Advent

It seems hard to believe but today is the first Sunday of Advent.  It’s not even December yet.  I can’t even start opening the little windows and doors on my Advent calendar.  But because Christmas falls on a Sunday this year, here we are in November lighting the first candle on the Advent wreath at church.

Today, instead of a sermon, my friend Judy presented a Godly Play lesson to the congregation.  It was the first lesson of Advent.  It was the beginning to a story we’re all familiar with, a story that takes place in a small town called Bethlehem. 

Because Judy was giving a demonstration of a lesson, she spoke in the same tones she uses with the children and I thought the tone was perfect for the story.  Her tone was gentle, soothing, and I guess because we all know how the story ends, that this perfect little child will one day brutally die on the cross for all of us, Judy’s tone was also somewhat haunting and mysterious.

Stories are special that way.  They draw us in.  They open our eyes to things previously unseen.  They speak to us in ways that normal conversation cannot.  They stir our imagination.  They allow us to feel and to hope.

Recently I read the novel Breadcrumbs by Anne Ursu.  It’s the story of a little girl who loves fairy tales whether they be written by Tolkien, Lewis or L’Engle.  When a strange woman kidnaps her best friend, the girl follows them into the forest, a forest populated by characters from the stories of Hans Christian Andersen.

There is a quote from this novel that I have fallen in love with, a quote about the power of stories.  It reads as follows:  “Now you know the world is more than it seems to be.  You know this, of course, because you read stories.  You understand that there is the surface and then there are all the things that glimmer and shift underneath it.  And you know that not everyone believes in those things, that there are people—a great many people—who believe the world cannot be any more than what they can see with their eyes.  But we know better.”

Stories allow us to believe in things we cannot see.

Now the story of Jesus and his birth in Bethlehem is no fairy tale.  But, at the same time, none of us were there to witness it.  A good storyteller can bring the event to life.  A good storyteller sets the scene. Who were Jesus’ parents?  Why were they running?  Where were they running to?  Why a manger?  There’s a sense of urgency, but a sense of great anticipation as if the whole universe were holding its breath.

Who doesn’t want to know what happens next?

This is Advent.

It is a story filled with great joy and great drama and great danger.

To tell the story in a day would do it no justice, but to let it unfold slowly over the course of a month allows us a chance to savor each moment and recognize how glorious and special the birth of Jesus is.

Shine

In Exodus chapter 34 verses 29-35, Moses comes down from Mount Sinai with the two (new) tablets of the covenant.  Can you imagine what he’s thinking?  After all, the last time he came down from the mountain with tablets, he wound up smashing them after seeing the golden calf the Israelites had built to worship while he was gone.  Exodus 32:19 says, “Moses’ anger burned hot.”

I think that’s probably an understatement.

So here is Moses coming down from Mount Sinai for the second time with tablets.  Is he angry?  Is he holding that anger back right under the surface, ready to explode?  Or is he resigned?  Is he tired?  I tend to think at this point, he’s probably pretty tired.  Praying to God can be exhausting in and of itself.  But actually meeting God?  Standing in His presence, taking notes as God lays the foundation for an entire civilization. 

It sounds exhausting.

Moses comes down from the mountain and is undoubtedly so fatigued he doesn’t even notice something very important.  Exodus 34:29-30 says, “Moses did not know that the skin of his face shone because he had been talking to God.  When Aaron and all the Israelites saw Moses, the skin of his face was shining, and they were afraid to come near him.”

Maybe Moses thinks they are afraid to come near him because they are worried he might throw something again.  Maybe he sees them all take one giant step back from him and sighs.  Clearly, he is unaware of how being in the presence of God had changed him.  Exodus doesn’t say who tells Moses to figuratively powder his nose, but it’s probably Moses’ go to guy, Aaron.

From that day on, Moses wears a veil.  When he speaks to God, he removes the veil.  And after he shares God’s word with the Israelites, he replaces the veil, because otherwise he is almost impossible to look at.

Yesterday, during the Eucharist preceding the election of our next bishop, I received Holy Communion from Bishop Hugo and I realized something then about Bishop Hugo and about some other people I have met in my life, like Sister Julie, the nun I adored as a child.  I realized that there are people today who still shine.

There are people who, much like how a nail becomes magnetized if you rub it against a magnet, spend so much time with God that some of His divine presence rubs off on them.

People like Bishop Hugo and Sister Julie don’t have to say anything.  All they have to do is look at you and there is something in their eyes that tells you they have seen God.  When Bishop Hugo looks at me, I feel he is looking straight to my soul.  When Sister Julie looked at me when I was a child, I felt God’s loving kindness in a way that was pure and perfect and unsullied by the sins of the world.

Moses was chosen.

Matthew 22: 14 says, “For many are all called, but few are chosen.” The only thing that separates us from the saints is our willingness to say yes, our willingness to move forward, to check out strange sights like a burning bush that doesn’t consume the bush, branches or leaves, our willingness to spend time in God’s presence and listen, really listen, and stay for a while there with Him.

And then we too can shine.

God doesn’t just command saints.

He commands us all.  Matthew 5:16 says, “In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven.”

Do not cover yourself as Moses did.  But that light shine.

Harmony

For a while I tried to convince myself it wasn’t the tire.  The car was shuddering and shaking so violently, I thought it might fall apart right there on the highway, but I told myself all I needed to do was find my groove.  I kept speeding up and then slowing down, trying to find that perfect speed where the car wouldn’t shake.  Once or twice I thought I found it, but the vibrations always crept back, slowly and then more vigorously. 

And then, despite my earlier denial, the tread ripped off the tire and I found myself on the side of the highway, my Road Ranger angel only seconds behind me.

Yesterday, I took my car in to get two new tires and while I was there, I asked them to take a look at my brakes too.  An hour later, the mechanic came back to get me.

“Can I show you something?” he said.

I followed him back to the garage where they were working on my car.  The mechanic held something up for me to look at.  “See this?” he said.  “This is a brake pad.  See how it has a pad?”  He motioned me to look at my own car.  “See how you don’t have one?  That’s metal on metal.”

“That would explain the burning smell,” I told him, trying to smile even though I felt like crying at the thought of spending more money.

An hour later, I was back on the road and it felt wonderful.  The shimmying and shaking was gone from the back end.  It felt like driving on a cloud.  And when I braked, it didn’t sound like the world was coming to end or smell like the fires of Hell were about to open up under me.

Just the other night at Alpha, I was telling people how when I do what God wants me to do everything is beautifully and gloriously smooth.  It’s only when I’m on the wrong path that things seem horribly discordant.  Sort of like driving on a bad tire and thinking I can find the groove even as the vibrations are causing enough friction to rip the tire apart.

Two nights ago, I should have pulled over.  I should have turned around.  I was so determined to get to class, I sacrificed my own safety and were it not for God’s watchful presence, I don’t know what might have happened.  I’m still amazed my tread could rip off going 70 mph and I never lost control of the car.  That’s crazy.  It was almost disastrous. 

I think back to this summer when I kept trying to get my air conditioning fixed and every time I tried, something horrible happened, increasing in horribleness each time I tried, until finally I said, “Stop.”

Now the air conditioning still isn’t fixed, but once I stopped trying to fix it, it was like this weight had been lifted from me.  I can’t know God’s plan here totally except to suspect that the money I would have spent fixing the air is going to be needed elsewhere.

Over the past few months I have been driving on bad tires both literally and figuratively, figuratively in the sense that even though I knew I didn’t have the energy to teach, go to school and attend church during the week as I had been, I kept going—until I blew that figurative tire and wound up in the hospital. 

I thought I could find a groove.  For a while, I considered giving up one of the three, teaching, school or church when the answer was actually more subtle and simple.

I had known for a few weeks that the back tire was bad.  I should have fixed it.

And I had known for the past few years that my health was bad.  I should have fixed it sooner.

Now that I have the time off, I hope to heal in such a way that my life becomes as smooth as my car ride is currently.

What things are you wrestling with in your own life?  What things do you need to let go of?  What things do you need to fix?  Stop trying to find grooves and take a step back.  Grooves are small and thin and require a lot of energy to maintain.  Paths, on the other hand, are wide and clearly marked.

Take a step back and find the path, not the groove.

Drive

I was driving down the highway to class last night and knew almost right away I was in trouble.  I hadn’t driven my car at a high rate of speed in weeks and I had forgotten how much the back end was shimmying and how bald the back tire was and now I was driving at 70 mph praying that tire wouldn’t blow.

Lately, getting to class has been a struggle.  Three weeks ago, a rock flew up and hit and cracked my windshield.  I still made it to class.  Two weeks ago, I was in the hospital the day of class.  Last week, class was cancelled.

So even though I was driving with a ticking time bomb of a tire, I was determined to get to class.

I prayed to God.  I asked for the same Angel of God that followed the Israelites out of Egypt to go before me and behind me, to swallow me in a bubble of protection.  Just let me make it to class.

I made it half way when the tire blew.  Actually, the tread fell off.  This is not the first time this has happened to me.  Treads shouldn’t fall off tires these days, unless you’re driving a big rig, but they fall off for me.  Last time, I was almost home, going 40 mph.  Now I was far away from home and going much, much faster.

But I didn’t lose control.  I was in the fast lane and traffic was heavy, but I was still able to pull over to the shoulder without getting hit.  I sat for a moment, ready to kick myself for driving on a tire I knew was bad and then I got out and took a look.

At first it didn’t even look bad.  The tire wasn’t even flat yet.  But then I moved around the back and saw that the tread was shredded and had peeled off a quarter of the way.

As soon as I stood up from looking at the tire, a truck pulled up behind me.  The lettering on the hood of the truck said “Road Ranger” and I would find out later that the truck was one of many employed by Orange County to patrol the highway looking for stranded motorists.  I asked the man how much he would charge for changing the tire and he said that it was free.

Fifteen minutes later I was back on the road.

A friend of mine told me that those guys are never around when you need them.  But here was this man right behind me, not ten minutes after I had prayed for an angel to follow me.

There are so many lessons here.  I really don’t even know where to begin.  But I think there are two things going on here.  I’m going to address one today and one tomorrow in this blog.

Yesterday, I finished reading Stephen King’s new book 11/22/63.  I won’t spoil anything except to say that it is a book about a man, Jake, trying to change the past, trying, in this case, to prevent the assassination of John F. Kennedy.  But every time he gets close to changing the past, sometimes in little ways, sometimes in larger, the past intervenes.  Cars break down.  Jake is attacked.  The past works against Jake every second, trying to preserve history.

Sometimes in our own lives, we feel the world is conspiring against us and—I’m going to say it—sometimes the world is.  For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction.  Whether you believe in the devil or not, whether you believe the enemy acts aggressively in people’s lives, believe this—when you try to do something good, when you have moved and positioned your life on the path to God, there will be things that happen that try and knock you off.  Temptations will be greater, maybe because you’ll notice them more, and weird and strange things will happen, like rocks to your windshield and shredded tires.

But good things will happen too because God always has your back.

A few weeks ago, when I drove home from school in excruciating pain, not knowing if I would make it home at all, an ambulance drove behind me most of the way.

And last night, a “road ranger” followed me and took care of me when I found myself on the side of the road.

The world is a harsh place, but God lives there with us.  He inhabits every molecule, every atom and when you start looking for Him, you will be amazed at all the places He shows Himself.

Running Blind

When I was in the hospital a few weeks ago, the TV became my best friend.  I was blessed with a private room, but when I didn’t have visitors I was incredibly lonely and more than a little freaked out about where I was.  For example I treasure doors that lock.  Lying in my bed that night all I could think was what was to stop some crazy person from just walking into my room?

I left the TV on the whole night.  Periodically little messages from the hospital would pop up on the screen asking if you wanted to learn more about “avoiding the flu” or “preventing falls.”  And every time I clicked no.  Even when I had vertigo years ago, I never fell.  I wasn’t going to waste my time watching a video on it.

And while I didn’t fall that night in the hospital, I did have to laugh at myself, because I repeatedly ran and bumped into things in my room.  I wasn’t on any medication that I wasn’t normally on but somehow just being in the hospital was completely disorienting. 

In order to use the bathroom, I had to unplug the IV machine from the wall and then wheel the IV into the bathroom with me.  And since they were pumping me non-stop full of fluids, that was a frequent occurrence.  Every time I got up, though, that plug fought me to come out of the wall and I wound up banging my knuckles on the bedpost.  And every time I leaned over to get a better look at the plug, I bumped my head on this knob sticking out of the wall.

(It was only a few days ago that I realized the sore spot on my forehead was from that knob.)

And every time I walked into the bathroom, I banged my shoulder or my hip or my knee on the wall or a door frame.  It was a comedy of errors.

If you have been keeping up with my blog for the past six months or so, you know that while I may have literally been disoriented in the hospital, I have been figuratively disoriented, lost and frustrated in my life recently.  Every time I try to do something it seems like I’m running a maze blind.  And since I’m running, every time I hit a dead end, I hit it hard.

Think back to this summer when I tried over and over to get my air conditioning fixed and every time I called someone out, something bad happened.  What started as a simple leak grew into something that involved the copper pipes and then the unit itself.  Fixing it meant going through the downstairs neighbor’s condo, but when they tried that, they broke her pipes leading to her water heater.  When they said they were going to need a jackhammer, I told them no and sent them on their way.

And then there has been my struggle with wanting to go to seminary fulltime and being frustrated because I don’t have the energy to work, go to school and go to church.  It got to such a point that a couple of months ago, I leaned forward in my chair at work and got ready to march down to the principal and give her my two-weeks-notice.  I didn’t know what I was going to do for money; I just knew I couldn’t keep doing what I was doing.

All the while I kept thinking about Jesus asleep on the boat during the storm.  I kept thinking about his delay in saving the synagogue ruler’s daughter and I tried to remind myself that God always has a plan and that, yes, sometimes we are completely blind to it.

As I sat that day in my classroom ready to give my two-weeks-notice, a still small voice managed to break through all the noise in my head.

It was just two words.

They weren’t poetic, but they were profound and the message was for me and me alone.

Two words:  Health Insurance.

As soon as I heard those words, I sat back in my chair and knew without a doubt that I could not quit my job any time soon.  The seminary had made it clear that their insurance was not for people with a chronic condition and whatever these fevers were that had been plaguing me for two years, they were most definitely chronic and most definitely in need of healing.

At the time, I wasn’t in a fever/pain cycle, but the cycle returned a few weeks later, pain worse than ever and sending me to the hospital which I most definitely needed insurance for.

Two words kept me in my job and I am so thankful for those two words because I have since discovered too that the reason I didn't have the energy to teach, go to school and be involved in church is also related to my health.  And I'm hoping that once I feel better, I'll be able to return to teaching with a rediscovered sense of purpose, with a renewed love.  Because I do love teaching.  I know that now more than ever.  I still want to go to seminary fulltime.  But I also know that teaching was my first love and will always be special to me.  And I can't wait to get back to the classroom.

I can’t tell you not to run blindly down the maze of life because that’s exactly what I plan on doing.  It’s in my nature to hurry, to want to get where I’m going already.  But I can tell you that when you hit those brick walls hard, pick yourself up, dust yourself off and turn around and try another way.  Don’t keep running down the same dark, dead end path.

God knows our lives.  He sees it all, past, present and future laid out before Him.  Trusting Him is a lifelong journey, one in which we can only pray that He’ll give us the strength for.

Moment in Faith

When Pastor Debbie asked me the other day if I would do a Moment in Faith this Sunday, I said what I always say to her when she asks me to do something, “Of course, sure, no problem.”  It didn’t matter that I was in a hospital bed at the time and she was sitting across from said hospital bed visiting me.

I just kind of laughed to myself and thought, “Wow, Pastor Debbie sure does have a lot of faith.”

When I went to see my doctor this past Monday morning, I knew I wasn’t feeling well and I knew I hadn’t been feeling well for quite some time.  But I had no idea that she was going to suggest admitting me to the hospital that day.  And it goes to show how sick I felt that I didn’t argue with her.  The only thing I argued with her about was going back to school that morning so that I could get everything together for the time I would be out.

“You can’t call someone?” the doctor asked me.

“No,” I said, “I need to be there in person.”

On the way out of the doctor’s office I called ahead to school and told them I would need coverage for the rest of the day and for the week.  I mentioned that I would be going to the hospital, but that I was coming in to get plans together.

By the time I got to school, a crowd of my friends had gathered by the door.  I had come to work because I figured there were a thousand things I needed to do.  But when I got there, I discovered that most of those things had already been done for me.  Teachers had been found to cover my classes.  A friend was driving me to the hospital and other teachers were covering her classes.  Someone else was making copies for me.  Someone else was driving my car home.  Someone else was in charge of the car key.  The front office staff was taking care of substitutes for the week.  Anything I could think of was already done.

Not one person asked that day, “Do I have the time to help Kendra?”  Not one person said, “I’m too busy.”

Because true giving is not something we do with our brains, it’s something we do with our hearts. 

When I think of true giving, I think of the Stations of the Cross hung up here around the church.  Everyone knows that my mother made those and donated them to us.  In my blog, I have written more of the story of how those stations came to be, so indulge me for a minute as I tell the story again.

I think it was last spring that Pastor Debbie mentioned wanting Stations of the Cross.  At first, I thought maybe I could make them, but when I thought about it, I knew I was the wrong person.  I knew the right person was my mom.  When I was little, my mom lived to make art, whether it be paintings or crafts, she was always at work. 

Lately, though, over the past fifteen or twenty years, my mom has not been able to do very many art projects, so when I asked her if she would do the Stations of the Cross, she hesitated for a moment, but just a moment.  In the end, she made those stations out of love for me and out of love for God.

My mom never asked for money for them.  Every time I offered, she turned it down.  She never asked herself, “Can I afford this?” because the answer would have been no.  She lives on disability.  She couldn’t even mail the stations until she had gotten her check.  She didn’t let the “how” bog her down.  She just concentrated on the “doing.”

She gave from her heart.

It is only when we give from the heart that we are truly blessed.