout.
    Each downspout but one. The back right corner of our house has a downspout that is not connected to a hole in the gutter. The winter comes and it ices over, the white bottom hidden in the feet of snow. Spring, and the chipmunks use it as a hiding place when human steps venture near, heading towards the trash can. Summer, and it sits, and sits, and sits, useless. Fall, and the leaves cover the bottom, and we stub our toes against it and scowl. Lately a treebush has grown up next to it, keeping us safe from its white blockage. For the past twelve years, it has sat there uselessly.
    But walking past today (avoiding the downspout), I realized there was a bird sitting quite still in the crook where it leaves the wall and stretches towards the gutter itself. The bird's head, body, and even its feathers, were completely motionless. I realized it was sitting on a nest, a small nest, not in the tree, where the frail limbs would break under the weight of even so small a nest, but the observant, creative birds had built their nest in the midst of the branches on the strong, useless, thin metal instrument of man. Useless for twelve years, it suddenly provides safety and strength to a mother, father, and family. It needed to do nothing but be there, as itself, amid the branches of the tree, and it was suddenly a gift.
    I have been home two years and thirteen days, and have felt useless. But what are my two years, thirteen days to the twelve of the downspout? And what am I being prepared for, that God keeps me here? Will I provide shelter, not just to the helpless, but to souls, eternal, immeasurable souls, which are made in the image of God? Would it be worth it, just to provide shelter for one family?
    Such a question doesn't even need to be asked. God, give me grace to be patient in the years of waiting for your purpose, for when it comes, it will be glorious beyond comparison to the waiting now.

Bitter Weakness, oh God of Grace

"The whole consciousness of [...] my hope quenched, my faith death-struck, swayed full and mighty above me in one sullen mass. That bitter hour cannot be described; in truth, 'the waters came into my soul; I sank in deep mire; I felt no standing; I came into deep waters; the floods overflowed me.'"
      Charlotte Bronte.
"For the enemy has pursued my soul; he has crushed my life to the ground; he has made me sit in darkness like those long dead. Therefore my spirit faints within me; my heart within me is appalled."
     David, a man of God.

    David's answer was to remember the past. I struggle to do that, struggle to find in its cold written stone the inspiration to hope for the future. I have faint, dawning hope in the promises of God, for he who promised is faithful, but it just leaves me wearily asking for help. "The words of gold, have all grown cold, over and over...I need to see you in the sunrise. Time takes its toll on us and its tries its best just to steal our love and we bend and we break but we don't give up; time takes its toll on us." David's cry leaves the tears in my eyes, my soul aching. God, God, God...
    I once compared me becoming a manager to a hermit being taken to a world-famous rock concert. It is an expensive, honor-giving gift. The hermit would be horrified.
    I thought, the hermit might enjoy it, might marvel at it, at least, even if it was taxing, nerve-snipping, and all together foreign. But I did not remember how ready the hermit might be to leave by the end of the three or four hours, how much he might bless God for the peace and quiet of the smallest breeze that blew through his hidden harbor.
    I have been a manager over a month. I have not yet learned to bless the boredom of my old job, but I have learned to understand the grace of busy afternoons at the job I held for nine years before this company. From fourteen to twenty-three I worked there, and never did I dread working at the grocery store with the same held-in-check fervour of going to my job.
    If I did not know for certain that God had given me this, I might take it as a sign to quit. But I prayed for weeks, and asked friends to pray, and told God I surrendered--He could do anything He wanted. He did, by offering me the job but completely changing the job description. I had known it was somewhat open to interpretation, but the one department I hadn't even thought about considering is the department I'm over. And there were even good things that happened today.
   But I cannot check the bitterness that I hold from my tongue (most times), that has fallen from my mouth to coat my heart and mind. I do not enjoy this rock concert, the thousands of cries of unfinished tasks, the energy required when all I want is quiet, the complaints of the janitors and guests in the back rows that I try to offset...I feel bitterness well up as I cry, why? Why, God, did you place me in a rock concert. I'd truly be willing to accept the quiet of a tomb over the clamor of this world by now, if I did not have so many ties to the living.
   God, I do not, do not, do not know what to do. I cry, "No mercy in the high noon desert, no shadow gonna block the sun, still covered in dust from all our yesterdays and days to come. Every turn is a new temptation," every day another sin. So many battles lost. But the same song sings,
    "Bring us home! Lead us to the highest wall; every single stone will fall; we have never walked alone--only you can bring us home. Every tear drop in the sand, longing for a distant land, we have never walked alone, only you can bring us home. You are fire in the night sky; you are cloud by day; we're calling on the name of Yahweh! In seven days everything was made, and in a week, it's crazy how everything can change." One week. Oh, God, you don't even need that. My God, help me. I have nothing left but this cry. Help me.
    Disappointment swamps my life, bitterness eats at my soul. I cannot swallow back, nor do I have the strength to expel. I have everything that promises a good, prosperous, busy American life, but it tastes of ashes. I want nothing but you, my God. Within me wars my desires for comfort and pleasure and distraction, but on my knees, brought there by everything my life has given me, I want nothing but you. Nothing else, nothing else, for only you can satisfy. Only you are worthy to be praised, worshipped. You are worthy of worship, God of justice and of grace, of holiness and compassion, of perfection and of sinners. My mind is not my own, my job is not my own, they are yours. By the same admission, my life is yours, and so is my soul. The bitterness I feel cannot win against the God who brings the dead to life. Disappointment dissipates before the truth of who you are. Give me your grace, grace to let go of my frustration with my inability to communicate, to let go of my constant tiredness, to ask forgiveness for the impurity of my mind and heart and to know I am forgiven, to see that I am empty and yet to know that your children have the fullness of life. You are not set back by my stumbling questions, your plan is not weakened by my tiredness, my sin is forgiven and I am clean, and your hands are never empty, but full of what you give your children. My God, my God, I need you even more than I want you.

"I never thought I would be much more than Jesse's king. Who would ever dream a king would come from Bethlehem? I know that I've crashed and burned, lives have been overturned, but you redeem everything, yeah, even me."

I am waiting, God of grace. Come help me now.

Seeking Wisdom in Life

What is it I should do? Should I have watched those minutes of the movie with my family, taken that last salt-covered tomato for my throat, answered my friend's text in the middle of devotions?
    Should I confess them as sins? Should I justify them so I will not have false guilt? Should I just pray and not think and wrestle with these things? Is this working out salvation with fear and trembling? It was a tomato, a text, for crying out loud! But if we will be called to give account for every careless word, how much more every careless act?
    How could we enjoy life if we are thinking every moment about our actions, keeping a tab on them? If we are every moment making sure we are doing something good?
   George MacDonald said it best, when he writes,
    'But, please, ma'am--I don't mean to be rude or to contradict you,' said Curdie, 'but if a body was never to do anything but what he knew to be good, he would have to live half his time doing nothing.'

     'There you are much mistaken,' said the old quavering voice. 'How little you must have thought! Why, you don't seem even to know the good of the things you are constantly doing. Now don't mistake me. I don't mean you are good for doing them. It is a good thing to eat your breakfast, but you don't fancy it's very good of you to do it. The thing is good, not you.' 

    Curdie laughed. 

    'There are a great many more good things than bad things to do. Now tell me what bad thing you have done today besides this sore hurt to my little white friend.' 

    Truly, there are a great many good things to do than bad. There are many joyful, wonderful, beautiful things. But George MacDonald continues...

     While she talked Curdie had sunk into a sort of reverie, in which he hardly knew whether it was the old lady or his own heart that spoke. And when she asked him that question, he was at first much inclined to consider himself a very good fellow on the whole. 'I really don't think I did anything else that was very bad all day,' he said to himself. But at the same time he could not honestly feel that he was worth standing up for. All at once a light seemed to break in upon his mind, and he woke up and there was the withered little atomy of the old lady on the other side of the moonlight, and there was the spinning wheel singing on and on in the middle of it! 

      'I know now, ma'am; I understand now,' he said. 'Thank you, ma'am, for spinning it into me with your wheel. I see now that I have been doing wrong the whole day, and such a many days besides! Indeed, I don't know when I ever did right, and yet it seems as if I had done right some time and had forgotten how. When I killed your bird I did not know I was doing wrong, just because I was always doing wrong, and the wrong had soaked all through me.' 

     'What wrong were you doing all day, Curdie? It is better to come to the point, you know,' said the old lady, and her voice was gentler even than before. 

     'I was doing the wrong of never wanting or trying to be better. And now I see that I have been letting things go as they would for a long time. Whatever came into my head I did, and whatever didn't come into my head I didn't do. I never sent anything away, and never looked out for anything to come. I haven't been attending to my mother--or my father either. And now I think of it, I know I have often seen them looking troubled, and I have never asked them what was the matter. And now I see, too, that I did not ask because I suspected it had something to do with me and my behaviour, and didn't want to hear the truth. And I know I have been grumbling at my work, and doing a hundred other things that are wrong.'

    And he is praised. For with him, to know what was wrong was to begin to mend. For me, I do not know what is wrong--so how can I mend? How can I seek to be better? For it is surely not in questioning every thing, but perhaps in knowing what to question. Self-discipline in all areas (from the amount of tomatoes I eat to the amount of texts I let interrupt my time) is good; but to be self-disciplined in all areas is not to be right, nor righteous. One can be self-discplined while learning to be evil. 

    So then, I am left with this: seek justice, love mercy, and walk humbly with my God. Seek the Lord, all you humble of the land, who do his just commands; seek righteousness, seek humility. (The latter verse is in Zephaniah.) 

    God, teach me to seek justice, righteousness, and humility, to love mercy, to walk with you in humility. I cannot do so much; you can do so much more. I am in your hands, God of Abraham (a liar and in cases a coward), of Isaac (a bad father), and of Jacob (a runaway thief). I am not so faithful as they, but I am yours. I ask no more but this: teach me to do your will, for you are my God. In the name of Christ, amen.

My Mother

   Do you know your face still lights up when Dad walks in the room or that you smile when you speak his name, listen for his car, and think and speak of him often? Do you know I watch every time he kisses you, thanking God that He taught you both to love constantly, tenderly, and unselfishly? From you I have learned that a wife should love what her husband loves as I watched you learn baseball, fantasy baseball, and the baseball game on Facebook. I have watched you grill and buy Cubs clothing and look forward to those boring baseball games because you learned to love what he loves.
   Do you know from both of you I have learned what it is to support and strengthen one another? I have learned a definition of godly marriage, and I have shared that with friend after friend as they marry. Your unselfish joy in each other is a gift you give to you, to me, and to all those your children discuss marriage with.
   From you I have learned to cook, to clean (with bleach!), and to balance a checkbook. I have seen you mix those mundane tasks with the joy of walking with God, even working in a place where God is denied and yet living the light of the gospel. I have learned it is possible to do a hundred things well in a short period of time and I have learned to take time to rest. You have taught that God can be trusted when we are physically weak. I have poured my heart out to God for your health, learning what it is to pray for I desperately want, and yet, watching you, to trust Him if He says no. You have taught me that He gives overwhelming grace in our weakness.
    You show me that I can come to you, telling you what is in my heart, and you will give me good, sound advice. I would trust you with any decision I had to make, and yet I know how to make many of them without help, because you taught me independence. I take courage, knowing that you pray for me as I make those decisions. I know, when you reach heaven, that your life as a mother will be one of the tasks where He will say "well done, good and faithful servant." I am so thankful that He gave you to me, Mama.

My Mother Rough Draft

   Did you know your face still lights up when Dad walks in the room? Do you know that you smile when you speak his name, listen for his car, and think and speak of him often? Do you know I watch every time he kisses you, thanking God that He taught you both to love for years constantly, tenderly, and unselfishly? Do you know that from you I have learned that a wife should love what her husband loves? I have watched you learn baseball, fantasy baseball, and the baseball game you played this week. I have watched you learn to love the Cubs. I have watched you grill and buy Cubs clothing and look forward to those boring baseball games...because you learned to love what he loves.
   Do you know that I have learned, from both of you, what it is to support and strengthen the other? I have learned a definition of godly marriage that I have shared with friend after friend as they get married. I have learned from them that your unselfishness and joy in each other is a gift granted to you, and to us, to all those your children discuss marriage with.
   From you I have learned to cook (especially from scratch), to balance a checkbook (to spend and to save...I needed the former), to clean (with bleach!), and to organize bookshelves and clothing. But I have also seen what it is to try every day to see God in life, to work in a place where God is denied and yet live the light of the gospel and to learn to trust Him still for life. I have learned it is possible to do a hundred things well and I have learned to take time to rest. I have learned that God can be trusted when we are physically weak. Your physical condition has taught me to pour my heart out to God for something I desperately want, and yet, watching you, to trust Him if He says no. You have taught me that He gives overwhelming grace.
    You show me that I can come to you, speak with you, tell you what is in my heart, and you will give me good, sound advice. I would trust you with any decision I had to make, and yet I know how to make many of them without help, because you taught us independence. I know that you pray for me as I make those decisions, and that gives me courage. I know, when you reach heaven, that your life as a mother will be one thing where He will say "well done, good and faithful servant." I am so thankful that He gave you to me, Mama.

Limited and Unlimited Grace

    I walked to lunch from a meeting, a meeting that went well the first hour, the last half hour degenerated into the same people restating the same opinions over again. And again. And, oh, by the way, again. I laughed, shook it off, and went to lunch. At last, a break from professionalism.
    Not. My closest friend at work was sitting with to other coworkers, and she was almost crying. She had been written up for something she had done the day before. It was something another coworker had done several times, and we did not know if she had been disciplined for it or not, as that is something the company does not share. The ladies also mentioned that the offence Carol was written up for is punishable by termination of employment. But for the rest of the lunch, my friend and the two other ladies tore the fourth coworker into shreds, attacking one or two other people at the same time. It was gossip with a self-justifying attitude turned fighting-for-the-underdog. And much of it, at least against the fourth coworker, was justified--still gossip, but true.
   I had been made a manager within the last two weeks, and I sat. I could not answer the lady written up as a friend, since I had authority behind my words now. I could not answer as a manager, because I did not know what was going on. So I compromised--for the most part I remained silent, giving Carol a hug. I answered twice as a person, reminding the table that the people being ripped apart did have merits--that we should be fair. But when I left I left wondering "What should I have said?"
    I set my water bottle at my desk, went into my manager's office, and asked to speak with him. Coming out, having heard the other side of the story, I felt better. Carol had been given grace, as was the fourth coworker. Carol was not terminated; the fourth employee was also learning to do better.
   But it was limited grace. Carol is still on probation, for instance.
   I worked the rest of the day, then drove to meet a friend. This friend had just moved out of an apartment with four other girls; they'd been living in the same place for two years, but all of them were moving elsewhere, for different reasons. Two of the roommates did a terrible, horrific job of cleaning; another deeply hurt my friend just as she handed her the keys. I pointed out to my friend that nowhere in Scripture are we allowed to hold a grudge, or to be angry--that is left to God, who can exact vengeance and justice without sinning. I told her--after getting her permission to speak bluntly--that she had to forgive them. She had been shown unlimited forgiveness, and she was required to give the same.
    I need unlimited grace as well. At work or in relationships, I sin. Not just once, not just one time a week, but again and again and again. If you give me limited grace, I will use it up. I am human, I am fallen, and I cannot keep good commandments. I can keep my job, true, but only by playing a pharisee, where the outside keeps to the rules and the inside rebels or grows proud. To truly live in a fallen world, I need to give and to have unlimited grace with people
    I can't do that as a manager. I have to keep the company's best interests in mind. In a corporate world, a company that lets itself be taken advantage of again and again, that gives unlimited grace, will not survive. Unlimited Grace is not practical and not real. But I am appalled to discover that I work in a place where the law of the gospel will not work. How can that be? I want the gospel not just at the center of my life, but in every aspect, by God's grace in every word and thought and action. The contrast between the law of grace and its transforming power and the law of a broken reality hurts.
    For I heard Carol crying through the rest of the day. I thank God that she has today off, that it's the weekend. No, I do not think the company was wrong for writing her up. But I dread knowing that the grace they gave her is limited, and it might some day run out. Mine, too. I have no warnings, no rebukes that are uttered more than once, I even have a promotion. But to succeed in a world that measures by works means a long, hard struggle with the only reward being a flattering of my pride. I don't want that--I want truth, beauty, grace, humility, and wonder as the strength that is stronger than my own undoes my walls, cleanses my sin, and changes my character. I want to give Carol a hug and tell her she's forgiven--if she would even accept that she was wrong. But the absurdity of doing that is clear. We can only give limited grace. Unlimited grace is left for God to give, or for us to give in the personal areas of life.
   God, teach me where to go from here.