Our first glimpse is of the universe.
Swirling galaxies, star-shadowed planets, a dim, rust-orange sun, followed by a zooming close-up of the earth.
Only, it’s an earth we’re unfamiliar with, an earth where the mountains aren’t mountains at all, but mounds of waste and debris.
It is a post-apocalyptic earth whose only guardian is a small robot named Wall-E.
It’s sort of a startling opening for a kids’ movie especially given the juxtaposition of what we see—a dead earth—with what we hear—Michael Crawford, as Cornelius, singing Put on Your Sunday Clothes from the musical Hello Dolly.
And what’s even more interesting is that it’s the song, not the vision of an abandoned earth that sets up the theme of the story.
Cornelius sings in Put on Your Sunday Clothes:
“Put on your Sunday clothes.
There’s lots of world out there.
… we’ll see the shows at Delmonico’s
And we’ll close the town in a whirl.
And we won’t come home until we’ve kissed a girl!”
For the robot, Wall-E, watching Hello Dolly gives him hope. He sees the world how it once was and he knows that even though he is alone, that is not the way the world was meant to be.
It is Wall-E’s search for companionship that makes this movie ultimately one that teaches us what it means to be human.
In Epic: The Story God is Telling, John Eldredge spends a whole chapter on the importance of fellowship and relationship in the human experience.
He writes that “Loneliness might be the hardest cross we bear,” and “Whatever else it means to be human, we know beyond a doubt that it means to be relational. Aren’t the greatest joys and memories of your life associated with family, friendship, or falling in love?”
We spend our lives finding ways to combat loneliness. We work together, we work-out together, we go to the movies, we go out to dinner and yet, for me, for many years, the loneliest day of the week was Sunday.
Not anymore.
I went to church this morning and last Wednesday night and last Tuesday night even though I was either sick or so weak from being sick that I could hardly stand.
I didn’t go to church because I felt obligated to go. I didn’t go out of a sense of duty—this is what good Christians do, this is what I must do to get to Heaven—I went for the fellowship. I went to worship, not alone, but with others whose goodwill always lifts me up.
I put on my Sunday clothes (which these days include jeans and sneakers) and I rested … not by myself, but in the company of others, people who always seem to bring me closer to God.
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
On Chestnut Trees
Monday, the 150-year-old chestnut tree that provided Anne Frank comfort while she was in hiding toppled over in a storm.
For years, the tree had been living on borrowed time, propped up by a steel tripod after a fungus nearly devoured it whole.
Anne Frank spent more than two years hiding in the Secret Annex above her father’s factory—two years of not being able to feel the sun—two years of living in fear that a creak in the floor or a sliver of light would give them away and send them to a concentration camp.
But Anne was able to peek, here and there, at the outside world. And the one thing that brought her the most joy was the chestnut tree.
Anne writes in her diary, “From my favorite spot on the floor I look up at the blue sky and the bare chestnut tree, on whose branches little raindrops shine, appearing like silver … as long as this exists … and I may live to see it, this sunshine, the cloudless skies … I cannot be unhappy.”
When I read about the Holocaust, not just Anne’s stories, but others, I’m always amazed at the stories of survival. We can argue that Anne’s story is not one of survival because she eventually dies in a concentration camp, but for more than two years she did survive in hiding, living in conditions that would have driven most of us to despair.
So, how did she do it? I’m struck by two things. First there is her basic belief in the goodness of people. Her famous quote being “In spite of everything, I still believe people are good at heart.” She goes on to say that she has to believe this because to believe in anything else would be too horrible to bear.
And then, there’s the chestnut tree, her one glimpse of a world outside the Secret Annex, her one reminder that there is a world that exists … out there, a world of beauty and grace, a world where one can breathe, a world where she hopes to one day be free. The chestnut tree doesn’t just symbolize hope … it is hope, which is why people have fought so hard the last sixty-five years to save it.
Though we may not suffer as Anne suffered, we all need a chestnut tree.
And God provides. God always provides, so even during the most horrible points of our lives, there is something we can look to, something we can smile at, something we breathe easier around, something to give us hope.
Sometimes our chestnut tree can be as simple as a purring cat sitting in our lap. Sometimes the chestnut tree is more complex, a person perhaps, someone whose mere presence strengthens us, grounds us.
To survive this life, we need our own chestnut tree. What if Anne has chosen to stay out of the attic where she had a view of the tree and the sky? What if she had spent her days closeted away from windows and breathing only the stale, stagnant air?
Without a doubt, she’d have been a different person and have written a very different book.
Though Anne’s tree is gone, it lives on. Across this country, there are eleven saplings from Anne’s tree waiting to be planted.
Hope lives on.
For years, the tree had been living on borrowed time, propped up by a steel tripod after a fungus nearly devoured it whole.
Anne Frank spent more than two years hiding in the Secret Annex above her father’s factory—two years of not being able to feel the sun—two years of living in fear that a creak in the floor or a sliver of light would give them away and send them to a concentration camp.
But Anne was able to peek, here and there, at the outside world. And the one thing that brought her the most joy was the chestnut tree.
Anne writes in her diary, “From my favorite spot on the floor I look up at the blue sky and the bare chestnut tree, on whose branches little raindrops shine, appearing like silver … as long as this exists … and I may live to see it, this sunshine, the cloudless skies … I cannot be unhappy.”
When I read about the Holocaust, not just Anne’s stories, but others, I’m always amazed at the stories of survival. We can argue that Anne’s story is not one of survival because she eventually dies in a concentration camp, but for more than two years she did survive in hiding, living in conditions that would have driven most of us to despair.
So, how did she do it? I’m struck by two things. First there is her basic belief in the goodness of people. Her famous quote being “In spite of everything, I still believe people are good at heart.” She goes on to say that she has to believe this because to believe in anything else would be too horrible to bear.
And then, there’s the chestnut tree, her one glimpse of a world outside the Secret Annex, her one reminder that there is a world that exists … out there, a world of beauty and grace, a world where one can breathe, a world where she hopes to one day be free. The chestnut tree doesn’t just symbolize hope … it is hope, which is why people have fought so hard the last sixty-five years to save it.
Though we may not suffer as Anne suffered, we all need a chestnut tree.
And God provides. God always provides, so even during the most horrible points of our lives, there is something we can look to, something we can smile at, something we breathe easier around, something to give us hope.
Sometimes our chestnut tree can be as simple as a purring cat sitting in our lap. Sometimes the chestnut tree is more complex, a person perhaps, someone whose mere presence strengthens us, grounds us.
To survive this life, we need our own chestnut tree. What if Anne has chosen to stay out of the attic where she had a view of the tree and the sky? What if she had spent her days closeted away from windows and breathing only the stale, stagnant air?
Without a doubt, she’d have been a different person and have written a very different book.
Though Anne’s tree is gone, it lives on. Across this country, there are eleven saplings from Anne’s tree waiting to be planted.
Hope lives on.
Sunday, August 22, 2010
Recovery
Some years ago, I had a nasty case of the flu. I was so hot with fever, I felt like some super-villain from the comics—Atomic-Radiation-Woman. I burned with fever, but I didn’t sweat. At night I would lay in bed with the ceiling fan on, praying to be cooled.
One night, I woke up drenched with sweat, finally. That combined with the breeze of the fan made me feel so wonderful, I couldn’t help but smile as I pulled the sheet up to my chin.
That moment when we finally start to feel better after feeling so sick—the fever breaks, the cough loosens—those moments are glorious and leave me feeling thankful and blessed.
Lately, I have felt so good following several bouts of the flu that I’ve picked up the habit of cleaning, spring-cleaning, as soon as I feel able. Sheets and clothes get washed. The trash gets taken out. Clutter gets swept aside and sorted.
I do everything I wasn’t able to do when I sick and then some.
It’s not always just physical illnesses that we need relief from. Sometimes we experience other crises, crises of the spirit, times when we feel apart from God, times when we feel less than who we know God means us to be.
In his book Epic, John Eldredge quotes Douglas Coupland who says, “My secret is that I need God—that I am sick and can no longer make it alone. I need God to help me give, because I no longer seem capable of giving; to help me be kind, as I no longer seem capable of kindness; to help me to love, as I seem beyond being able to love.”
We all share Douglas Coupland’s secret. We are sick. We need God and we can no longer pretend that we can do this thing called life on our own.
For me, finding a church was the first step in the healing process. Finding a church allowed the fever to break. Finding a church … finding God in church … finding God in the people at that church provided an opportunity for my spirit to rest and once rested to heal.
There are times when we are sick that we wonder if we’ll ever be healthy again. We trudge along, eyes cast downward, barely getting through the day.
But we will be healthy again. And when the spirit heals, it’s like waking up from a bad fever dream. It’s like waking up and knowing that instead of holding pain and fatigue, the day ahead is going to be joyous and wonderful.
And then, just like I do after the flu, I do all the things I hadn’t been doing when I was sick. I smile more. I get angry less. I squint less—yes, I said it—I squint less because now I want to see as much of the world as possible. I want my eyes as wide as they can go, because I don’t want to miss seeing anything the world has to offer.
Most importantly, I share. I share the beauty of faith, the healing God has to offer and the recovery that follows.
One night, I woke up drenched with sweat, finally. That combined with the breeze of the fan made me feel so wonderful, I couldn’t help but smile as I pulled the sheet up to my chin.
That moment when we finally start to feel better after feeling so sick—the fever breaks, the cough loosens—those moments are glorious and leave me feeling thankful and blessed.
Lately, I have felt so good following several bouts of the flu that I’ve picked up the habit of cleaning, spring-cleaning, as soon as I feel able. Sheets and clothes get washed. The trash gets taken out. Clutter gets swept aside and sorted.
I do everything I wasn’t able to do when I sick and then some.
It’s not always just physical illnesses that we need relief from. Sometimes we experience other crises, crises of the spirit, times when we feel apart from God, times when we feel less than who we know God means us to be.
In his book Epic, John Eldredge quotes Douglas Coupland who says, “My secret is that I need God—that I am sick and can no longer make it alone. I need God to help me give, because I no longer seem capable of giving; to help me be kind, as I no longer seem capable of kindness; to help me to love, as I seem beyond being able to love.”
We all share Douglas Coupland’s secret. We are sick. We need God and we can no longer pretend that we can do this thing called life on our own.
For me, finding a church was the first step in the healing process. Finding a church allowed the fever to break. Finding a church … finding God in church … finding God in the people at that church provided an opportunity for my spirit to rest and once rested to heal.
There are times when we are sick that we wonder if we’ll ever be healthy again. We trudge along, eyes cast downward, barely getting through the day.
But we will be healthy again. And when the spirit heals, it’s like waking up from a bad fever dream. It’s like waking up and knowing that instead of holding pain and fatigue, the day ahead is going to be joyous and wonderful.
And then, just like I do after the flu, I do all the things I hadn’t been doing when I was sick. I smile more. I get angry less. I squint less—yes, I said it—I squint less because now I want to see as much of the world as possible. I want my eyes as wide as they can go, because I don’t want to miss seeing anything the world has to offer.
Most importantly, I share. I share the beauty of faith, the healing God has to offer and the recovery that follows.
Thursday, August 19, 2010
That Still Small Voice
There have been times in my life when I have grieved, when I have felt such overwhelming sadness that I have hurt, physically hurt, deep within my heart. A friend dies, a parent is hospitalized, a tumor is found—three unrelated moments in my life that have threatened to tear me apart from the inside out.
Everyone suffers. My story is not unique. But it is when we suffer that God’s voice is most clear.
In his book Where God Was Born, Bruce Feiler writes about listening for God, “We should listen … for what the prophet Elijah experiences as the ‘still, small voice’ of God, the soft murmuring sound in our most wounded places that yearns for goodness and aches for forgiveness.”
When I wrote about that “still, small voice” before, on June 20th, I wrote about where to find that voice, how to listen for that voice, about finding God in silence.
But once we find God, once we’re aware that He is speaking, what does that voice say? What is God trying to tell us?
It is perhaps easiest to hear God when we are at our most wounded because during those times we really make the effort to search for Him. It is those times that we are most aware of the difference between the life we’re living and the life God wants for us.
“We were meant to live for so much more,” the band Switchfoot sings in their song, Meant to Live.
Those words give me chills every time I hear them. They are the words I imagine God saying to me all my life, through every bit of trouble that hijacked my spirit and sent my world spinning. I see God then. I see Him bending over me as I sleep and I hear Him whispering, “You were meant for so much more than this.”
You were meant for so much more. What does that mean?
It means that even when we suffer, God has plans for us. And even though there are times in our lives when we want nothing more than to curl up in a dark corner like a sick pet and wait for life to pass us by, God expects more.
He expects more from us because He knows … He knows that suffering often begets miracles.
In Genesis 50:20, Joseph confronts his family who sold him into slavery. He tells them, “You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good to accomplish what is now being done, the saving of many lives.”
God is in the business of working miracles and sometimes the greatest miracles arise from the greatest suffering.
I know something about miracles. I’ve seen them work in others. I’ve seen miracles move and shape my own life. If I look at who I was and what I lived through as a child, to what I am today—my life is a blessing of such a scale it could only be called miraculous.
You see I listened to that still, small voice as a child.
And I have always believed in miracles.
Everyone suffers. My story is not unique. But it is when we suffer that God’s voice is most clear.
In his book Where God Was Born, Bruce Feiler writes about listening for God, “We should listen … for what the prophet Elijah experiences as the ‘still, small voice’ of God, the soft murmuring sound in our most wounded places that yearns for goodness and aches for forgiveness.”
When I wrote about that “still, small voice” before, on June 20th, I wrote about where to find that voice, how to listen for that voice, about finding God in silence.
But once we find God, once we’re aware that He is speaking, what does that voice say? What is God trying to tell us?
It is perhaps easiest to hear God when we are at our most wounded because during those times we really make the effort to search for Him. It is those times that we are most aware of the difference between the life we’re living and the life God wants for us.
“We were meant to live for so much more,” the band Switchfoot sings in their song, Meant to Live.
Those words give me chills every time I hear them. They are the words I imagine God saying to me all my life, through every bit of trouble that hijacked my spirit and sent my world spinning. I see God then. I see Him bending over me as I sleep and I hear Him whispering, “You were meant for so much more than this.”
You were meant for so much more. What does that mean?
It means that even when we suffer, God has plans for us. And even though there are times in our lives when we want nothing more than to curl up in a dark corner like a sick pet and wait for life to pass us by, God expects more.
He expects more from us because He knows … He knows that suffering often begets miracles.
In Genesis 50:20, Joseph confronts his family who sold him into slavery. He tells them, “You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good to accomplish what is now being done, the saving of many lives.”
God is in the business of working miracles and sometimes the greatest miracles arise from the greatest suffering.
I know something about miracles. I’ve seen them work in others. I’ve seen miracles move and shape my own life. If I look at who I was and what I lived through as a child, to what I am today—my life is a blessing of such a scale it could only be called miraculous.
You see I listened to that still, small voice as a child.
And I have always believed in miracles.
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Prescription
Small post today.
I have the flu (or some flu-like crud) and while I hate the fever, the aches, the cough, I hate missing church more than anything.
Church fills me.
And this week, I’ll be running on a less than full tank.
My own personal prescription for the flu is orange juice, chicken noodle soup, Advil and long movie marathons.
Yesterday, that meant watching the original Star Wars trilogy, Episodes IV, V, and VI.
I love Star Wars. I’m not a rabid fan, but I do have one Star Wars themed t-shirt. It reads, “Come to the dark side … we have cookies.”
I love how movies and stories like Star Wars and The Lord of the Rings (another trilogy I wouldn’t mind spending the day watching) take complex themes and dress them up in space battles and sword fighting, making heroes out of farmers and peaceful hobbits.
The theme of Star Wars is the battle between the dark and light in us all. Hatred, anger and fear reside in the dark, while goodness, righteousness and hope live in the light.
We all visit the dark side occasionally and not just for the cookies.
The dark side always slips up on us, catching us unaware.
One second, we’re riding home from work, ready to relax, eat dinner and then, the next thing we know, a car cuts us off, adrenaline floods our system and all of sudden, not only are we angry at the car in front of us, we’re remembering an argument with a coworker from earlier in the day.
Anger feeds anger.
In The Empire Strikes Back, Darth Vader reaches out to Luke, tempting him to the dark side, but Luke closes his eyes and calls out instead to his mentor in an almost childlike plea.
"Ben," he whispers.
When we feel tempted, we too must call out. We too must say His name even it’s only a whisper. “Please God, please help us.”
It is a prescription for living in the light.
I have the flu (or some flu-like crud) and while I hate the fever, the aches, the cough, I hate missing church more than anything.
Church fills me.
And this week, I’ll be running on a less than full tank.
My own personal prescription for the flu is orange juice, chicken noodle soup, Advil and long movie marathons.
Yesterday, that meant watching the original Star Wars trilogy, Episodes IV, V, and VI.
I love Star Wars. I’m not a rabid fan, but I do have one Star Wars themed t-shirt. It reads, “Come to the dark side … we have cookies.”
I love how movies and stories like Star Wars and The Lord of the Rings (another trilogy I wouldn’t mind spending the day watching) take complex themes and dress them up in space battles and sword fighting, making heroes out of farmers and peaceful hobbits.
The theme of Star Wars is the battle between the dark and light in us all. Hatred, anger and fear reside in the dark, while goodness, righteousness and hope live in the light.
We all visit the dark side occasionally and not just for the cookies.
The dark side always slips up on us, catching us unaware.
One second, we’re riding home from work, ready to relax, eat dinner and then, the next thing we know, a car cuts us off, adrenaline floods our system and all of sudden, not only are we angry at the car in front of us, we’re remembering an argument with a coworker from earlier in the day.
Anger feeds anger.
In The Empire Strikes Back, Darth Vader reaches out to Luke, tempting him to the dark side, but Luke closes his eyes and calls out instead to his mentor in an almost childlike plea.
"Ben," he whispers.
When we feel tempted, we too must call out. We too must say His name even it’s only a whisper. “Please God, please help us.”
It is a prescription for living in the light.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Prayer
When I was in college, my friend Sarah was in the prayer business. She worked for free and saw a huge increase in business right before exams in the spring and fall. Her methods were quite simple. She hung a clipboard on her dorm room door and if you wanted prayer, you wrote your name down and what you needed prayer for.
And then she would pray for you.
Actually she would pray for us.
I was just one of many who put my name on that clipboard. I had no problem asking for prayer. And knowing Sarah as I did, knowing her faith and her devotion to God, I could think of no better person to intercede on my behalf.
My own prayer lists have changed over the years.
When I was in fifth grade, I started making lists of people I wanted God to help. It was the height of the cold war and the first people I asked God to help were the Russians, followed by the Ethiopians, followed by every kid who sat in every class of mine during the school day. I added someone or someones to the list every night until, after a few months, my list was more than three hundred. I couldn’t make it through the list at night without falling asleep.
I was hoarding people in my prayers.
So I cut back. The Russians and Ethiopians failed to make the cut as did most everyone else … I cut way back.
These days my nightly list is only five. I pepper in a few new names here and there as needed. But five names remain on the list every night. They are five former students. Two of the students are miracle children, children who suffered illness and injury and had scores of people praying for them. They survived, the two of them, when at one point they were near death. I pray for them still because every time I pray for them I am reminded that miracles exist, that prayer works, that God is good.
The other three children I pray for are miracles waiting to happen. One graduated the eighth grade at the age of seventeen. Another one had a baby shortly after leaving eighth grade and the third one, the last time I checked, just dropped out of high school. Should any of them ever read this blog post, I want them to know something I wasn't able to tell them when they were my students.
God loves you. God believes in you. I believe in you. Some miracles don’t happen over night. Some miracles are journeys and the blessings God has in store for you are there. They are there, I promise. Be strong. Never lose hope because God walks with you every step you take. You are not alone.
Luke 11:10 says: “For everyone who asks receives, and everyone who searches finds, and for everyone who knocks, the door will be open.”
So, for those five children, I ask. For those five, I search. For those five, I knock in the hope that the door will be open for them.
Prayer is a gift and we need to gift it more often.
And then she would pray for you.
Actually she would pray for us.
I was just one of many who put my name on that clipboard. I had no problem asking for prayer. And knowing Sarah as I did, knowing her faith and her devotion to God, I could think of no better person to intercede on my behalf.
My own prayer lists have changed over the years.
When I was in fifth grade, I started making lists of people I wanted God to help. It was the height of the cold war and the first people I asked God to help were the Russians, followed by the Ethiopians, followed by every kid who sat in every class of mine during the school day. I added someone or someones to the list every night until, after a few months, my list was more than three hundred. I couldn’t make it through the list at night without falling asleep.
I was hoarding people in my prayers.
So I cut back. The Russians and Ethiopians failed to make the cut as did most everyone else … I cut way back.
These days my nightly list is only five. I pepper in a few new names here and there as needed. But five names remain on the list every night. They are five former students. Two of the students are miracle children, children who suffered illness and injury and had scores of people praying for them. They survived, the two of them, when at one point they were near death. I pray for them still because every time I pray for them I am reminded that miracles exist, that prayer works, that God is good.
The other three children I pray for are miracles waiting to happen. One graduated the eighth grade at the age of seventeen. Another one had a baby shortly after leaving eighth grade and the third one, the last time I checked, just dropped out of high school. Should any of them ever read this blog post, I want them to know something I wasn't able to tell them when they were my students.
God loves you. God believes in you. I believe in you. Some miracles don’t happen over night. Some miracles are journeys and the blessings God has in store for you are there. They are there, I promise. Be strong. Never lose hope because God walks with you every step you take. You are not alone.
Luke 11:10 says: “For everyone who asks receives, and everyone who searches finds, and for everyone who knocks, the door will be open.”
So, for those five children, I ask. For those five, I search. For those five, I knock in the hope that the door will be open for them.
Prayer is a gift and we need to gift it more often.
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Over-thinking the Crane
In her latest book, Packing for Mars, Mary Roach describes a scene where would be Japanese astronauts are forced to live together in cramped quarters while given tests to measure their psychological stamina.
One of these tests is The Thousand Cranes test where each person is given the task of folding one thousand origami cranes. Psychologists then compare the quality of the cranes at the beginning of the task with the very last cranes folded.
The directions for the origami crane are somewhat extensive and Roach describes watching her interpreter also try to fold a crane.
Roach writes: “My interpreter is folding a piece of notebook paper. She is at step 21, where the crane’s body is inflated. The directions show a tiny puff beside an arrow pointing at the bird. It makes sense if you already know what to do. Otherwise it’s wonderfully surreal: Put a cloud inside a bird.”
Well, there go any aspirations I may have of joining the Japanese space agency.
Inflate the bird? I can think of a thousand things I would consider first before inflating the bird.
Is the cloud there because it’s going to rain on the bird?
Is the crane on fire?
Does the crane have gas?
And most importantly, what am I supposed to do next?
I tend to over-think things.
There have been many times in my life when God has given me the equivalent of The Thousand Cranes test and I’ve spent hours, days or years thinking so hard, I don’t even get started … times when I’ve been so distracted by how to do something that rather than put one foot in front of the other and just go … I’ve chosen to do nothing instead.
Meanwhile I can imagine God standing over me, shaking his head and saying, “It’s just a crane, Kendra.”
Part of the beauty of the journey I started this past Easter when I attended Hope Episcopal Church for the first time is that this journey has been less about over-thinking and more about trust in God and the plans He has for me.
It was my grandmother who introduced me to the quote from Jeremiah 29:11 right before I was to head to college: “For I know the plans I have you … plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”
These are words to hold onto. When faced with a challenge or a test, do we try and think our way out of it or do we allow God’s plan to simply come to be? Do we rely only on ourselves or do we trust God to do what He has promised?
The hardest thing in the world is to trust. But that is what faith is … trust.
Madeleine L’Engle writes in Walking on Water that “Faith is for what lies on the other side of reason. Faith is what makes life bearable, with all its tragedies and ambiguities and sudden, startling joys.”
Faith in God allows us to appreciate each Thousand Cranes test we are given. It keeps us from giving up. It keeps us from simply tearing up each crane into a million pieces and throwing it all over the room. Faith lets us rest. Faith lets us breathe. Faith lets us enjoy the ride no matter how perilous the journey.
One of these tests is The Thousand Cranes test where each person is given the task of folding one thousand origami cranes. Psychologists then compare the quality of the cranes at the beginning of the task with the very last cranes folded.
The directions for the origami crane are somewhat extensive and Roach describes watching her interpreter also try to fold a crane.
Roach writes: “My interpreter is folding a piece of notebook paper. She is at step 21, where the crane’s body is inflated. The directions show a tiny puff beside an arrow pointing at the bird. It makes sense if you already know what to do. Otherwise it’s wonderfully surreal: Put a cloud inside a bird.”
Well, there go any aspirations I may have of joining the Japanese space agency.
Inflate the bird? I can think of a thousand things I would consider first before inflating the bird.
Is the cloud there because it’s going to rain on the bird?
Is the crane on fire?
Does the crane have gas?
And most importantly, what am I supposed to do next?
I tend to over-think things.
There have been many times in my life when God has given me the equivalent of The Thousand Cranes test and I’ve spent hours, days or years thinking so hard, I don’t even get started … times when I’ve been so distracted by how to do something that rather than put one foot in front of the other and just go … I’ve chosen to do nothing instead.
Meanwhile I can imagine God standing over me, shaking his head and saying, “It’s just a crane, Kendra.”
Part of the beauty of the journey I started this past Easter when I attended Hope Episcopal Church for the first time is that this journey has been less about over-thinking and more about trust in God and the plans He has for me.
It was my grandmother who introduced me to the quote from Jeremiah 29:11 right before I was to head to college: “For I know the plans I have you … plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”
These are words to hold onto. When faced with a challenge or a test, do we try and think our way out of it or do we allow God’s plan to simply come to be? Do we rely only on ourselves or do we trust God to do what He has promised?
The hardest thing in the world is to trust. But that is what faith is … trust.
Madeleine L’Engle writes in Walking on Water that “Faith is for what lies on the other side of reason. Faith is what makes life bearable, with all its tragedies and ambiguities and sudden, startling joys.”
Faith in God allows us to appreciate each Thousand Cranes test we are given. It keeps us from giving up. It keeps us from simply tearing up each crane into a million pieces and throwing it all over the room. Faith lets us rest. Faith lets us breathe. Faith lets us enjoy the ride no matter how perilous the journey.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Turn the Light On
The first book I ever remember becoming completely and totally engrossed in was The Boxcar Children. I was in third grade and I could not get enough of this book about four runaway children who start living in a boxcar. I wanted to live in a boxcar. The children, who found plates and cups and eating utensils at the garbage dump, made trash cool.
I read it and reread it and read it again.
Third grade was also the year I started wearing glasses.
Sometimes, whether it was The Boxcar Children or some other book, I would become so engrossed, I would lose all track of time and my mom or dad would find me in the living room or in my bedroom reading in the dark.
And then one of them would say, “Why are you sitting here in the dark?” or “Why don’t you turn the light on?”
I was so absorbed in my reading I didn’t even know that day had turned into night.
But when they turned on the light, something amazing happened. My eyes watered and then relaxed. Suddenly everything was clearer and easier and far more enjoyable.
These days I know better. I read with the light on. But in other ways throughout my life, I have struggled, I think as we all struggle, with living in the dark.
This metaphorical darkness is so cunning because we’re so caught up in our lives, our jobs, our dramas that gang up and overwhelm us that we don’t even know that it’s dark out. All we know is that we feel lost, unsatisfied, sad, underused, overused. We may feel lonely even when we have friends. We feel unwanted and unneeded. We’re angry and afraid, and we have no idea why.
We wander aimlessly through life, trying desperately to find meaning when all we really need is for someone to turn the light on.
Since I’ve been going to church, people have noticed a difference in me and they ask me what triggered the change, what specifically happened to cause me to feel so much joy, so much excitement for life? They want to know what happened at this church that had not happened at others.
And well … here’s my answer:
When I walked into this church, God turned on the light for me.
The change that people see in me, it’s nothing I’ve done. It’s something that has been done for me, by God, through this church and the people in this church.
Now the light is on and I can see.
And the world is brighter, more beautiful, and all at once more human and more divine.
All my life … I had no idea … really.
But just like the song says … now I see.
I read it and reread it and read it again.
Third grade was also the year I started wearing glasses.
Sometimes, whether it was The Boxcar Children or some other book, I would become so engrossed, I would lose all track of time and my mom or dad would find me in the living room or in my bedroom reading in the dark.
And then one of them would say, “Why are you sitting here in the dark?” or “Why don’t you turn the light on?”
I was so absorbed in my reading I didn’t even know that day had turned into night.
But when they turned on the light, something amazing happened. My eyes watered and then relaxed. Suddenly everything was clearer and easier and far more enjoyable.
These days I know better. I read with the light on. But in other ways throughout my life, I have struggled, I think as we all struggle, with living in the dark.
This metaphorical darkness is so cunning because we’re so caught up in our lives, our jobs, our dramas that gang up and overwhelm us that we don’t even know that it’s dark out. All we know is that we feel lost, unsatisfied, sad, underused, overused. We may feel lonely even when we have friends. We feel unwanted and unneeded. We’re angry and afraid, and we have no idea why.
We wander aimlessly through life, trying desperately to find meaning when all we really need is for someone to turn the light on.
Since I’ve been going to church, people have noticed a difference in me and they ask me what triggered the change, what specifically happened to cause me to feel so much joy, so much excitement for life? They want to know what happened at this church that had not happened at others.
And well … here’s my answer:
When I walked into this church, God turned on the light for me.
The change that people see in me, it’s nothing I’ve done. It’s something that has been done for me, by God, through this church and the people in this church.
Now the light is on and I can see.
And the world is brighter, more beautiful, and all at once more human and more divine.
All my life … I had no idea … really.
But just like the song says … now I see.
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Bonus Coverage
Today is a two post special!!
Saturday I walked out behind the church to check on the lantana I had planted by the arbor. When I had planted the lantana a few weeks ago, I had warned Pastor Debbie that it would probably die and sure enough, within hours, the lantana had shed every last little flower petal.
But I had been told that as long as the plant still had its leaves, it would come back stronger than ever.
After seeing the lantana this past Saturday, I don’t think it’s coming back. Without its flowers, it was apparently mistaken for any old weed and the lawnmower man cut it down to the nub.
So, here I am standing over this … nothing … that was once a flowering plant and what do I do?
I laugh, because, honestly, what else is there to do sometimes? Sometimes life is totally and completely beyond our control. Sometimes flowers are mistaken for weeds. And if we don’t laugh at those times, then we all are just emotional hoarders, holding tight to every little trouble that comes our way.
Anne Lamott writes in Plan B: Further Thoughts on Faith that “one secret to life … is [knowing] that laughter is carbonated holiness.”
Laughter is one of those things in life that helps us keep perspective. Every time I laugh, I am aware of God’s presence, because I know He is laughing with me.
Even so … that poor lantana …
Saturday I walked out behind the church to check on the lantana I had planted by the arbor. When I had planted the lantana a few weeks ago, I had warned Pastor Debbie that it would probably die and sure enough, within hours, the lantana had shed every last little flower petal.
But I had been told that as long as the plant still had its leaves, it would come back stronger than ever.
After seeing the lantana this past Saturday, I don’t think it’s coming back. Without its flowers, it was apparently mistaken for any old weed and the lawnmower man cut it down to the nub.
So, here I am standing over this … nothing … that was once a flowering plant and what do I do?
I laugh, because, honestly, what else is there to do sometimes? Sometimes life is totally and completely beyond our control. Sometimes flowers are mistaken for weeds. And if we don’t laugh at those times, then we all are just emotional hoarders, holding tight to every little trouble that comes our way.
Anne Lamott writes in Plan B: Further Thoughts on Faith that “one secret to life … is [knowing] that laughter is carbonated holiness.”
Laughter is one of those things in life that helps us keep perspective. Every time I laugh, I am aware of God’s presence, because I know He is laughing with me.
Even so … that poor lantana …
Blessings
The other day I was watching The Cosby Show. These days the only good things about cable television are the reruns and I have filled my summer with old favorites like The Golden Girls and Roseanne. (And yes, I realize what that says about my age when I call Roseanne an old favorite.)
This particular episode of The Cosby Show dealt with the Huxtables who were visiting their daughter, Denise, at Hillman College. It was pretty mild comedy … Denise hid her dirty laundry in her roommate’s desk drawer.
But the episode ended on a powerful note with Claire Huxtable, as portrayed by Phylicia Rashad, singing a spiritual, composed by Shelton Becton and based on Matthew 6:33. The lyrics to the first verse are as follows:
“Seek ye first, the kingdom of His love.
Make Him first in everything you do.
If you just trust and never doubt what He said
all good things will be added unto you.”
Claire Huxtable sings the song backed by a full choir and Phylicia Rashad’s voice is both tender and strong. And thanks to the Internet and youtube, I was able to replay the song over and over and over in the following days.
Matthew 6:33 and this song are so powerful because of the way God’s blessings are emphasized.
The verses leading up to Matthew 6:33—namely Matthew 6:25-32—all deal with the subject of worry. Once again the Bible tells us not to worry, here explaining that God takes care of the birds and all of nature and how much more precious are we to God than the birds and grassy fields. Why then should we doubt God’s love and blessings?
God always knows what we need and when we need it. Sometimes, though, He requires us to be patient.
I suppose I could be bitter that I had to wait seventeen years to be blessed with a church. But I’m not bitter because I know now what God has always known—that in order for church to work, you have to be open … you have to be vulnerable … you have to allow others to do good things for you … you have to be open to blessings in order to receive them. And like the song says, you have to trust, not just God, but also the people He puts in your life.
And I’ve only just now reached that point this summer. In fact, I should be thanking God for making me wait seventeen years, for making me wait until I was ready before I embarked on this wonderful journey.
God has blessed me my entire life, without a doubt. Each blessing, though, has been different, each blessing unique to where I was in the journey. This summer, finding Hope Episcopal Church has been a blessing I never could have imagined and I am so excited to see what other blessings God has in store for me.
This particular episode of The Cosby Show dealt with the Huxtables who were visiting their daughter, Denise, at Hillman College. It was pretty mild comedy … Denise hid her dirty laundry in her roommate’s desk drawer.
But the episode ended on a powerful note with Claire Huxtable, as portrayed by Phylicia Rashad, singing a spiritual, composed by Shelton Becton and based on Matthew 6:33. The lyrics to the first verse are as follows:
“Seek ye first, the kingdom of His love.
Make Him first in everything you do.
If you just trust and never doubt what He said
all good things will be added unto you.”
Claire Huxtable sings the song backed by a full choir and Phylicia Rashad’s voice is both tender and strong. And thanks to the Internet and youtube, I was able to replay the song over and over and over in the following days.
Matthew 6:33 and this song are so powerful because of the way God’s blessings are emphasized.
The verses leading up to Matthew 6:33—namely Matthew 6:25-32—all deal with the subject of worry. Once again the Bible tells us not to worry, here explaining that God takes care of the birds and all of nature and how much more precious are we to God than the birds and grassy fields. Why then should we doubt God’s love and blessings?
God always knows what we need and when we need it. Sometimes, though, He requires us to be patient.
I suppose I could be bitter that I had to wait seventeen years to be blessed with a church. But I’m not bitter because I know now what God has always known—that in order for church to work, you have to be open … you have to be vulnerable … you have to allow others to do good things for you … you have to be open to blessings in order to receive them. And like the song says, you have to trust, not just God, but also the people He puts in your life.
And I’ve only just now reached that point this summer. In fact, I should be thanking God for making me wait seventeen years, for making me wait until I was ready before I embarked on this wonderful journey.
God has blessed me my entire life, without a doubt. Each blessing, though, has been different, each blessing unique to where I was in the journey. This summer, finding Hope Episcopal Church has been a blessing I never could have imagined and I am so excited to see what other blessings God has in store for me.
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