Monday, November 29, 2010

Life Can Get Complicated; A Thanksgiving Day Disaster


Thanksgiving 2010 was very uneventful; six of us gathered for a typical meal of turkey, stuffing, mash potatoes, cranberry salad, homemade rolls, corn ... well, you get the idea.  We ate, had pie and left to take left overs to Gram some three hours away. However, Thanksgiving a year ago, 2009 was a very different saga.  Life can get complicated even on the most well intended of days. 

Our immediate family had traveled just across town to an extended family member's house for Thanksgiving dinner.  The house was full of more extended family; adults, teenagers, and a couple of children from two sides a married family.  Neither side knew the other well. Added to the mix was our adorable new, rescued puppy, Madden and my mother-in-law’s old, cranky canine, Nittany.  One of the children in attendance was a precious thirteen month old little girl that LOVED both dogs and simply couldn’t keep her sweet little hands off of them.  In fact, she just couldn’t leave either of them alone.  Our puppy was good with that so we kept encouraging her to play with Madden but that was tricky, at best.   She wanted some action with Gram’s old cantankerous canine as well.  She clumsily climbed into Nittany’s bed (he was snuggled up along side Gram at the time) while her parents oo-ed, aw-ed and took pictures of the little cherub. Simultaneously, the relatives on our side of the family held their breath hoping the old dog, and Gram, wouldn’t notice.  

We all took our assigned seats at the festive dining room table.  Dinner was served. However, Thanksgiving dinner rapidly turned from delightful to stressful as the thirteen month old cherub wanted to be “down with the puppies!” The squirming and shrieking of a one year old can transform a Kodak moment into holiday chaos, so there we sat trying to pretend all was well as we made an attempt to ignore wondering toddler. No one noticed little cherub quietly wander over to the exact spot beneath the dinner table where a dog bed cradled Nittany as he was peacefully enjoying a holiday snooze.  Little cherub gently reached to pet him and in a moments notice any shred of peace hanging in the atmosphere was chased away by sheer panic ... Nittany bit little cherub’s face and all “you know what,” broke loose!!  Understandably, her mom and dad went bezerk.  Mom grabbed little cherub and whisked her into the bedroom.  Dad left a streak of swear words lingering in the stale air as he jerked the older child from his place at the festive table to pursue the hysterical mom carrying the bellowing toddler.  All the while the hostess was accusing her husband of not watching the baby.  The baby was crying and screaming as my mother-in-law burst into tears and wept uncontrollably while the rest of us sat like stone statues, frozen in time and space.  Even the active, frisky puppy energy that is typical for Madden seemed to be suspended for a moment or two.  We were stunned.  We were perplexed and for a moment, no one even flinched.  

The dad broke the silence as he surfaced from the bedroom and announced with obvious annoyance that although the bite didn’t break little cherub’s skin, it had marked and bruised his daughter’s cheek significantly, and immediately.  The situation advanced from hysteria to even more awkwardness.  Within moments the dad was muttering under his breath “that dog should be shot, put away! This is ridiculous  ...” and although I don’t blame him, it was upsetting my mother-in-law who was just about as traumatized as little cherub had been.  I rescued the moment by packing up while declaring that I would leaving with both Madden and Nittany, immediately if not sooner. Within seconds my husband, oldest son and mother-in-law emphatically insisted on heading out the door with me.  We departed with one thought in mind; get Grammy and the dogs as far away from the holiday festivities and the family in crisis, as possible.  

Isn’t wasn’t long before we were winding our way out of the neighborhood in the silent comfort of our Toyota Camry and our Madden began to puke all over the back seat of our car.  Little cherub had been feeding him table food even though we asked repeatedly that the parents please keep her from doing so.  As Madden heaved green peas, I began to laugh uncontrollably.  As I cackled, my husband’s patience began to drain from his psyche which ignited more gut wrenching laughter from me.  Gram thought our son was throwing up because she was in the front seat and can’t hear well.  I successfully had the dog puking in a blanket but Ben was yelling for his dad to “pull over” so the dog could throw up outside and all the while our son was gagging mercilessly. 
Grammy kept saying, “Poor boy, he always eats too many potatoes” and my husband kept bellowing, “MOM, IT’S THE DOG, NOT THE BOY!”  By the time my husband got the car pulled over, Madden was completely done puking.  We started our journey again.  Moments later we pulled into our driveway as everyone, including Madden, begin to normalize.  We had no more unpacked the car when the rest of the family made an appearance.  The story was told a few times over with personalities highlighting various components and emphasizing their favored moment.  I was just thrilled to have Gram’s homemade pies show up with the second entourage ...  the biting episode took place between our first and second helpings of turkey, stuffing and the fixings.  Sigh.  Little cherub was going to be just fine ... something for which we were all genuinely thankful!! 

Life can get complicated even on the most well intended of days.   

Tuesday, November 23, 2010

Religion that God Esteems


 “Those who consider themselves religious and yet do not keep a tight rein on their tongues deceive themselves, and their religion is worthless. Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world.”   I James 1:26, 27 (NIV)

Sunday, November 21, 2010

Why Do I Hate Religion; Let Me Count the Ways

I hate religion.  I made that statement recently to someone who had been hurt by religion; by religious people. This person was actually willing to defend religion on the premise that "hate is a strong word." I do hate religion I argued. Detest. Abhor. Disdain. Loathe. Despise.  All of the above. Use any one of them to describe my sentiments about religion and it fits.  My opinion doesn't matter much in the whole scheme of things but when I read the New Testament accounts, I am convinced that Jesus hated religion.  Hear what I'm NOT saying - Jesus didn't hate religious people.  Nor do I.  He simply hated religion and its affects on the hearts of men.  Particularly as it painted their view of the Father.

I once heard a woman define religion in a most poignant way.  Religion is man's idea of God's expectations, she expressed. Therein lies the problem, religion was never God's idea. I consider it absurd to think that God would send his only and most loved Son to earth to be misunderstood, unjustly accused and ill-treated; let alone to die a heinous death on a cross, so that you and I could have a nice little set of rules to follow.  A spiritual check list with a formula for how we are to act, speak, dress, dictate where we go and what we do, and what we don't do.  Rules that make us feel good about ourselves and about God when we follow them.  The same rules that make us feel badly when we don't.  I have a serious problem with that because the purpose for which Jesus came to the earth, other than to serve, was so that you and I might have abundant life. Abundant means to be full, have the supply met and then some, go beyond sufficient.  When I was in bondage to religion, my life was totally deficient in abundance.  At least the kind that translated into LIFE for me.  However, when my life was full of religion it was overly abundant in condemnation, guilt, discouragement, defeat, boredom, bitterness, resentment, and on an on the list could go. I hate religion.  In fact, if there was a Religious Anonymous chapter to join, I would.  I'd be delighted to stand up at every meeting and proclaim, "Hi, I'm Sherilyn and I'm a recovering religi-aholic."  I'd go on to describe a life now overly abundant in grace, mercy, loving-kindness, joy, peace, forgiveness, freedom, and on and on the list could go.

Why do I hate religion?  Let me count the ways ...

1.  Religion makes the rule more important than the relationship.  Grace values the relationship above all the differences.
2.  Religion reminds others of their sin.  Grace reminds others to stay in the shadow of the cross.
3.  Religion becomes all about what not to do.  Grace finds common ground.
4.  Religion builds walls.  Grace builds bridges. 
5.  Religion needs others to look, speak and act the same.  Grace makes room for diversity.
6.  Religion rejects. Grace pursues.
7.  Religion is rude. Grace is considerate.
8.  Religion judges.  Grace understands and lets God be God.
9.  Religion yells and demands and gets angry.  Grace whispers and leaves options and forgives.
10.Religion pities those not on the "inside."  Grace serves those on the "outside."
11.Religion is close-minded.  Grace sees the options.
12.Religion is self-absorbed.  Grace always notices the other.
13.Religion talks, often yells.  Grace weighs words carefully and often prays.
14.Religion points fingers.  Grace admits its own need.
15.Religion reacts.  Grace responds.
16.Religion is convinced it has all the answers.  Grace is open to the
questions.
17.Religion brags about self.  Grace brags about Another.
18.Religion is about what I can do for God.  Grace is about what God has done for me.
19.Religion is loud and wants to be recognized by man.  Grace goes unnoticed and wants to be in God's presence.
20.Religion catches another messing up. Grace is there to help pick up the pieces when one messes up.  Grace gives hope.
21.Religion knows what to say.  Always.  Grace points others to the One who knows best. Never anywhere else.
22.Religion loves formulas.  Grace embraces life in the Spirit.
23.Religion has it all figured out.  Grace listens, even when it's uncomfortable.
24.Religion beats others up with the truth. Grace earns the right to be heard.
25.Religion is about me.  Grace is about Him.

I hate religion but oh how I love grace!  Cherish. Esteem. Prize. Treasure. All of the above. Use any one of them to describe my sentiments about grace and it fits.                

"The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the one and only Son, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth" (John 1:14)

Thursday, November 11, 2010

"Uh, Mom, Can We Go Now?"


Although I'm snuggled comfortably on my couch in our cozy family room at home in Pennsylvania, a piece of my heart is in Minnesota where I was scheduled to be, as of tonight.  I had a road trip planned with my girlfriend, Sandy and our east coast departure was scheduled for yesterday. The intent was to make the 16 hour trek to be with my oldest son, Ben for a long weekend.  And of course, to enjoy some girlfriend adventures in the Twin Cities as well . Sadly, I won’t make it to the stands of Royal Stadium on Saturday to watch Ben’s last football game of the regular season. However,  Bethel University is headed into the D-III play-offs so it may not be their last game this year.  Regardless, God had different plans for this weekend. The road trip was canceled because Sandy was informed that she had to attend a national board meeting this weekend yet she spent all day in our local ER trying to arrest a kidney stone ... imagine having THAT emergency on the road!  Ugh ... so, back to my couch where I'm sitting while I pen this new post. Disappointment in my heart and nostalgia in my emotions. My husband and the dog are out cold and the young man living with us is closing up Chick-fil-A.  The house is quiet.  

I’m attempting to embrace this new season of parenting but find myself desperately pining for the presence of  children in our home.  I readily admit my sentiments in this transitional phase of parenting, I miss my boys. I’ll shout it from the mountain tops.  I miss hearing their voices and seeing their faces. I miss “feeling”  a little more in control of their lives. I miss their friends. The full dinner table.  The piano playing and the deep voice coming through the front door greeting me.  I miss my boys. I don't miss their laundry but I desperately miss their personalities and their presence in our home.  I could go on and on but I’ll spare you the many more obnoxious mother-laden details of my grieving heart. What I miss most may be the significant chunks of TIME to be with Ben or with Andy.  When they were  little guys, full of energy and many needs, I would crave time alone.  An hour or two that afforded me some stillness, and the sound of silence.  ME time!  But now, I just miss hangin’ out with my boys, and their friends.  I miss the chance that time would afford us to chat, laugh, play or discuss something of a serious nature or even a small window for me to impart some parental wisdom. Smile.



As I sit here lamenting, my mind wanders back to a day last year when Andy was a high school senior .  A day he was off school some eight or nine months ago.  I recall that Andy and I had gone to The Waffle Shop to have breakfast together.  It was likely just another mid-morning meal for Andy but it happened to be a treasured appointment for his mom!  I enjoyed my coffee and blueberry pancakes, but I mostly cherished listening to my son who was on the fast track to becoming a young man.  It was food for my soul to talk face-to-face with him instead of on the fly, or in a text message. Sigh. I loved looking into his eyes, and into his future to dream with him just a little bit. I had come to breakfast with something on my heart that I wanted to share with Andy; a word of affirmation mixed with a small measure of admonition.  And just about the time it seemed fitting to initiate that conversation, Andy asked the dreaded question. “Uh, Mom, can we go now?”  I chocked down a fork full of pancakes and made an attempt to hide my disappointment while his question hung like a broken pinata between us. With as much normalcy as I could muster, I replied, “Sure, Andy, we can go now.  I know you’re off to a fun and busy day.”  I knew that his abrupt desire to leave wasn’t about me.  Andy had finished his short stack, home fries extra crispy, side of bacon and chocolate milk and he was ready to get on with his day.  He had plans with friends and still had a lawn yet to mow.  His day off was full and he needed to get going; he wanted to get going. He took our bill and $20 to pay the cashier while I fumbled through my wallet to leave a generous tip for the cheerfully attentive waitress who had served us. The meal that had just been served was already being cleared from our table.
  
As we headed out to the parking lot together, The Waffle Shop doors closed behind us.  And as they did, I sensed the familiar nudge of the Holy Spirit for me to notice something vaguely familiar about the scene that I had just witnessed.  An aha moment in my spirit where I saw a mirror image of me and my all too customary demeanor in the presence of God. His loving conviction disclosed my own tendency to show up for my time with Him, most often with a hungry heart, all too often with a hasty spirit, reading the Word just enough to whet my spiritual appetite and then to be on my way. My quick self-absorbed prayers followed by a heart attitude of, “Uh, Father, can I go now?”  I pondered how rarely I listen with the intent of hearing what’s on the heart and mind of the Father in that moment.  I was reminded that when I don’t linger in His presence, I miss out.  When I miss out, God’s not mad at me.  When I miss out, He doesn't yank His favor from my life.  He doesn’t even beg me to stay with Him longer. But, I miss out. Plain and simple. I discard what was on His heart for me, for others, and for His intended glory or at best, I treat it with contempt in my effort to be all about me when I'm with Him.


In James chapter 1, the phrase “look intently” literally means “to linger” and in this context it is referring to lingering in the Word of God.  The verses in James 1 tell us that if we will linger as we read or look into the Word of God (the perfect law that gives freedom), and hang out there awhile, and then DO something with what we’ve heard or read, there are blessings to be had!  I have to ask myself, how often do I miss them?  God has something on His heart at all times for me but will I linger in His Word and in His Presence long enough to receive it?  I would be a fool to miss it. 


My heart is longing for time with my son tonight and that longing reminds me that the Father yearns for uninterrupted time with me too.  I’d like to break my habit of asking, “Can I go now?” and train my body, soul and spirit to “hang out” in His presence to receive every ounce of the Father's heart that I can get.

James 1:22-25   "Do not merely listen to the word, and so deceive yourselves. Do what it says. Anyone who listens to the word but does not do what it says is like a man who looks at his face in a mirror and, after looking at himself, goes away and immediately forgets what he looks like. But the man who looks intently into the perfect law that gives freedom, and continues to do this, not forgetting what he has heard, but doing it—he will be blessed in what he does."

Monday, November 1, 2010

Don't You Just Love Airplane Stories?

I boarded the plane right on time and was headed for my assigned seat, 9B when I overheard a woman conversing with her husband about asking someone to give up their seat so that they could travel side-by-side.  She was my traveling mate, assigned to seat 9A, her husband directly behind her in 10A.  I honorably offered to trade seats with her husband which delighted them both and evoked a gracious comment from the husband about me. I smiled and took my place in 10A.  As I began to settle into 10A while watching a couple wrestle with their gigantic duffel bag and the overhead compartment, a perfectly coiffed blonde woman standing in the aisle near row seven caught my eye and with a smile and a rather patronizing tone said, "Dear, YOU are in my husband's seat."  I pointed to the gentleman in 9B and replied, "No, HE is ..." as I attempted to indiscreetly holler back my explanation about trading seats.  The couple in 9A and 9B seemingly ignored me.  Blondie insisted I abandon 10A because her husband clearly had ownership for this flight.  I gently tapped the guy in 9A on the shoulder and asked if he would kindly show the woman his boarding pass and when he did it revealed that he had indeed been assigned to 10A, now my assigned seat. Blondie appeared slightly stunned and bellowed to a gentleman standing in the aisle at about row five, "George, honey, what is your seat assignment?"  11B was his response.  I didn't wait for hers but simply gathered my belongings and moved to a new assignment yet one row back while muttering, "I'm happy to sit anywhere, really."  A few chuckles rose from the observant passengers as we exchanged glances.  No sooner had I set my posterior in 11B when a tall, lanky gentleman spoke to me, he had been standing in the aisle between the couple who had finally stuffed their over-sized duffel bag safely into the overhead compartment and Blondie.  "Would you sit in 11A so I can be on the aisle?"  Although asked with the inflection that indicates a question, it sounded far more like a command than a request.  I quipped, "Absolutely, I aim to please!"  The onlooking passengers began to laugh openly, I made one final offer to anyone who wanted to give up their seat for 11A.  No takers but plenty of  merriment.  Free pre-flight entertainment is always a plus. I prefer to watch it however, not provide it!  Sigh. I stayed in 11A for the duration of the flight and everyone seemed satisfied. Even Blondie.

As the plane taxied down the runway, I couldn't help but ponder the fact that my contentment came from simply having my mind fixed on my destination, the twin cities where our oldest son attends college.  I hadn't seen Ben for three months and a Bethel football weekend was ahead with the promise of perfect fall weather, plenty of Minnesota sunshine, time with friends and my 21 year old son whose company I thoroughly enjoy.  My seat assignment was a secondary issue at best. My heart began to drift to life as a journey and our tendency to get all worked up over the meaningless details like seat assignments. The interruptions in our schedule that inconvenience us.  The job assignment that we dread or the financial burden that never seems to go away.  The unexpected illness that slows us down.  The house that begs to be cleaned or the yard that needs to be mowed or far more importantly, the family member or friend that begs our attention when we are tired, empty, feeling selfish.  And on and on the details of life go causing us to demand a certain seat, next to a certain person, near a window or maybe an aisle and before we know it, our focus has shifted from our destination to the details that ultimately, just won't matter when all is said and done.

My heart recognized a vague connection to an amazing truth mentioned in Hebrews 12:2 about Jesus enduring the agony of death on a cross for the joy set before him.  Frivolous airport stories like mine although slightly humorous can hardly be compared to "enduring the cross" but the Spirit did use it to grab my attention for a brief moment and remind me of the ridiculousness of focusing on the details of life instead of on the destination.  It doesn't really matter if those details distract us from the ultimate destination of eternity or simply the destination of a day marked by joy and gratitude because I choose them, not necessarily because I feel them.  Destinations matter.  Seat assignments, not so much.  His truth grabbed my heart and my attention.  I trust they will make a difference in my days.


I was assigned to seat 10C on my return flight and I had no sooner settled in and secured my seat belt when I looked up and saw none other than Blondie and her husband headed down the aisle.  I grabbed my book and literally stuck my nose in it hoping that the two were assigned to seats next to each other.  Blondie's voice never pierced the airplane hum so I trust they were but seated behind me, I never knew for sure.