I'm not able to sleep. I'm frustrated. And sad. And angry.
How is it that there are churches that can sell people on living their best lives now? How is it that churches can get away with positivity messages? How is it that we are fighting ourselves on the things we should do here on earth to gain access to the kingdom of heaven? "Well done, good and faithful servant" does not mean "Your deeds were good, dude" or "Thanks for getting all of those commandments right." It has to mean, "you believed in me, welcome home."
How do those false teaching churches explain the death of a 20-year-old because of a hiking accident? Or a beloved father and husband of cancer? Or a beautiful baby, born to live only two hours? Or a woman who gets paralyzed from the neck down in a diving accident? Or divorce upon divorce upon divorce? Do they comfort with platitudes that Jesus makes things right? He does, of course. But not here. Not with our weak and frail bodies and minds. Not with this sin in our hearts that never leaves us. I believe that perseverance produces in us a desire for heaven. A longing for it. We will not get heaven here, in this nation, in this state, in this city. Anyone who teaches that is a false prophet. This means you, Bryan Adams.
Give me a church that helps me cope. That tells me it's not up to us. That reminds me it's a temporary sort of happiness I feel about things. Give me repentance, and an acknowledgment of sin, and a belief system that won't crumble when circumstances change. Help me find "joy" that is only achieved by Jesus' work. Then, and only then, I will have no need to turn away because He won't let me.
Tuesday, August 27, 2013
Saturday, August 17, 2013
Day by Day
As I get older, I am more and more enamored of simpler things. The things that are worth spending time on don't have to be amazingly complex, intellectual, metaphysical concepts. I find that I'd rather watch a movie. Or talk to my kids. Or hold hands with someone on a walk. Or read a book.
Yesterday, I got up at six and got ready to move M to her new apartment. She had an 8 am check-in time at her apartment complex. This complex is designed for college students. Furniture is already there. Washer/dryer exists, bathroom for each bedroom. The complex has a pool, volleyball court, soccer area, and a movie theater, for crying out loud. M is going to have three other roommates, two of whom were her high school best friends. I have known the girls and the parents of those girls for fourteen years.
When we got to complex, we waited in line for 45 minutes and filled out paperwork. Then, and only then, did we get the keys. And that started the process for the actual move. We still had a good number of boxes, even with all of the things that the Woodlands provided. Since I sweat amazingly well, I worked up a good one while we moved her in. Took probably two hours. Then we ate pizza with our friends. M and I went back to our house to get some things that we'd missed and we headed to Target to get a few groceries. On the way, M repeated the hilarious story of her interviewing for a job on campus...for tech support. Which she has never done in her life other than setting up her own computer. She impressed them somehow because she got the job while we were driving. She told them how her parents were both in IT and somehow that made them excited. Anyway, she has yet to figure out what to do with this job.
I went out last night with some good friends and my boyfriend to a restaurant called the Bright Star. You feel like you're walking into a bit of history, surrounded by pictures of Greek men who decided to open up a business in Alabama and it has now become the oldest restaurant in Alabama. We had amazing food prepared by the chef from Commander's Palace and topics of conversation that ranged from Buddhism, car accidents, how people met, and how spicy food makes people excited.
Today, I spent the day with K and we shopped and laughed like crazy. I bought lavender aviators, a chunky necklace, and a cream soda-flavored snow cone from Summer Snow. She bought two new shirts, a Camelbak, and a cherry limeade flavored snow cone. We got some nice loot at Walgreens and groceries to make a pizza. Somehow she managed to clean her bathroom and I went for a run on top of it all.
It's weekends like this that I really love. The simplicity of just being together with those we care about means so much.
Yesterday, I got up at six and got ready to move M to her new apartment. She had an 8 am check-in time at her apartment complex. This complex is designed for college students. Furniture is already there. Washer/dryer exists, bathroom for each bedroom. The complex has a pool, volleyball court, soccer area, and a movie theater, for crying out loud. M is going to have three other roommates, two of whom were her high school best friends. I have known the girls and the parents of those girls for fourteen years.
When we got to complex, we waited in line for 45 minutes and filled out paperwork. Then, and only then, did we get the keys. And that started the process for the actual move. We still had a good number of boxes, even with all of the things that the Woodlands provided. Since I sweat amazingly well, I worked up a good one while we moved her in. Took probably two hours. Then we ate pizza with our friends. M and I went back to our house to get some things that we'd missed and we headed to Target to get a few groceries. On the way, M repeated the hilarious story of her interviewing for a job on campus...for tech support. Which she has never done in her life other than setting up her own computer. She impressed them somehow because she got the job while we were driving. She told them how her parents were both in IT and somehow that made them excited. Anyway, she has yet to figure out what to do with this job.
I went out last night with some good friends and my boyfriend to a restaurant called the Bright Star. You feel like you're walking into a bit of history, surrounded by pictures of Greek men who decided to open up a business in Alabama and it has now become the oldest restaurant in Alabama. We had amazing food prepared by the chef from Commander's Palace and topics of conversation that ranged from Buddhism, car accidents, how people met, and how spicy food makes people excited.
Today, I spent the day with K and we shopped and laughed like crazy. I bought lavender aviators, a chunky necklace, and a cream soda-flavored snow cone from Summer Snow. She bought two new shirts, a Camelbak, and a cherry limeade flavored snow cone. We got some nice loot at Walgreens and groceries to make a pizza. Somehow she managed to clean her bathroom and I went for a run on top of it all.
It's weekends like this that I really love. The simplicity of just being together with those we care about means so much.
Thursday, August 8, 2013
Death is not the end
This has been an emotionally tough year. Lots of reasons. But most of them don't center around me. The tough times have centered most recently around those I love. And watching it and feeling it is so hard.
Almost three weeks ago, a dear friend of M's went hiking with two friends in Switzerland. He separated from them because he wanted to keep going, went off a beaten path, and fell. He was killed. He was 20.
This friend of M's was a believer. He's in heaven, rejoicing with Jesus. Rejoicing with his nephew who died three years ago of brain cancer. I am close with this boy's sister. I've seen his face in her family pictures for years. His sister is my age and we thought it was so funny that her brother was my daughter's age.
This boy spent the summer with M in Spain and I am so grateful that she knew him.
I have watched them both cry tears of pain and I've cried with them. I read a post yesterday by a mom who lost her baby and how she grieves and recoveres. It seems so appropriate:
"While the agony of missing my son throbs in my mind and my body, while I carry it every moment like a lead weight inside my chest, I still taste the goodness in my life, and am glad of it. But nothing is pure anymore; the bitter and the sweet are entangled forever. I am two people now: one mourns and the other takes the steps that make up life, and sometimes they regard each other with an aching bewilderment. And when the question comes—“How are you?”—they look at each other helplessly, wondering who should answer."
I have felt glimmers of that in my life. Life's bitter moments have led to rejoicing in God's goodness (after some wrestling with Him) but you feel like the bitter is still there, with the sweet. It makes us long for Heaven more, I think, the older we get. And sometimes, those that are really special get to go and be with Jesus even sooner.
Almost three weeks ago, a dear friend of M's went hiking with two friends in Switzerland. He separated from them because he wanted to keep going, went off a beaten path, and fell. He was killed. He was 20.
This friend of M's was a believer. He's in heaven, rejoicing with Jesus. Rejoicing with his nephew who died three years ago of brain cancer. I am close with this boy's sister. I've seen his face in her family pictures for years. His sister is my age and we thought it was so funny that her brother was my daughter's age.
This boy spent the summer with M in Spain and I am so grateful that she knew him.
I have watched them both cry tears of pain and I've cried with them. I read a post yesterday by a mom who lost her baby and how she grieves and recoveres. It seems so appropriate:
"While the agony of missing my son throbs in my mind and my body, while I carry it every moment like a lead weight inside my chest, I still taste the goodness in my life, and am glad of it. But nothing is pure anymore; the bitter and the sweet are entangled forever. I am two people now: one mourns and the other takes the steps that make up life, and sometimes they regard each other with an aching bewilderment. And when the question comes—“How are you?”—they look at each other helplessly, wondering who should answer."
I have felt glimmers of that in my life. Life's bitter moments have led to rejoicing in God's goodness (after some wrestling with Him) but you feel like the bitter is still there, with the sweet. It makes us long for Heaven more, I think, the older we get. And sometimes, those that are really special get to go and be with Jesus even sooner.
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