© 2010 David's Harp and Pen
Mood: Hopelessly Romantic
DISCLAIMERS: This blog is based, in part, upon actual events and people. Certain actions and characters have been dramatized and fictionalized, but are inspired by true events and real people. Certain other characters, events, and names used herein are entirely fictitious. Any similarity of those fictional characters or events to the name, attributes, or background of any real person, living or dead, or to any actual events is coincidental and uninten…oh, what’s my problem? I should spend less time trying to protect others from embarrassment and more time protecting myself!
Dear Sharon,
You have no idea how excited I was to get your letter, as excited as an uptight, anal-retentive, overly-analytical, emotionally unavailable man can get. (That was me trying to be funny, as well as come to terms with certain character flaws I didn’t want to admit I had. Did it work? I really am trying. Attempting humor other than sarcasm is still foreign to me, so I ask once more for you to please be patient.)
You have been on my mind, too, so much so that I’ve found it hard to concentrate on little else. I know all the women at work are tired of me mistakenly calling them by your name. I miss you so much, in fact, that a few weeks ago, I made a journey to Cold Mountain, and I forced myself to look past the fact that it was mostly Englishmen and Australians playing American characters, that most of their American Southern accents were horrible, that it was an Englishman directing a film about the American Civil War, that is was filmed in Romania and not North Carolina, and that I probably couldn’t have watched the graphic love scenes if I knew that Jesus was physically sitting next to me (that was also a run at humor, mind you. How am I doing?)
Anyway, I wanted to tell you, I get it. I finally get it. Everything you said about being broken, when the reasons for and the end result of the brokenness aren’t apparent. What you said about things that look like detours sometimes being the most important part of the journey. What you said about the necessity of life and that relationships do sometimes get messy so that the beauty and order of Christ could really shine through. I understand, at long last. Inman was a much better man than I gave him credit for, and that you would refer to me as your Inman thrills me to no end.
Thank you for being so honest with me. Thank you for the honest and heartfelt apologies. Just from the tone of your letter, I know that God has done some big things in your life since we spoke a year ago. It’s time for me, though, to make some apologies and explanations of my own.
I cannot forget that huge argument we had and all those things I said to you. Honestly, when I think about it, it almost seems like it was someone else saying all those things instead of me, but it was me, and I must own that. I was so angry and so frustrated, but instead of being honest about it, I stuffed it until it consumed me and allowed myself to be cowardly and selfish, someone I hate. The look on your face when it was all over…it has haunted me over the last year. Even though we talked about it afterwards and I felt, at the time, I had made sufficient amends, I see now that there’s still a world of explaining to do. Since I last saw you, I have come to see how much anger I have pent up, that I don’t exercise nearly the self-control I like to think I do, and that for all intents and purposes, I became a fire-breathing dragon. I am sorry. There is no excuse, and I am working on doing much better in the future.
When I told you that you weren’t my first choice…I know how much that hurt you, and I’m sorry to say at the time, that was my intention. I know how many times people have told you they didn’t like you when they had met you, or they were surprised when you did something well, because their first impression of you didn’t give them much reason to hope. In this last year apart, however, I have learned something about my own judgement. Let me explain:
When I met you, you were working in the church bookstore. I came in and asked you about a book. I was taken aback by what a high-pitched, squeaky speaking voice you had, like that woman on that TV show that I refuse to watch. As you answered me, you put your hand on the counter, which caused the caster on the bottom to come loose. The counter slanted, and the cash register went flying into my shin, making a dent still visible today. At that moment, I would’ve been happy if I’d never seen you again.
Yet as I got to know you better, I realized that you were not the person I thought you were. You told me that I surprised you. I think of the two of us, though, I was more surprised. You say some of the goofiest, silliest things I’ve ever heard, and yet you can sit down and talk and write about theology, science, politics, practically anything with the best of them. You are silly, yet so wise. You are so funny, yet when the occasion warrants, deadly serious. You are a series of glaring, yet wholly cohesive contradictions. The truth is, you are constantly surprising me.
I always had a vision of what the woman I would marry was going to be like. She was going to grow up in a Christian home, have been home-schooled and graduated from a Christian college, be a virgin, quiet, sweet, supportive, never talk back to me, and think I was the most brilliant, strongest, handsomest, and Godliest man on the face of the earth. You fit some of that description, but not the majority. You grew up the hard way. You had to fend for yourself. You have the innocence and the purity of someone who was sheltered without having the privilege of actually being sheltered. In fact, if you hadn’t told me about your childhood, I wouldn’t have known, because you’ve always got so much joy, even when you’re depressed. Even though it’s been challenging to walk with you through some of the emotional stuff you’ve had to go through, I wouldn’t trade you for anyone. I’d do it again if I had to. And I’ll keep walking through that with you, because what I’ve learned in life is that we never fully overcome our hurts and fears, we just learn how to lean on grace when we need it the most. You have a purity that only comes from being tried in the fire. You have a beauty that only comes from being refined repeatedly by the Master. You have a wisdom and a strength to offer that only comes from letting God take you through the desert and back. So, all this is to say that what I wanted wasn’t what was truly best for me, and now that I know what is best for me, I see what I really want is you. What I mean to say is (you’re so much better at giving compliments than I am), even though you were not my first choice, I see now that you are my best and only choice. I would never have thought that the goofiest, silliest, funniest woman on earth would be my only hope for sanity and stability and focus to stay the course and fight the good fight, but I guess God knows better than I do.
I must apologize/explain something else, mainly when I told you to “get a grip.” I do not have the background you do. Yes, my family had its issues, as do all families, but I was pretty fortunate to grow up in a Christian home and have parents who provided for me as well as mine did. I didn’t experience a lot in the way of challenges. I’ve never had anyone close to me die. I’ve never struggled with my health. I’d also like to think that, even though you’re the one with the Jewish blood, I’m the one that was just destined to make money (heh!). Until about 15 months ago, I certainly had never experienced—how do you put it?—the collective @#$! hitting the proverbial fan. I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to make everything all better for you, and be strong for you, and I didn’t know how. So, I got frustrated with you, and told you to snap out of it, and get a grip, etc., etc. I did a lot of thinking and praying about what I said to you, that I handled my own little “dark night of the soul” better than I thought you were handling yours. And then it dawned on me: the reason I got through my crisis as well as I did was only because of you. You never told me to “get a grip.” You always made me laugh, always helped me to see the big picture, always interceded for me. The truth is, you made me forget how miserable I really should have been in that situation, how miserable so many of my buddies had been in the same situation. You were a constant bright spot and always there for me. You didn’t let me feel sorry for myself, by any means, but you didn’t trivialize what I was going through. Then, when it was your time of difficulty, did I repay the love and kindness you showed me? No. I really thought all my advice and “putting you in your place” was my way of being helpful. I see now all it did was make your healing process that much longer. I was wrong, and I am so sorry.
I was humbled by that list you made of all the things you appreciated about me. It’s nice to know that, at least in your eyes, I got so many things right. The truth is, though, that I didn’t fight for you in one very important aspect, and that was I didn’t let myself feel your pain. I didn’t put myself in your shoes, nor did I try to bear your burden as I should have. When I saw you in pain, and crying all the time, I didn’t know what to do. I just wanted it all to end for you; not recognizing that this was something God was bringing you through for a very specific purpose. Men like to be strong. We like to be heroic and daring for the women we love. I would’ve preferred rescuing you from a burning building, or pulling you from railroad tracks as a speeding locomotive rushed towards you. That would’ve been very simple and straightforward. Since I didn’t see the way out for you and I couldn’t understand why all the textbook, spiritual-sounding things weren’t doing you any good, I felt helpless. When I think of being strong for you, I think in terms of fighting hard and standing tall. What you needed in this case was for me to lay my life down and get on my knees. I didn’t see that. So, instead of taking my fear and inability to help you to God, and doing the work of sitting at His feet and listening to what He had to say, I let it turn to frustration and anger and blame and I directed it all on you. In this last year, I have learned what it’s meant to walk in your shoes, and I’ll tell you more about it when I see you in person. For the time being, let me say I am so sorry, even though words will always fail to convey how badly I feel about how I judged you, or how I have been humbled in your absence.
I see so much of what you said when we were together was true. Underneath this bravado and sarcasm is an extremely shy and trepidatious man. When you pointed it out to me, I blew you off, but you were right. When you get past all my Bible knowledge and statistics quoting, at the heart is someone who really has no idea how to connect with people at the soul level or be transparent. I thought I did, but I don’t. You said to me, a little over a year ago, “You have no problem saying, ‘I used to struggle with such-and-such,’ but you have a big problem saying, ‘I am really struggling with such-and-such at the present moment.’” Now that I’ve acknowledged it, though, I can work on it and get past it. I wondered, at first, how you could’ve recognized that in me when you’d known me for such a short period of time. Then I discovered how shy you really are. How much of an introvert you are. Yet you apply yourself so diligently to talk to people, to empathize with others, and carry others’ burdens. And if you can do it, then I can, too.
You said that I was a picture to you of the unchanging nature of God’s character. I could write a whole book about how you’ve reflected God to me. The way you bear other’s burdens. The way you, like the Holy Spirit, speak such conviction to me at the moments when I least expect it. The way you seem to see right through people and can perceive what’s going on in their hearts, just like Jesus did. The way, even in the most exasperating situations, you can see how God is moving and working behind the scenes. How, even when I’ve seen you at your lowest, you will reach out to those around you who are hurting and speak to them of the goodness of God. How, with all you endured throughout your life, I’ve never heard you talk about being angry with God, even though I know so many people who have walked away from Him after enduring much less than you. How you are much quicker to talk about your struggles and the grace God has shown you than you are to talk about your talents and your successes. All the times I have been like Elisha’s servant, overwhelmed by the circumstances I saw mounted against me, and you have been Elisha, and you prayed that God would open my eyes to see all of God’s armies rushing in to my defense. You have been to me my ezer kenegdo, my desperately-needed life-saver.
I could write here all the things I’ve learned about God from you, all the ways you have blessed me and changed me, but I will save that for another letter. Let me say now, that I love you. I love you most ferociously. You make me want to be a better man, and you have already made me a better man. (And, at the risk of sounding selfish, I’m glad I’m the only man on earth who realizes how wonderful you are, because if all the other men ever caught on, I’d spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder and fighting them off!)
I am telling you now, you will not out-love me. You will not out-give me. You will not out-serve me. I don’t say that to sound egotistical, either, like I have to be number one. However, I am your covering. God has given you to me to lead and to love. And just as Jesus said that any one who wants to be first must be servant of all, if I’m to be the head of and high priest of my home, I know I must first set the example of being a servant, and a giver, and a lover.
You are lovely. You have such amazing, big mood-ring eyes that change color and are so full of wonder and amazement yet can burn a hole right through me when I get out of line. You are my Godly, virtuous, beautiful, wise, funny, selfless super hero! (I hope that came out right. It seems like whenever I try to compliment someone, it always comes out sounding like an insult. I’m still working on it.)
I’ll be your Inman if you’ll be my Ada. I’ll be your Johnny if you’ll be my June. I’ll be your George if you’ll be my Gracie. I’ll be your 86 if you’ll be my 99. Most importantly, I’ll be your Boaz if you’ll be my Ruth.
Inman risked imprisonment and death to walk 250 miles to get back to Ada. He didn’t know if she was still alive, or if she’d found someone else, or if she even loved him. God has given me a crash course in that kind of love and that kind of vision, and I want you to know you are worth every step.
I’m not the poet. You are, but I hope you at least appreciate the attempt. Mr. Inman and I have become good friends in recent days, and I’d like to think if he read this, he’d approve:
INMAN
If it were enough
To stand here without the words
To stand and still be heard
And be heard rightly
And because it’s enough for you
I’ll let my heart speak loudly
That you bring out the poetry in me
You inspire a soulful symphony
That stirs my senses
Moves me past awkward silences
You make me see
Just how free I’m meant to be
If it were enough
To stand here without the words
Let you simply see you’ve stirred
This hope within me
And because it’s enough for you
I’ve found means to say it clearly
And you love me enough to take me as I am
But you love me enough not to let me stay as I am
That you bring out the best of what I am
You make me aspire to something grand
Break through my shyness
You’re the calm when I am restless
And of this I am sure
You’re the words I have been searching for
Love,
BKR
The End
Milk!!!!
Friday, February 18, 2011
Friday, February 4, 2011
Rumble Fish by Sharon Lurie
© 2010 David's Harp and Pen
Mood: Cinephilic
DISCLAIMERS: This blog is based, in part, upon actual events and people. Certain actions and characters have been dramatized and fictionalized, but are inspired by true events and real people. Certain other characters, events, and names used herein are entirely fictitious. Any similarity of those fictional characters or events to the name, attributes, or background of any real person, living or dead, or to any actual events is coincidental and unintentional. Well, maybe not any similarity, and perhaps not totally unintentional. It’s 3:35 in the morning and I’ve not slept in ages, so no one can say for certain just yet.
Who I thought was the hero
Was just a misguided idol
As I’m forged in the fire
I pray to be pliable
It’s fallen to me
To become that hero
But I can’t lead anyone
If I’ve nowhere to go
Maybe I’m wiser
Than led to believe
Maybe my troubles
I too acutely perceive
I could be free
If I only knew how
And be great if
I could shake what I am now
Happy only tomorrow
And chained to what’s been
I wear this terror
Just like a second skin
I can do anything
I put my hands to
But nothing my heart
Wants to attach itself to
Maybe I’m wiser
Than led to believe
Maybe my troubles
I too acutely perceive
I could be free
If I only knew how
And be great if
I could shake what I am now
My blind terror too often
Passes for courage
In victory so empty
It’s my own heart that’s ravaged
So this is my fate
To war with my reflection
For I’m blind to my color
Defined by my contradiction
Maybe I’m wiser
Than led to believe
Maybe my troubles
I too acutely perceive
I could be free
If I only knew how
And be great if
I could shake what I am now
Perhaps in what I do
And not what’s beheld in my eyes
Is where the source
Of my insanity lies
My idols have fallen
But hope, there remains a sliver
I can at last touch the ocean
If I can get to the river
Maybe You’re wiser
Than I was led to believe
Maybe my troubles
You acutely perceive
I could be free
If I only knew how
And be great if
I could shake what I am now
Would You open my eyes
To behold every hue
That I might shed the grayness
I’ve been beholden to
To know what I’m fighting for
And know where I’m going
To drown in hope’s current
With no danger of slowing
Indeed You’re wiser
Than led to believe
My heart’s burning troubles
You’ve thoroughly relieved
And so I am free
For You’ve shown me how
And made who I want to be
Who I am now
The End
Milk!!!!
Mood: Cinephilic
DISCLAIMERS: This blog is based, in part, upon actual events and people. Certain actions and characters have been dramatized and fictionalized, but are inspired by true events and real people. Certain other characters, events, and names used herein are entirely fictitious. Any similarity of those fictional characters or events to the name, attributes, or background of any real person, living or dead, or to any actual events is coincidental and unintentional. Well, maybe not any similarity, and perhaps not totally unintentional. It’s 3:35 in the morning and I’ve not slept in ages, so no one can say for certain just yet.
Who I thought was the hero
Was just a misguided idol
As I’m forged in the fire
I pray to be pliable
It’s fallen to me
To become that hero
But I can’t lead anyone
If I’ve nowhere to go
Maybe I’m wiser
Than led to believe
Maybe my troubles
I too acutely perceive
I could be free
If I only knew how
And be great if
I could shake what I am now
Happy only tomorrow
And chained to what’s been
I wear this terror
Just like a second skin
I can do anything
I put my hands to
But nothing my heart
Wants to attach itself to
Maybe I’m wiser
Than led to believe
Maybe my troubles
I too acutely perceive
I could be free
If I only knew how
And be great if
I could shake what I am now
My blind terror too often
Passes for courage
In victory so empty
It’s my own heart that’s ravaged
So this is my fate
To war with my reflection
For I’m blind to my color
Defined by my contradiction
Maybe I’m wiser
Than led to believe
Maybe my troubles
I too acutely perceive
I could be free
If I only knew how
And be great if
I could shake what I am now
Perhaps in what I do
And not what’s beheld in my eyes
Is where the source
Of my insanity lies
My idols have fallen
But hope, there remains a sliver
I can at last touch the ocean
If I can get to the river
Maybe You’re wiser
Than I was led to believe
Maybe my troubles
You acutely perceive
I could be free
If I only knew how
And be great if
I could shake what I am now
Would You open my eyes
To behold every hue
That I might shed the grayness
I’ve been beholden to
To know what I’m fighting for
And know where I’m going
To drown in hope’s current
With no danger of slowing
Indeed You’re wiser
Than led to believe
My heart’s burning troubles
You’ve thoroughly relieved
And so I am free
For You’ve shown me how
And made who I want to be
Who I am now
The End
Milk!!!!
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Too Good to Be True (or Free) by Sharon Lurie
© 2001 David’s Harp and Pen
Mood: Festive, Though Slightly Scrooge-y
DISCLAIMER
This blog is based, in part, upon actual events and people. Certain actions and characters have been dramatized and fictionalized, but are inspired by true events and real people. Certain other characters, events, and names used herein are entirely fictitious. Any similarity of those fictional characters or events to the name, attributes, or background of any real person, living or dead, or to any actual events is coincidental and unintentional, so I better not hear from non-profit Christian music radio stations, cemeteries, divorcees, or Methodist churches. When someone’s had as many macabre holidays as I have, one is entitled to a “ba, humbug” every now and then.
“…Yes, folks, you just heard Amy Grant’s lovely rendition of ‘O, Little Town of Bethlehem,’ and you all know what that means—yes! It’s the start of WWJD’s annual 12 Days of Christmas, where your friends here at listener supported Christian radio play the best Christmas music from your favorite Christian artists nonstop! Of course, none of this would be possible without your generous support, and since this is the season of giving, why not consider making a financial gift to keep this vital ministry going?”
Lucy groaned as she hit the snooze bar on her alarm clock, then rolled back over in bed, pulling the covers over her head. “How can those DJs sound so cheery at 6 in the morning?” she mumbled to herself, “and how did Christmas get to be coming up so soon? Wasn’t it Christmas just a year ago?”
Before she could finish her thoughts, Lucy’s alarm clock radio started blaring again, this time playing what had to be the umpteenth remake of “Carol of the Bells.” Lucy then reached from under her blanket, shut off the clock radio, and began to slowly peel the covers back. As her eyes scanned her bedroom, they quickly fell on the window opposite her bed. Sure enough, the biggest sign of Christmas’s imminent arrival, after the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade, was falling in front of her eyes: small, delicate, white snowflakes were whizzing about outside in the pre-winter wind.
“Oh, well,” Lucy thought, “fall was nice while it lasted.”
Lucy then shuffled out of her bedroom towards the kitchen, when a twinge of horror came over her: the Christmas fairy had attacked the kitchen and living room! Everywhere she looked were various Christmas decorations—manger scenes, candy canes, elves, and Santas as far as the eye could see.
“Oh no!” Lucy moaned in disgust, “Who is responsible for this?”
“Merry Christmas, my dear!” sang a chipper, upbeat voice, as Lucy’s roommate Joan embraced Lucy from behind and kissed her on the cheek. “Do you like what I’ve done with the place?”
“Did St. Nick crash land his sleigh in here?”
“I’m trying to get in the Christmas mood, so I got up early and put up all these decorations. What do you think?”
“I think I’m going back to bed. Wake me up in March,” Lucy retorted sarcastically. Lucy didn’t like any holidays, but Christmas was her least favorite of all. Most of her memories of Christmas consisted of family get togethers that always turned into family feuds. Over the years, she adopted the attitude that Christmas held nothing good for her and should be avoided altogether.
“Do you know where I could find a cheap Christmas tree?” Joan asked, ignoring Lucy’s sarcasm.
“There are some nice pine trees at the cemetery across the street,” Lucy replied.
“I don’t think those are for sale.”
“Even if they’re not, they’d do fine for a Christmas tree. Besides, I doubt if any of the residents would notice one missing.”
“Well, if you see or hear of any, let me know. If I can afford it, I’d like to get one.”
Lucy slowly started heading back to her bedroom, trying to forget about all the festivities. As she reached her bedroom door, she turned quickly and noticed Joan staring at her wedding picture, hanging next to the front hall closet. Tears began to well up in Joan’s eyes as she glared at the picture, undoubtedly thinking about her husband who had walked out on her right after Thanksgiving the year before. As she wiped the tears away, she put on a smile and started singing “Away in a Manger” to take her mind off the events of seasons past.
“Lord, I feel really bad now,” Lucy prayed quietly as she walked back into her room. “I know Joan’s trying really hard to get her mind off the divorce, and I’m just being a scrooge. Please forgive me, God, and help me find a cheap Christmas tree.”
The small flurry of snowflakes falling outside seemed to be coming down with greater intensity now, so Lucy turned the radio on to catch a weather forecast. The same, overly happy DJ from earlier could be heard attempting to spread even more holiday cheer, causing Lucy to turn up her nose and roll back her eyes.
“Yes, we’re looking at possibly four inches of snow by evening and temperatures down in the low single digits, perfect weather for snuggling by the fire and roasting chestnuts with that special someone,” the DJ announced, waxing nostalgic.
“Give me a break!” Lucy scowled, reaching again for the radio to turn it off.
“And First United Methodist Church in Clayton is giving away free Christmas trees this year. Yes, that’s right, as a service to our community, First United Methodist Church is giving away some beautiful Christmas trees as a way to share God’s love this season. For more information, you can call the church at 555-6789.”
“Free Christmas trees?” Lucy thought as she finally got around to turning off the radio. “No, it’s probably just for underprivileged people or anyone that makes less money than I do.”
The snow continued well past evening and through the morning, completely blanketing the area. School had been called off, many church services had been cancelled, and even the holiday shopping rush seemed to be slowing down amidst the early season deep freeze. Lucy awoke once more to the sound of the radio station DJ who was simply too happy for her, or perhaps Lucy’s, own good.
“Looks like it’s going to be another cold one out there, Folks, so make sure you bundle up and keep your radio dial set on your listener supported Christian music station for the latest weather updates and your favorite Yuletide tunes. By the way, our friends at First United Methodist say that they’ve still got plenty of trees to give away, so be sure to stop by some time today, whether by car or by bobsled, and pick up yours. This offer is too good to pass up. While you’re there, make sure you tell them that your friends at listener supported Yes Radio sent you. Remember, it’s because of your generous contributions that we can bring this music…”
“I hate her!” Lucy mumbled, repeating the scene set the morning before. Only one day into the Christmas season and she’d had about all she could stand of the holiday cheer and not-so-subtle requests for money from every charity on earth. “I can’t believe they’ve still got trees to give away, though. Maybe people couldn’t make it out to the church because of the bad weather.”
Lucy paced around her bedroom, looking for the motivation to get dressed and trudge out in the snow to work. Motivation for much of anything except sleep had been hard to find recently. Lucy was working a lot of extra hours at her job, trying to make up for the three months she’d missed during the summer before because her car accident. Christmas reminded her all the more of how far in the hole financially she really was, and she wasn’t sure how she’d ever swing the necessary cash to buy presents for everyone. As she started sinking deeper into self-pity, though, she remembered Joan. Poor Joan, whose husband had left her with a stack of bills a mile high and a kid to put through college on her own. Pretty much everything Joan had made over the last year was going to her lawyer for a messy divorce that seemed like it would never, ever settle. No, now isn’t the time to be self-centered, Lucy thought to herself. Joan needed her help to get through the holidays this year, and Lucy wasn’t going to let her down. Slowly, she marched over to the telephone and dialed the radio station.
“Good morning, and thank you for calling your listener supported Christian music station, Yes Radio. This is Gracie Greer, your Morning Cheer!”
“Ah, yeah!” Lucy replied, clearing her throat and trying to sound cordial, “I was wanting some more information about the free Christmas trees. I’ve heard you announce them a few times and I…”
“Why yes, that’s correct, ma’am. First United Methodist Church on Clayton,” Gracie interrupted, repeating from the announcement the day before word for word, “is giving away free Christmas trees this year. Yes, that’s right, as a service to our community, First United Methodist Church is giving away some beautiful Christmas trees as a way to share God’s love this season. For more information, you can call the church at 555-6789.”
“That’s great, but what I wanted to know before I call there was if there were any restrictions on who was eligible for a free tree, like if there was an income limitation of any sort or…”
“Well, not that I know of, but you’d better call the church and find out. I wouldn’t want to tell you the wrong thing and get both the church and you mad at me, especially not before our Annual Winter Share-a-thon, hint, hint!” Gracie cut in again, Lucy’s annoyance growing as the conversation progressed.
“Thanks a lot, Ms. Morning Cheer. You have a good day.”
“Wait, can I get your name, ma’am?”
“Lucy Cosgrove.”
“Easy, partner. Don’t go moseying off just right this second. Let me see if we’ve got you in the ‘puter.”
“What do you need me in your computer for?”
“We like to know who our friends are. Well, well, you’re name’s not in here, which means you’ve not yet contributed to listener supported Christian radio! How about that?”
“How about that?” Lucy retorted facetiously, her patience wearing thin, “must’ve plum slipped my mind!”
“Don’t worry, Darlin’, because now it’s easier than ever to partner with this vital ministry of sharing God’s love through the airwaves. For a pledge of only $20 a month, you can become one of our Yes, I’m Blessed! Club members, which means you’ll get a free Yes, I’m Blessed! Bumper sticker, refrigerator decal, a stuffed Yes, I’m Blessed! Club bear cub, and…”
“Gee, that sounds like a great deal. However, I’m in no financial position right now to give to anyone. I’ll keep you in mind, though, okay?” Lucy cut in, trying desperately to end the phone call before it went any further.
“That’s alright. Maybe you’d like to volunteer to work the phones for our upcoming Share-a-thon? It’s because of the generous contributions of time, talent, and treasure from listeners like you that make this ministry possible.”
“Golly, look at the time! I’m going to be late for work! I hate to cut this short! Thanks so much for your help,” Lucy quickly sputtered out as she hung up the phone. “Yeesh, the Energizer Bunny has nothing on old Gracie!”
Five o’clock quickly rolled around, and Lucy trudged out to her car and headed to the church. As she pulled into the church lot, she saw a field beside the church filled with bright green trees just waiting for someone to take them home.
“Hey,” Lucy thought to herself, “those trees look pretty nice. I can’t believe they’ve not gotten rid of them already.”
The wind seemed to blow just a little stronger and colder than it had before; as the chill blew against Lucy’s face, she could feel the chill in her heart get even stronger. Oh, how she hated this time of year, the weather a reminder of the emptiness she so often felt inside. How many Christmases had gone by up until now, marked not with cheer and warmth but by anger and bitterness, memories of those she loved most carrying on and arguing with one another about petty things, and the untold vacancies under the Christmas tree, if there was any Christmas tree at all?
“Pull yourself together, Luce,” she said quietly to herself, “let’s just get this over with.”
A cheery middle aged blonde woman sitting behind the receptionist’s desk greeted Lucy as she walked in the door. “Season’s Greetings. Welcome to First United Methodist. How may I help you?”
“Hi. I was interested in the Christmas trees you’re giving away,” Lucy replied, her head held down, too embarrassed to look the woman in the eye.
“Splendid. We’re trying to get rid of them. Did you see them in the field next to the church as you came into the parking lot? Just grab whatever tree catches your eye.”
“Now, I want you to know that I’m not a dead beat or a bum or anything like that.”
“Excuse me, young lady?”
“I work hard for my money, and normally buying a Christmas tree would be no problem, but I was in this car accident this summer, and I was out of work for awhile…”Lucy began to ramble.
“Miss, we don’t care how much money you do or do not make. We just do this so we can bless the community around us. I’m sure you’re a very hard worker and…” the woman replied, not sure where Lucy was going with her little monologue.
“Oh, I’m the hardest worker you’ll ever come across. And I’m a generous person, too. I donate 90% of my income to charity every year, too…well, every year except this year. I was out of work for three months from a car accident, and I’m still not caught up. You’ve got to understand, lady, I’m at rock bottom trying to dig my way out, and I can barely afford my rent, let alone money for a Christmas tree…”
“It’s not a problem. The trees are for anyone who wants them…”
“It’s not even for me so much, but for Joan, my roommate. Her husband left her last year, and she’s been depressed out of her mind, and she said the one thing she really wanted but couldn’t afford was a Christmas tree. I wanted to spare her the humiliation of having to come down here and beg for a tree. Besides, if she doesn’t get a tree, she’ll get so bummed out she’ll likely overdose on chocolate covered cherries or something,” Lucy continued, not once coming up for air and oblivious to the receptionist’s continued reassurances that the trees were for anyone.
“Young lady, why don’t you just follow me out to the field and pick out your tree?”
Lucy, deciding it best if she closed her mouth before putting her foot all the way down to her intestinal tract, quietly nodded and followed the woman out to the field. The tree-covered field caught Lucy’s eyes, and for a second, she didn’t feel the wind blowing against her face. Row after row of big, beautiful pines and spruces dotted the landscape. When the two approached a tree that Lucy liked, she turned and asked the woman,
“These are beautiful trees. How come you’re having such a hard time getting rid of them? I would’ve thought everyone would’ve snapped these all up by now.”
“Well, I’m not really sure. My guess is that no one really believes that the trees are free,” the woman replied.
Lucy picked out a tree, loaded it into her car, and headed home.
“Joan will be so happy when she sees this,” Lucy thought to herself. As she drove down Clayton towards the interstate, she looked up and noticed a Christmas billboard displaying a manger scene with some familiar words inscribed above it: ”for God so loved the world that He gave His One and Only Son, that whoever believes in Him will not perish but have eternal life.” Lucy’s mind then raced back to the church and the nice receptionist and one of the last things she said to Lucy before she went back into the church. “It’s really free, and it’s really meant for me.”
“Oh, you found a tree! It’s beautiful! Oh, and you decorated it, too! How much did it cost you?” Joan exclaimed as she walked in the front door and saw the tree for the first time.
“Not a cent,” Lucy replied, ”The price was paid for me.”
“Well…wow! I don’t know what to say! It looks great. You know, I couldn’t imagine having Christmas without a tree. I’m so happy! Hey, what do you say we throw a few more ornaments on here and then have dinner?”
“One second,” Lucy replied, “I’ve got something to do.” She walked into her bedroom and dialed the number for the Yes Radio.
“Merry Christmas from Yes Radio! This is Gracie Greer, your Holiday Cheer! How can I help you?” Gracie answered happily.
“Hi. This is the girl you talked to this morning. Can you sign me up for your next Share-a-thon?”
THE END
Milk!!!!!!!
Mood: Festive, Though Slightly Scrooge-y
DISCLAIMER
This blog is based, in part, upon actual events and people. Certain actions and characters have been dramatized and fictionalized, but are inspired by true events and real people. Certain other characters, events, and names used herein are entirely fictitious. Any similarity of those fictional characters or events to the name, attributes, or background of any real person, living or dead, or to any actual events is coincidental and unintentional, so I better not hear from non-profit Christian music radio stations, cemeteries, divorcees, or Methodist churches. When someone’s had as many macabre holidays as I have, one is entitled to a “ba, humbug” every now and then.
“…Yes, folks, you just heard Amy Grant’s lovely rendition of ‘O, Little Town of Bethlehem,’ and you all know what that means—yes! It’s the start of WWJD’s annual 12 Days of Christmas, where your friends here at listener supported Christian radio play the best Christmas music from your favorite Christian artists nonstop! Of course, none of this would be possible without your generous support, and since this is the season of giving, why not consider making a financial gift to keep this vital ministry going?”
Lucy groaned as she hit the snooze bar on her alarm clock, then rolled back over in bed, pulling the covers over her head. “How can those DJs sound so cheery at 6 in the morning?” she mumbled to herself, “and how did Christmas get to be coming up so soon? Wasn’t it Christmas just a year ago?”
Before she could finish her thoughts, Lucy’s alarm clock radio started blaring again, this time playing what had to be the umpteenth remake of “Carol of the Bells.” Lucy then reached from under her blanket, shut off the clock radio, and began to slowly peel the covers back. As her eyes scanned her bedroom, they quickly fell on the window opposite her bed. Sure enough, the biggest sign of Christmas’s imminent arrival, after the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade, was falling in front of her eyes: small, delicate, white snowflakes were whizzing about outside in the pre-winter wind.
“Oh, well,” Lucy thought, “fall was nice while it lasted.”
Lucy then shuffled out of her bedroom towards the kitchen, when a twinge of horror came over her: the Christmas fairy had attacked the kitchen and living room! Everywhere she looked were various Christmas decorations—manger scenes, candy canes, elves, and Santas as far as the eye could see.
“Oh no!” Lucy moaned in disgust, “Who is responsible for this?”
“Merry Christmas, my dear!” sang a chipper, upbeat voice, as Lucy’s roommate Joan embraced Lucy from behind and kissed her on the cheek. “Do you like what I’ve done with the place?”
“Did St. Nick crash land his sleigh in here?”
“I’m trying to get in the Christmas mood, so I got up early and put up all these decorations. What do you think?”
“I think I’m going back to bed. Wake me up in March,” Lucy retorted sarcastically. Lucy didn’t like any holidays, but Christmas was her least favorite of all. Most of her memories of Christmas consisted of family get togethers that always turned into family feuds. Over the years, she adopted the attitude that Christmas held nothing good for her and should be avoided altogether.
“Do you know where I could find a cheap Christmas tree?” Joan asked, ignoring Lucy’s sarcasm.
“There are some nice pine trees at the cemetery across the street,” Lucy replied.
“I don’t think those are for sale.”
“Even if they’re not, they’d do fine for a Christmas tree. Besides, I doubt if any of the residents would notice one missing.”
“Well, if you see or hear of any, let me know. If I can afford it, I’d like to get one.”
Lucy slowly started heading back to her bedroom, trying to forget about all the festivities. As she reached her bedroom door, she turned quickly and noticed Joan staring at her wedding picture, hanging next to the front hall closet. Tears began to well up in Joan’s eyes as she glared at the picture, undoubtedly thinking about her husband who had walked out on her right after Thanksgiving the year before. As she wiped the tears away, she put on a smile and started singing “Away in a Manger” to take her mind off the events of seasons past.
“Lord, I feel really bad now,” Lucy prayed quietly as she walked back into her room. “I know Joan’s trying really hard to get her mind off the divorce, and I’m just being a scrooge. Please forgive me, God, and help me find a cheap Christmas tree.”
The small flurry of snowflakes falling outside seemed to be coming down with greater intensity now, so Lucy turned the radio on to catch a weather forecast. The same, overly happy DJ from earlier could be heard attempting to spread even more holiday cheer, causing Lucy to turn up her nose and roll back her eyes.
“Yes, we’re looking at possibly four inches of snow by evening and temperatures down in the low single digits, perfect weather for snuggling by the fire and roasting chestnuts with that special someone,” the DJ announced, waxing nostalgic.
“Give me a break!” Lucy scowled, reaching again for the radio to turn it off.
“And First United Methodist Church in Clayton is giving away free Christmas trees this year. Yes, that’s right, as a service to our community, First United Methodist Church is giving away some beautiful Christmas trees as a way to share God’s love this season. For more information, you can call the church at 555-6789.”
“Free Christmas trees?” Lucy thought as she finally got around to turning off the radio. “No, it’s probably just for underprivileged people or anyone that makes less money than I do.”
The snow continued well past evening and through the morning, completely blanketing the area. School had been called off, many church services had been cancelled, and even the holiday shopping rush seemed to be slowing down amidst the early season deep freeze. Lucy awoke once more to the sound of the radio station DJ who was simply too happy for her, or perhaps Lucy’s, own good.
“Looks like it’s going to be another cold one out there, Folks, so make sure you bundle up and keep your radio dial set on your listener supported Christian music station for the latest weather updates and your favorite Yuletide tunes. By the way, our friends at First United Methodist say that they’ve still got plenty of trees to give away, so be sure to stop by some time today, whether by car or by bobsled, and pick up yours. This offer is too good to pass up. While you’re there, make sure you tell them that your friends at listener supported Yes Radio sent you. Remember, it’s because of your generous contributions that we can bring this music…”
“I hate her!” Lucy mumbled, repeating the scene set the morning before. Only one day into the Christmas season and she’d had about all she could stand of the holiday cheer and not-so-subtle requests for money from every charity on earth. “I can’t believe they’ve still got trees to give away, though. Maybe people couldn’t make it out to the church because of the bad weather.”
Lucy paced around her bedroom, looking for the motivation to get dressed and trudge out in the snow to work. Motivation for much of anything except sleep had been hard to find recently. Lucy was working a lot of extra hours at her job, trying to make up for the three months she’d missed during the summer before because her car accident. Christmas reminded her all the more of how far in the hole financially she really was, and she wasn’t sure how she’d ever swing the necessary cash to buy presents for everyone. As she started sinking deeper into self-pity, though, she remembered Joan. Poor Joan, whose husband had left her with a stack of bills a mile high and a kid to put through college on her own. Pretty much everything Joan had made over the last year was going to her lawyer for a messy divorce that seemed like it would never, ever settle. No, now isn’t the time to be self-centered, Lucy thought to herself. Joan needed her help to get through the holidays this year, and Lucy wasn’t going to let her down. Slowly, she marched over to the telephone and dialed the radio station.
“Good morning, and thank you for calling your listener supported Christian music station, Yes Radio. This is Gracie Greer, your Morning Cheer!”
“Ah, yeah!” Lucy replied, clearing her throat and trying to sound cordial, “I was wanting some more information about the free Christmas trees. I’ve heard you announce them a few times and I…”
“Why yes, that’s correct, ma’am. First United Methodist Church on Clayton,” Gracie interrupted, repeating from the announcement the day before word for word, “is giving away free Christmas trees this year. Yes, that’s right, as a service to our community, First United Methodist Church is giving away some beautiful Christmas trees as a way to share God’s love this season. For more information, you can call the church at 555-6789.”
“That’s great, but what I wanted to know before I call there was if there were any restrictions on who was eligible for a free tree, like if there was an income limitation of any sort or…”
“Well, not that I know of, but you’d better call the church and find out. I wouldn’t want to tell you the wrong thing and get both the church and you mad at me, especially not before our Annual Winter Share-a-thon, hint, hint!” Gracie cut in again, Lucy’s annoyance growing as the conversation progressed.
“Thanks a lot, Ms. Morning Cheer. You have a good day.”
“Wait, can I get your name, ma’am?”
“Lucy Cosgrove.”
“Easy, partner. Don’t go moseying off just right this second. Let me see if we’ve got you in the ‘puter.”
“What do you need me in your computer for?”
“We like to know who our friends are. Well, well, you’re name’s not in here, which means you’ve not yet contributed to listener supported Christian radio! How about that?”
“How about that?” Lucy retorted facetiously, her patience wearing thin, “must’ve plum slipped my mind!”
“Don’t worry, Darlin’, because now it’s easier than ever to partner with this vital ministry of sharing God’s love through the airwaves. For a pledge of only $20 a month, you can become one of our Yes, I’m Blessed! Club members, which means you’ll get a free Yes, I’m Blessed! Bumper sticker, refrigerator decal, a stuffed Yes, I’m Blessed! Club bear cub, and…”
“Gee, that sounds like a great deal. However, I’m in no financial position right now to give to anyone. I’ll keep you in mind, though, okay?” Lucy cut in, trying desperately to end the phone call before it went any further.
“That’s alright. Maybe you’d like to volunteer to work the phones for our upcoming Share-a-thon? It’s because of the generous contributions of time, talent, and treasure from listeners like you that make this ministry possible.”
“Golly, look at the time! I’m going to be late for work! I hate to cut this short! Thanks so much for your help,” Lucy quickly sputtered out as she hung up the phone. “Yeesh, the Energizer Bunny has nothing on old Gracie!”
Five o’clock quickly rolled around, and Lucy trudged out to her car and headed to the church. As she pulled into the church lot, she saw a field beside the church filled with bright green trees just waiting for someone to take them home.
“Hey,” Lucy thought to herself, “those trees look pretty nice. I can’t believe they’ve not gotten rid of them already.”
The wind seemed to blow just a little stronger and colder than it had before; as the chill blew against Lucy’s face, she could feel the chill in her heart get even stronger. Oh, how she hated this time of year, the weather a reminder of the emptiness she so often felt inside. How many Christmases had gone by up until now, marked not with cheer and warmth but by anger and bitterness, memories of those she loved most carrying on and arguing with one another about petty things, and the untold vacancies under the Christmas tree, if there was any Christmas tree at all?
“Pull yourself together, Luce,” she said quietly to herself, “let’s just get this over with.”
A cheery middle aged blonde woman sitting behind the receptionist’s desk greeted Lucy as she walked in the door. “Season’s Greetings. Welcome to First United Methodist. How may I help you?”
“Hi. I was interested in the Christmas trees you’re giving away,” Lucy replied, her head held down, too embarrassed to look the woman in the eye.
“Splendid. We’re trying to get rid of them. Did you see them in the field next to the church as you came into the parking lot? Just grab whatever tree catches your eye.”
“Now, I want you to know that I’m not a dead beat or a bum or anything like that.”
“Excuse me, young lady?”
“I work hard for my money, and normally buying a Christmas tree would be no problem, but I was in this car accident this summer, and I was out of work for awhile…”Lucy began to ramble.
“Miss, we don’t care how much money you do or do not make. We just do this so we can bless the community around us. I’m sure you’re a very hard worker and…” the woman replied, not sure where Lucy was going with her little monologue.
“Oh, I’m the hardest worker you’ll ever come across. And I’m a generous person, too. I donate 90% of my income to charity every year, too…well, every year except this year. I was out of work for three months from a car accident, and I’m still not caught up. You’ve got to understand, lady, I’m at rock bottom trying to dig my way out, and I can barely afford my rent, let alone money for a Christmas tree…”
“It’s not a problem. The trees are for anyone who wants them…”
“It’s not even for me so much, but for Joan, my roommate. Her husband left her last year, and she’s been depressed out of her mind, and she said the one thing she really wanted but couldn’t afford was a Christmas tree. I wanted to spare her the humiliation of having to come down here and beg for a tree. Besides, if she doesn’t get a tree, she’ll get so bummed out she’ll likely overdose on chocolate covered cherries or something,” Lucy continued, not once coming up for air and oblivious to the receptionist’s continued reassurances that the trees were for anyone.
“Young lady, why don’t you just follow me out to the field and pick out your tree?”
Lucy, deciding it best if she closed her mouth before putting her foot all the way down to her intestinal tract, quietly nodded and followed the woman out to the field. The tree-covered field caught Lucy’s eyes, and for a second, she didn’t feel the wind blowing against her face. Row after row of big, beautiful pines and spruces dotted the landscape. When the two approached a tree that Lucy liked, she turned and asked the woman,
“These are beautiful trees. How come you’re having such a hard time getting rid of them? I would’ve thought everyone would’ve snapped these all up by now.”
“Well, I’m not really sure. My guess is that no one really believes that the trees are free,” the woman replied.
Lucy picked out a tree, loaded it into her car, and headed home.
“Joan will be so happy when she sees this,” Lucy thought to herself. As she drove down Clayton towards the interstate, she looked up and noticed a Christmas billboard displaying a manger scene with some familiar words inscribed above it: ”for God so loved the world that He gave His One and Only Son, that whoever believes in Him will not perish but have eternal life.” Lucy’s mind then raced back to the church and the nice receptionist and one of the last things she said to Lucy before she went back into the church. “It’s really free, and it’s really meant for me.”
“Oh, you found a tree! It’s beautiful! Oh, and you decorated it, too! How much did it cost you?” Joan exclaimed as she walked in the front door and saw the tree for the first time.
“Not a cent,” Lucy replied, ”The price was paid for me.”
“Well…wow! I don’t know what to say! It looks great. You know, I couldn’t imagine having Christmas without a tree. I’m so happy! Hey, what do you say we throw a few more ornaments on here and then have dinner?”
“One second,” Lucy replied, “I’ve got something to do.” She walked into her bedroom and dialed the number for the Yes Radio.
“Merry Christmas from Yes Radio! This is Gracie Greer, your Holiday Cheer! How can I help you?” Gracie answered happily.
“Hi. This is the girl you talked to this morning. Can you sign me up for your next Share-a-thon?”
THE END
Milk!!!!!!!
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Give Thanks by Sharon Lurie
© 2010 David's Harp and Pen
Mood: Determined
DISCLAIMERS: This blog is based, in part, upon actual events and people. Certain actions and characters have been dramatized and fictionalized, but are inspired by true events and real people. Certain other characters, events, and names used herein are entirely fictitious. Any similarity of those fictional characters or events to the name, attributes, or background of any real person, living or dead, or to any actual events is coincidental and unintentional, so let’s just get this over with, shall we?
Give thanks.
Thanksgiving 2000. I tried as hard as I could to get into the spirit of the season, but I could see little for which I could be thankful. That summer, a friend I used to work with committed suicide. Shortly after that, the man I loved moved over 500 miles away from me. The beginning of September saw me leave a ministry I loved because of things going on to which I could not be a partner. Then, another friend, someone who had been like a mom to me, died in a motorcycle wreck. Four weeks later, my grandmother died. The morning I left to fly home for her funeral, I found my cat dead on the front lawn, torn apart by some larger animal.
I remember sitting in the airport in Cleveland, waiting for my connecting flight to New Jersey. For most of that day, I felt like my insides would collapse. It was at that moment, You invaded my reality, as You always do, and whispered two words that at the time, couldn’t have been more foreign to me.
Give thanks.
I flew back to Indiana right after the funeral, only to return to New Jersey a few weeks later to spend Thanksgiving with my family; I also planned to see the guy I missed so much. I told him how I felt about him, sure that he felt the same. He said he did not. In fact, what he did think of me was a blow I thought would surely finish me off. He had met someone else, someone who played games with his head and didn’t care about him at all. However, for some reason, he preferred someone who treated him like dirt over me. The basic rejection hurt even more in light of the one for whom he had rejected me.
When I returned to Indiana, I threw myself into preparation for my move to Nashville. I didn’t know anyone there. I had no job waiting for me. I had nothing waiting for me in my new home, but it really felt like I was leaving nothing behind, too.
I cried all the time. I was afraid to answer the phone, check email, or open letters because I was sure it would be bad news. Most of my friends who still stood by me didn’t know what to do with me. Some of them just listened and let me cry. Others were quite harsh and quick to tell me I was a victim and wasn’t bouncing back like I should. The thing was, though, I hadn’t just lost friends and loved ones to death in those short months. I had made a lot of enemies for the things I stood for, and the loneliness I felt was tangible.
As I faced the new year, my car packed out for the new frontier, I heard Your voice again, a little louder this time.
Give thanks.
Thanksgiving 2004. My health was a mess, with no remedy in sight. I had to give up the business I had worked so hard to build. A ministry project I threw myself into whole-heartedly went up in flames. Another trio of loved ones passed away without warning, all within a few months. I was having panic attacks all the time, and the fear to communicate with the outside world for fear of more bad news had me feeling shackled and asphyxiated. I was afraid to try anything. I was afraid to get close to anyone. In the midst of my fear and my inconsolable grief, I heard Your Voice again, through my emotional stupor, this time, with a sternness and urgency until then unfamiliar to me.
You have not thanked Me.
God, what do I have to thank You for?
You have not thanked Me!
So, I threw myself on the floor on my face and cried out to You. I thanked You for the trials, for the grief, because You asked me to, and as I did, something happened. The burden lifted. I saw You carrying me and grieving right along with me. I saw You washing away my tears with Your own. I felt a strength and a sustenance beyond my finite human comprehension, and in offering gratitude I could not feel, You gave me joy I couldn’t explain.
Give thanks.
Thanksgiving 2010. My father is not well. I find myself fearful again every time I see an email from home or a New Jersey phone number on my caller ID, because unlike the others in my life who have passed, my father has not made his peace with God, and I shutter to think of him going to eternity in such a state. Four friends have lost parents in the last year, and each time I heard, I was reminded afresh that another time of mourning is imminent. I have now buried 17 friends and family members, and it doesn’t get any easier with the passage of time.
I have no job, and I feel I have nothing to show in either finances or accomplishments for my thirty-six years.
It’s been 10 years since I made the move to Nashville, and 10 years since my heart was broken. I spent an entire decade closely guarding my heart, only to find it, in recent days, smashed to pieces afresh. God, it wasn’t supposed to happen this way. When I climbed Mount Moriah, put Isaac on the alter, and raised the knife, You were supposed to stop me. You were supposed to say I passed the test. Isaac and I were supposed to return home—together. The searing pain of a knife through the heart was supposed to be for the ram in the thicket, not for me. I wasn’t supposed to go home and face another holiday alone and empty-handed. As I sat again, with the noxious taste of grief still bitter in my mouth, I heard You yet again, this time with the volume of a million bugle horns.
Give thanks!
So, I threw myself on the floor again in worship. I gave thanks with the only thing I had, namely those two words. It was there, again, that You gave me the clarity I needed, and I was reminded afresh of all I had for which to be thankful.
I give thanks to You, God, for You are good, and Your Love endures forever.
I give thanks to You, God, for the comfort You have given me through each season of grieving, because now I can effectively comfort those with me now who are walking through their own losses.
I give thanks to You, God, because You have given me the ability to weep with those who weep, not just rejoice with those who rejoice.
I give thanks to You, God, that in so many instances You did NOT grant me my request, because the legacy of the Israelites and countless others is You did grant their request, but also sent leanness to their souls, and I can say in all honesty, though my soul is wounded, it is indeed full.
I give thanks to You, God, that You allowed me such intense bitterness, because it was ultimately for my peace, and through it You have loved my life back from death.
I give thanks to You, God, because in everything and everyone I lost, You stripped me of the temporary to endow me with the eternal and to give me joy because of those I’ve led to You. Every work in building Your Kingdom that You’ve allowed me to share in are treasures in Heaven that no one or thing can ever take from me.
I give thanks to You, God, because You’ve made me worthy to share in the fellowship of your suffering as to be conformed to the death of Your Son, and that is a fate far sweeter than any pleasure this life could offer.
So, as another Thanksgiving approaches, those two words You have so faithfully reminded me of have become for me not a proverb, a platitude, or a once-a-year sentimental suggestion, but a lifeline, a gateway to sanity, and most importantly, a battle cry.
GIVE THANKS!!!!
The End
Milk!!!!
Mood: Determined
DISCLAIMERS: This blog is based, in part, upon actual events and people. Certain actions and characters have been dramatized and fictionalized, but are inspired by true events and real people. Certain other characters, events, and names used herein are entirely fictitious. Any similarity of those fictional characters or events to the name, attributes, or background of any real person, living or dead, or to any actual events is coincidental and unintentional, so let’s just get this over with, shall we?
Give thanks.
Thanksgiving 2000. I tried as hard as I could to get into the spirit of the season, but I could see little for which I could be thankful. That summer, a friend I used to work with committed suicide. Shortly after that, the man I loved moved over 500 miles away from me. The beginning of September saw me leave a ministry I loved because of things going on to which I could not be a partner. Then, another friend, someone who had been like a mom to me, died in a motorcycle wreck. Four weeks later, my grandmother died. The morning I left to fly home for her funeral, I found my cat dead on the front lawn, torn apart by some larger animal.
I remember sitting in the airport in Cleveland, waiting for my connecting flight to New Jersey. For most of that day, I felt like my insides would collapse. It was at that moment, You invaded my reality, as You always do, and whispered two words that at the time, couldn’t have been more foreign to me.
Give thanks.
I flew back to Indiana right after the funeral, only to return to New Jersey a few weeks later to spend Thanksgiving with my family; I also planned to see the guy I missed so much. I told him how I felt about him, sure that he felt the same. He said he did not. In fact, what he did think of me was a blow I thought would surely finish me off. He had met someone else, someone who played games with his head and didn’t care about him at all. However, for some reason, he preferred someone who treated him like dirt over me. The basic rejection hurt even more in light of the one for whom he had rejected me.
When I returned to Indiana, I threw myself into preparation for my move to Nashville. I didn’t know anyone there. I had no job waiting for me. I had nothing waiting for me in my new home, but it really felt like I was leaving nothing behind, too.
I cried all the time. I was afraid to answer the phone, check email, or open letters because I was sure it would be bad news. Most of my friends who still stood by me didn’t know what to do with me. Some of them just listened and let me cry. Others were quite harsh and quick to tell me I was a victim and wasn’t bouncing back like I should. The thing was, though, I hadn’t just lost friends and loved ones to death in those short months. I had made a lot of enemies for the things I stood for, and the loneliness I felt was tangible.
As I faced the new year, my car packed out for the new frontier, I heard Your voice again, a little louder this time.
Give thanks.
Thanksgiving 2004. My health was a mess, with no remedy in sight. I had to give up the business I had worked so hard to build. A ministry project I threw myself into whole-heartedly went up in flames. Another trio of loved ones passed away without warning, all within a few months. I was having panic attacks all the time, and the fear to communicate with the outside world for fear of more bad news had me feeling shackled and asphyxiated. I was afraid to try anything. I was afraid to get close to anyone. In the midst of my fear and my inconsolable grief, I heard Your Voice again, through my emotional stupor, this time, with a sternness and urgency until then unfamiliar to me.
You have not thanked Me.
God, what do I have to thank You for?
You have not thanked Me!
So, I threw myself on the floor on my face and cried out to You. I thanked You for the trials, for the grief, because You asked me to, and as I did, something happened. The burden lifted. I saw You carrying me and grieving right along with me. I saw You washing away my tears with Your own. I felt a strength and a sustenance beyond my finite human comprehension, and in offering gratitude I could not feel, You gave me joy I couldn’t explain.
Give thanks.
Thanksgiving 2010. My father is not well. I find myself fearful again every time I see an email from home or a New Jersey phone number on my caller ID, because unlike the others in my life who have passed, my father has not made his peace with God, and I shutter to think of him going to eternity in such a state. Four friends have lost parents in the last year, and each time I heard, I was reminded afresh that another time of mourning is imminent. I have now buried 17 friends and family members, and it doesn’t get any easier with the passage of time.
I have no job, and I feel I have nothing to show in either finances or accomplishments for my thirty-six years.
It’s been 10 years since I made the move to Nashville, and 10 years since my heart was broken. I spent an entire decade closely guarding my heart, only to find it, in recent days, smashed to pieces afresh. God, it wasn’t supposed to happen this way. When I climbed Mount Moriah, put Isaac on the alter, and raised the knife, You were supposed to stop me. You were supposed to say I passed the test. Isaac and I were supposed to return home—together. The searing pain of a knife through the heart was supposed to be for the ram in the thicket, not for me. I wasn’t supposed to go home and face another holiday alone and empty-handed. As I sat again, with the noxious taste of grief still bitter in my mouth, I heard You yet again, this time with the volume of a million bugle horns.
Give thanks!
So, I threw myself on the floor again in worship. I gave thanks with the only thing I had, namely those two words. It was there, again, that You gave me the clarity I needed, and I was reminded afresh of all I had for which to be thankful.
I give thanks to You, God, for You are good, and Your Love endures forever.
I give thanks to You, God, for the comfort You have given me through each season of grieving, because now I can effectively comfort those with me now who are walking through their own losses.
I give thanks to You, God, because You have given me the ability to weep with those who weep, not just rejoice with those who rejoice.
I give thanks to You, God, that in so many instances You did NOT grant me my request, because the legacy of the Israelites and countless others is You did grant their request, but also sent leanness to their souls, and I can say in all honesty, though my soul is wounded, it is indeed full.
I give thanks to You, God, that You allowed me such intense bitterness, because it was ultimately for my peace, and through it You have loved my life back from death.
I give thanks to You, God, because in everything and everyone I lost, You stripped me of the temporary to endow me with the eternal and to give me joy because of those I’ve led to You. Every work in building Your Kingdom that You’ve allowed me to share in are treasures in Heaven that no one or thing can ever take from me.
I give thanks to You, God, because You’ve made me worthy to share in the fellowship of your suffering as to be conformed to the death of Your Son, and that is a fate far sweeter than any pleasure this life could offer.
So, as another Thanksgiving approaches, those two words You have so faithfully reminded me of have become for me not a proverb, a platitude, or a once-a-year sentimental suggestion, but a lifeline, a gateway to sanity, and most importantly, a battle cry.
GIVE THANKS!!!!
The End
Milk!!!!
Saturday, November 20, 2010
The Year of You and Me, Part 1 by Sharon Lurie
© 2010 David's Harp and Pen
Mood: Hopelessly Romantic
DISCLAIMERS: This blog is based, in part, upon actual events and people. Certain actions and characters have been dramatized and fictionalized, but are inspired by true events and real people. Certain other characters, events, and names used herein are entirely fictitious. Any similarity of those fictional characters or events to the name, attributes, or background of any real person, living or dead, or to any actual events is coincidental and uninten…oh, whom am I kidding?
Dear BKR,
One year. Twelve months. 365 days. 8760 hours. 525,600 minutes. 31,536,000 seconds. Each moment interminable while being lived but fleeting now having passed. For reasons known only to God and us, we’ve had to be separated over this past year. I am anxious to know what you have learned.
So many things are racing through my mind and body as the day approaches. Will I recognize you? Will you recognize me? Will your eyes still ignite and will your grin dance across your face? When I feel your fingers interlock with mine, and your warm, invitingly intrusive breath in my ear, will I still get weak?
I am excited. I am terrified. I am heartsick. I truly did not know what I had until it was gone. Some say out of sight, out mind. Others say absence makes the heart grow fonder. For me, it has most certainly been the latter. Maybe that is why God has called us apart for this past year before bringing us together for life. Perhaps God knew that any other test would’ve found our love wanting; maybe time and patience, while often seen as an enemy, prove to be wise teachers. I think of Romans 5 and James 1, how they speak of the work of trials and perseverance to produce joy and godly character in us, and though the waiting seemed interminable, I know what God has done in me, at least, is to make me the woman you need me to be, and that makes the wait more than worth it.
I am so sorry. I don’t know how much more eloquently or convincingly I can say it. I made things so much harder than they should’ve been. I projected so many of my own insecurities and my own negative self-image onto you. You never wanted that charade. You never asked for a fairy tale. All you wanted was honesty, authenticity, and the truth, and when it came to your own failures, flaws, and shortcomings, that’s what you always gave to me. I couldn’t give it to you at the time, because I didn’t know it myself.
The truth is, you took me by surprise. I never saw you coming. You didn’t meet my expectations, not because you were lacking, but because my expectations were. I was used to having someone to fix. I was used to being the mature one, the strong one, the emotional and spiritual leader, and the one who had to hold it in and wear the game face, no matter what. I was used to being bled dry in every sense of the term, and then, when I would ask for something in return, being told that I was the needy and demanding one.
To be honest, when we met, I couldn’t figure you out. Your character astonished me from the start. As time went on, I set myself up to be hurt and disappointed. Deep down, I hoped I would discover you were really a serial killer or a sexual predator so I could stop liking you so much,. When I found out you weren’t, I felt petrified that you were cooler than I could imagine. And so, I waited. I waited for history to repeat itself. I waited to be used up and thrown away, but with you, that moment never came.
It scares me to death to admit this all to you, but in the year that’s passed, I remember you telling me that to you, my story, no matter how ugly, crazy, or tragic I saw it, was the most beautiful thing about me. I’m sorry that it took us being apart for me to finally believe it.
Someone asked me how I was feeling as the day was approaching and what my relationship with you has meant. If I could sum it up in one word, I would have to say “redemptive.” You did everything well by me, but there are certain memories, as well as lessons I’ve learned from your words and your example, that stick out in my mind:
• All the doors you held open for me
• How you would stand up every time I entered or left a room
• The first time I ever told you about how someone I trusted hurt me deeply. In times past, when I told others the story, they would say God had a plan, or I should forgive, or how I must have done something to bring the pain upon myself. Not you. You became furious and were ready to go to that person who had sinned against me and beat the living daylights out of him. Just the fact that you validated my pain, I was able to put that hurt behind me and move forward.
• When my cat died. She was such a great companion, and when I lost her, a part of me died with her. When I called to tell you, I expected…well, I don’t know what I expected. What I did NOT expect was you to cry right along with me. Sharing in my grief with me did more than all the Scripture-quoting and condolence-offering in the world.
• When the town drunk showed up inebriated at my apartment. You broke all sorts of land speed records and came over with your nine millimeter, 357, AND sawed-off shotgun to protect me.
• My car wreck. I still don’t know how you made it to the hospital so fast. I had a concussion, and even though I wanted nothing more than to go to sleep, that would’ve been the worst thing for me. You held my hand, ran your fingers through my hair, and talked to me to keep me awake until I was out of danger. Then you took me to your house, and held me when flashbacks overtook me and sent me into a panic.
• The New Year’s Eve road trip. I had a friend in trouble who needed my help, but she was several hours away, and I didn’t have the money to get to her. Without me asking and without hesitation, you got out your wallet and gave me more than enough to get to her, showing me not only was I important to you, but the things and people that mattered to me mattered to you, too.
• When you showed up at my door, even though you were living an hour away at the time, and didn’t really have the money to spare on gas, just because you’d not heard from me and were concerned.
• The Rescue Mission. I never had to beg you or twist your arm to go there and serve with me, and the fact that you would hug anyone there, no matter how badly they smelled nor how atrocious their criminal record impressed me immensely.
• Bible study. You were never impressed with how much Scripture I could quote, or how much biblical history I knew. You only wanted to know how I was going to let the truth change me for the better.
• The scandal at your company. So many people compromised and sold out. You were offered a chance to join in, but instead, you stood your ground, even though your life and livelihood were in peril, and didn’t give up until every wrongdoer was prosecuted and brought to justice. What I loved most was what you said to me when I asked why you didn’t give in and get in on the take when everyone else did. You didn’t say to me, “That’s not what I do.” You said, “That’s not who I am.”
• What you’ve taught me about God. More than anything, your faithfulness is an example. I have not known faithfulness, consistency, or authenticity in the men in my life. I haven’t known the man who swears to his own hurt and stands by his word until the job is done. I haven’t known a man who DAILY picks up His Cross, denies himself, and follows Christ. I haven’t known a man who is exactly what he says he is. Until you.
The list goes on and on. I love your character. I love how you serve. I love that you love kids and see yourself as big brother to everyone. I love how you’re brave when I am weak. You’ve never said once that some task was beneath you. I love that fact that, from day one, you have fought for God’s best in my life, even when that includes fighting to protect me from my past and my own wrong choices. I love all the little details unique to you, and I’m so sorry I never had the courage to tell you until now.
God has taught me something very important, and I want to tell you about it before we see each other again. Ever since I was a little girl, I always believed the greatest thing in life was to be loved unconditionally, particularly by my husband, and I can say in all honesty that you have loved me that way. God says there is something greater, however: a love that changes me for the better. Too often, when people demand unconditional love from those around them, it is nothing more than a veiled request that says, “Don’t make me change. Don’t make me mature. Don’t make me grow up.” I realize now that was often the case with me; even though he takes me as I am, God’s love is too great to let me stay where and as I am. So has your love been for me. You make me want to be a better woman. You make me want to be daring. You make me want to recklessly abandon myself to God’s refining process and not look back. You make me want to love God and love others with everything I have. That kind of transformational love is the better portion, and that is what you have given me.
There are only a few more days left. Shortly, I’ll be able to touch your face, hear your laugh, and be enfolded in your arms. I pray the year’s been good to you; I pray you’re that much closer to your dreams. I pray your faith is progressively giving way to sight. Most of all, though, at the risk of sounding selfish, I pray when you see me again, you see a woman worth fighting for, someone to share this wonderful adventure called life, and beauty, molded by the Potter’s Hand, ready to be unveiled for you. I hope that I am someone that helps to make your heart full and not to empty it. I will do all that I can to be the godly woman you need and want.
You scare and unsettle me like no one else ever has or probably ever will, and yet I’ve never felt safer or more secure. I trust you. I trust you whole-heartedly. I trust you to keep your word. I trust what you say to me is what you really mean. I even trust you to hurt my feelings when they need to be hurt, or when you see what’s best for me better than I do. You are my Inman. You are my Hawkeye. You are my Paul Varjack. You are my Declan O’Brady-Callaghan. In all of my stories and songs, you are the man and the hero I always write about. I love you ferociously, and I will always, always, always have a crush on you. You were so worth waiting for, and I can’t even begin to express what it means that, despite everything, you waited for me, too.
Love,
Sharon
The End
Milk!!!!
Mood: Hopelessly Romantic
DISCLAIMERS: This blog is based, in part, upon actual events and people. Certain actions and characters have been dramatized and fictionalized, but are inspired by true events and real people. Certain other characters, events, and names used herein are entirely fictitious. Any similarity of those fictional characters or events to the name, attributes, or background of any real person, living or dead, or to any actual events is coincidental and uninten…oh, whom am I kidding?
Dear BKR,
One year. Twelve months. 365 days. 8760 hours. 525,600 minutes. 31,536,000 seconds. Each moment interminable while being lived but fleeting now having passed. For reasons known only to God and us, we’ve had to be separated over this past year. I am anxious to know what you have learned.
So many things are racing through my mind and body as the day approaches. Will I recognize you? Will you recognize me? Will your eyes still ignite and will your grin dance across your face? When I feel your fingers interlock with mine, and your warm, invitingly intrusive breath in my ear, will I still get weak?
I am excited. I am terrified. I am heartsick. I truly did not know what I had until it was gone. Some say out of sight, out mind. Others say absence makes the heart grow fonder. For me, it has most certainly been the latter. Maybe that is why God has called us apart for this past year before bringing us together for life. Perhaps God knew that any other test would’ve found our love wanting; maybe time and patience, while often seen as an enemy, prove to be wise teachers. I think of Romans 5 and James 1, how they speak of the work of trials and perseverance to produce joy and godly character in us, and though the waiting seemed interminable, I know what God has done in me, at least, is to make me the woman you need me to be, and that makes the wait more than worth it.
I am so sorry. I don’t know how much more eloquently or convincingly I can say it. I made things so much harder than they should’ve been. I projected so many of my own insecurities and my own negative self-image onto you. You never wanted that charade. You never asked for a fairy tale. All you wanted was honesty, authenticity, and the truth, and when it came to your own failures, flaws, and shortcomings, that’s what you always gave to me. I couldn’t give it to you at the time, because I didn’t know it myself.
The truth is, you took me by surprise. I never saw you coming. You didn’t meet my expectations, not because you were lacking, but because my expectations were. I was used to having someone to fix. I was used to being the mature one, the strong one, the emotional and spiritual leader, and the one who had to hold it in and wear the game face, no matter what. I was used to being bled dry in every sense of the term, and then, when I would ask for something in return, being told that I was the needy and demanding one.
To be honest, when we met, I couldn’t figure you out. Your character astonished me from the start. As time went on, I set myself up to be hurt and disappointed. Deep down, I hoped I would discover you were really a serial killer or a sexual predator so I could stop liking you so much,. When I found out you weren’t, I felt petrified that you were cooler than I could imagine. And so, I waited. I waited for history to repeat itself. I waited to be used up and thrown away, but with you, that moment never came.
It scares me to death to admit this all to you, but in the year that’s passed, I remember you telling me that to you, my story, no matter how ugly, crazy, or tragic I saw it, was the most beautiful thing about me. I’m sorry that it took us being apart for me to finally believe it.
Someone asked me how I was feeling as the day was approaching and what my relationship with you has meant. If I could sum it up in one word, I would have to say “redemptive.” You did everything well by me, but there are certain memories, as well as lessons I’ve learned from your words and your example, that stick out in my mind:
• All the doors you held open for me
• How you would stand up every time I entered or left a room
• The first time I ever told you about how someone I trusted hurt me deeply. In times past, when I told others the story, they would say God had a plan, or I should forgive, or how I must have done something to bring the pain upon myself. Not you. You became furious and were ready to go to that person who had sinned against me and beat the living daylights out of him. Just the fact that you validated my pain, I was able to put that hurt behind me and move forward.
• When my cat died. She was such a great companion, and when I lost her, a part of me died with her. When I called to tell you, I expected…well, I don’t know what I expected. What I did NOT expect was you to cry right along with me. Sharing in my grief with me did more than all the Scripture-quoting and condolence-offering in the world.
• When the town drunk showed up inebriated at my apartment. You broke all sorts of land speed records and came over with your nine millimeter, 357, AND sawed-off shotgun to protect me.
• My car wreck. I still don’t know how you made it to the hospital so fast. I had a concussion, and even though I wanted nothing more than to go to sleep, that would’ve been the worst thing for me. You held my hand, ran your fingers through my hair, and talked to me to keep me awake until I was out of danger. Then you took me to your house, and held me when flashbacks overtook me and sent me into a panic.
• The New Year’s Eve road trip. I had a friend in trouble who needed my help, but she was several hours away, and I didn’t have the money to get to her. Without me asking and without hesitation, you got out your wallet and gave me more than enough to get to her, showing me not only was I important to you, but the things and people that mattered to me mattered to you, too.
• When you showed up at my door, even though you were living an hour away at the time, and didn’t really have the money to spare on gas, just because you’d not heard from me and were concerned.
• The Rescue Mission. I never had to beg you or twist your arm to go there and serve with me, and the fact that you would hug anyone there, no matter how badly they smelled nor how atrocious their criminal record impressed me immensely.
• Bible study. You were never impressed with how much Scripture I could quote, or how much biblical history I knew. You only wanted to know how I was going to let the truth change me for the better.
• The scandal at your company. So many people compromised and sold out. You were offered a chance to join in, but instead, you stood your ground, even though your life and livelihood were in peril, and didn’t give up until every wrongdoer was prosecuted and brought to justice. What I loved most was what you said to me when I asked why you didn’t give in and get in on the take when everyone else did. You didn’t say to me, “That’s not what I do.” You said, “That’s not who I am.”
• What you’ve taught me about God. More than anything, your faithfulness is an example. I have not known faithfulness, consistency, or authenticity in the men in my life. I haven’t known the man who swears to his own hurt and stands by his word until the job is done. I haven’t known a man who DAILY picks up His Cross, denies himself, and follows Christ. I haven’t known a man who is exactly what he says he is. Until you.
The list goes on and on. I love your character. I love how you serve. I love that you love kids and see yourself as big brother to everyone. I love how you’re brave when I am weak. You’ve never said once that some task was beneath you. I love that fact that, from day one, you have fought for God’s best in my life, even when that includes fighting to protect me from my past and my own wrong choices. I love all the little details unique to you, and I’m so sorry I never had the courage to tell you until now.
God has taught me something very important, and I want to tell you about it before we see each other again. Ever since I was a little girl, I always believed the greatest thing in life was to be loved unconditionally, particularly by my husband, and I can say in all honesty that you have loved me that way. God says there is something greater, however: a love that changes me for the better. Too often, when people demand unconditional love from those around them, it is nothing more than a veiled request that says, “Don’t make me change. Don’t make me mature. Don’t make me grow up.” I realize now that was often the case with me; even though he takes me as I am, God’s love is too great to let me stay where and as I am. So has your love been for me. You make me want to be a better woman. You make me want to be daring. You make me want to recklessly abandon myself to God’s refining process and not look back. You make me want to love God and love others with everything I have. That kind of transformational love is the better portion, and that is what you have given me.
There are only a few more days left. Shortly, I’ll be able to touch your face, hear your laugh, and be enfolded in your arms. I pray the year’s been good to you; I pray you’re that much closer to your dreams. I pray your faith is progressively giving way to sight. Most of all, though, at the risk of sounding selfish, I pray when you see me again, you see a woman worth fighting for, someone to share this wonderful adventure called life, and beauty, molded by the Potter’s Hand, ready to be unveiled for you. I hope that I am someone that helps to make your heart full and not to empty it. I will do all that I can to be the godly woman you need and want.
You scare and unsettle me like no one else ever has or probably ever will, and yet I’ve never felt safer or more secure. I trust you. I trust you whole-heartedly. I trust you to keep your word. I trust what you say to me is what you really mean. I even trust you to hurt my feelings when they need to be hurt, or when you see what’s best for me better than I do. You are my Inman. You are my Hawkeye. You are my Paul Varjack. You are my Declan O’Brady-Callaghan. In all of my stories and songs, you are the man and the hero I always write about. I love you ferociously, and I will always, always, always have a crush on you. You were so worth waiting for, and I can’t even begin to express what it means that, despite everything, you waited for me, too.
Love,
Sharon
The End
Milk!!!!
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Shawshank Revisited by Sharon Lurie
© 2010 David's Harp and Pen
Mood: Empowered
DISCLAIMERS: This blog is based, in part, upon actual events and people. Certain actions and characters have been dramatized and fictionalized, but are inspired by true events and real people. Certain other characters, events, and names used herein are entirely fictitious. Any similarity of those fictional characters or events to the name, attributes, or background of any real person, living or dead, or to any actual events is coincidental and unintentional. Therefore, I don’t want to hear any complaining from anyone from the New Jersey Department of Corrections. I promise to stay on my side of the Mason-Dixon line if you stay on yours.
*All Scripture quotations are and forevermore shall be from The Amplified Bible
I have a friend named Jerry from middle school currently serving a life sentence in the New Jersey State Prison. I won’t go into detail about his crime, but let’s just say no one gets a life sentence for jaywalking. Even though I had not seen or talked to Jerry since we were 16, I felt a nudge from God to get back in touch with him a few years ago. We’ve written back and forth pretty consistently, so when I had to go to New Jersey last month, I decided to pay Jerry a visit. It was going to be the first time I’d seen him in 20 years, and I honestly had no idea what to expect.
It’s difficult for me to describe what I felt when I laid eyes on the prison for the first time. Located in Trenton, New Jersey, smack dab in the middle of a residential district, the prison looked as scary as every penitentiary in every prison movie and television show I’d ever seen. The outside walls were towering and impenetrable, and I could feel the sharpness of the barbed wire coiled on top of each wall as if I’d cut myself on it. The building itself filled my entire line of sight, regardless of the angle from which I looked. When I walked into the building, I felt terror I’d not felt in a long time, not even when I had gun at my head a few years back (anyone who wants to hear that story, let me know).
The lobby and waiting area of the prison were just as intimidating as the exterior. Steel, cinder block, brick, and red paint darkened all of my thoughts. As I sat down to wait for my name to be called, I observed the prison employees and the other visitors waiting to see their incarcerated friends and loved ones. The two prevailing attitudes of those around me were sad and disgruntled. I wondered if any of the other visitors were as scared as I was. Amidst the nervousness I couldn’t shake, my eyes kept getting drawn to the mile-high red brick walls that led all the way up to the huge skylights on the ceiling. After looking around for a while, the first thought that popped into my head was, “There’s no beauty here! There’s nothing here that speaks of hope or testifies to anything warm, inspiring, or joyful.”
I ended up having to wait almost 90 minutes before my name was called. The unquantifiable anxiety I felt grew with each successive minute I waited. I was nervous about seeing Jerry in person after so long and afraid I would say the wrong thing to him. A voice I’m sure was Satan kept saying maintaining a relationship with someone who had done what Jerry was convicted of was only asking for trouble. Each time I heard that voice, the Holy Spirit would remind me of Matthew 25:34-40. “Then the King will say to those at His right hand, ‘Come, you blessed of My Father [you favored of God and appointed to eternal salvation], inherit (receive as your own) the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave Me food, I was thirsty and you gave Me something to drink, I was a stranger and you brought Me together with yourselves and welcomed and entertained and lodged Me, I was naked and you clothed Me, I was sick and you visited Me with help and ministering care, I was in prison and you came to see Me.’ Then the just and upright will answer Him, ‘Lord, when did we see You hungry and gave You food, or thirsty and gave You something to drink? And when did we see You a stranger and welcomed and entertained You, or naked and clothed You? And when did we see You sick or in prison and came to visit You?’ And the King will reply to them, ‘Truly I tell you, in so far as you did it for one of the least [in the estimation of men] of these My brethren, you did it for Me.’” [emphasis added] So, I kept pushing the intimidation down in my mind and prayed that God would orchestrate my conversation with Jerry.
As I waited to see Jerry, my thoughts drifted, as they often do, to film. One of my favorite movies of all time is The Shawshank Redemption. A huge departure from author Stephen King’s usual subject matter, the main character in the film, Andy DuFresne, is sent to Shawshank Prison for life. The beauty of Andy’s story is that, through all sorts of adversity, he never loses hope for a better tomorrow, and unlike his fellow inmates, he never takes on the mindset of a prisoner. He never sees himself as confined. Even though the viewer doesn’t find out until near the end of the film whether Andy really committed the crime for which he’s been incarcerated, it’s almost impossible to not like Andy or want to see him succeed. Part way through the film, Red, Andy’s best friend, says in reference to life prison sentences, “They send you here for life, and that's exactly what they take. The part that counts, anyway.”
At that moment, things started to click in my head, and I realized why I felt so afraid. Prisons like New Jersey State are like giant breeding grounds of despair and monumental graveyards for broken dreams. Our ability to recognize beauty in the world is directly tied to our need for hope. Beauty tells us that there is a Hand behind it and points us to something bigger than our present circumstances and more wonderful than anything our five physical senses can wrap themselves around. I couldn’t see beauty in that place because I couldn’t see hope, and hopeless was precisely the mood in which I’d arrived.
People in prison suffer from terrible feelings of isolation, guilt, and regret. They often feel they’ll never be able to escape their bad decisions, that there’s nothing to look forward to. I had felt that a lot over the last year, and even though I knew God was working in my life, it seemed like everything was getting worse and a myriad of difficulties were hitting me at once. The uneasiness and despondency I felt in that waiting room arose from the fact that the giant fortress of a penitentiary was a massive physical representation of everything I was feeling emotionally.
After the first hour passed in the waiting room, I looked to the woman next to me to ask if she’d been to the prison to visit before and if the long wait was normal. Her name was Janet. She had such a lovely smile and glow to her. We began a conversation and she told me a little of her story. Her son had been in the prison for quite some time and wouldn’t be eligible for parole for another decade. A few months ago, her grandson was murdered in a drive-by shooting. Three months ago, she found out she had stage four breast cancer. Talk about everything hitting all at once! Her faith was so strong, though. She still held on to the faith that God is good even in the midst of cataclysmic personal loss. We talked for a while about the Presence of God in the midst of suffering. When I told her I lived in Tennessee, she asked me what brought me to New Jersey. I was almost afraid to talk, because compared to her, my worries seemed so small, and so often over this past year, when I would try to open up about some of the things I faced, I would be cut off and told I didn’t have it that bad compared to others in the world. Something I discovered that day, though, is the people who really do have the right to say, “You don’t have it so bad” don’t. As I told her a little bit about the difficulties I was facing then, her response to me was pure compassion and unconditional understanding. She offered to pray for me in the days ahead, and I offered to do the same for her family and her.
When the guards finally called my name, I found myself disappointed that my conversation with Janet had to end. I then had to wait in line to go through the metal detector and get frisked before I was taken back to the visiting room. While I waited, I turned back to look at Janet. There they were! Beauty and hope sitting right in front of me, in the form of woman who believed beyond all evidence to the contrary that she would see the goodness of God in the land of the living.
I went to the prison with the intention of encouraging Jerry, and I know I did, but I left feeling that I was the one who got the shot in the arm. Things happen to us in life, whether we bring them on ourselves or not, that leave us feeling imprisoned, and ugly, and hopeless. It is precisely the reason that Jesus came, to proclaim liberty for the captives, exchange beauty for ashes, and give life, particularly in the places where it seems most unlikely for life to be sustained. Life is exactly what is taken from us, and it is exactly what Christ has given back to us.
The End
Milk!!!!!!
Mood: Empowered
DISCLAIMERS: This blog is based, in part, upon actual events and people. Certain actions and characters have been dramatized and fictionalized, but are inspired by true events and real people. Certain other characters, events, and names used herein are entirely fictitious. Any similarity of those fictional characters or events to the name, attributes, or background of any real person, living or dead, or to any actual events is coincidental and unintentional. Therefore, I don’t want to hear any complaining from anyone from the New Jersey Department of Corrections. I promise to stay on my side of the Mason-Dixon line if you stay on yours.
*All Scripture quotations are and forevermore shall be from The Amplified Bible
I have a friend named Jerry from middle school currently serving a life sentence in the New Jersey State Prison. I won’t go into detail about his crime, but let’s just say no one gets a life sentence for jaywalking. Even though I had not seen or talked to Jerry since we were 16, I felt a nudge from God to get back in touch with him a few years ago. We’ve written back and forth pretty consistently, so when I had to go to New Jersey last month, I decided to pay Jerry a visit. It was going to be the first time I’d seen him in 20 years, and I honestly had no idea what to expect.
It’s difficult for me to describe what I felt when I laid eyes on the prison for the first time. Located in Trenton, New Jersey, smack dab in the middle of a residential district, the prison looked as scary as every penitentiary in every prison movie and television show I’d ever seen. The outside walls were towering and impenetrable, and I could feel the sharpness of the barbed wire coiled on top of each wall as if I’d cut myself on it. The building itself filled my entire line of sight, regardless of the angle from which I looked. When I walked into the building, I felt terror I’d not felt in a long time, not even when I had gun at my head a few years back (anyone who wants to hear that story, let me know).
The lobby and waiting area of the prison were just as intimidating as the exterior. Steel, cinder block, brick, and red paint darkened all of my thoughts. As I sat down to wait for my name to be called, I observed the prison employees and the other visitors waiting to see their incarcerated friends and loved ones. The two prevailing attitudes of those around me were sad and disgruntled. I wondered if any of the other visitors were as scared as I was. Amidst the nervousness I couldn’t shake, my eyes kept getting drawn to the mile-high red brick walls that led all the way up to the huge skylights on the ceiling. After looking around for a while, the first thought that popped into my head was, “There’s no beauty here! There’s nothing here that speaks of hope or testifies to anything warm, inspiring, or joyful.”
I ended up having to wait almost 90 minutes before my name was called. The unquantifiable anxiety I felt grew with each successive minute I waited. I was nervous about seeing Jerry in person after so long and afraid I would say the wrong thing to him. A voice I’m sure was Satan kept saying maintaining a relationship with someone who had done what Jerry was convicted of was only asking for trouble. Each time I heard that voice, the Holy Spirit would remind me of Matthew 25:34-40. “Then the King will say to those at His right hand, ‘Come, you blessed of My Father [you favored of God and appointed to eternal salvation], inherit (receive as your own) the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave Me food, I was thirsty and you gave Me something to drink, I was a stranger and you brought Me together with yourselves and welcomed and entertained and lodged Me, I was naked and you clothed Me, I was sick and you visited Me with help and ministering care, I was in prison and you came to see Me.’ Then the just and upright will answer Him, ‘Lord, when did we see You hungry and gave You food, or thirsty and gave You something to drink? And when did we see You a stranger and welcomed and entertained You, or naked and clothed You? And when did we see You sick or in prison and came to visit You?’ And the King will reply to them, ‘Truly I tell you, in so far as you did it for one of the least [in the estimation of men] of these My brethren, you did it for Me.’” [emphasis added] So, I kept pushing the intimidation down in my mind and prayed that God would orchestrate my conversation with Jerry.
As I waited to see Jerry, my thoughts drifted, as they often do, to film. One of my favorite movies of all time is The Shawshank Redemption. A huge departure from author Stephen King’s usual subject matter, the main character in the film, Andy DuFresne, is sent to Shawshank Prison for life. The beauty of Andy’s story is that, through all sorts of adversity, he never loses hope for a better tomorrow, and unlike his fellow inmates, he never takes on the mindset of a prisoner. He never sees himself as confined. Even though the viewer doesn’t find out until near the end of the film whether Andy really committed the crime for which he’s been incarcerated, it’s almost impossible to not like Andy or want to see him succeed. Part way through the film, Red, Andy’s best friend, says in reference to life prison sentences, “They send you here for life, and that's exactly what they take. The part that counts, anyway.”
At that moment, things started to click in my head, and I realized why I felt so afraid. Prisons like New Jersey State are like giant breeding grounds of despair and monumental graveyards for broken dreams. Our ability to recognize beauty in the world is directly tied to our need for hope. Beauty tells us that there is a Hand behind it and points us to something bigger than our present circumstances and more wonderful than anything our five physical senses can wrap themselves around. I couldn’t see beauty in that place because I couldn’t see hope, and hopeless was precisely the mood in which I’d arrived.
People in prison suffer from terrible feelings of isolation, guilt, and regret. They often feel they’ll never be able to escape their bad decisions, that there’s nothing to look forward to. I had felt that a lot over the last year, and even though I knew God was working in my life, it seemed like everything was getting worse and a myriad of difficulties were hitting me at once. The uneasiness and despondency I felt in that waiting room arose from the fact that the giant fortress of a penitentiary was a massive physical representation of everything I was feeling emotionally.
After the first hour passed in the waiting room, I looked to the woman next to me to ask if she’d been to the prison to visit before and if the long wait was normal. Her name was Janet. She had such a lovely smile and glow to her. We began a conversation and she told me a little of her story. Her son had been in the prison for quite some time and wouldn’t be eligible for parole for another decade. A few months ago, her grandson was murdered in a drive-by shooting. Three months ago, she found out she had stage four breast cancer. Talk about everything hitting all at once! Her faith was so strong, though. She still held on to the faith that God is good even in the midst of cataclysmic personal loss. We talked for a while about the Presence of God in the midst of suffering. When I told her I lived in Tennessee, she asked me what brought me to New Jersey. I was almost afraid to talk, because compared to her, my worries seemed so small, and so often over this past year, when I would try to open up about some of the things I faced, I would be cut off and told I didn’t have it that bad compared to others in the world. Something I discovered that day, though, is the people who really do have the right to say, “You don’t have it so bad” don’t. As I told her a little bit about the difficulties I was facing then, her response to me was pure compassion and unconditional understanding. She offered to pray for me in the days ahead, and I offered to do the same for her family and her.
When the guards finally called my name, I found myself disappointed that my conversation with Janet had to end. I then had to wait in line to go through the metal detector and get frisked before I was taken back to the visiting room. While I waited, I turned back to look at Janet. There they were! Beauty and hope sitting right in front of me, in the form of woman who believed beyond all evidence to the contrary that she would see the goodness of God in the land of the living.
I went to the prison with the intention of encouraging Jerry, and I know I did, but I left feeling that I was the one who got the shot in the arm. Things happen to us in life, whether we bring them on ourselves or not, that leave us feeling imprisoned, and ugly, and hopeless. It is precisely the reason that Jesus came, to proclaim liberty for the captives, exchange beauty for ashes, and give life, particularly in the places where it seems most unlikely for life to be sustained. Life is exactly what is taken from us, and it is exactly what Christ has given back to us.
The End
Milk!!!!!!
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Devil with the Blue ‘Roos on By Sharon Lurie
© 2010 David's Harp and Pen
Mood: Sleepy
DISCLAIMERS: This blog is based, in part, upon actual events and people. Certain actions and characters have been dramatized and fictionalized, but are inspired by true events and real people. Certain other characters, events, and names used herein are entirely fictitious. Any similarity of those fictional characters or events to the name, attributes, or background of any real person, living or dead, or to any actual events is coincidental and unintentional. Therefore, I don’t want to hear any complaining from any child psychologists or people with adult-onset Peter Pan Syndrome who want to accuse me of emotionally scarring small children. Believe you me, the irreversible psychological trauma has been all mine.
*All Scripture quotations are and forevermore shall be from The Amplified Bible (I like my Scripture loud!)
“Maggie Rice: We fight for people's lives in here, right?
Jordan Ferris: Uh-huh.
Maggie Rice: Don't you ever wonder who it is we're fighting with?” City of Angels
Genesis 4:6-7 says, “And the Lord said to Cain, Why are you angry? And why do you look sad and depressed and dejected? If you do well, will you not be accepted? And if you do not do well, sin crouches at your door; its desire is for you, but you must master it.” [emphasis added]
I am coming to the end of a long and challenging year. God has brought a lot of revelation and change to my life, and so naturally, Satan has followed suit to thwart everything God has done. Satan stoked the furnace seven times hotter (metaphorically speaking) upon my return to Nashville from New Jersey the last week of August. I got attacked in every area of my life in one fell swoop. Desperate to hear from God and regroup, I decided to head out to visit some friends, Bill and Trudy, at their ranch. They live way out in the sticks; their nearest neighbors are a pack of coyotes. In fact, friends and family from New Jersey who have been to the ranch with me before described the landscape as “barren wilderness.” I fully expected to spend the week in peace and quiet, spending my days in thoughtful reflection, Bible-reading, and prayer, hearing from God about my situation. I failed to remember, though, that when Jesus was led into the wilderness by the Holy Spirit, Satan was right there waiting for Him with temptations o’ plenty.
My friends have an eight-year-old son named Josiah. He is cute. He is loud. By his own proclamation, he is “redneck and proud.” Josiah likes to wander about in as little clothing as possible. In fact, his favorite duds are blue Underoos emblazoned with a veritable cornucopia of macho and virile superheroes. For those who’ve read my previous blogs, I don’t want to give the impression I don’t like children, because I do. I am a proud veteran of the day care, babysitter, Children’s Church, and Nursery circuit. Kids are wonderful, and should I ever marry, I want to have a whole litter of them. However, kids are better than probably anyone else at pushing buttons and unintentionally bringing out the worst in people.
Now before I go any further, I must explain. I have major sleep problems. I have had them ever since I was a kid. I have sleep apnea, for starters, and must sleep with a CPAP machine. Secondly, I have a terrible time with sleeping at night. All the sleeping pills and herbal supplements have been of no use. When I’m unable to sleep, and I force myself to stay up all day so that I can fall asleep at 9 or 10 PM, when 9 or 10 PM arrives, although I am exhausted, I still can’t fall asleep, and I end up being awake for 36 hours straight. I hope and pray some day this is not the case, but for now, my sleep situation is what it is, and so I must work around it. Josiah doesn’t see it that way.
My first night at the ranch, I couldn’t fall asleep until 5:30 AM. I woke up at 8 AM with the distinct impression the earth was shaking. Turns out I was wrong; it was ME who was shaking. Josiah, who was wearing nothing but his blue Underoos and a smile, had climbed into bed with me, shook me violently, and asked repeatedly, “When are you going to wake up, Sharon?”
I gently and lovingly explained to Josiah that I’d only gotten two and a half hours of sleep and that I would be happy to play with him when I woke up. He seemed agreeable to that and left the room. I laid back down and fell asleep around 8:30 AM. At approximately 8:35 AM, I awoke again to the sensation that I was at the epicenter of a monumental seismic disturbance. Once again, it was Josiah, this time jumping up and down on my sternum while using my cell phone to call Afghanistan. The tremors must’ve registered quite high on the Richter scale because Trudy, Josiah’s mom, came running into my room. She then pulled Josiah off of me, smacked his fanny, and told him sternly not to disturb me or come into my room uninvited if he knew what was good for him. I decided, as I usually do, that the problem was not with Josiah but with me, that if I was a normal person, I would be up during the daylight like the rest of the non-vampire population, and so I got dressed and attempted to enjoy my surroundings.
I went through the rest of the day in a zombie-like state. I found myself nodding off and blacking out. Trudy apologized again throughout the course of the day for Josiah’s behavior and gave me permission to yell, scream, smack, banish, and/or evaporate Josiah if he woke me up again. I assured her it wouldn’t be a problem. After all, since I’d been up all night and all day, I was sure I wouldn’t have any problem falling asleep that night.
Wrong again! I went to bed at 10 PM, and tossed and turned aimlessly until almost 7 AM. At precisely 7:20 AM, I awoke, startled, to the feeling of something small brushing up and down my thigh. When I opened my eyes, I noticed a large lump under my covers, burrowing about, in search of, I don’t know, the Holy Grail. I threw the covers off and, of course, the lump was a scantily-clad Josiah, asking again when I was going to get out of bed. I told him as nicely as I could that I needed to sleep more because I’d not slept the night before. He argued back that I shouldn’t sleep any more because “the sun is up.” Once again, a horrified Trudy rushed in, dragged Josiah away, and apologized profusely to me. As I tried to lay down again and go back to sleep, I heard Josiah in the background crying, “Sharon doesn’t love me! She hates me! She never plays with me! All she does is yell at me!”
Of course, none of that is true. I love Josiah. I tell him so all the time. I play with him when I’m awake. In fact, I think I’ve played with him when I’m asleep. I even looked the other way the first three times he cheated at Monopoly. Naturally, when I told him I wouldn’t play Monopoly with him any more because he cheated, he told me I was a big meanie and regrouped his campaign to deprive me of sleep.
Thus commenced the battle. I could not sleep at night my entire stay at the ranch. Every morning, as soon as I’d fall asleep, Josiah would barge in and wake me up. Since the doors didn’t have locks on them, my first tactic was to barricade the door. Josiah pushed right through, followed by a stern warning to me that I “better NOT tell Mom!” As soon as I’d return to sleep, he’d do it again. I felt so guilty not being able to play with him. Part of the time, I would tell myself it was my fault, that I should be awake during the day, and other times, I would rationalize and say that Josiah couldn’t help himself, he was just a sweet little boy, and I should just let it slide. The end result every time, though, was me getting more and more sleep-deprived and irritable. My rustic retreat to be alone with God was turning into a descent into Hell. I couldn’t leave early. I didn’t want to hurt my friends’ feelings, but something had to give, and soon.
During one of my last failed attempts to sleep, I got deep in thought. I began to rationalize again that there was something truly wrong with me because I couldn’t sleep at night. In fact, depending on the Christian circle in which one travels, Christians should never have to endure prolonged illness, insomnia, negative cash flow, or waiting of any kind. After all, nothing grows a person up spiritually like instant gratification! However, as I said before, my sleep trouble is what it is, and I had to deal with the crisis at hand, from right where I was, and hurt feelings or no hurt feelings, Josiah had to get the message from me once and for all that barging into my room and waking me up constantly was NOT cool!
The next morning, Josiah barged in again. At first, I merely pointed my finger several times for him to get out of my room, which he did. Two hours later, he woke me up again. This time, I screamed for him to get out. He let out a hearty, diabolical laugh, told me I was funny, and informed me he’d come into my room any time he felt like it. His mother yelled at him in the background for him to leave me alone, so he walked away, but he continued to laugh and mock me, and so I knew he’d be back. He’d taken off the kid gloves, and so would I.
Two hours later, just as I’d returned to sleep, in he barged, straight through my barricade. “Sharon!” Josiah yelled at the top of his lungs. “It’s time to…”
“Get out!” I yelled right back, cutting him off.
“But I just wanna…”
“Get! Out! Now!”
“Where’s your phone? You promised I…”
“Out!!!!”
“Sharon, you’re just a mean…”
I inhaled deeply, jumped out of bed, looked Josiah in the eyes, pushed him out the door, and as I slammed it shut, yelled with the fury of a hurricane-force wind, “GENUG!!!!!!!!” (Genug is Yiddish. It means ‘enough.’) In fact, I yelled it so loudly, not only did I scare Josiah, I gained the respect of the pack of coyotes next door.
I slept in peace the next day. And the next. As I pondered the strange turn of events that had unfolded on my intended sabbatical, I remembered the two things God had told me about temptation, and it suddenly all made sense.
As Jesus hung on the Cross and breathed His last, he cried out, “Genug!” (Well, no, He didn’t say “genug,” because Yiddish wasn’t invented yet, although it would’ve been cool had He said it.) He said something similar; namely, “It is finished.” His death broke the power and penalty of sin, and His Resurrection broke the power of the grave. Everything necessary to defeat the stronghold of sin in our lives, Jesus accomplished with the shedding of His blood. Satan, however, is a sore loser, and wants to keep his digs in, like a deadbeat tenant who won’t leave even though he’s received an eviction order.
So why do we so often lose the battle against temptation?
1. We don’t want to acknowledge to God, other people, or to ourselves that we are susceptible to certain temptations in any regard.
1 Corinthians 10:13 says, “For no temptation (no trial regarded as enticing to sin), [no matter how it comes or where it leads] has overtaken you and laid hold on you that is not common to man [that is, no temptation or trial has come to you that is beyond human resistance and that is not adjusted and adapted and belonging to human experience, and such as man can bear].” Satan tells us we’re a special case, though. He tells us no one struggles with that particular temptation except us, so we are somehow worse than everyone else and, therefore, beyond God’s help. He loves to play the shame game, and keep us quiet and isolated about our struggles, and so keep healing out of reach (James 5:16). I don’t like to admit my vulnerabilities any more than I like to admit that I have trouble sleeping at night, but I have to be honest about my sleep issues and propensity to sin so that I can be open to God’s solution.
2. Since temptation often presents itself through another person, we don’t resist as we should because we’re afraid to hurt that person’s feelings.
We’re told in 2 Corinthians 11:14, “Satan himself masquerades as an angel of light.” It’s safe for me to say Satan also masquerades himself as my best friend. My pastor. My boss. My boyfriend. My parents. Yes, Satan even masquerades himself as adorable eight-year-olds. If temptation, or discouragement and condemnation, for that matter, came through ugly, demonic-looking, Lord-of-the-Rings-y-type creatures or total strangers, they wouldn’t have the power they do. However, it was Judas, one of the Twelve Disciples, not a Pharisee, who betrayed Jesus, and it was Saul, not Goliath, who hunted David like a wild animal, and so the sting of the act was that much more intense. Because Satan often delivers his temptations and taunts through those we love and trust, we are that much more susceptible to him, and the consequences when we yield to those temptations and believe those lies are all the more horrifying.
If these are the reasons, then, that we fall prey to the Enemy, how do we stand firm in the future? In his book Waking the Dead, John Eldredge addresses three very important truths for all believers to inscribe on their brains.
1. Things are not what they seem. Sin and temptation, though they almost always appear fun and enticing, are, like insomnia, insanity-producing and death-dealing.
2. This is a world at war. Combat is the norm for every believer, and any Christian who says the Christian life should be absent of strife, trials, and temptation has never read 2 Corinthians 10 or Ephesians 6
3. Each of us has a crucial role to play. It’s because of that crucial role we all play that Satan plays dirty to keep us out of the game
James 4:7 says, “So be subject to God. Resist the devil [stand firm against him], and he will flee from you.” In other words, we fight the good fight by clinging closely to God and standing firm against Satan, no matter what form he may take, because we know his tricks, and he’ll take whatever form necessary to destroy us.
Not too long ago, I had coffee with a friend who really struggled with sexual purity. She complained a male co-worker kept coming on to her, and even though he frequently crossed the line, she didn’t have the heart to tell him to stop because she didn’t want to be mean to him and she liked the attention. I looked at her and asked, “Is your vanity worth your purity?”
Nothing is worth my purity, or my sanity, or my identity in Christ. I will no longer be afraid to tell friends or family no if I think they’re asking me to do or believe something that I know is displeasing to God. We can’t be afraid to say no. We can’t be afraid to admit we’re weak. We can’t be afraid to hurt peoples’ feelings, even if they’re cute and cuddly and eight and don’t know any better. Josiah was crouching at my door. Sin crouched at Cain’s door. Satan crouches at all our doors, seeking whom he may devour (1 Peter 5:8). When he knocks on our door, in clever disguise, and tries to barge his way in, let’s stand firm, resist, and say in the authority Jesus’ shed blood has given us, “GENUG!!!!!!!!”
The End
Milk!!!!!!
Mood: Sleepy
DISCLAIMERS: This blog is based, in part, upon actual events and people. Certain actions and characters have been dramatized and fictionalized, but are inspired by true events and real people. Certain other characters, events, and names used herein are entirely fictitious. Any similarity of those fictional characters or events to the name, attributes, or background of any real person, living or dead, or to any actual events is coincidental and unintentional. Therefore, I don’t want to hear any complaining from any child psychologists or people with adult-onset Peter Pan Syndrome who want to accuse me of emotionally scarring small children. Believe you me, the irreversible psychological trauma has been all mine.
*All Scripture quotations are and forevermore shall be from The Amplified Bible (I like my Scripture loud!)
“Maggie Rice: We fight for people's lives in here, right?
Jordan Ferris: Uh-huh.
Maggie Rice: Don't you ever wonder who it is we're fighting with?” City of Angels
Genesis 4:6-7 says, “And the Lord said to Cain, Why are you angry? And why do you look sad and depressed and dejected? If you do well, will you not be accepted? And if you do not do well, sin crouches at your door; its desire is for you, but you must master it.” [emphasis added]
I am coming to the end of a long and challenging year. God has brought a lot of revelation and change to my life, and so naturally, Satan has followed suit to thwart everything God has done. Satan stoked the furnace seven times hotter (metaphorically speaking) upon my return to Nashville from New Jersey the last week of August. I got attacked in every area of my life in one fell swoop. Desperate to hear from God and regroup, I decided to head out to visit some friends, Bill and Trudy, at their ranch. They live way out in the sticks; their nearest neighbors are a pack of coyotes. In fact, friends and family from New Jersey who have been to the ranch with me before described the landscape as “barren wilderness.” I fully expected to spend the week in peace and quiet, spending my days in thoughtful reflection, Bible-reading, and prayer, hearing from God about my situation. I failed to remember, though, that when Jesus was led into the wilderness by the Holy Spirit, Satan was right there waiting for Him with temptations o’ plenty.
My friends have an eight-year-old son named Josiah. He is cute. He is loud. By his own proclamation, he is “redneck and proud.” Josiah likes to wander about in as little clothing as possible. In fact, his favorite duds are blue Underoos emblazoned with a veritable cornucopia of macho and virile superheroes. For those who’ve read my previous blogs, I don’t want to give the impression I don’t like children, because I do. I am a proud veteran of the day care, babysitter, Children’s Church, and Nursery circuit. Kids are wonderful, and should I ever marry, I want to have a whole litter of them. However, kids are better than probably anyone else at pushing buttons and unintentionally bringing out the worst in people.
Now before I go any further, I must explain. I have major sleep problems. I have had them ever since I was a kid. I have sleep apnea, for starters, and must sleep with a CPAP machine. Secondly, I have a terrible time with sleeping at night. All the sleeping pills and herbal supplements have been of no use. When I’m unable to sleep, and I force myself to stay up all day so that I can fall asleep at 9 or 10 PM, when 9 or 10 PM arrives, although I am exhausted, I still can’t fall asleep, and I end up being awake for 36 hours straight. I hope and pray some day this is not the case, but for now, my sleep situation is what it is, and so I must work around it. Josiah doesn’t see it that way.
My first night at the ranch, I couldn’t fall asleep until 5:30 AM. I woke up at 8 AM with the distinct impression the earth was shaking. Turns out I was wrong; it was ME who was shaking. Josiah, who was wearing nothing but his blue Underoos and a smile, had climbed into bed with me, shook me violently, and asked repeatedly, “When are you going to wake up, Sharon?”
I gently and lovingly explained to Josiah that I’d only gotten two and a half hours of sleep and that I would be happy to play with him when I woke up. He seemed agreeable to that and left the room. I laid back down and fell asleep around 8:30 AM. At approximately 8:35 AM, I awoke again to the sensation that I was at the epicenter of a monumental seismic disturbance. Once again, it was Josiah, this time jumping up and down on my sternum while using my cell phone to call Afghanistan. The tremors must’ve registered quite high on the Richter scale because Trudy, Josiah’s mom, came running into my room. She then pulled Josiah off of me, smacked his fanny, and told him sternly not to disturb me or come into my room uninvited if he knew what was good for him. I decided, as I usually do, that the problem was not with Josiah but with me, that if I was a normal person, I would be up during the daylight like the rest of the non-vampire population, and so I got dressed and attempted to enjoy my surroundings.
I went through the rest of the day in a zombie-like state. I found myself nodding off and blacking out. Trudy apologized again throughout the course of the day for Josiah’s behavior and gave me permission to yell, scream, smack, banish, and/or evaporate Josiah if he woke me up again. I assured her it wouldn’t be a problem. After all, since I’d been up all night and all day, I was sure I wouldn’t have any problem falling asleep that night.
Wrong again! I went to bed at 10 PM, and tossed and turned aimlessly until almost 7 AM. At precisely 7:20 AM, I awoke, startled, to the feeling of something small brushing up and down my thigh. When I opened my eyes, I noticed a large lump under my covers, burrowing about, in search of, I don’t know, the Holy Grail. I threw the covers off and, of course, the lump was a scantily-clad Josiah, asking again when I was going to get out of bed. I told him as nicely as I could that I needed to sleep more because I’d not slept the night before. He argued back that I shouldn’t sleep any more because “the sun is up.” Once again, a horrified Trudy rushed in, dragged Josiah away, and apologized profusely to me. As I tried to lay down again and go back to sleep, I heard Josiah in the background crying, “Sharon doesn’t love me! She hates me! She never plays with me! All she does is yell at me!”
Of course, none of that is true. I love Josiah. I tell him so all the time. I play with him when I’m awake. In fact, I think I’ve played with him when I’m asleep. I even looked the other way the first three times he cheated at Monopoly. Naturally, when I told him I wouldn’t play Monopoly with him any more because he cheated, he told me I was a big meanie and regrouped his campaign to deprive me of sleep.
Thus commenced the battle. I could not sleep at night my entire stay at the ranch. Every morning, as soon as I’d fall asleep, Josiah would barge in and wake me up. Since the doors didn’t have locks on them, my first tactic was to barricade the door. Josiah pushed right through, followed by a stern warning to me that I “better NOT tell Mom!” As soon as I’d return to sleep, he’d do it again. I felt so guilty not being able to play with him. Part of the time, I would tell myself it was my fault, that I should be awake during the day, and other times, I would rationalize and say that Josiah couldn’t help himself, he was just a sweet little boy, and I should just let it slide. The end result every time, though, was me getting more and more sleep-deprived and irritable. My rustic retreat to be alone with God was turning into a descent into Hell. I couldn’t leave early. I didn’t want to hurt my friends’ feelings, but something had to give, and soon.
During one of my last failed attempts to sleep, I got deep in thought. I began to rationalize again that there was something truly wrong with me because I couldn’t sleep at night. In fact, depending on the Christian circle in which one travels, Christians should never have to endure prolonged illness, insomnia, negative cash flow, or waiting of any kind. After all, nothing grows a person up spiritually like instant gratification! However, as I said before, my sleep trouble is what it is, and I had to deal with the crisis at hand, from right where I was, and hurt feelings or no hurt feelings, Josiah had to get the message from me once and for all that barging into my room and waking me up constantly was NOT cool!
The next morning, Josiah barged in again. At first, I merely pointed my finger several times for him to get out of my room, which he did. Two hours later, he woke me up again. This time, I screamed for him to get out. He let out a hearty, diabolical laugh, told me I was funny, and informed me he’d come into my room any time he felt like it. His mother yelled at him in the background for him to leave me alone, so he walked away, but he continued to laugh and mock me, and so I knew he’d be back. He’d taken off the kid gloves, and so would I.
Two hours later, just as I’d returned to sleep, in he barged, straight through my barricade. “Sharon!” Josiah yelled at the top of his lungs. “It’s time to…”
“Get out!” I yelled right back, cutting him off.
“But I just wanna…”
“Get! Out! Now!”
“Where’s your phone? You promised I…”
“Out!!!!”
“Sharon, you’re just a mean…”
I inhaled deeply, jumped out of bed, looked Josiah in the eyes, pushed him out the door, and as I slammed it shut, yelled with the fury of a hurricane-force wind, “GENUG!!!!!!!!” (Genug is Yiddish. It means ‘enough.’) In fact, I yelled it so loudly, not only did I scare Josiah, I gained the respect of the pack of coyotes next door.
I slept in peace the next day. And the next. As I pondered the strange turn of events that had unfolded on my intended sabbatical, I remembered the two things God had told me about temptation, and it suddenly all made sense.
As Jesus hung on the Cross and breathed His last, he cried out, “Genug!” (Well, no, He didn’t say “genug,” because Yiddish wasn’t invented yet, although it would’ve been cool had He said it.) He said something similar; namely, “It is finished.” His death broke the power and penalty of sin, and His Resurrection broke the power of the grave. Everything necessary to defeat the stronghold of sin in our lives, Jesus accomplished with the shedding of His blood. Satan, however, is a sore loser, and wants to keep his digs in, like a deadbeat tenant who won’t leave even though he’s received an eviction order.
So why do we so often lose the battle against temptation?
1. We don’t want to acknowledge to God, other people, or to ourselves that we are susceptible to certain temptations in any regard.
1 Corinthians 10:13 says, “For no temptation (no trial regarded as enticing to sin), [no matter how it comes or where it leads] has overtaken you and laid hold on you that is not common to man [that is, no temptation or trial has come to you that is beyond human resistance and that is not adjusted and adapted and belonging to human experience, and such as man can bear].” Satan tells us we’re a special case, though. He tells us no one struggles with that particular temptation except us, so we are somehow worse than everyone else and, therefore, beyond God’s help. He loves to play the shame game, and keep us quiet and isolated about our struggles, and so keep healing out of reach (James 5:16). I don’t like to admit my vulnerabilities any more than I like to admit that I have trouble sleeping at night, but I have to be honest about my sleep issues and propensity to sin so that I can be open to God’s solution.
2. Since temptation often presents itself through another person, we don’t resist as we should because we’re afraid to hurt that person’s feelings.
We’re told in 2 Corinthians 11:14, “Satan himself masquerades as an angel of light.” It’s safe for me to say Satan also masquerades himself as my best friend. My pastor. My boss. My boyfriend. My parents. Yes, Satan even masquerades himself as adorable eight-year-olds. If temptation, or discouragement and condemnation, for that matter, came through ugly, demonic-looking, Lord-of-the-Rings-y-type creatures or total strangers, they wouldn’t have the power they do. However, it was Judas, one of the Twelve Disciples, not a Pharisee, who betrayed Jesus, and it was Saul, not Goliath, who hunted David like a wild animal, and so the sting of the act was that much more intense. Because Satan often delivers his temptations and taunts through those we love and trust, we are that much more susceptible to him, and the consequences when we yield to those temptations and believe those lies are all the more horrifying.
If these are the reasons, then, that we fall prey to the Enemy, how do we stand firm in the future? In his book Waking the Dead, John Eldredge addresses three very important truths for all believers to inscribe on their brains.
1. Things are not what they seem. Sin and temptation, though they almost always appear fun and enticing, are, like insomnia, insanity-producing and death-dealing.
2. This is a world at war. Combat is the norm for every believer, and any Christian who says the Christian life should be absent of strife, trials, and temptation has never read 2 Corinthians 10 or Ephesians 6
3. Each of us has a crucial role to play. It’s because of that crucial role we all play that Satan plays dirty to keep us out of the game
James 4:7 says, “So be subject to God. Resist the devil [stand firm against him], and he will flee from you.” In other words, we fight the good fight by clinging closely to God and standing firm against Satan, no matter what form he may take, because we know his tricks, and he’ll take whatever form necessary to destroy us.
Not too long ago, I had coffee with a friend who really struggled with sexual purity. She complained a male co-worker kept coming on to her, and even though he frequently crossed the line, she didn’t have the heart to tell him to stop because she didn’t want to be mean to him and she liked the attention. I looked at her and asked, “Is your vanity worth your purity?”
Nothing is worth my purity, or my sanity, or my identity in Christ. I will no longer be afraid to tell friends or family no if I think they’re asking me to do or believe something that I know is displeasing to God. We can’t be afraid to say no. We can’t be afraid to admit we’re weak. We can’t be afraid to hurt peoples’ feelings, even if they’re cute and cuddly and eight and don’t know any better. Josiah was crouching at my door. Sin crouched at Cain’s door. Satan crouches at all our doors, seeking whom he may devour (1 Peter 5:8). When he knocks on our door, in clever disguise, and tries to barge his way in, let’s stand firm, resist, and say in the authority Jesus’ shed blood has given us, “GENUG!!!!!!!!”
The End
Milk!!!!!!
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