I can't believe I love the kids this much. This is absurd.

This is out of surdity.

Like, really? The things I do, the things I want to do for them, the way they are always in my mind and I want to work my day, week, life to accomodate them? Sigh.

Thursday morning I mad slept in. I turned off my alarm in my sleep but I also reached my limit of being able to turn a long day on six hours' rest.

Later in the day I became even more grateful that I had slept in because I didn't have the same death blanket of mental fatigue and hold-backery I have had for a while.

Thursday afternoon I had the most glorious conversation of good... I don't think I can really type it. It was kicked off by a simple-ish observation ("you seem happy") and I seemed to make a choice to answer without too much planning. In fact, what I did was answer without assuming there wouldn't be enough time or attention span for me to say all of what I wanted to say. That is a rare.

And, when I was about halfway through what I thought my reply would be, my counterpart got a phone call which I honestly thought was perfectly fitting.

I left happily and attacked my workload with more energy than I've had in a while. My boss came and found me after his call even though he didn't have to, which I thought was funny. 

I get up from my post and follow to his office like he has summoned me by pulling rank.

I explain the rest (actually the crux) of why I was happy to an incredibly attentive listener. He understands beyond what I have said and mirrors my happiness AND my joy. (Our joy is in the same risen Christ who bought us and is rebuilding us.)

The happy-ness, you see, was set against a drastically different, un-happy Wednesday. Wednesday had been VERY low and my boss had seen the worst of it. A struggle that usually finds me at home, after nightfall, alone, broken down, and dissociative had come to my office. It was in public, it was day time and it was discovered.

It was horrible and embarassing. I felt like I had to do it. But on some level I must have wanted it to be exposed (once and for all?) in a place where I thought I could be safe or get an intervention.

So Wednesday was rough but I got some help. I got some profoundly helpful help, in the Lord's providence.

On Thursday, the bulk of my happy-ness was in smelling change on the horizon.

My boss (code: Dear Friend) and I speak freely and joy-filledly for a long time. I had my shoes off and my feet up. He didn't look at his watch until I asked what time it was because I needed to leave for work. I don't know how long I was there and I didn't care that I was increasing Friday's (and possibly Saturday's) workload to stay.

When I had to go, it wasn't too soon or too abrupt like it often is. His parting words reminded me of O Church, Arise by Keith and Kristyn Getty. [Only as I type this do I notice the neat connection between the title of this song and my Wednesday where my boss invited me to get up, both literally and figuratively because I needed to not sit where I was.]

So, I typed out half the third verse and sent it as a text-message.

Come see the Cross where love and mercy meet

as the Son of God is stricken.

Then see His foes lie crushed beneath His feet

for the Conqueror has risen!

The parting words were a reminder of Who is victorious. And it's true. Jesus did it. Jesus paid it all. It is finished.

[He] forgave the iniquity of [His] people and covered all [their] sins.

My boss replied with an easy amen and like of the song. Then a lightbulb went on in my head and I textfully observed, "Ha. You and I just had a worship service in your office!"

And only after I wrote it did I realise that indeed there were worship songs played and the reading of Scripture. Initially I was only thinking of the nature of the conversation and how the two of us had practically spent a couple hours oohing and aahing like God's goodness was a world-class fireworks display. But my Getty text must have felt like a closing hymn that made all the other pieces appear obvious as elements in the "service".

What a day. What a privilege. What a God.

Selah

it's often paired with mustard.

Last Tuesday I went to visit the boys at their house. I had been given the street address ten days before in the same text where I was given the news I didn't have a job.

On Monday night I dreamed I had gone there and I woke up with all the determination of a half-awake, emotionally high-strung idealist to see it through. Told a friend about it and he urged me to go. He told me to bring a gift (like baked goods) and to go without an agenda. He told me to go and simply tell the kids I'd been thinking of them and ask how school was going. Don't angle for an invitation inside or a chat with the dad, he told me.

I was so nervous. But even at the time I knew I would rather be nervous than under crushing sadness. I hoped that seeing the kids just once more would alleviate some of the pain.

And so it did. I knocked and when S (their dad) came to the door, hollered my name as a greeting, but kinda looked at me blankly, I smiled and told him, "I just came to say hi." It hadn't occurred to me until that moment that I've never shown up unexpected and therefore never needed to declare the purpose of a visit.

He told me to come on in so I did. They were just finishing dinner. I sat at the bottom of the stairs and listened and chatted and observed what I could. I believe my face wore a perma-smile the whole time. I was just so happy to see them. And I was genuinely happy to see they were getting along fine without me. 

S was emotionally and socially closed off from me. He didn't look at me much, engaged the kids in conversation more than he did me and busied himself with housework for the first twenty minutes I was there. It was strange and after about fifteen minutes I wanted to get up and go, simply to avoid overstaying my welcome or coming off presumptuous. (I had no right to be there.)

The boys were a little closed at first but.. warmed up after about forty-five seconds. Then they were showing me their new rooms and shoes and shirts and height and whatever else. I was delighted to find their little hearts weren't closed off to me.

S went out for a cigarette and I chatted very comfortably and lovingly with the boys. It was very nice to be back. B hugged me several times.

I finally walked out and after S made the kids (who had followed me) go back inside the house, he turned and said, "Well, this is awkward. Hi," followed by an uncomfortable laugh. Ah. Not closed anymore.

We talked and he apologised profusely. (At this point, two weeks later, I wonder if I said, "it's OK," too many times. I wish I had said, "I forgive you," because the other statement is actually inaccurate.)

The conversation was surreal because, well, there had been an upsetting and difficult change in my life and I was talking to the messenger. (To the precipitator?) I wanted to be amiable... I wanted to be genuine... I don't know what I wanted. I let him talk, I answered his questions and I gave some helpful information regarding the Fall ball hockey league for which the boys were registered.

When I learned that he works super late on ball hockey nights, I saw an opportunity. 

"Sooooo, if you finish [work] at 6.30 and B's game is at 6.45..." 

I left a pause for him to do the math and guess where I was going.

"Can I come aaaaand scoop them up [I made a scooping motion with my hands without thinking about it] on Thursdays and bring them to Crestwicke?"

My face was beaming and I don't fully know why. The whole visit....

I should have stormed in and pointed an accusatory finger in his face. I should have told him how betrayed and used I felt. I should have demanded my back-pay. I should have demanded two weeks' notice. But... I couldn't find an ounce of upsetness to hold on to.

I was beaming because my life isn't bound up in this job. I love these kids but Jesus is still Lord of all. He's just the Guy that makes good things. I can't explain it.

I told him he didn't have to answer me right away but that I just figured I would ask. I didn't want to pressure him. I didn't realise how much I was rambling until I stopped.. Well, it's less rambling and more "making my case", as I think of it. As I was speaking, his face filled with emotion. It looked like he was imagining the reaction I was entitled to have and that not only was I not tearing a strip off him but I was asking if I could give more. (When I eventually left, I practically danced my way home at the prospect of being able to be a picture of grace like that.) After I rambled, he said simply and quietly, "Deal."

My arms shot up in the air. "Realleee??" I squealed. His face changed from that humbled/drawn/sombre thing with his eyes trained on me, scrutinizing for sincerity into a slight eye-roll and smile of "you are ridiculous".  I have seen that smile a few times. His face became a little more flushed but he appeared to have physically relaxed under some kind of relief.

We talked a little more and we hugged (which actually felt sincere going both ways, which I can't explain...I think it was a mutual "I missed you" and "I want this to work" kind of thing) and I left.  It was good. As I walked ("walked"...I think I bounce-floated) home, I was overwhelmed by gratitude that I was going to have an ongoing connection with the kids.  It would be a few hours one evening per week for about twelve weeks but I don't know what comes next.  I am grateful.  It's far less than it was but it's certainly more than nothing so I was happy to accept.  Really happy.  I later sent the dad a text-message saying, "Just so you know, your kids are going to be ridiculously spoiled every Thursday from now on."


---

As of today, three Tuesdays later, I've actually been back to work with full duties with the kids since last Monday.  Only two days after my initial visit I rang their father and made my case.

I asked him if - in the case that money didn't matter - he would still have me.  I told him how I missed the kids; I told him how I had planned to be there until they didn't need me, not until he couldn't afford me.  I told him I would still be looking for work and if something came up that would conflict with time with the boys, I would probably take it and transition out of full duties as smoothly as I could.

I reminded him that my toppest priority has always been the boys' welfare.  I asked if I could come back pro bono. [I like using that term here because it works in both the literal translation (for good), and the colloquial usage (for free).] He eventually relented. He seemed largely stunned, I gathered from the silence on the other end of the line.  He said if he were in my position he would be angry.  "But for some reason you just..." and he didn't seem to know how to finish the thought.

When he said yes, I pseudo-panicked because my commitment had instantly become REAL. So I asked for a few days to think about it.  Then, as I thought the Lord confirmed it, I went ahead and confirmed my choice and showed up Monday morning.

It has been bumpy.  It has been joyous.  It's difficult and weird but it's good (I think).



Ah, Sovereign Lord.  You alone know.

Presently hurtling toward dreamland at breakneck speed.

Wish I could write that I have kind friends and that life is funny.

Apparently life is also messy but Jesus also happens to be lovely and worth all every everythings.

Just stuff.

Just..what a week that is barely two days old. Grr. 

maybe I'll never get the Beamer.

Looking at my life and my prospects this week and last, I have started thinking about the real-person job quite a bit.  I have started thinking about the life that isn't paycheque-to-paycheque though I still have trouble understanding that ANYONE lives differently from that model.  I can't process it.

But this afternoon, when things look very different, and when I stumble upon a job advertisement that has met the criteria I very specifically prayed for last night, I wonder if I will never get the Beamer.

I wonder, if I can't kick this choose the better thing thing that I do, will I always accept lower salaries to get things right?  I think that is possible.

I think that might be me. I do want more material things and financial robustness that will better equip and free me to serve the Lord at max capacity but if He would have me earn little and crawl out of debt and into vehicle/home ownership, etc. at a VERY slow pace, then so be it.  The flames will take it all, anyways.

For the record, I have no inclination toward owning a BMW...That's just what popped out to summarise my lightbulb moment.

[posted without much thought and no editing!]

I do enjoy the word "surreal".

I feel bad that I don't feel worse today. It's like I'm indifferent. (awkward)

A trigger, acknowledgement of an unpleasant something, putting the something away, moving on from the trigger.

That progression happened at least two dozen times today.

-grocery store

-photos

-two boys on the bus

-intersection of Speedvale and Stevenson

-Youth bus tickets in my wallet

-cupcakes

-memories of the night before

-being asked how I am--as if something is wrong

-the Book of Jeremiah

-a card on my desk

-the sunflower on my desk

-every passing or parked red truck (or red car or red minivan)

-the job hunt

-raspberries

-tortilla chips

-baby carrots

-mini pizzas

-and more that I can't think of

Even as I type and think about this, I feel like I'm sitting on top of the surreal layer on top of my real life. So...am I done now? Did I finally get past it and now I don't care anymore?

Am I going to just go ahead and not feel anything toward those two/three?

Earl Grey tea, a hot water bottle on the lower back and "Megamind" (2010).

Sure, I'll take it.

Tonight I was at smoup (small group) and it was good.  It's really neat to have real friends, real people who are also brothers and sisters in the Lord.  It's a thing.  They are nice.  Community is baller.

When the group started talking about I Corinthians 15:35-58, about The Resurrection Body, I zoomed in on verse 55 and then asked Jesus if He wanted me to say what I was thinking.  I was really waffling.

I reasoned that He wanted me to say it because it was something that made Him look good.  (I hope I am always found, for the rest of my life, saying things that make Jesus look good.)

I told the group that I had been thinking on Thursday night about that verse that tells us about how there is no crying, no pain, no death, etc. in Heaven. (I think I mean Revelation 21:1-4.) On Thursday evening, I was brought very low... I wept freely, feeling the full impact of losing my sweeties.  It was the crying of anguish.  It was the first time in my life I have had my whole body try to export sadness and just give in to the weight of the emotion.  I also spoke freely with the Lord.  I told Him how hard this was.  I told Him how much I loved those boys, how I didn't understand who would take care of them.  I told Him I didn't understand why this had to end.

I reflected on lovely things and good memories (which made me cry harder).  I repeatedly insisted, "I can't," not even fully knowing what I meant half the time I said it.  I probably meant I can't handle how I feel right now.  I can't fathom this sadness.
And yet there He was.  He sat shiva with me, that kind Savior. He sat with me for over an hour as I reminisced, worshipped, blew my nose, asked questions, blew my nose, prayed for the boys and their dad, tried to guess about the future, blew my nose (now painfully), said, "I can't...I can't..." doubled over in helplessness, thanked Him for giving me the eleven months with them that He did, and blessed Him for His goodness. And then I blew my nose.

I didn't tell the group those details, just that I had cried longer and harder that night than I ever have in my life and that at one point in the prayerversation I emphatically thanked God that there is a place where this kind of pain doesn't exist.  There is a place where we don't feel loss, we don't have severed relationship, we don't cry.

So then I pointed back to I Corinthians 15:55.

"Where, O death, is your victory?
  "Where, O death, is your sting?"

Feeling I had brought enough sombreness in telling them about my week, I then tried to lighten the mood. I read the verse and told the group (with appropriate actions), "I feel like Jesus is saying this and then He drops the mic.  He's like, 'What're you gonna do now, death?' [and I was full-on sassily shaking my neck and doing the puffed chest and spread arms that say, you want a piece of this??] Eat it." And then I sat back in my chair with proper "I'm done with you" thug body language.

They laughed but they know me well enough to read that I wasn't only casting it that way for humor's sake.  I love the thought of Jesus having swagger because He's an amazing, resurrected Messiah.  I love the idea of Him chirping Satan.


I was able to passionately communicate how legitimately glad I am about what Heaven will be like and what it will lack. (And I am thrilled beyond expression that I have a place there.  He made a place for me there and it's going to be some kind of epic-ness.) I told them I had never looked forward to Heaven like this before. I need to tell more people the Gospel.

It's such a big deal.


Later when we were talking about things we'd pray for, I told them I'd like some wisdom to know how to proceed in this situation.  I want so many things and perhaps none of them is right or none of them will be granted.  I told them a little more about my not sleeping, wacky appetite, shrimbling immune system, and general all-over-the-place-ness and it was peculiar.  As I said it, they really listened and I looked like I meant what I was saying.  But at several other points during the evening I was laughing loudly or cracking jokes or engaging in horseplay.  I kept telling myself that it was OK to be laughing when I thought something was funny and that it would be OK if I was suddenly very withdrawn, but the contrast still felt weird.

Strangely enough, they accepted it.  They seemed to count me sincere at all points.  What a group. We prayed together.  When I prayed, God did that neat little synesthetic thing He does to my hands when prayer is richly connectful.  Neat.  When we stopped, I stayed in my bent over, hands pressed together pose, hoodie up and eyes staring a mile away.  I stayed like that for a long while, half-listening to conversation swirling around me.  I didn't think I would plummet like that so quickly after prayer that was so blessy.  I didn't snap out of it til someone in the group invited herself into my personal space announcing, "this is one of those times that you look like you could really use a hug." I didn't move for her so it was mostly a side-squeezery and back-patbert but it was kind.  It was... probably exactly what I needed.  I had meant to get up and ask someone to hug me (... it probably would have been the closest person to me; I just needed to be enfolded) but I was spacing. I was remembering a littler hug I used to get.


--

As of this afternoon, I have received from various sources (two unexpected and one forgotten) money totalling five percent more than I would have normally earned this week had I not lost my job.  That's a thing.  Now, none of those sources is going to yield again next week but I still liked reflecting this afternoon on how little scraps here and there have been pooled to meet my needs.  Thanks, Jehovah-jireh.

As smoupites were disbanding, one said to me, "Oh, by the way [my current housemate]'s in.  As in, you're in." It was a new housing possibility basket that I was putting more than a few eggs into because I hadn't actually started looking for other options though I've already given notice at my current abode.  I think part of me thought this would just sort without my active effort, and part of me has not been willing (able?) to devote time or emotional energy to the housing search (on top of the job search and whatever else).

She said what she said and I just stared for a second, then took a markedly deep breath and exhaled slowly.  My face didn't show relief (it probably showed tiredness and vacancy).  I didn't say a word which is actually rare for me in a situation like that.  I wanted to express my gratitude and relief verbally but I think I was actually confused by the depth of my relief--I didn't know I was "holding my breath" on that one!


Ah, Sovereign Lord. You alone know.

nothing to worry about.

(or, "nothing about which to boldly worry.")

Last night a friend asked around 8 if I wanted to do something.  After some discussion, she decided she really shouldn't be out late because she had work to do that night and an early class the next day. I said I didn't really want to go out (because it was cold outside and cozy inside) but that I felt like I "should" go out because I wanted to be careful not to spend too much time by myself during this (sad) week.

She offered to come by for a short visit so I could get some "human contact" .
I counter-offered that she could come and work at my place while I did my proofing and Jeremiah-ing (which had been my plan for the remainder of the evening).
And so she showed up and it was good.

When she showed up, I had already begun popping popcorn and she produced a bar of Dairy Milk (and a bag of microwave popcorn, much to my coincidental delight). Yum.  I put on the kettle and didn't apologise for being in my pyjamas. She told me how class was going, I told her how grief was going, then she jumped into writing a paper and I read the nineteenth and twentieth chapters of Jeremiah. Then I journalled and she started reading in Leviticus.

It seemed good.  It seemed like what I should have had at that time. My face was still puffy from the night before.  (I felt self-conscious all day because of that puffiness.  I felt like everyone could see what I had been doing.)


This morning I woke up because of an incoming text-message from a neighbour asking if I wanted to join her and another friend at the market this morning.  I didn't really want to go.  My laundry was still wet from the night before (which meant no reasonably wearable trousers).  But, I thought I should go.  I am glad that I did.  I'm glad that neither of them knows what's going on in my heart of hearts so I could be lighter with them. We could just traipse downtown to the farmer's market, browse, buy, chat, laugh...Goodness.

It felt OK that I could buy a couple of groceries but mostly that I could be there with friends.  I paid a dollar for a huge sunflower and it made me happy. I waffled while one friend bought a bunch of three and I said half to them and half to myself, "I'll come back."  (I try not to buy on impulse.)  It was only about twenty seconds before I retraced my steps. The price was right and the uniqueness was compelling (I'm not really given to sunflowers). 

I was pleased with my solution to the bulkiness problem (asking the vendor to cut the three-foot stem in half) and pleased with my decision to spend a dollar on a non-necessity when I have entered a season of scarcity.  I walked back up to my friends and gushed.

"This makes me so happy--I have been meaning for the past couple weeks to buy some flowers to put on my desk at work just to have a bit of color and now I have this and it's gonna be great and I'm so happy..."

I was cradling the flora, alternating between admiring the YELLOW yellow and making eye-contact with my friends. They both giggled when I was done, saying, "Look at you! You're so happy!" and, "Look at her smiling!"

They have no idea how profound the moment was, that vibrant color and new life set against the dismal wasteland background of my current internal world. Really just a nice visible token of His mercy and therefore worth every penny.

It means a lot that you said you were proud of me for how I'm handling this.

I'm not sure that I am handling it but I feel like Jesus is handling my life so this subset known as the past five days of my life is also taken care of.

I thought, forty minutes ago, that if I pointed my browser to blogger.com, clicked the icon for creating new posts, and then started typing, something rightly expressive would come out.  I wanted to blog, I just wasn't sure if I had substance.

I probably should be jounalling instead; I probably need unfiltered output but here we are.


This is an email excerpt, something I wrote on Wednesday evening to a friend who had written an email asking how my evening had transpired. That evening I was leading and participating in a music rehearsal with the band that will be leading music during our worship service this Sunday.  My friend (who is secretly my pastor...you will figure that out later so I may as well disclose it now) said he hoped that I would truly worship and not simply rehearse technical things. The relevant part of my reply goes as follows:


When I first got your email I started replying to tell you how I was disengaging again..how I can't even sleep properly (I can't feel how tired I am... and I'm not sure how much sleep I'm getting)..but I was typing in between songs and I just couldn't do it when I was singing and reading the lyrics like: You hold my life. You know my heart and you call me by name. I live to say, "God, You reign". He's all over me.  He won't let me mope.

This is pretty much how the rest of the evening went:

Over every thought, over every word may my life reflect the beauty of my Lord. You mean more to me than any earthly thing. So won't Your reign in me again?

But my heart hurts so much.  I can't even articulate it to myself.

Glorious: my eyes have seen the glory of the Lord.
Glorious: He stands above the rulers of the earth.

But I can't see! I can't think! I can't feel! Why aren't You making this easier??
Am I really never going to see them again?
I need them to know it was never about the money. How long do I have to wait? How did I fail them?

Knowing You, Jesus, knowing You: there is no greater thing.

(No retort for this one.)

(And the next one is the one that REALLY kicked my butt because it invoked your Revelation sermons and [friend], you're such a good preacher and Jesus is so beautiful.)

Worthy is the Lamb who was slain.
Holy, holy is He.
Sing a new song to Him who sits on Heaven's mercy seat.

(By the way, I was watching real, live flashes of lightning out the window as we played that song. :) Epic.)

You're supposed to be still good. You're supposed to be my whole life and I'm getting bogged down by my light and momentary troubles.

When I survey the wondrous cross on which the Prince of Glory died, my richest gain I count but loss and pour contempt on all my pride.

My heart hurts. I can't even sleep.
But thank You that You buoy me up. Thank You that You're so patient with me and that You have given me means to cope.

How deep the Father's love for us - how vast beyond all measure! - that He should give His only Son to make a wretch His treasure.

Please help me to know what to do. Help me to grieve....Help me to keep after Kingdom standards.

I'm supposed to be sadder but my friends are too nice.

On Monday morning one friend read through my uncharacteristically withdrawn "good" and "fine" to inquiries about my weekend. I didn't even mean to be quiet and to avoid eye-contact; I was just in such a thick, grey cloud of WHAT?-ness that there wasn't anything in me that could engage.

He stepped forward and asked, his tone completely betraying his level of concern, "and how are you?" It was the exactly right question and my answer came out honestly: "Not ready to talk to you yet." And then my face acted like it was fighting back tears.

And maybe he should have walked away but he didn't. Before I could take it back and clarify that it wasn't personal and I wasn't trying to be mean, he bumbled through the verbal equivalent of

The Hug 

for the Situation Where Little Can be Said.

He should have walked away and let me continue preparing my sad breakfast in a sad whirlwind of questions and heartache. (I had literally prayed desperately when I heard his footsteps that he wouldn't talk to me at that time because I wasn't ready to look into the face of someone that really cared about me.) But he stayed and he talked about giving me space and being available to listen; he made fun of himself and invoked long-running inside jokes until a smile broke through on my face, in spite of my best efforts.

I didn't mean to smile and I didn't say much in reply. I could almost visualise tweed elbow patches as I listened to this absent-minded professor monologue and I smiled because A+ for effort.

(We later had half the conversation I would have liked to but everything was so raw and time was so short that I just couldn't do it.  But then this morning and again this evening two emails of encouragement and care went a long way. A really long way. Today was supposed to be the day that I dropped down to the bottom of my despair to explore it and find the bounds but I just couldn't reach it today.)

This afternoon, the second person I've told was standing at the threshold of my office. She asked kind questions and extended herself in three different ways. They are all big gestures and though I wish I didn't need to accept them (and I probably will need to), I appreciate that friendship plays out like this.  We meet one another at our low points, don't we?

She let me say my jumbled, inarticulate expansion of what I'd written in a brief email that morning.  It didn't make sense.  It was fragments of a thousand swirling thoughts that I keep insisting I'm not ready to share.  I'm truly glad it was a short conversation but also glad that she asked and seemed to understand and to want to understand.


This evening, a friend got it out of me during a short car ride home.  I really didn't want to tell.  And I didn't expand and she didn't ask.  This was fitting.  She offered to help in ways that she can, and even in our brief follow-up textversation just now she made a suggestion that made me smile and made that feisty scrapper Hope stir a little more. It has made me think that with each friend I share with, more hope and more help will crop up.


Even before I got the official news, the Lord undertook to prepare me over the past three weeks.  And He has been steadily growing that Hope monster without my consent.



. . .

As of Sunday night I officially lost the boys



    and I am devastated.


When I allow myself to really think about it, I feel like I can't even breathe.




I'm supposed to be sadder but friends.  But Jesus. But we press on.

Hmm. Now that I see the two most recent posts that have sat there on the front page for a week, I want to write something more positive-ish. I don't say that because I think positive must balance negative (except in chemistry, algebra, etc) but because all my negatives need to be eclipsed by the one big positive which is the goodness of the cross.

I like how this workweek was so busy. I like how all my coworkers and I seemed to be feeling the pressure of the first week in a new season (by calendar, because of the academic year and the fiscal year) and we were all working extra hard and staying a bit late--or coming in early or both.

That overtime or double-time works for spurts here and there, when the situation demands it.

I can't even write my excitement and anticipation for what's on deck for this Sunday. I'll just wait til I can do a review.

There's so much to say about so much uncertainty in my immediate future. I feel unworried. I feel like I'm straddling.

I feel like tomorrow will be when I devote some solid time to sorting this out. It must be. The crunch is on.

Let Jesus be glorified.

Blaaaaaaah, televangelism makes me so angry.

The peddlers tell lies and hordes believe them.

They use select, warped pieces of Western Christianity to fool people. They prey - I suppose - on those who are searching for the real Jesus.

If their show title includes their name, that's a red flag. 

If they're preaching Christ, they don't want kick-back (in any form).

[I Corinthians 9:1-15]

If they are selling you anything, that's a red flag.

The Gospel is meant to be free. 

[I Corinthians 9:16-8]

If they talk about "what God can do for you" as if He is your smartphone or your executive assistant, that is a red flag.

YES, He serves/served us, but not because that's right. The idea that the One who created you and the rest of the universe would wash your disgusting feet...that's supposed to seem improper. We should probably feel unsettled on some level.

[Philippians 2:6-7, John 13:1-17]

If they don't give credit to God (especially for supposed healing or revelation), that's more than a red flag.

If they leave out the part where salvation isn't universally applied but that individuals must acknowledge their own rebellion against God, acknowledge they deserve death, acknowledge that Jesus took their spot on death row and accept that His death settled their debt, that's a red flag. (Oh, also Jesus stayed dead for three days but then conquered death itself and came back to life. So now those who accept His death on their behalf also get His righteous, eternal life for their behalf. It's kind of a big deal.)

[Romans 3:22-6]

If they use fragments of Scripture that add little substance to what they've said, and more of a religious sheen, that's a red flag.

If they are adding to the Gospel, i.e. if they are telling you you need anything other than God Himself, that's a red flag. No water, no CDs, no "Miracle Mixture" (it was mentioned on a program last night). 

[Philippians 3:4b-10]

If they don't rely heavily on Scripture, what is their credibility? Rhetoric? Flash? Volume and aggressiveness?

If they fail to mention sin, that's a red flag. (Seriously -- we are terrible.)

[Romans 1:18-32]

If they insist you deserve healing or prosperity, that's a red flag. That's incongruous with Scripture. We deserve death and we can expect suffering. 

If we are healed it's for His glory and if we are in pain for life, it's for His glory. 

If they tell you that you can have or should have healing, ask why. Ask, to what end? Our chief end is NOT to get what we want and to be comfortable, it is to glorify Jesus. Everything else in our life submits to that priority.

If they set themself up as a mediary, if they sound like we need the info, the access, the insight, the code words that only they have (and that they can only dole out conservatively), that's a red flag. That's a red flag for any preacher or priest, too.

I DON'T KNOW HOW THEY SLEEP AT NIGHT. You must know you're lying.

If telling the Gospel makes you look good, you're telling it wrong.

Title of Track 10 from Queen's "News of the World"

I was very sad a few hours ago.

I think it's interesting that I walked out of it slowly.  Not sure how to really describe it but now I feel different - not happy, not dejected, not quite neutral, maybe just glad that my sadness could all pour out honestly.

I should have gone home four hours ago but I worked a little past 4 while watching a movie. The movie somehow tapped into the looming frustration I have been grappling with since noon and I just sat in my sadness right through til the credits rolled.

I put my head in my hands, I asked the Lord for guidance and I didn't wipe my cheeks.  I wrote a transparent letter of only eleven lines that I probably won't deliver.  I probably will never say what I wrote and that's why I wrote it. I wanted to say it somewhere other than in my thoughts.  In fact, I was so bent on writing in the moment that I didn't get up to find something more appropriate but scrawled on manuscript paper.  (This is a first.)

The credits continued and I started a personal project that I can't do at home (because my laptop doesn't have a word processor). It's a project I've been meaning to tackle for at least a month and I would still like to put off for another forever but today I just dove in and didn't need any urging.  So I stayed.

I stayed long enough that I wondered if it would mess me up too much to not have dinner until 8 o'clock or so which is when I'd get home if I left at that time. So I thought I should leave.  But I wanted to keep working. So I put together my evening meal from the stuff I used for lunch and it was great.

I made myself a coffee and... it's funny.  It's funny the way the Lord speaks to me sometimes.


[Sometimes He calls me "honey" which is (I suppose not coincidentally) what my earthly father sometimes calls me.  It has a really weird vibe to it because my earthly father calls me that and I have all sorts of baggage and struggles in that relationship. But my Heavenly Father, o how He loves.


He's made my anger subside, which was really unexpected.  It wasn't full, unbridled anger, it was the angry-sad combo which I sometimes think only women experience.  I think it's righteous anger and part of my sadness was at the thought of an irreversibly injured relationship with the addressee of my eleven-line letter.


He's made my anger subside such that I feel like I can talk to this person now.  I don't feel the big, fat wall that I thought was going to make it impossible to speak or to have eye-contact.  I'm relieved.  I don't want disaster.]


The Lord says, "have a coffee, honey," and I am glad for my Dad.  I'm glad that in the empty, dark building while I am sad and at a weird crossroads at the end of an oh-so-strange week, He is right there.  He is more than present in the physical space, He is with me in such a profound way. He wants to be with me and He cares. (I can't usually say those things from my own conviction, as if I am likable or deserving. I can only say it this evening because it's obvious.  It's palpable, it's hanging in the air.)

I am loved.


And that is a thing.


The Lord has softened my heart (and my resolve!) and made me able to wait at least one day before I do or say anything.  From the get-go I knew I had to had to had to wait before I acted (to get in at least one night's sleep) because I was too emotional. But no part of me wanted to wait or felt capable of waiting.  I was ready to pick up the phone.

But now I can wait.  And now my view is less clouded.  And now - and this has really surprised me - I see that I still love.  I still love the addressee deeply and this obstacle isn't going to be insurmountable.  Thank You, Jesus: You're the Guy that does the stuff.  You got this.

Find rest from wrong. (A film review but not really.)

I didn't really want to be that guy who writes a blog post about the first time they watched Les Misérables (2012) but here I am.  It keeps hovering in the back of my mind like few films/plays have.

My thoughts:

-This production was well done.  I see why it's such a juggernaut in the realm of Theatre.  I get why it's in the canon; I greatly respect the composers/contributors.

-It's so refreshing to hear un-doctored singing.

-The depictions of patriotism are staggering.  The fight for justice, the struggle to not be trampled, it is shown in raw form and all of me was rooting for the Trampled.

-There were things about the plot that I didn't like which I don't think I'll mention because that is a different critique.

-The cinematography, the casting, the costumes, the musical arrangements, it was all riveting. It is incredibly rare for me to be unable to do anything else while watching a film.  I usually go out of my way to make sure I've got something else to work on.  With Les Misérables, I couldn't even EAT while watching.

-Russel Crowe deserves props. I don't know why haters be hatin.

-Fantine's story made me angry beyond words.

-The perfect synchronisation of content and form in virtually every song was simply brilliant.  Rousing battle cries sounded like rousing battle cries.  Laments sounded like laments.  Slimy brothel calls sounded like slimy brothel calls. Monologues felt like monologues.  Hope was hopeful. Love was love.  It's well done and that kind of writing is not easy.  Many don't know that kind of writing exists.

-Sacha Baron Cohen impressed me and I think he played well opposite Helena Bonham Carter.  Cohen is a gifted actor and singer.  I wish his work wasn't so often lewd.

-If I'm getting the term right, I think this production of Les Misérables succeeded in a cathartic depiction of prostitution, poverty and war violence (among other things).  I think their depiction was so accurate that the audience didn't think those things were being celebrated.  I think the presentation was so accurate that we wanted to turn away, not to keep watching the smooth choreography or listening to the qualitatively excellent music.

-It was Eponine's solo in the rain, I think around Minute 90, when the title finally clicked for me.  Watching her sing her heart out in anguish, I noted the trend of people expressing deep sorrow through song and then beginning to cry.  I thought, "everyone's SAD in this movie!"  And then I had my duh moment.

-The character Gavroche?? A gem.  And perfectly cast.

-I was about eight minutes into the film (I glanced at the DVD player to be sure I wasn't exaggerating) when I started to cry.  And, as far as I can remember, I have never cried at a movie.  I have been choked up a couple dozen times but I have never so spontaneously broken into tears and then begun sobbing.

Let me tell you why.

Our first protagonist, M. Jean Valjean, has been given papers that mean his status of criminal will follow him the rest of his life.  The papers don't show the details of the "crime" and they leave no room for grace.  Upon his release from nineteen years enslaved/imprisoned we see Valjean has no success finding work or a place to rest his head.  I guess this is what the government (the crown?) intended -- if he can't work or sleep, they have sent him to death.

It makes a difference that we know Valjean was branded a criminal because he stole bread to feed a dying nephew.  It makes a difference that we think he was disproportionately punished and that being on parole for life, being treated like scum for life, is largely unjust.  He is forced to let the papers be his credibility, his character sketch, his trustworthiness and implicitly his value. The justice lover in me is steadily growing more and more incensed.

Scene: Valjean is huddled in a dark corner of a stable, trying to find sleep on the ground.
Someone opens the door and spots him.  Valjean jumps up, ready to flee for his life but the man tells him to come in and partake of wine, food, heat and a bed.  [cue tears]

The tears flow faster as I realise the man didn't even ask for papers so effectively, he didn't care whether he was welcoming a violent murderer. He wasn't asking for a label so he could size up a man in a moment.

And then, processing what I'm feeling, I start thinking, that's the Church. I felt so proud to be a part of it. I felt so glad that the Church, at various points in history, has been the one that shows up when the world wants you dead or goes out of its way to make you feel worthless.
I felt like I was pointing, shouting and leaning out of my seat like the parent whose child just nailed a dismount or hit a homerun. "That's MY Church!!"

That's the Church that Jesus built and is still building. (It's not really "mine" at all.) I'm so glad to be a part of it. I'm so glad to be a part of the Body that's doing what's right.  Here: have some food, have some shelter, have some clothes, get warm.  You are valuable.

When the Church gets it right, it's profoundly beautiful.  It's profoundly beautiful.

I'm looking at the gorgeous abbey or convent or whatever it would have been called in early nineteenth-century France and thinking, these people get nothing out of extending themselves like this to strangers!  They know exactly Who it is that they serve. They know well that what the Church does usually doesn't make sense to the world. And it makes Jesus look so much better.  He's the guy that makes [read: compels, enables] us do right--and we love it.  We delight in serving those Jesus has given us to stand in His place, those He has given us to serve as if we are serving Him.  It's a beautiful thing and it's a joy.

"Then the King will say to those on his right, 'Come, you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world.  For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.'

"Then the righteous will answer him, 'Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you?  When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?'

"The King will reply, 'Truly I tell you, whatever you did for the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.'"


If this movie had no other effect on my life than causing me to worship Jesus, to see the Church better, to love it more and to want to engage more, it would be more than alright.

A post that took a while to compose.

I would like to write an essay on how our love of superheroes is a very real reflection of our yearning for Jesus, but I'm not sure I could do the topic justice. (Pun not intended.)

I think of it most when I'm watching the Batman movies, particularly the most recent three. We all know that Gotham City is dark and getting darker and we recognise the need for someone partially outside the situation - someone invested in Gotham but not corrupted by it - to break in and stop the spiral.

In the scenes after Batman gets his suit, car, cave or after Spiderman figures out how to web, aren't we pinning our hopes on him showing up when that screaming lady is being mugged in a back alley? Don't Marvel and DC set it up for us to expect the crime-fighter to show up precisely when needed, to defend the defenceless and exact justice? To be selfless and throw himself into danger for someone else's good?

I know I do. I root so hard. I get right into it.

Humans are great at recognising moral evil; we just lie about it most of the time. We are happy to excuse someone else's evil if it means they won't mention ours. I don't think we see nearly as much grey as we claim to.

The superhero is always flawed; he usually has massive inner turmoil; he's often ousted from normal society, misunderstood, framed or impeded by the law. (He'll do what our hearts know is just but what the law will string him up for.)

But Jesus is better. He doesn't have flaws or baggage, He isn't bound by the law or social/societal norms and His justice literally could not be better. (He's also not bothered by space, time or sin.)

He does show up at exactly the right time to rescue and He rescues completely.

And He loves. And He stays in the dark alley instead of slipping back into the shadows. And His identity isn't dual or hidden. 

I think we gravitate toward and root for superheroes because we can feel our need for an outsider to intervene and get us out of deep trouble.

Shoot- now I really wanna watch The Dark Knight.

happy/pleased

•I currently have the luxury of being able to recline on a soft surface and do relaxing/energising things for about an hour before I need to go to sleep. 

•I feel almost like I'm on hols this week (and last) because working as a receptionist is such a delight for me. It's like all the unsatisfied skills/tendencies/desired areas of service inside me get lit it up brilliantly. It's a joy.

•I made some great headway with a big work project earlier today and I think there's enough momentum for me to be able to put it down for tonight and finish tomorrow. 

•I'm grateful that I don't need to be up before the sun tomorrow. It's like a vacation. 

•I have no large, looming relational issues at the moment. Those can preoccupy my thoughts to a crippling degree.

•It has been a good weekend with a great balance of people time and alone time. I feel like a new precedent has been set.

•I got to spend a couple hours studying the Word.

•I have a big admin project that I'm looking forward to tackling this week. Like, really looking forward because the success of it has real Kingdom and Church implications.

•I have several writing projects on my figurative desk this week - one close to finish, two half-done, another one-quarter finished - and I am enjoying bouncing between them as I think them out over the course of my day/week. On top of this, a proofreading gig found me this morning. Color me chuffed.

•I'm tired at bed time!

•The house is quiet.

•I just caught an ep of the Simpsons.

•I feel refreshed and unburdened for some reason. I wish I could explain it.