Muslim Care

With Mom in her final days, we've set up a family rotation at the nursing home, to sit with her throughout the day and make sure she's comfortable. Nancy and I showed up over the weekend to spell my sister. While we were sitting chatting Jill said, "Have you met Salina? I love her. She's fabulous!"

Salina is a weekend nurse who pulled a double both days, so we had a lot of engagement with her. If you've ever had someone in the hospital or a nursing home, then you know they can be pretty bleak places. They always seem to be understaffed and you have ragged nurses trying to keep up with demanding patients. 

Finding a nurse who is a star is like finding water in the desert. It's life giving. 

It didn't take me long to see what Jill liked about her. The first time I met her, she came in to take care of Mom. She spoke to her, patted her, cared for her, stroked her hair and kissed her before she left. It was some of the most loving attention I've ever seen provided by a care giver. 

Salina is a Muslim. 

She came in and out throughout the day, always smiling, always gentile and affectionate. When Nancy was alone, Salina took her half hour break with her and they talked about faith, traditions, her pilgrimage for the haj, why Christians don't wear head coverings when the Bible tells us to, all kinds of things. She told us how she prays for Mom and she's sure mom will be in heaven. 

And this is the thing I wish Christians in America would understand. Muslims are people. They want to live their lives, find love, raise children, live long lives and die well. Do they have a faith base that is different from ours? Yes. Do they wish the whole world believed like they do? Yes. 

And so do we. 

The problem with Islam is it is a faith with people who are hateful, vengeful and wicked. Guess what, Christians seem to have the same folks in our ranks. If you don't think so, go ask a homosexual. 

If you are a Christian who believes Muslims all over the world should be carpet bombed, you have a big problem because, 

"I say to you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be sons of your Father who is in heaven; for He causes His sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous. For if you love those who love you, what reward do you have? Do not even the tax collectors do the same? If you greet only your brothers, what more are you doing than others? Do not even the Gentiles do the same? Therefore you are to be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect."

Over the weekend, Salina was perfect. And we should seek to be the same. 

Violent Grace

My sister showed this to me today. I guess I wrote it for a devotional at some point. I don't even remember. Still, it's a piece of the journey we have been on with Mom. A journey that's coming to an end.

Matthew 27:31 After they had mocked him, they took off the robe and put his 
own clothes on him. Then they led him away to crucify him.

There are a lot of things you can get used to when you live over seas:  the 
food, the culture, and even the lack of a Wal-Mart. But, what you never 
quite get used to is your distance from family. This hit us particularly 
hard two years ago, when my mom was diagnosed with Alzheimer's. 

Over the past two years we've watched as the disease has begun to slowly and 
relentlessly steal the person Mom is. I can't think of a more evil ailment. 
There's no chance of recovery, no medicine that can stop it and no hope of a 
dignified death. In a deliberate and methodical way, it will turn an 
intelligent, compassionate woman into a child unable to care for herself. 

Strangely, this viscous disease has reminded me of God's love. God's plan 
for our salvation was just as deliberate, just as methodical and just as 
painful. Matthew describes for us how the creator of the universe, full of 
power and majesty, the One to whom angels sing, "Holy, Holy, Holy," was 
stripped, beaten, laughed at and spit on. Christ was so determined, so 
persistent in his pursuit of you and I that it cost him his dignity and his 
life. He loved us so much, no measure was too extreme.

The account of Christ's death is difficult to read. It's especially 
difficult when we consider all of it was an act of love by a God, who 
possessed the power to end it, but more desperately longed for us to return 
to him. A God who considers you more important than his dignity.

As you battle life's bitterness and brokenness remember you are 
deliberately, powerfully and relentlessly loved. 

Jeff Ingram  2/04

So ruthless he loves us so reckless his embrace

To show relentless kindness to a hardened human race

The joy that was before him on the man of sorrows face
And by his blood he bought a violent grace 

A Violent Grace 
Michael Card 
2000 Mole End Music

Cracks

When I got to Colorado, I noticed a lot of people with broken windshields. It seemed like an unusually large number compared to other places. Then a rock chipped mine.

It was just a little ding and din't obscure my vision, so I didn't worry about it. A few days later, I noticed the chip was a crack.

A couple of weeks later, Nancy and I were driving through the mountains and we heard something cracking. Then some more and some more. We sat there and watched helplessly as the crack slowly spread across the whole windshield.

I don't know if it's altitude, or temperature differences or what the deal is, but it seems like chips turn into fast running cracks in Colorado more than anywhere. We replaced the windshield. Then got a chip. And it's happened again. It's crazy making.

This last time, the crack spread along the bottom, across the length of the windshield. I was planning to get it replaced again, then I noticed something. When sunlight hit the crack, it refracted and made this beautiful blue line across the dashboard.

Looking at it made me wonder; is that why God leaves us broken?

There are beautiful stories of healing. People healed miraculously, from cancer, injuries, addiction, mental illness, pride, all kinds of things. Then there are other stories. Stories of struggle. Of woundedness. Stories of people just as faithful, just as committed, still broken.

There's something interesting about those stories. When we share them, they are the ones that resonate the most with us. They are the ones that move us. They seem more real. They add color.

It can be hard to be transparent, to reveal our cracks. We want everyone to look at us and see an undamaged windshield. I think we're missing the point. Because only when people see our pain, our flaws, our struggle, can they understand the beauty of our story.

Ask a Guy Night

My friend Tara is a trauma counselor who works a lot with victims of sexual abuse. As she works with women, sometimes they come to her with questions like, "Why do men do that!??" To which she responds with something like, "Well, I'm not a man. So..."

As a result, periodically, she's begun hosting what she calls "Ask a Guy Night." She bills it as an evening where you can learn, "Everything you wanted to know but never asked." No question is off limits. Anyone is invited and she holds it at the local library.

Because of our friendship, a couple of times she has invited me to be on a panel of three men asked to field questions. It is an honor I do not feel worthy of and a task I do not feel equipped to handle. To be trusted with wounded and healing hearts is both humbling and terrifying.

Their questions range from innocuous curiosity to painful probing but are not accusatory or combative. And I think that's because they desperately just want to know one thing, "Why?"

"Why did he cheat? Why did he hurt me? Why won't he listen? Why is sex so important? Why won't he quit looking at porn? Why does he talk to me that way? Why is he so dismissive?"

I walk out of those meetings emotionally exhausted. It's a heavy thing to see the impact a man can have in a woman's life. The damage we can do. Even good men, who act thoughtlessly, without consideration for the needs or the heart of their spouse, can do tremendous damage. Maybe not even in malice but in mindlessness.

More than that though, the night takes me back to times in my own marriage when I have been the offender.The callous one. The wounder. I grieve again the brokenness I have caused. I am thankful again for the grace I've received.

I wish every man had a chance to sit on the panel of "Ask a Guy Night." To sit publicly in vulnerability and exposure and hear the heart of a wounded woman. It makes you want to be a better husband. It makes you want to be a better man.

(If you have been a victim of abuse I encourage you to contact Tara. She's amazing at what she does. You can find her website here.  Check out her blog here.)

Strange Grief

Because of the layout of our living room, our TV faces the window. I hate it, because it faces the afternoon sun and we're constantly closing the curtains to reduce the glare on the screen. As a lover of natural light, that makes me grouchy.

For some reason we didn't do that yesterday. When Nancy got up to do something, I paused our show and was left sitting there, looking at a black screen. In the screen I began to notice the shadows of the world behind me. There was the frame from the window, the lattice from the porch outside, the tree with leaves blowing and other things I couldn't make out. And in the distance, tiny dots of sunlight, obscured by clouds as it set.

What mesmerized me was the depth and texture of the shadows. Distance was clearly discernible, but some some reflections weren't where they were supposed to be. The leaves were too close, the window frame too far away.

I got the note from my sister while I was in Sweden. Mom probably has weeks left, if things progress as we expect. And something strange happened. Huge waves of sorrow and loss swept over me.

Mom's been gone for a long time. She's been at least two years without words. Years before that filled only with the jabbering of an infant. I lost my mom a long time ago. I've hoped for years for the note from my sister. I've prayed for it. It was almost two years ago when I wrote I wish Mom would die.

So where was the grief coming from? Why was it so sudden? So powerful?

I think grief is like the shadows in my TV screen. It surprises us. It has depth and texture. Sometimes it shows up in ways we don't recognize. And it doesn't always show up in the right order.

I've mourned mom's passing for a long time. When I found out about her diagnosis. When I've kissed her goodbye, knowing the woman I was leaving wasn't going to be who I'd find when I returned two years later. Sitting beside her as she stared blankly at nothing.

And this is strangely different. Unexpected. Shadow.

Even still, there are glimpses of the Son. The one who illuminates the shadows so we can recognize them. The one who will one day, make them fade away. Until then I'll try to learn to embrace the grief.