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.

The Numbers Game

A while back, I was visiting the offices of another mission. As we were being shown around, a guy was introduced to us and was asked to share what he's involved in. He immediately launched into "the sale."

I know what it looks like because I've seen it a hundred times from organizations around the world. I know "the sale" because I've pitched it as many times. It usually goes something like this...

"We're working in more than 100 countries, working with more than 500 indigenous partners in over 8,000 languages. We've planted 1,000 (take your pick... schools, churches, radio stations, wells) all over the developing world."

Change the length, numbers or some of the language, but that's the gist. This is what we've accomplished. This is why we're a valuable asset to the Kingdom. And, ultimately, this is why you should give.

We are addicted to numerical growth.

It's no different in the church. Pastors are constantly being judged and judging each other by numerical growth and giving.

I get it. It's steeped in our culture. We have to justify ourselves to get a job, a raise or a promotion. We have to prove our value.  And how can you possibly measure the success of a mission except by who has been reached or what's been built?

Here's my struggle, when I start taking a count it is almost always about me. How much have I done? How do I measure up to everyone else? What have I accomplished?

Of all his sins, David taking a census may have been his most egregious. And the people of his kingdom paid dearly for it. Why? Because he wanted to know how great he was. And his accomplishments didn't belong to him. They were a gift from God.

When we start throwing out numbers, we run dangerously close to doing the same thing. Yes measuring effectiveness is healthy, good and necessary. And, before we tell our story, we should always ask ourselves, "Who am I trying to glorify?"

We Walk in Winter

My friend Gary walked in my office the other day and said, "I hate Colorado in May." I understood exactly where he was coming from. There are a lot of good things about living in Colorado Springs. There's tons of sunshine, trails to walk and bike, parks, Garden of the God's, Pikes Peak. It is just a beautiful place.

But there's something about May. May is when my basement flooded. Warm Spring days morph into cold winter nights with wicked wind and wet snow. Tulips come up in April then May snows will bury them.

In May we see the hope of Summer, but it remains illusive, distant. Winter continues to mock us.

We walk in a world of Winter. It's a place with the cruelty of ISIS. It's where 1 in 5 girls are sexually assaulted before 18. It's where slavery is on the rise. It's where cancer can rob a family of a young mother or Alzheimer's can take the wisdom of a beautiful mind.

It is a hard and wicked place.

As a follower of Christ, it's like Colorado in May. Because I have tasted Spring. I've experienced unconditional love, grace and forgiveness. I've felt the warmth of the Gospel. I've seen my depravity yet experienced acceptance.

I know Summer is coming. It's coming for all of us. Until then, I'll just try to brush the snow off the tulips.

The Price of a $14 Car

On a recent trip, Nancy and I needed to rent a car. We were surprised to find a place that offered one for just $14 a day. The deal sounded great so we booked it. What we didn't realize was, while most of the name brand dealers were there at the airport, ours was not. We had to call a shuttle. 

After a few minute wait, the shuttle driver showed up and we, along with all the folks waiting with us, jockeyed to get on. You know the drill, everyone trying to be polite enough not to seem rude, but aggressive enough not to be the one left at the airport. 

Happily, we all got on and began our drive. The family that got on with us began talking about their plans for the week and the guy next to me began to tell me his life story. His was a tale of woe, I can't begin to unpack here.

About five minutes into the drive someone said, "Where the heck are we going?" Other's began to chime in, "How far is this place?" "Where is the driver taking us?" "I hope we're not being abducted!"

And there it was. The magic threshold. When the value of a cheep car is surpassed by the length of the journey to the lot. Five minutes. 

I'm increasingly struck by our ability to whine. I whine about everything. The line is too long. I always get in the slow line. Why is the price of gas going up? Why is this taking so long? Why doesn't the guy show up on time? Why don't I get an upgrade? Why does it take six minutes to get to my $14 car?

When Paul told us to rejoice always and be thankful in all circumstances was he really talking about the arduous journey in a rental van? Seriously?! It was six minutes! 

Listen. I'm not a advocate of glossing over painful circumstances. However I do wonder about our definition of pain. Inconvenience isn't suffering. A loss of privilege isn't persecution.

How much we enjoy the world around us many times has more to do with our attitude than our environment. One of those things we can't control. We are the only ones who can control the other. 

Words We Call Ourselves

As I left work the other day, my friend Jenn said, "Wait a minute, your backpack is open," then she came over and closed it up. I sheepishly replied, "Oh. Thanks. Beth normally does that."

The fact that I can identify a person who zips up my backpack as I walk by her office, is pretty humiliating. I ride a motorcycle for crying out loud. I can't go zipping down the street with stuff flying out the back. What am I, 8?

I have some issues with attention to detail and follow through. So, when things like this happen, a word from my childhood comes crashing in on me, "Irresponsible."

You know those words. We all have them. They're the one's we call ourselves when we blow it... again. We heard them from parents, teachers, friends, well meaning people, trying to help us grow. We heard them with enough frequency we grew to accept them as the truth of who we are. Now we are our own accusers, defining ourselves by our limitations.

If we allow we allow ourselves to fixate on them, they become an overpowering, depressive self image.

Fortunately, I work with some great people and have an amazing wife. And they helped me learn a couple of things. The first is, they usually don't mind covering for my weaknesses. They kind of all have this "Jeff needs help," understanding.

The second thing is, they need help too. Do you know there are people who have no idea how to read a room? They can melt people's faces off in a meeting, then leave thinking, "That was a good talk!" Then I have to say, "Dude, you're backpack is open" and explain why he might want to have some followup conversations.

We all have weaknesses. We should know them so, in humility, we can acknowledge our need for help. We should do the same with our strengths, never minimizing how God created us. Accepting them can sometimes be difficult. But when we do, we are released to thrive in our gifting.

Meanwhile, we can work on our weaknesses. The day after Jenn helped me, I packed up to head home and carefully checked my backpack to make sure everything was closed up tightly. I was pretty proud of myself. I made it all the way to the stairs before I realized my wallet and keys were still in my office. Baby steps. Baby steps.

Wrong. But not Uncertain.

I was talking to a friend the other day when he said, "Oh, I've been wrong. But I'm never uncertain." It was pretty funny. And I think it explains how most of us operate.

I wonder what our world would be like if we could only talk, post and tweet about subjects we actually knew about. I don't mean things we've seen on the news or articles we've read on all of those "reliable" websites.

I mean, subjects we have actually studied. Let's set a pretty low bar. One hour. How different would our world be if we only engaged others when we had researched a subject for one hour.

How would life be different if someone asked, "What are your thoughts about global warming?" and we said, "I don't know."

We've all seen the news about it. We've probably read articles about it from whatever bent we lean toward. It's either a disaster or a non issue, because that's what someone, who shares our preconceived ideas, told us to think about it. How many of us have actually dug into the research?

The crisis in Syria, ISIS, migrants into Europe, Muslims, the national debt, immigration, election reform, inequity in the economy, raising the hourly wage, the future president of the United States. Everyone seems to be an authority on all of this stuff.

Most of us, myself included, should simply be saying, "I don't know."

These are important issues. Issues we should care about and debate. The problem is, we seem to care more about being heard, than understanding the subject matter.

I need to study more and speak less. Read about it, think about it and even pray about it, before I offer an opinion mostly based on emotion.

These are complicated issues with even more complex solutions. I can not formulate an informed solution after reading the first five paragraphs of an article on CNN. But we all seem to have them.

I need to have fewer opinions. I need to be more thoughtful. I need to have the humility to say, "I don't know."

It's Over

When I was a senior in high school, I had a friend approach me twirling a butterfly knife. As he walked toward me, spinning and flipping it, he explained how I'd never really been his friend, he was angry because I was more popular and he felt betrayed.

He brought up stuff from way back, kept walking closer, flipping that knife. He was big too. I was still trying to figure it all out when he lunged at me.

As I grabbed his hand to stop him, my mind was completely and utterly confused. There was the reflexive move to protect myself, but the rest of my brain was in chaos, plowing through history, trying desperately to understand. Why was he so angry? Why didn't I know it? Is there someway out?

Holding his arm away from me, I looked at the knife. It was plastic.

This stupid high school prank is the only experience I've had which I think gives a glimpse of how Mary felt the day Christ died. And it doesn't even come close.

She knew for certain she was a virgin who had given birth. The same angel who promised her that, also promised her son would,

"... be great and will be called the Son of the Most High. The Lord God will give him the throne of his father David, and he will reign over Jacob's descendants forever; his kingdom will never end." 

But it was ending. It had ended. He just said it. 

"It is finished." 

She had been with him when they fled to Egypt. Saw him wow the rabbis in the temple at 12. Watched him turn water into wine.

If she didn't see, she heard about the blind seeing, the lame walking, the hungry fed and the dead returning to life. And she had to have thought, "It's true. Everything the angel said was true."

Except it wasn't. It was finished.

I struggle to think how confused she must have been during all the beatings he took. When they stripped his clothes and put thorns on his head. When they drove nails into his feet and hands. When they hung him there.

She must have wondered, "When will he do something? Say something? Put a stop to this? Isn't there a way out?"

But there was no way out. His last breath. The spear. The tomb.

There are times when I can't understand God and his purposes. I have a hard time understanding the wickedness of man, mine included. I look at the chaos of the world and I'm bewildered. And I'm reminded of Mary.

Everything she knew was true on Thursday was crushed in Friday's finality. Then Saturday's all consuming despair was blown away in Sunday's sudden wonder. When I am overwhelmed with confusion from the weight of my circumstances I need to remember Mary. Because even when it's finished, it's not over.