Cynicism Comes All Too Easily...

... at least to me.

A little over a month ago, I wrote a post titled, "This Might Be the Most Important Post I Have Ever Written".  That was probably not the brightest idea I ever had for a title.  I wrote about some of my struggles from the previous month, and then I entered into a new one.  The past month has been overwhelming, again, and I am relatively sure there are a few things I could share that would be of much greater importance than my thoughts from my earlier post, many of which are a direct result of the things that I discussed (or did not discuss, as the case may be) related to the post, itself.

I remember being almost obsessed with the concept of the "dark night of the soul" in my early 20s.  I am sure it never occurred to me that a person could experience a dark month... or two... or longer...  But it's been really dark here.

I was going to write that there have been external circumstances that have contributed to this, but then it occurred to me that the very idea is, at least most likely, very wrong.  There have been external circumstances, no doubt, but the more I consider it, the more I think they are actually symptoms of a much worse internal conflict.  I have, quite literally, made myself sick.  I cannot remember the last time I had a good night's sleep.  My stress level is just skyrocketing, and I'm putting this pressure on myself.  No one else is at fault.  I am the problem.  And I hate that.  And I need a stronger word than hate, because that just didn't cut it.

I have never been any good at lying.  I am a prophet.  Not the kind of prophet who foresees the future (at least not consistently, but that's another thought for another day... or never...) but the kind of prophet who tells the truth.  Multiple stories with great entertainment value have been written about characters who are "cursed" with the inability to lie.  I have to imagine those stories are so much funnier if they're not your own.  But I've learned to live with it - this painful desire to tell everyone about everything that is wrong with the world, cynicism, and this painful desire to tell everyone about everything that is right with the world, which is sometimes worse.  I've learned to live with it by mostly being silent.  "Live" might be too strong a word here.

In order to protect myself, I have also learned some moderately valuable tricks such as tact, sarcasm, and nuance.  I'm much better at sarcasm and nuance than tact, but I can pull even that one out of the bag if I have to, most of the time.  Problem is, I'm exhausted - physically and mentally and emotionally and spiritually exhausted.  I can just feel it coming.  If I'm not very careful, words are going to start spewing out of my mouth (and, very likely, my fingertips) that I can never get back.  And then what?

I am working really hard, right now, to find the proper way to move forward by speaking the truth in love.  I was going to say, "see Ephesians 4:15," but you know what, just see Ephesians 4.  All of it.  I was reminded the other day that, "There can be no way forward but through prayer".  This is truth.  I can speak this.  And I can do this.

And so, even in this meandering post, God has been working.  God is working.  I don't want anyone to misunderstand.  The time for eternal silence and censorship has ended.  I'm not afraid to speak the truth.  But I need to make sure I am centered precisely on the truth that God would have me to speak "for such a time as this".  See Esther 4:14.  Or, you know, just the whole book.

Pray for me.  I am praying.

L.

So We Spent the Weekend in Ferguson...

Last week, I had a strange phone conversation.  It went something like this.  The person to whom I was talking was going on about the terrible events in Ferguson, MO, and it was obvious to me that the only information available to this person was the sensationalized media.  This wasn't the strange part.  Almost everyone I know had conversations like that last week.  The strange part was when she said, "Now I know why you homeschool your kids," as if, somehow, that was what was "protecting" them from being another statistic in a case like Ferguson, or from being a part of a violent demonstration, or whatever... 

It took absolutely everything I had to refrain from announcing our plans to spend the weekend in Ferguson.

I'm going to be completely honest with you.  When I looked into the sweet face of my four year old, in 2005, I couldn't bring myself to put him on a bus, because I was afraid that something terrible might happen...  like another broken arm or another school shooting.  There was some amount of fear that went into our decision to homeschool (at least from my perspective).  I could hardly drop my kids off in the nursery for an hour without panicking.  If you've ever seen "Finding Nemo," I was Marlin.

But as the years went by, some very fundamental things changed for me.  And, at this point, homeschooling our kids has nothing to do with fear.  It has to do with spending as much time as we can helping them to learn and grow in the understanding of who God has created them to be and then finding ways to send them out into the world, so they can share God's love with other people.  It's spiritual formation.  It's story sharing.  And it works.  As a side note, our kids are also getting a very good education, both in the foundational subjects that everyone needs to understand and in the individualization that can take place, allowing each of them to explore their own talents and abilities to the fullest.  I have the utmost respect for public and private school educators.  I have no idea how they make it work for the large number of students in their care.  

Ironically, this post didn't start out to be about homeschooling.  It just took a little turn due to that conversation I had last week.  

What I really want to share, today, is what happened in Ferguson.  On Friday, we left home early in the morning to meet with around 200 of our best friends from across the country for the 35th annual St. Louis District All Star Quiz.  I don't think there was a team there who didn't arrive feeling something like the passengers who finally make it back to the platform after a high speed, inverted roller coaster ride.  But we're a family, and this is what we do.  And, quite frankly, there is no way that the leadership of this quiz family would have allowed the quiz to go on if there was any imminent danger to the participants.  We take care of one another.

So often, in the midst of competition, we run around spitting numbers out at each another as we duck through another doorway to try our hands at another 20 questions.  These are called statistics.  And they matter.  But not nearly as much as quizzing matters.  Because, you see, quizzing is not really about those questions.  It's not really about the score at the end of the round and who takes home the biggest trophy.  Sometimes I feel like I'm beating a dead horse.

These are the things that mattered most, this weekend:

1.  As mentioned above, we got to be with our friends.  Real friends.  The kind that have seen you at your worst and love you anyway.  The kind you can be yourself around, and, even if they think you're crazy, it's OK.

2.  We were located in a place where there were so many people who love their community that we actually were not able to get into the spaces where food was being prepared for the people of Ferguson.  This was, in many ways, terribly disappointing, because we wanted to help.  However, it also put into perspective the immense ways in which the Church of the Nazarene cares.  How often can you show up to help somewhere only to find that there is no need?  Actually, I have never seen that happen before.

3.  We were there when another team needed help changing a tire, at midnight, in the pouring rain.  And by "we", I mean Phil.

4.  And, we were all there to pray when a friend was taken, by ambulance, to the hospital.  And, prayer matters.  A lot. 

5.  We raised over $300.00 for the community of Ferguson, and we raised over $300.00 for the translation of quiz materials in other world areas, so that others can know the joy of memorizing Scripture for the purpose of spiritual formation and for the purpose of fellowship with their closest friends.  

And after all of that, I'll just bet that there is someone reading this who is still asking, "Did you win?"  I want to cry for you, really.  But the answer is yes.  Yes we did.  We didn't bring home anything that said first place on it, this weekend, but everyone there won at life.  And that's more important.

L.

Panem et Circenses…

This post.  It’s been coming for a long time.  I’m not sure I can get it all out, eloquently, but it is what it is.

For weeks, I had Caedmon’s Call’s song, “High Countries” rolling around in my head.  So much so, in fact, that I picked up C.S. Lewis’, “The Great Divorce” and re-read it some dozen years after it first crossed my path.  And the theme that just kept playing, over and over again, was a question.  “What are you holding onto?”  And maybe more accurately, “What hell are you clinging to at the expense of heaven?”  Ouch.

It’s not so easy for me to get “comfortable” with my surroundings, and I think that what I’ve learned about myself over the past couple of years is that if I do get comfortable, I dig my heels in.  And I’m not going to go around lamenting everything that’s happened in that time frame or living with regrets.  The truth is, I should have dug my heels in when I did.  But maybe I’ve let them drag for a little too long at this point.  I’m human.

A stark reality hit me the other day, and I almost hate to admit it, but here goes nothing.  I’m comfortable here, but I don’t love this place.  This is how I know…

Let’s take a little trip back in time – oh, say, 2002-2003 or so.  I loved where I was then.  I was committed to ministry.  I was committed to my community.  I was committed to ministry in my community!  Oh to re-capture the early twenty-something, girl on fire, taking the world by storm mentality!  But this is the more important thing - I would take walks on a regular basis and pray for the people who lived in the houses I was passing, even though I didn’t know them… even if I never saw a result.  I don’t think I have ever done that here, and I’ve lived here more than three times as long.

I’ve had a tendency to wax philosophical in mid-late July these past few years.  I think that maybe, just maybe, it’s the never-ending circus music or the smell of funnel cakes that causes this.  They repulse me.  And I know… I know… I just lost half of my Facebook friend list, but stay with me.  I was not made for Circus City, U.S.A.  I know that now.

Miah and I took a walk downtown the other morning.  We walked through the blocked off streets, quiet with fair rides and deep fried food that wouldn’t be available for hours.  For a variety of reasons, we took this walk when no one was there... when it was empty:

And I asked myself questions.  “Why don’t you love this place, Lisa?”  It’s been “home” for almost six years.  “Would you feel differently about this place if you grew up here?”  Maybe.  “Wait – why would you want your kids to grow up here, then?”

Life has always been more than bread and circuses for me.  I’m not satisfied with inconsequential means of appeasement.  I’ve been told that I’m never satisfied, and it’s probably true.  You cannot distract me by meeting my immediate, superficial requirements.  I don’t pacify.  And if you think, for one moment, that this is an easy life to live; think again.  The easy life is the one consumed with the ride.  And the truth is - you can’t reach those people.  They’re not ready.  They might never be ready.  Please don’t misunderstand.  Rides can be fun… for awhile.  But over the course of a lifetime?  I’d rather take a journey. 

Now, if you want to hear an honest to the core confession, I don’t want to walk away from the memories here.  I start to tear up if I think about it for very long.  But I think I need to let go now.  I don’t want this place to define me.  I don’t want to embody this theme.  I don’t want to “fall to pieces” over something shallow when I could have something solid.  And it’s harder than I think.

Next week I’m going to have the opportunity to spend an extended amount of time in a place where my life was shaped, formed, and changed forever.  I need that.  I’m really not looking for a “do over”, but a fresh start would be nice.

It’s been a good ride:

L.

 

May All Your Days... Be More Than This: